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Chapter Text

Tim lurches back to the realm of consciousness vomiting seawater, the sole of someone’s boot pressing unforgivingly into his gut. He splutters incoherently before the pressure thankfully releases. Immediately he rolls onto his side to gasp and cough weakly, but when he raises his hand to wipe his mouth, pain shoots through it. It’s too loud around him, and the backdrop is a constant noise of people yelling and shouting, too much movement for his confused head to piece out the individual conversations.

“Well, lad, you done heaving up the rest of your stomach?” There’s a sincerely amused voice, and Tim cringes at the loudness hurting his ears and throbbing head. There's the successive response of a hearty round of laughter, all coarse, all rough, and Tim unwillingly opens his eyes to take in his new surroundings. He remembers gunfire, shouting, and the captain that he had bought passage from dying –

This time he all but sits up like a bolt of lightning, before a shock of pain lances through his dominant arm again. It gives out under his weight, unable to support him, and he collapses back onto the deck, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Easy there, kid.” A large shadow stoops over him, blocking the dying rays of sunlight, and Tim stiffens when a calloused, blistered hand grips his shoulder, hauling him up. There’s a flash of a grin, the crisp scent of gunpowder and the salty brine of the sea, before the ever present gust of wind over sea and sails chills Tim through his soaked clothes and down to the bones.

“W-where am I?” he croaks. This isn’t the ship he’d bought passage on. He looks around frantically, ignoring the pain momentarily. With a sinking heart, he puts the pieces together, and looks up at the flag.

Oh, no. The red skull that’s feared in all seven seas stands proudly against the dying rays of sunset, the emblem a testament to the flotsam littering the ocean that was once Tim’s passage away from Gotham, floating oil-soaked wood still burning forlornly. Regaining some of his strength, Tim shoves away the person holding him up, stumbling a bit until his back hits the railing.

“Oho! Looks like this one didn’t appreciate you rescuing ‘im, Cap!” More raucous laughter, but it dies down quickly. Tim takes in the appearance of the man who had been holding him up. The man’s a vaguely familiar face he knows from wanted posters, and the way he shrewdly eyes Tim makes his throat go dry.

The posters really don’t do him justice.

Captain Jason Todd of the Outlaw pirates, gives him a lazy but leering smile before speaking. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.” Tim can’t repress a shiver.

“Why’d you rescue me?” Little flashes of memory are returning to him; the pirates boarding the ship after the captain had refused to surrender, much to his crew’s horror, Tim’s attempted escape gone horribly wrong, the roiling waves tossing him about like a ragdoll  – it’s beginning to come back to him now. The pirate captain only grins at him.

“I thought you were a woman,” he sneers, licking his lips as he assesses Tim, an eye traveling up and down his body approvingly. Tim’s eyes widen and he flushes in embarrassment and shame, and Captain Todd’s crew erupts in further laughter like broken records. “But, more importantly, who are you, lad?”

Tim doesn’t hesitate. “Tim. Tim Jackson,” he lies through his teeth. Captain Todd makes a show of nodding his head, tilting his head and humming.

“A strong name, that. Doesn’t quite fit someone of your stature, though.” Tim’s eyes narrow at the jab about his height. When the pirate takes another step closer, Tim edges away as well as he can, trying to maintain the same amount of distance between him and the most wanted man in the world. “However, it does beget the question, what was this doing on your person?” Jason smirks and dangles a familiar ring on a silver chain from his fingers. Tim’s heart sinks, a hand flying to his neck where the ring should have rested beneath his clothes. Jason continues blithely, “It’s a very fine piece of silver, I must say, and it does match the rest of your clothes; wouldn’t go with any of ours, I’m afraid. Still, I’m informed that’s the Drake crest, from Gotham herself, and I must ask, if you’re Tim Jackson, then are you a thief?”

Tim inhales sharply. His lie is transparent, and there’s no saving him now. “Go to hell,” he snaps. Jason’s eyes gleam, and then he bridges the gap between them in two steps in what would have taken Tim three. Tim gasps, eyes flying open when Jason squeezes his injured arm roughly, fingers hooking around his chin, forcing his face up to meet the pirate’s eyes.

“I’ll give ya a chance to take that back, kid,” breathes Captain Todd, his eyes stark like winter and hard as flint. “I saved your sorry arse in that water instead of leaving you to drown, and I expect to be thanked. Don’t you have any manners? You’re awfully rude for a rich boy.”

Tim struggles futilely, but the man’s eyes are cold and unforgiving, and this is a show of power, to establish the man’s authority in front of his crew. Tim knows that if he resists for much longer, the pirate won’t hesitate to make an example of him.

“I – I apologize,” gasps out Tim, when fingers begin to curl threateningly around his throat. “f-for saying that.”

Jason watches lazily through hooded eyes. The rest of the crew is ominously silent, watching the exchange. “And you’re about to apologize for being an ungrateful little shit, aren’t ya?”

Tim growls a little, but Jason’s fingers dig warningly into his pulse point just under the bone. The growl turns into a short hitch of breath. “I – I’m sorry for being an ungrateful shit,” Tim gasps out. “A- and thank–” Even though the man’s fingers relax just enough for him to suck in air, the words are still hard to get out. “y-you for not leaving me to drown.”

The fingers abandon his throat, leaving Tim to swallow for air desperately. Jason steps back, a slow, satisfied smile of approval gracing his rugged face. “Not bad, didn’t even have to be prompted for the last bit, rich boy,” he sneers. Turning around, his gaze scans over his crew briefly. “Men! We don’t want to be rude to our posh little rich boy, do we?” The condescending tone provokes laughter from the rest of the crew. “Let’s give him a taste of true hospitality! Roy, get him to the brig, and see that his arm gets treated. We wouldn’t want the pretty boy too bruised up, would we now?”

Tim closes his eyes against the howls of laughter, wishing desperately that he could wake up any second now. An arm even larger than Captain Todd’s grips his shoulder, anchoring him to his new reality. Tim manages to twist around, coming face to face with a chest belonging to a redhead who shoots him a wry grin.

“You heard the cap, runt. March.” The man, presumably Roy steers him below deck. Surrounded by mocking grins, Tim can only face forward, resigning himself to the mercy of Captain Jason Todd.

Chapter Text

Tim scowls, huddling himself in the farthest corner of the brig. Roy had fixed up his arm, setting it in a makeshift splint, but it still throbs every so often. At least the splint had forced them to manacle him with his wrists in front of him, he thinks sullenly. He leans against the damp wood, listening to the waves of the ocean crash against it. His clothes are still damp, and the chilly air of the brig only worsens it. He contemplates launching himself at the next pirate who opens the door, fighting his way up to the deck, but he knows that it’ll be futile. Even if he could steal a rowboat, there’s no way he’d make it to land.

The keys hanging on the hook near the entrance mock him, and he closes his eyes and plots despite the way his empty stomach growls at him. Eventually the ship will have to dock somewhere for supplies, and that’ll be Tim’s moment to act. They’ll take precautions to prevent him from escaping, but it’s the only solution he can think of. He has a generic idea of the ship’s layout, and starts formulating a plan to get up to the deck before he hears footsteps and loud laughter. They laugh an awful lot for pirates, he thinks glumly, more than aristocrats ever did.

He doesn’t want to think about those sort of implications.

The door swings open, and three pirates saunter in, all leering at Tim in a way that sends shivers crawling up his spine. One snatches the keys off the hook, twirling them around a finger.

“We were told to give you fresh clothes, rich boy, and dinner too.” One’s carrying a bowl of something that looks completely unappetizing. Tim is loath to admit that it looks better than his disastrous attempts to cook in the past. Regardless, if he’s going to escape, he’ll have to eat it to keep up his strength. The pirate gives him a smirk and then promptly begins to devour the food. Tim gives him an incredulous look, unable to believe his eyes.

“A rich kid like you wouldn’t have eaten it anyway, would ya?” jeers the man, and Tim glares at him. His traitorous stomach growls in response, and Tim grinds his teeth together as the men howl in amusement.

“As for the clothes, we didn’t have anything fit for a prince, so you’ll just have to make do with this!” The third pirate pushes his way to the front, and to Tim’s horror, it’s an extremely ruffly and lacey dress, much like the ones Janet Drake wore in her old portraits and photos.

“Now, keep still, pretty thing, we’re going to have to take your measurements,” smirks the second pirate, unlocking the brig door. Tim scrambles to his feet, squaring his jaw and shoulders, feeling the last thread of his patience snap. The first words out of his mouth are ice-sharp and worthy of the son Janet had tried to mold him into.

“Step inside this brig and I will break all of your jaws.” Anger and resentment boils before freezing over inside Tim. He can’t feel anything but coldness and antipathy raging in him now. The pirates halt their movements at the frigid expression on Tim’s face, somewhat unnerved. Then the one unlocking the brig door snorts derisively. Tim can't blame him. It's three against one scrawny handcuffed kid.

“Better hold still kid, or you’d better not be just bark with no bite,” growls the pirate swinging open the door. The bowl clatters to the floor. The dress follows after, crumpling to the ground with a whisper of silk. The brig’s too small for the three men to enter simultaneously. Tim narrows his eyes. He can defend the territory that he’s unconsciously marked out for himself, that being the constraints of the prison he’s in. Then a beefy arm snakes out to make a grab for him, as one pirate enters his space, and he belatedly recognizes he’s going about this the completely wrong way. Why the hell should he be defending territory that’s a jail cell?

Tim realizes he can win this. He won’t make it off the ship, but at the least he can prevent himself from being marked as an easy target to bully. He smirks at the man, confidence resurging. It's a fight in cramped quarters, and he can use that to his advantage, if he riles them up first. “Last warning, pirate,” he sneers, a cold smile twisting on his lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re not going to get away with this!” snarls one pirate, gnashing his teeth as Tim hurriedly turns the key in the lock to imprison them. The other two are concussed from when they had collided with each other in their attempts to snatch Tim up in such a tight space.

“Yeah, I know,” he responds grimly, twirling the key along his fingers in mimicry of the pirate had earlier. His hands are still handcuffed, and he doesn’t know where the keys for the manacles are, but he’ll manage somehow. “But I’ll offer you a deal. I could leave you three here to be the butt of all the jokes on this ship for when they find you, but I’m a nice person. We can go back and pretend that I’ve been sitting where you guys are this whole time, instead of you oafs actually dragging me out of there to be your punching bag.” Tim’s not looking so great himself; his shirt’s in tatters after someone had pulled out a knife, and he’s the one actually nursing a bruised jaw, a few nicks, and a bloody nose, but the point is that he’s won.

The pirate stares at him incredulously and gestures at his two incapacitated crewmates. “There’s no bloody explanation for those two!”

Oh. Right. Tim sort of didn’t account for that, what with him practically fighting for his life. He shrugs as well as he can, his injured arm screaming at him to stop moving because the splint broke in the scuffle. He offers a sheepish smile. “Uh, I’ll help you carry them out? I mean, we could blame them passing out on too much booze?” The pirate looks supremely unimpressed. Tim sighs. “Or, I could let you out and then you can pretend that you weren’t here to begin with?”

“I’ll knock you dead the moment you unlock that door, buddy,” sneers the man. Tim groans, mashing a palm to his forehead and scrubbing his face.

“I give up. Fine, whatever, stay there until someone finds you three. I’m keeping the key though.” So much for his plan. Tim picks up the knife that had been kicked to the corner during the fray, tucking it into his belt. He doesn’t really know what to do now. He can hear people moving along the deck above him, so he opts to gain a better idea of the ship’s layout before he’s inevitably discovered. Maybe if through some fantastic luck he makes it to the deck, he can fling the brig key into the ocean. He won’t deny that particular idea is rather appealing. Just before he can take the stairs, his heart nearly beats out of his chest when he hears someone’s voice and loud footsteps.

“Hey, you guys are taking forever; just how much are you harassing the runt?” Tim lurches backwards just in time before the door flies open to nearly deck him in the face. There’s an awkward moment of silence as Tim comes face to chest with Roy. Roy’s mouth is sort of comically half-open. No one moves. Then Tim’s fingers fumble with the dagger in his belt. He curses when it clatters to the floor, shattering the moment and kicking time back into gear.

Everything is a blur of motion. The pirate behind him yells, “Get the brat!” and Roy launches forward, expecting Tim to dive for the knife. Tim dodges the tackle, sidestepping the redhead as he bolts up the steps. Abruptly Roy’s hand latches onto Tim’s ankle like a snake, and Tim cries out in pain when he trips and hits the floor, injured arm trapped under his stomach. Roy pins him down easily, straddling his waist as Tim gasps for breath and squirms indignantly under Roy’s weight.

“Stop – ugh – struggling!” growls Roy, splaying a hand on the nape of Tim’s neck and pushing him harder into the floor. Tim groans, lips parting for air. His frenzied mind goes over all the possible ways this could play out – and none end well. He goes limp, pressing his forehead into the solid wood, trying to regulate his air. Roy adjusts his grip on him, but doesn’t let up. “Jeez, just how tenacious are you?” mutters Roy, now surveying the damage Tim has caused. Tim manages a short grunt of laughter, but doesn’t respond. It hurts too much, now that the adrenalin’s wearing off.

“Hey! Somebody get the captain for me!” calls Roy. Tim dizzily considers pleading with Roy to shift his weight off his hurt arm. He doesn’t bother; the pirate doesn’t owe him anything, would probably end up purposefully injure him further. He feels running footsteps, hears someone pause in his tracks, say holy fuck what happened, then rush off again. Belatedly he realizes what it must look like, with the remnants of his shirt practically draped over him and Roy pinning him down, and a flush blooms over his cheeks. He presses his face further into the floorboards, wishing he could just sink through them and into the ocean.

More footsteps. It’s a little easier to breathe now. Tim spits blood until the floor. Roy’s weight shifts, and Tim tries not to whimper at the pain lancing down his arm. “Are you still going to fight me?” asks Roy. Tim exhales, the breath sagging out of him. He shakes his head. Roy’s hand releases its pressure on his neck. “Good.” The pirate settles back on his haunches. The lighting changes; Tim sees the darkness of someone's shadow towering over him. 

“Roy? The hell is going on here?” growls Captain Todd’s unmistakable voice. Tim panics, bucks against Roy’s weight, but Roy’s hands squeeze warningly again. He stills. What other choice does he have? He’s lost any advantage he might have had. He won’t give up, he tells himself, but when Roy redistributes his weight Tim gasps, closing his eyes to block out the pain. Thoughts of freedom and escape fly out the window.

“Ask the kid,” replies Roy. Tim hears the pirate captain stoop down, boots coming to a stop before him before a hand fists itself in his hair, wrenching him upwards. Tim hisses in pain at the uncomfortable angle, opening his eyes to meet Jason’s menacing ones. An involuntary and poorly concealed shiver ripples through Tim. The situation's too far out of hand for him to regain control.  

"Start talking, boy," hisses Captain Todd, fingers digging into his scalp. Tim glares furiously at him, but his eyes clench shut in unwilling submission when his neck is forced into an uncomfortable arch. "Before I really do decide to kill you."

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.

Chapter Text

Tim’s heartrate is elevated with no signs of slowing as the lock clicks behind him.

“Well, rich boy, you’re not going to renege on your wager, are you?” Jason’s voice is amused and smug. Tim stiffens. He can’t deny that it’s an extremely appealing idea.

“A deal’s a deal,” he mutters glumly. Jason hums in agreement.

“That’s right, pretty boy. Which is why you’re going to wear this.” Jason stoops down to rummage through an unlocked chest. While the pirate is preoccupied, Tim takes the opportunity to examine the room. For the most part it’s quite cluttered, random odds and ends of what Tim suspects is loot stuffed into places where the motion of the ship won’t dislodge them.

There’s a bed bolted to the wall as well, though he suspects that judging from the quantity of things piled there that Jason doesn’t normally sleep there. There’s a pile of cushions stacked haphazardly on the floor that looks far more slept in than the bed. Still, now that he’s analyzing for clues about his kidnapper, there’s a certain organization to what appeared at first to be a disorganized mess.

All thoughts grind to an abruptly screeching halt when Jason turns around, grinning and tosses another dress at him. True, it’s not as frilly as the last one, it’s a simple white chemise, but Tim glares vehemently at the pirate captain.

“You can’t be serious,” he protests. Captain Todd only rolls his eyes.

“Except that I am.” He gestures for Tim to get a move on. Tim balks.

“How long am I supposed to wear this for?” he stalls.

“If you’re not dressed in that within the next twenty seconds, you’ll be wearing it for the duration of the week. In front of my crew,” drawls Captain Todd.

Gritting his teeth, Tim stares daggers at the offending garment before reluctantly turning around to drag his shirt off.

“Breeches off as well, pretty boy,” calls Jason smugly. “I didn’t take your belt for nothing, you know.”

“Shut up,” mutters Tim. He pretends he doesn’t feel Jason’s eyes roving down the expanse of his back as he shrugs the chemise on, hitching it around his waist to unlace his breeches before shucking them off unwillingly. The whisper of cheap lace brushes his skin before he reluctantly finishes changing, turning around to face the pirate.

Jason wolf whistles, and Tim’s ears turn beet red. “I changed my mind, I think I’ll be keeping this show to myself. C’mere.”

“I need a drink,” mutters Tim, stalking forward. He brazenly meets the captain’s eyes, daring him to say anything even as he steps within arm’s reach.

“That can be arranged,” retorts Jason, yanking him forward. The pirate laughs easily, tipping himself and Tim backwards until they fall into the cushions. Tim yelps, off balanced and flailing a bit, but then Jason makes an almost-chastising sound that makes Tim silence his objections, albeit reluctantly. He squirms uncomfortably, the pirate captain far too close for comfort until Jason sits up, forcing Tim to do so as well.

The younger man fights back the urge to squirm as Captain Todd arranges him to his liking. Tim’s legs are draped over one of Jason’s thighs, his back propped against the other. A proprietary arm loosely snakes around his waist, securing him in a way that Tim can’t struggle against. If it had been fierce, violent, he could have fought, but it is disarmingly gentle albeit firm. The side of Tim’s face presses into Jason’s chest, the smell of the ocean, rum, and a spicy musk sending an anticipatory thrill through Tim.

“Lighten up, kid,” purrs Jason, resting his chin on Tim’s head. All of his thoughts are scrambled. Tim is tense, barely daring to breathe lest the heat of his exhalations aggravate the notorious pirate. “You need to learn how to relax.” When Jason leans forward, Tim twitches noticeably, but the pirate pays him no mind. Instead, Captain Todd reaches for a bottle of whiskey.

“So, kid, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer me unless you want your tongue ripped out,” comments Jason. It’s almost as if he were talking about the weather. Tim shudders a bit when he feels Jason’s breathe ghost across the shell of his ear. The open rim of the bottle pushes against Tim’s lips. Tim tries to turn his head away, but it presses insistently to his bottom lip, and the arm wrapped around his waist tightens like a boa constrictor.

“Drink up, rich boy,” murmurs Jason. Tim makes a protesting half noise from the back of his throat. Jason pretends he doesn’t hear it. “This is how real men drink this shit, not in shots like what you did back at the card game. It’ll help loosen ya up.”

Tim knows he can hold his liquor fairly well, but the stuff is stronger than anything he’s used to. Still, with the dark way Captain Todd is looking at him, he suspects Jason is contemplating shoving the bottle down his throat if he keeps struggling for much longer. His manacled hand, the one that’s not injured, clasps Jason’s wrist to try and stabilize the bottle. He parts his lips obediently, tilting his head up a little for a better angle. The bottle is tipped a little bit too quickly; Tim chokes when the fiery liquid hits the back of his throat, jerking away to splutter incoherently. Some whiskey sloshes onto his skin. Tim shivers at the coldness.

“Shit, sorry kiddo. Didn’t mean to do that.” Tim wonders if the alcohol is already getting to him if he’s hearing a pirate captain apologize; his tolerance surely isn’t that bad. Reflex tears are forming in his eyes. He raises a hand to try and wipe away the bit of whiskey trailing down the corner of his lip, but then a coarser, more calloused thumb swipes across his lips to catch the wetness. He looks up, astonished when Jason Todd’s eyes are watching him intently, never breaking eye contact when the pirate raises his thumb to his lips to taste the whiskey. The moisture in Tim’s mouth evaporates. He licks his lips uncertainly; discovering that he can taste the faint tang of sweat and salt from the rough pad of Jason’s thumb. Captain Todd’s eyes track the motion, lingering on his mouth.

“Can’t waste a drop of this, can we, rich boy?” croons Jason. Then his head is leaning down, and Tim freaks when he feels Captain Todd’s tongue lapping up the spillage that had trailed down and pooled in the dip of Tim’s collarbone. A noise that’s an embarrassing cross between a squeak and a shocked groan falls from his mouth when Jason’s tongue laves across the skin. Shuddering, Tim clenches his eyes shut at the graze of teeth along his skin, before the pirate sucks the flesh into an open mouthed kiss, nipping and rolling the abused skin between his teeth to bite it. Oh god, it’s going to leave a mark. He wants to attribute the flush on his face to the alcohol, but he knows it can’t be going through his system that quickly. When the skin that Jason has lavished attention on feels achy, tingling, and electrifying, Jason’s pulling back, observing his handiwork. Numbly, Tim realizes he’s gripping the lapels of Jason’s coat, fingers trembling with the force that he’s holding on for dear life. He lets go automatically; Jason chuckles darkly at the stunned expression on Tim’s face.

“Y’know kid, I’m surprised,” Jason’s voice is low and throaty, and it does bad things to Tim’s nerves. “You’re not puttin’ up as much of a fight as I thought you would.”

Tim swallows past the massive lump in his throat that’s prohibiting him from speaking. Clearing his throat, he meets the pirate’s gaze unflinchingly. “I intend to uphold what I promised,” Tim responds, ignoring the way his chest tightens uncomfortably and how his pulse spikes. “Them’s the rules, aren’t they?”

Jason makes a thoughtful sound in his throat. “If this a matter of you clinging to your pride, don’t bother. Right now, my men think I’ve ripped your clothes off to ravish you already.”

Tim scowls. “Technically, you already did,” he mutters petulantly, crossing his arms awkwardly. “I mean, the, uh, clothes, well, I guess you didn’t really rip them off, erm,” he backpedals hastily, hating the amused curl of Jason’s lips. “But I mean, you forced me into this stupid thing and – well –” he cuts himself with an embarrassed groan. “I’m going to shut up now,” he mutters, turning pink.

“Smart kid.” Jason grins. Tim huffs as Jason tilts the bottle towards him again but is prepared this time. He swallows the liquor down easily, torn between wanting to forget everything that’s going on and avoiding impairing his mental faculties. He feels heat simmering in his gut, sees the same intense hunger in Jason’s eyes. Jason sets the bottle down to the side. His newly unencumbered hand skims along Tim’s bare legs, fingers teasingly slipping under the hem of the chemise to hover along the skin there. Automatically Tim’s palm lashes out, slapping the intrusive hand away.

“Quit it,” he snaps, before his eyes widen in realization that his audacity may have cost him further bargaining power. However, Jason only retracts his palm away, raising to tug lightly at Tim’s hair.

“Think I’m beginning to see why you managed to incapacitate three of my men,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

“They asked for it,” grouses Tim despite himself.

“Even if they did, I can’t have you undermining my crew, kid. Don’t worry, none of you idiots got to eat that night.”

“What about the one that ate my share?” retorts Tim. The wine is beginning to lower his inhibitions, making him more vocal.

“Don’t worry, everyone got his just desserts,” mutters Jason. “Aside from that, I’m the one asking questions here, kid.” A little more liquor is poured down Tim’s throat, making him lightheaded.

“What did you want to know?” he mutters petulantly, resigning himself to the inevitable. Sooner or later, Jason will get the truth out of him.

“Why do you want to go to Hispaniola so badly?”

“Huh? That’s easy,” Tim responds. His cheeks are flushing from the alcohol. “My parents.”

Jason makes a thoughtful sound deep in his chest, a vibration that Tim feels. “Right, I heard the news a few years ago.”

“They were killed by pirates en route to Hispaniola some years back. A friend of mine contacted me recently,” Tim replies. “Said he had some information regarding their deaths that I’d be interested in.”

“He say what kind of information?”

Even in his somewhat tipsy state, Tim latches on to an idea forming in his addled brain. “He was a…a bit vague on the details,” says Tim hesitantly, stalling while the cogs turn slowly in his head. He gently grips Jason’s arm to tilt the bottle towards him again, sipping slowly. “I don’t know for sure, but he said that he’s got a pearl diver friend, who told him that someone’s found what they think is the shipwreck…” He blinks dizzily, resting his head against Jason’s chest.

“Let me guess, you want to see it for yourself if the rumors are true?” He hears Jason snort. “Don’t bother kid, most things on the bottom of the sea are pieces of flotsam and rarely anything worth searching for.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” breathes Tim, letting Jason think the wine is getting to him. To be honest, it is a little. “The ship that sunk was contracted to us. For my parents to both leave to make sure that the cargo was transported safely…there must have been something important.” In truth, it had been all too common for his father to travel to exotic lands, always eager at the prospect of a new archaeological dig, and his mother had always followed, but Jason didn’t need to know that.

Jason looks at him shrewdly. The alcohol is heady, and it makes Tim close his eyes and turn his face inwards into Jason’s chest, afraid that the pirate will see right through the lie.

“You saying you think there’s something there that’s worth looking into, kid?”

“Don’t call me that,” retorts Tim peevishly. “And yes, why else would I leave the comforts of my own home?” He looks up at Jason through lowered eyelashes. “Back home, I looked through the company records. Though I found the contract in the old archives, that ship doesn’t exist. Someone scrubbed the records clean. Isn’t that something worth investigating?” It’s all fantastic bullshit Tim is concocting up in the spur of the moment; the ship had been transporting textiles and maybe a few crates of necessities hard to come by in the Americas, but it doesn’t actually matter. It’s believable enough that Jason will buy it. The question is if Tim’s appeal to the inherent pirate trait of notorious greed is working.

Jason hums thoughtfully again. “That explains a lot,” he murmurs. Tim blinks up at him.

“Is there any way I can convince you to take me there?” he pleads, grasping Jason’s arm and squeezing it. “You already put me in this stupid dress.” The alcohol is definitely working through his system now, if he’s bringing it up.

Jason’s breaths ghosts hotly in his ear. “We’ll see. Maybe we can make a deal, kid.”

Tim blinks up at him. “Really?”

“Sure, kid. But maybe when you’re not drunk off your ass. And if I decide that your story’s true.”

Damn. Captain Todd was even more untrusting than Janet Drake, but Tim supposes that was how the man was still alive at this point. He chances another glance at Jason again, trying to twist his expression into something sulky.

“Not drunk.” Jason rolls his eyes; it had its intended effect.

“Whatever you say, kid.” Suddenly Tim is hoisted up, he gasps as the world spins around him again and Jason carries him over to the bed. Tim’s eyes widen as he’s dropped unceremoniously onto it and the various piles of random items littering the spread. Something that feels like a book digs into his back, and his elbow hits a full pouch that spills out a few valuables.

“Wait, no – what are you doing – stop –” Tim protests as Captain Todd fishes out a pair of cuffs, wrestling him down easily and cuffing him to the metal pole anchoring the bed down to the floor for extra stability. He leans back and surveys his handiwork with a grin, Tim struggling wildly.

“Sorry kid, loot stays on the bed.” Satisfied, Jason shrugs off his coat, tossing it over Tim’s head. The heavy garment muffles Tim’s bemused grunt. Tim squirms, managing to poke his head out from under the coat in time to see Jason extinguish the candlelight, plunging the room into darkness. Eyes not yet adjusted, Tim hears an oomph which can only be Jason dropping himself back into his odd nest of pillows.

“I’m going to kill you,” growls Tim into the darkness, tugging at the chains uselessly. Tim’s pretty sure the pirate is rolling his eyes.

“Good night to you too, kid.”

Chapter Text

It’s been six days of being forced to swab the deck as per his punishment for losing that poker game (Tim heavily regrets thinking he was smart enough to play without knowing all the rules,) but he is privately willing to admit that Captain Todd could have done far worse to him. Every night Tim gets handcuffed to what the captain amusedly calls the “booty bed” while Jason plops himself in his usual spot. As much as Tim wants to smack him for such an awful pun, he figures he should just take what mercy the captain is willing to offer him until he can escape. Despite it all, Tim’s arm is mostly healed despite the grunt work he’s been forced to do, making him suspect it wasn’t really a full fracture. Regardless, he’s just glad to have the use of his arm back.

The initial leers and catcalls had finally subsided when teasing him had gotten boring because Tim never took the bait of starting a fight. They had left him alone after that, leaving Tim to the company of his own thoughts. At least until someone interrupts his own quiet mullings.

“Someone looks like he’s slackin’ off.” Tim turns, raising an eyebrow at Roy’s wry smile.

“I finished.” Tim gestures vaguely at the floor, straightening. The heat of the sun had tanned him quickly, the nape of his neck slightly sunburnt. Roy surveys his work before nodding approvingly.

“You’ve definitely got better, that’s for sure. Anyway, I need help with tying some stuff down. You gonna help out?”

“What for?” asks Tim, tilting his head. He had noticed more activity earlier today, but hadn’t understood the reason why. “Is something happening?” He follows after Roy, quick, short steps to keep pace with Roy’s longer stride.

“Storm’s coming. Gotta get everything secure. You know anything about knots?” Tim shakes his head, but Roy doesn’t seem annoyed about it. “Never mind, it’s a good as time as any to learn.” Tim glances outwards to the rolling ocean; there’s not a single cloud in the sky. Roy tracks his line of sight and chuckles knowingly.

“You’d be surprised how fast storms can come in on the ocean, kid. Luckily we’ve got some time before it hits. Let’s go.”

“Think you can remember that? That’s a bowline – no, rope twists the other way around, got that? Yeah, that’s good, perfect. I’ll teach you how to do a reef knot later once we’ve got these finished.” Tim’s head spins a bit as he tries to remember all the information that Roy has lobbed at him in a matter of minutes. He helps secure a cannon, grunting a little as he and Roy roll it into a better position. Roy grins affably at him when they finish and ruffles his hair a bit, and Tim’s so unaccustomed to such casual touches that he blinks up at Roy in confusion.

“Wanna do the next one yourself?” Tim feels like he would be disappointing the happy-go-lucky man if he declines, and agrees, although he feels like his fingers are getting themselves into knots rather than creating them.

“You guys are really good at this,” he mutters exasperatedly, when he loses track of where the ropes are supposed to go, has to start over from the beginning.

“Well, this is what we do everyday, kid,” says Roy dryly. “But hey, everyone learns at different speeds. My kid picked it up real quick.” Tim blinks up at that in surprise.

“I didn’t know you had one.” Roy smiles, and it’s a touch sad, nostalgic and bittersweet.

“She’s a real sweetheart. Miss her every day.”

“Is she at home with her mother?” ventures Tim curiously.

“Something like that.” Roy recovers from whatever memory he had been recalling and fixes Tim’s knot, before pulling it tight. “C’mon, we have a lot of work to do.”

 Tim had to see it to believe it – the way that the storm clouds rumble at breakneck speed towards the ship is fascinating, gathering speed as the wind picks up and the ship sways precariously over the foaming water. The final vestiges of sunset are devoured by the incoming grey of the storm, and the drizzle that had appeared while he had been below deck with Roy is the start of a downpour.

Captain Todd is at the helm – and he looks grim. When he catches sigh of Tim there’s no hint of a tease in his voice.

“The hell are you doing here, kid?” he calls, grunting as he holds the wheel firm in his grip. “Get a move on!” His gruff voice is already being drowned out by the salt spray and the wind that’s so sharply cold it all but slices through Tim’s clothes and into his skin. Tim runs back, helping the men batten down the hatches. If the men are surprised at his presence, they pay him no comment as he helps to throw tarps over the wooden grill leading below the ship.

Tim has never felt so out of his element before – now there’s a foe greater than him, greater than any of the pirates, and Mother Nature has never looked so intimidating as Tim huffs with exertion to keep up with the rest of the pirates on a ship that’s now at the mercy of the sea it sails on. It feels like he’s in a state of constant motion – whether it’s throwing rope to someone or helping people tie two heavy ropes together so that they don’t cut loose and flap wildly in the wind. The perpetual motion helps takes his mind off the stinging wind, but the thunder that rumbles closer fills him with some anxiety. As darkness falls he can barely see anything, stumbling about the deck in the light of the lanterns that bob wildly with the rise and fall of the waves now buffeting the ship.

“Bloody hell!” The voice jolts Tim to attention, and then there’s a very distinct snapping sound and a few cries. Tim looks up to see the main sail unfurling boldly, and abruptly the ship swings wildly to starboard. Then there’s somebody else scrambling up ratlines, struggling to fix the sail, but Tim can barely make out the silhouette in the pouring rain.

“Who the hell didn’t do the riggings right – fix it before we sink! Help Dick out!” bellows Jason, frantically spinning the wheel to port to compensate for the sudden shift. Tim stumbles as the ship tries to right itself, the sail ballooning proudly in the wind. There’s too much chaos, as the pirates run back and forth like oiled cogs in a machine, and Tim is the closest one.

It’s stupid how Tim always puts himself into situations like these.

Tim’s hand grips the ratlines, tugs them sharply to test their strength. The ropes are sturdy and coarse, made to carry men far heavier than him. He moves to clamber up, but slips because his boots have little to no traction anywhere. With some effort he kicks the waterlogged objects off, discards them on the deck. His bare feet leave the solid comfort of sturdy wood as Tim hoists himself up. He’s only a foot off yet the wind leaves him clinging for dear life to the ropes, buffeting him about like a ragdoll, and he feels like a spider clinging to a trembling web.

He looks up, and Dick’s shadow is struggling to fix the sails by himself. The ship suddenly swings shockingly close to the water’s surface, and Tim’s feet lose their purchase on the ropes as the schooner dips down low enough that the roiling waves leap over the railings.

If he doesn’t go, the ship might very well capsize. Tim grunts and hefts himself up, slowly going step by step, making sure not to look down.

“Kid! Get down from there!” He looks down. Well. He’s really not that far up after all. Captain Todd is gaping at him, his glare still visible in the pouring sheets of rain.

“I can do it!” calls Tim, but his voice is lost in the chaos. Jason’s expression is aggravated, eyebrows furrowed.

“Kid! It’s dangerous! Tim!” If Tim had heard, he would have realized that was more or less the first time anyone on the pirate ship had actually used his name, but instead he continues scaling the ratlines. He makes the mistake of looking down – the pirates look like ants from his vantage point, impossible to see in the rain, as he finally makes it to where Dick was. Tim shivers violently as he hauls himself up to his destination.

“Hey!” he yells, clinging to the ratlines as the ship sways violently.

“About damn ti –” Dick stops short as he realizes who it is. “Wait, they sent you?” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind, help me out here!” Dick nimbly shifts his weight confidently onto a rope strung from the yardarm to the sail, almost like he’s made for it, as Tim hesitantly tests his weight on another yard. He shuffles forward, clinging for dear life to the wood, feeling as he’s about to plunge to an early death.

“Do you know how to even tie a knot?” yells Dick. It’s the only way to be heard, despite their proximity as Tim mimics Dick’s movements in helping to reef the sail.

“Roy taught me!” he all but screams back, though honestly he’s not sure if he actually recalls how to execute it in his current situation.

“Fine! Wrap the sheets inwards!” A sharp gust of wind nearly knocks Tim back, but then a hand grips his shoulder, steadying him.

“Careful!” Dick spares him a genuine smile, and Tim manages a small one back, regaining his balance. Together they slowly but surely reef the sail properly, securing it so that it won’t fall loose. Tim’s numb fingers fumble with the knots, but he manages and Dick grins at him a smile so wide that despite the storm raging about them Tim feels a sharp sense of relief that they’ve finished the job.

“Nice job kid!” says Dick loudly over the storm’s rage. “Impressed you got up here.” Tim smiles shakily, when everything goes to hell. A sharp swell of water crashes onto the deck below them, and the ship lurches once again. Caught off guard, Tim slips on the slick wood. His fingers scrabble for purchase before he falls. For a split second he’s dizzy and airborne before Dick’s arm shoots out and latches onto his shirt.

“Gotcha!” Heart pounding, Tim grasps onto Dick’s arm for dear life. Yet before he can even suck in a terrified breath, the ship rights itself, rocking wildly. The momentum throws Tim forward, and he’s torn from Dick’s grasp like a ragdoll, and he’s weightless, spinning out of inertia and into the stormy darkness.

Tim’s had the occasional dream of falling, but nothing like this. Everything is in crystal sharp clarity but everything is a murky black save for the needle sharp nips of freezing rain and the pounding wind. He misses the deck by several paces. A lantern light swings wildly, someone’s shouting but no one can hear, and Tim shouts with a pained gasp as he hits the water painfully, submerging in an icy shock and inhaling ocean foam and spray. He breaches the water’s surface desperately, sucking in a lungful of air before another wave crashes over his head and drags him back down.

He tries to call for help, but he knows it’s fruitless, as the schooner pitches in the sea and the merciless waves toss him further away from the ship. Rationally Tim knows the cold will probably kill him, send him into shock, but he’s struggling desperately towards the dark silhouette of the ship, even as the waves crash down over his head and submerge him entirely in the icy temperatures of the Atlantic. His waterlogged clothes bog him down, hampering his movements.

It feels like a century and sparse seconds all at once as Tim’s numbed limbs stop responding to his muscles; he gasps pitifully as he sinks into the cold obscurity of the pitch-black ocean.

Chapter Text

Tim drifts in and out of dazed, feverish dreams that swing wildly between the past and present during the lulls of darkness and discomfort, hazy, vague things that don’t make sense. Later he recalls fuzzy voices, urgently saying his name, but he’s too tired to respond, muscles aching and head heavy as sleep overtakes him.

When his eyes finally flutter open, it takes him several moments to register his surroundings. The bed is no doubt the one in Captain Todd’s cabin, but he’s disoriented because the loot scattered about the bed has vanished, and for once he’s not sleeping with random goblets prodding into his spine or his head resting atop some dusty hardcover book. He shifts restlessly, then hisses when pain lances through his torso, curling on himself a little. He doesn’t feel exhausted, but he burrows further into the warm covers, inhaling deeply. He catches the strong scent of faded cigarette smoke and enough sea salt to last him a lifetime, until he realizes he has his nose buried in Todd’s striking coat.

He jerks his head out of the offending fabric, nearly giving himself whiplash. Blushing a bit, Tim throws the covers off, flexing his limbs experimentally before moving to get out of bed. Thankfully he’s not handcuffed. He manages to swing one foot over the side when the door swings open and he comes face to face with Captain Todd. They stare at each other for a moment, Jason looking every bit as speechless as the younger man, though he recovers faster.

“Christ, kid, took you long enough to wake up.” He stalks forward, relief washing over his features, and the almost-concerned expression renders Tim astonished enough that he doesn’t protest when the pirate presses him back into bed, pressing a calloused hand to his forehead. “Looks like you’re almost good as new, kiddo. Your fever broke not too long ago; how’re you feeling?”

“Like I could eat a horse,” rasps Tim, his voice rusty from disuse. “What happened?”

Immediately Jason’s face converts into a scowl. “What happened, Timmyboy, is that you nearly got yourself killed after I told you to get down from the damn mast!” He glares halfheartedly at Tim. “You owe Roy your life; he jumped in after you, though how he ever found your half-dead corpse breathing seawater is something I’ll never understand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jason snorts and shakes his head at Tim’s eloquent apology.

“Damn straight. Dick’s been a right arse, barging into my quarters to keep checking up on you at all ungodly hours. And do you know how much of a damn liability keeping a sick brat on my ship is?”

“Sorry,” Tim repeats, further abashed. “How long was I out for?”

“Couple days. We almost lost you, kiddo.” Jason’s eyes blaze seriously at him. “Hell, and I thought I was reckless. The next time I give you a direct order, you damn well follow it, or next time we’ll leave you to the damn fishes for how much trouble you cause.”

“Be a waste of all that effort of keeping me alive,” mumbles Tim, and Jason cuffs him on the back of his neck for the smart remark, though it’s more of a love tap than anything.

“Brat,” grumbles Jason. “A waste of supplies to feed you, more like. What about your ribs?”

“They ache a bit,” admits Tim softly. Jason’s brow furrows slightly, and before Tim can react, Captain Todd pushes up Tim’s shirt, where there are neatly bound bandages interweaved about his torso. Belatedly Tim realizes his clothes are far too big on him, and he yelps a bit, squirming as Jason presses experimentally on a tender spot along his side.

“Easy, kid. You broke two ribs.” Todd hushes him before straightening back up. “But, you did good, Tim. Real good.”

“Good at what?” asks Tim bemusedly. Jason clicks his tongue.

“Reefing the sails. But don’t do it again.” Jason sighs and cards a hand through his hair. “I’d tell you to stay put, but some sunlight could do you some good. You’re as pasty as a turnip and way too scrawny.” He takes his coat away from Tim, and Tim defiantly ignores the sense of loss that pools in his gut.

Tim feels a bit offended. Sure, he’ll never have the same sort of muscle mass as Captain Todd or Roy Harper, or even Dick Grayson, but that doesn’t mean he can’t pull his own weight. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Kid, the wind physically blew you overboard. Quit yammering and let’s go.” Tim hops out of bed, his gait a little shaky (he’s lost his sea legs, apparently, during the time he’s been out,) but he follows after Captain Todd. Just as the pirate captain swings the door open, Tim is immediately beleaguered by Dick Grayson.

“Tim!” Dick grips his shoulders, looks him up and down. “Thank god you’re awake! I was so worried about you!” Tim is a little overwhelmed by the attention (he doesn’t think his late parents would have had such an open, heartfelt response, either,) and he gapes a little helplessly before Jason snorts, cuffing Dick on the head and dragging Tim to the mess hall.

“I see what you meant,” mumbles Tim, still a little thrown from the reception. Jason grumbles a little, but it’s fond, perhaps even protective.

“Dick’s got some bad experiences with falling, kid. You freaked him out. Hell, you freaked all of us out.”

“Even you?” Tim blinks up at the fearsome captain, who huffs and grumbles to stall for time.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried about some brat who insists on getting to places where he’s not meant to be?” Tim can’t help but smile just a tiny bit at that, though he valiantly tries to hide it.

“Is that why you don’t keep me in the brig?”

“Careful what you ask for, brat.” Jason cuffs him lightly, but it’s still enough to send Tim jolting a few steps forward. He wants to protest, but he’s just glad that no one is calling him rich boy anymore.

Tim eats enough until Jason’s staring at him wide-eyed and until he admittedly feels a little sick, but he’s welcomed by many of the pirates. It’s a little jarring, to suddenly be almost friendly with his captors, but he figures he’s not going to complain for any leverage he can get on this ship. Roy gives him an enormous bear hug, until Tim feels like he’s going to die for real and Jason drags the redhead off when Tim’s pale skin is beginning to tint green.

“Before I forget, Captain, the ship we’ve been tailing’s slowed down.”

“Any messages?”

“Nope. But I’m pretty sure they’ve seen us at this point.”

“Tailing?” asks Tim with interest. Jason chuckles at him grimly, all teeth.

“Yep. We’re raiding it.” He dares Tim silently to challenge him. Tim knows it’s not worth it; after all, he’ll be eating whatever supplies are taken from it. It’s a far cry from the lifestyle he’s more or less said his goodbyes to weeks ago. If he squints, he can see the faintest hint of white sails gleaming against the horizon, a patch of white against the backdrop of teal and sky.

“Um. Should I –”

“You’re going to sit tight below decks, Tim, and not get underfoot or do anything stupid.” Jason leans closer, his smile all teeth and little humor left. “You understand, right? Or do I have to tie you down to the bed again?”

Tim frowns at him, trying not to blink at the way Jason is all up in his face. “I hardly think that would be necessary.”

“It’s all on you, Tim. Are you going to be good, or am I going to have to find another pair of shackles?”

Tim leans back casually, refusing to be intimidated. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped threatening me with that every single time you want me to follow your orders.”

“I think you need to realize having a nice bed to sleep on here is a privilege. So, what’ll it be?”

Tim gauges his options. As per usual, he has very few left. “Very well. I’ll stay below decks. What sort of ship is it?”

Jason smirks. “It’s called the Cluemaster, and her captain owes us quite some money after giving us the slip one too many times. He’s a nasty one, but pathetic.”

Tim folds his arms across his chest. “So it’s just pirate against pirate? Why’re you so concerned about me getting in the way? It sounded like you were targeting a naval ship or something.”

Jason grins. “Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea that another ship might be cozier, princess.” His smile fades. “No. They’re privateers, Timbo. For France. His expression becomes more ominous. “They don’t like us much, Timbo, and they certainly won’t like you either.”

Tim quirks his eyebrow. “Either that or you think I can bribe them to take me back home. If they’re government sanctioned, they would-”

Jason throws his head back with a sharp laugh, cutting him off. “You could certainly try. But believe me, what privateers say they do and what they actually do are two very, very different things.”

“So no different from a normal pirate.”

Jason bares his teeth. “Don’t compare us to those lapdogs. They like to pretend they’re official. Important. But they’d throw their own kind under if it meant getting a promotion.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Let’s get something straight, lad.” Jason’s smile is cold like flint. “We bow to no one. That ship over there? Their government pays them a pretty penny to get rid of people against their interests. But trust me, they’d sooner spit on you than save you, and the word of an Englishman is worth horseshit to them. If you want to keep your pretty head attached to your neck, you’re going to go back to my quarters and sit tight, until either Roy or myself come to get you. Understand?”

Tim nods, and Jason pats his cheek condescendingly in a way that makes Tim really want to punch him. “Good. If you’re done with your food, you should get going. I need to make sure the crew knows what we’re doing.”

~*~*~*~

Tim scowls, scouring Jason’s room for his belt and ring. There’s a lot of chaotic noise going on outside, but since Jason’s crew is on the offensive, he suspects he probably won’t have too much to worry about their ship being boarded. However, he’s already thrown the place upside down searching for his belongings, and he can only conclude that either Captain Todd is great at hiding things, or he has them on his person because Tim is just that predictable.

He’s honestly not actually sure what’s going on, and time on the ocean has a way of blurring together seamlessly, when he hears a distinctively familiar female voice shouting and screaming above the lower register of male taunts. He stills. It doesn’t sound like Kori’s, or anyone else’s on this ship for that matter, but it makes his hands still and his heart nearly stop, because he didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again.

“Get off me! I told you that’s my ship now!”

Oh, fuck. It can’t be. Tim bolts out of the captain’s quarters, feet pounding against the floorboards as he turns the corner. There’s a large crowd gathered at the side of the ship, and a bright head of golden hair shouting and swearing at Captain Todd who looks more amused than anything. Tim pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Steph!” he shouts, above the noise, and it’s difficult but slowly the crowd parts for him. “Stephanie!” His childhood friend spins around in shock and her eyes fall on him.

“Tim?” And then Tim’s hugging her tightly, heedless of the spectacle they’re making, because gods he’s missed her. They’re both the worse for wear, but it doesn’t matter.

Then a polite cough. Dread pooling in his stomach, Tim knows that there’s going to be hell to pay later as Captain Todd raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, rich boy, have anything to say for yourself?” Jason stands up to his full height to survey them critically.

“Captain Todd,” he says slowly, stalling his impending doom. “This is Stephanie Brown. My...” he hesitates. Stephanie answers for him.

“It’s none of their beeswax,” she says, scowling, daring anyone to protest. “Tim, what the hell are you doing on a pirate ship?”

“What I’d like to know,” drawls Captain Todd in some wry amusement and annoyance. “Is how you seem to have managed to commandeer a full galleon on your own, Miss Brown. Especially one that appears to have once belonged to whom I assume is your father, Captain Arthur Brown.”

Tim turns to where the galleon Captain Todd had been tailing is close by, tethered to Jason’s ship with ropes and hooks. From here the scratched out shipname of Cluemaster is visible, with scrawled purple paint marks spelling Spoiler drawn onto the hull.

He’s fairly certain things are taking a turn for the worse, as he wonders what Stephanie Brown has been up to in the time they’ve been apart.                                                                                          

Chapter Text

Tim curls up on the bed, hunched into a little ball as he lets the waves rock him into a pensive lull. Though his body is exhausted, his mind is going into overdrive. Old memories of Stephanie keep rising to the front of his mind, and with nothing else do with being confined to Jason’s quarters, he mentally flicks through them. A quiet kiss on a hill overlooking the town. Games of tag and hiding away from prying eyes, giggling when they played pranks on their unsuspecting friends. Laughter as they tackled each other and muddied their clothes, scuffing their shoes while wrestling. His mother had been furious then.

It doesn’t matter. With her arrival she brought homesickness, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Tim genuinely misses home. Groaning, he buries his head further into the pillow, muffling a frustrated scream. His life has been completely flipped upside down, between getting caught, nearly drowning twice, and having Stephanie barrel back into his life. How their paths managed to cross in the huge, lonely ocean is something he can barely begin to fathom. His stomach growls. Huffing, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, walking to the door.

When he opens it, Roy Harper is blocking the way.

“I, uh,” he flounders. He’s not really sure how to address the man. Actually, he’s not really sure how to address anyone on this ship. Considering he had always been expected to call people by their proper titles especially when they were older than him, Tim is left floundering for words. “Mr. Harper?” he tries uncertainly. The man snorts in amusement.

“Just Roy, kiddo. How’re your ribs doing?”

“All right. Um, thank you for not letting me drown.”

“You can thank me by sitting tight in this room.” Roy smiles, but there’s a faint edge to it Tim immediately picks up on. He cocks his head to the side, trying to look as harmless and young as possible.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, not really.” Roy sighs, scratching his head. “Look, the captain told me to make sure you didn’t leave this room until he got back, and I don’t need to get in trouble because of you.”

For some odd reason Tim can’t understand, he feels a faint hint of bitterness and irritation, although logically it certainly does make sense. He’s still a prisoner, after all. “Is this because of Stephanie?” he prods.

“She’s being questioned right now by Jason.” Roy glances at Tim shrewdly. “He’ll probably be interrogating you later, see if your stories add up.”

“Delightful,” mutters Tim. “Um…you guys won’t hurt her…right?” In truth, if he had to pick who was more likely to survive out on the open sea on a galleon full of pirates, Tim was all too happy to bet everything on Stephanie than himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be concerned. Roy shrugs.

“Can’t promise you anything, kid.”

“Is she in the brig?” Tim persists, stepping forward, but then Roy’s eyes harden a little, and his hand tugs on the handle firmly.

“You can ask the captain about her later, Tim. Sorry.” Roy closes the door firmly, going so far as to kick Tim’s foot out of the way to slam it shut. Angrily, Tim paces the quarters like a captive lion, infuriated like he hasn’t been in a long while. He has too much pent up energy and there’s nowhere for it to go.

Fuck it, he thinks savagely. I’ve had enough.

~*~*~*~

“Hm.” Captain Todd surveys the damage critically, an eyebrow raised. Everything is strewn about; Tim managed to break the lock on two of the chests and basically throw everything onto the floor. “You know, I was wondering how long it’d take you to snap.”

Tim’s breathing hard, eyes flint like and angry, and the sight of Jason unflinchingly calm agitates him. He needs something that will retaliate, but Jason isn’t giving him the satisfaction. Jason’s boots crunch over glass, a cracked vase that had burst open into thousands of shards and will take forever to clean. Roy had been forced to more or less break down the door at the sound; Tim had successfully managed to barricade it with the chests and the mattress.

“So, tell me.” Jason steps closer and Tim stands his ground, face as impassively angry as he can stomach. “Did the sight of your old fiancé really rile you up that much? Or is it something else?”

“Stephanie is not my fiancé,” snaps Tim, too infuriated to consider the notion that Stephanie might have concocted a fabrication to protect both of them.

“No?” Jason kicks the mattress back into a horizontal position, sits down with his arms folded. “Then why don’t you tell me how you two know each other?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” snorts Tim. “She hit me with a brick.”

“Kinky,” drawls Jason, purely to rile him up. Tim bristles, frustrated at himself immediately for allowing Jason to so easily get under his skin.

“It’s true. And if you ask me if I know what she’s been up to, your guess is probably better than mine. I thought she was dead.” His face twists into a grimace. There had always been a low-key suspicion of his that maybe his mother had pulled some strings behind closed doors to get rid of Stephanie, as she had never entirely approved of her, but now everything he knew was being turned upside down. A thought occurs to him. “Wait, why was she even on that pirate ship? Are you guys hurting her?”

Jason quirks his eyebrow. “You have an awful lot of questions for someone who was savaging my quarters.” He indicates the mess with a tilt of his head.

Tim has had enough of Jason’s games. “Just tell me,” he snips, but Jason’s eyes narrow in warning.

“That’s no way to ask for favors,” he says grimly, mouth thinning. “Unless you feel like spending time back in the brig, if I were you I’d get on my knees and apologize.”

“So she’s not in the brig,” deduces Tim, his stance almost defensive. His heated gaze betrays all the rage that has been simmering below the surface ever since his capture.

“I didn’t say that.”

“If she were, you’d never put me anywhere near her as well without making sure our stories corroborated first.” Tim glowers at him. Jason huffs at him, but his lack of denial is all the confirmation Tim needs. “So where is she?”

“If I swear to you she’s safe, will you calm down?”

Tim wants to spit that he can hardly trust the word of a pirate, but he barely reins himself back in the nick of time. Jaw working furiously, he has to take a good few seconds before he can get the words out of his mouth like they’re molasses.

“Fine,” he hisses, still glowering, and Jason only crooks an eyebrow, watching him closely.

“She’s fine. As a matter of fact -”

“Hey, hey, I thought I was gonna be the one to tell him.” Abruptly Stephanie waltzes in, roughly jostling Captain Todd to the side. “Heya, Timbers.”

“Stephanie?” Tim gawks, but Stephanie just grins toothily at him.

“So it was a long while in negotiations, but hey! There’s good news and bad news.”

“I think I need to sit down for this,” mutters Tim, steeling himself even as he perches on the edge of the bed. All the anger that had been brewing into a hurricane evaporates instantly. Jason quirks an eyebrow, but wisely says nothing as Stephanie continues without even missing a beat.

“So, firstly, the good news is that we – Captain Todd and I – have reached an accordance.” Stephanie grins cockily at him.

“Which would be?” Tim pries, frustrated with the way Stephanie is all too happily drawing this out with suspense.

“Well, that’s the bad news.” Stephanie crosses her arms. “I’m joining his crew! Which I guess, would make you sort of indirectly our prisoner? Still his prisoner, I guess, technically.”

“Wait – Steph –” Jason looks like he’s going to burst out laughing; Tim can hardly blame him, considering his expression is probably completely aghast, but Stephanie pats him pityingly on the shoulder.

“No can do, Timmy, but this is for the best.”

Tim splutters. “Ok, no that is definitely not for the best.” Everything is going wrong; hell, Tim never thought he would detest the ocean and all the dangers it entailed to this extent. “Can I at least ask why?”

Stephanie considers this. “Well, I would, but you know. Stuff.”

“I thought you were dead!” shouts Tim, pushing himself up abruptly, his ire flickering back to life, and even Stephanie looks slightly startled at the appearance of his temper. “Would it have killed you to write? What happened to you? I thought you were dead this whole time and now – now –” And now you’re alive and it’s like I don’t know you anymore.

Stephanie’s mouth thins. “Look – Tim – you – you’ve always thought you could tell me what I can and can’t do – but you know what? You can’t. And sure, there’s a lot of water under the bridge to cross – probably way bigger than this ocean we’re currently sailing on – but I’m – we’re not the kids we used to be anymore.”

Gods, I know that. I know that clear as day. Tim suddenly feels drained. He’s been fighting for so damned long, but he feels emotionally taxed, unwilling to carry on dredging up his past to Captain Todd who’s watching the proceedings with a pokerfaced but avid eye.

“Was I really that terrible that you thought disappearing was a better option? Did it not occur to you that maybe I was worried about the person I cared about who vanished without a trace?” he spits, and Stephanie’s eyes widen. The room feels too small, too cramped; he can’t breathe. He needs to get out. To get away from everything. “Forget it,” he snaps, and he pushes his way past her; she spins around angrily, about to pull him back, probably to duke it out right there on the cabin floor. Yet to his dull surprise, Jason stops her, something warning in his eyes that Tim doesn’t care to decipher.

He forces his way out to the deck; it’s already past dark, the sunset fading to the light dusk of early twilight, but there’s nowhere to go on the ship that’s quiet, nowhere to run to lose himself in the easy solitude of an empty mansion on the wrong side of the ocean. The ropes creak, the ship settling as it glides over ocean waves to cut through the wind, the sound of the crew’s chatter as they finish up their evening duties before the bell sounds for dinner.

Frustrated, he heads for the bow of the ship where he sees fewer people. He storms up as far as he can until the railings prohibit him from going any further, breathing hard as the wind gusts strongly. He shivers in the chill; closing his eyes and gripping the railing white knuckled as he tries to cool his head.

“I’m such a mess,” he whispers to himself, his words lost over the strong wind.

“Damn right you are.” Tim jolts up, but then the familiar feel of a certain captain coat, heavy with ornaments and the weight of buckles flops over his head and obscuring his vision, a firm hand firmly but not unkindly pressing his head down.

“Why are you here?” he mutters petulantly, and Captain Todd just snorts.

“Get a hold of yourself, kid. Take a breather. No one’s here but me.”

“Great,” snips Tim sarcastically. When he tries to yank the heavy garment off his head so he can turn around and face the pirate, Jason’s hand only forces his head down a little lower.

“She meant a lot to you, didn’t she.” It’s not a question.

“So what?” laughs Tim bitterly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” says Captain Todd offhandedly. “But you’re making an ass of yourself. When you’ve decided to quit sniveling like a brat, there’s food in the mess hall.”

Tim doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m not cleaning up your damn cabin,” he says in lieu of anything actually useful, and Jason just snorts at him.

“Believe me kid, if I knew that you flying off the handle meant that much destruction, I would have been a helluva lot more careful.” A final ruffle of his head through the cloak, and then Jason’s heavy boot steps move away from him, clomping heavily over the deck until they fade out over the incessant wind.

Shrugging the coat on gingerly, Tim realizes its a few sizes too big on him. But it’s warm and sturdy, protecting him from the worst of the biting cold, and he leans over the railing, closing his eyes and letting the ocean breeze soak into his skin, letting the heated anger seep away gradually like venom from a snakebite. When he finally looks skywards, the stars are peeping through the twilight. He picks out familiar, comforting constellations, of Cassiopeia and Ursa Major. From the outskirts of his hometown, where Drake Manor stands, these had been sometimes visible, away from the dust and smog of pollution of the cities.

It’s not much, but at least it’s a little bit of home.

Chapter Text

Tim finally tears himself away from the night sky when the wind and the cold starts soaking through even the durable coat of the pirate captain’s, trudging down the ladder below decks when he hears loud, childish noises. He stops, foot dangling off a rung as he tilts his head to listen for the noises. The ship’s walls are by no means thick, and he takes a minute to scale quickly down the rest of the ladder, slowly navigating the nearly claustrophobic twists and turns of the ship. As he ventures deeper down, the sounds become progressively louder, and he can identify them as most definitely children’s voices.

Realizing that they’re probably in the hold, Tim quickens his paces, heart thudding deep against his chest. He should have known, he thinks, striding through the halls of the ship, and god he feels like a fool. Jason Todd was the most fearsome pirate in the known seas, larger than life with the tales told of him. They said he took no quarter, was as cold blooded as the raging seas.

And yet. Tim shakes his worries from his mind as the hold comes into sight, its door closed but the voices floating eerily from behind it. Without hesitating he tries to wrench it open, finds it firmly locked. He jiggles the handle, but it refuses to budge. The voices escalate for the briefest of moments, then fall still.

“Dammit,” mutters Tim, trying to jerk it open without making too much noise, but it’s futile. He idly considers trying to pick it, but he doesn’t know the first thing about picking locks and well, he doesn’t care for the consequences in the likelihood he were caught making the attempt.

“Key.”

Tim yelps and stumbles back, turning around and coming face to face with another person – or at least he would have, if she hadn’t barely reached his shoulders.

“I, uh –” he flounders for words as the girl tilts her head to the side, considering him silently. He doesn’t think he’s seen her around, though to be fair he hasn’t actually met most of Jason’s crew. However, she reaches out again, and Tim belatedly realizes that she’s offering him the cargo hold key.

“Oh. Um.” Tim licks his lips hesitantly. “Is it okay that you’re giving me that?”

She shrugs at him, and Tim gets the oddest feeling that’s she’s reading more about him than he’d care to reveal.

“Right. Okay.” Tim exhales slowly, accepting the key in her outstretched hands. It’s heavy in his palm but warm, and he hesitantly glances at her once more before returning his attention to the door. Inserting the key only takes a moment, and a firm twist to the left has the tumblers within shifting, the door creaking inwards once Tim turns the handle.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, as multiple pairs of eyes fall upon him, children in multiple ragged states. The black haired girl behind him slips through the open door, and immediately a few of them get up and run to her, chattering to her in multiple languages. Tim detects French and some Spanish, but most of them are speaking too fast for him to understand. She pats their heads soothingly before giving them a gentle push to return to where they’d been resting. The hold is scattered with multiple linens and makeshift bedding, and he manages to count at least a score of children if not more.

“What is going on?” Tim asks, turning to her, and her face scrunches as though she has difficulty finding the words on the tip of her tongue.

“Slave trading. Were rescued.” Tim can’t place her accent; he gives up trying to do so in favor of deciphering her minimal answers.

“By…whom?”

“Stephanie,” she replies calmly, arms loose by her sides. “Her father is…bad. She disapproved.”

Tim swallows thickly. “Did she….kill him?” he manages, voice dry. God, he doesn’t think Stephanie would do such a thing, but in the past hour he’s been forced to question everything he’s ever thought to be true.

“No. Marooned. He will live. Safe from authorities.” she hums.

Tim knows very little of Stephanie’s family, but he’s aware that the penalty for piracy, if Stephanie had turned him over to the authorities, would have been death. No wonder she had had few options.

“Why are they on this ship then?” he asks, watching as most of the children watch him with gaunt eyes, wary, while others turn to whisper to each other in hushed voices.

“Captain,” she says with another small shrug and a tilt to his head. “He agreed to.”

Tim’s eyebrows furrow. “So Steph rescued them, then bargained with Jason? What’s going to happen to them?”

“Next port. Drop off.”

Tim’s breath catches a little; there’s a sliver of a chance for escape if they’re going to dock at some point. Yet the girl is still watching him strangely, her gaze unnerving in its intensity.

“The captain,” she says at last when the silence stretches for too long. Tim blinks at her in confusion.

“What about him?”

She says nothing further, only a subtle flicker of her expression conveys to Tim what she wants from him.

“I don’t know,” he says reluctantly, closing his eyes tiredly, the weight of Captain Todd’s coat abruptly feeling like a burden. “One minute I think he’s about to kill me, and the next second he’s being – I don’t know – nice. Like, can’t he just pick one? It’s nerve wracking.”

“Hm.” And then she moves forward fluidly, like the ocean waves cresting, rolling fluidly, and Tim stills as she presses two fingers to the crown of his head, her touch warm as they press against his forehead with a touch as light as air. Then she’s moving fluidly past him, out the door, and Tim spins around, belatedly reaching for her.

“Wait! What’s your name?” he calls, as he catches the door with his foot to stop it and rushing after her. She pauses mid step, face turning so that it catches the dim light of the hold, expression already partially wreathed in the shadow of the doorframe.

“Cass,” she says, and then she rounds the corner. By the time Tim catches up, she’s already gone.

He rounds the corner, giving chase to her, then smacks all too heavily someone who is most definitely not the odd black haired girl.

“Easy.” Arms wrap around him, and he jerks a little, staring dumbly at the annoyingly all-too-familiar Captain Todd. Jason surveys him with a little smirk; it fades as his eyes fall on the key still clasped in Tim’s hand.

“Still trying to escape?” He takes the keys from Tim’s hand easily, glancing at them. Raising his eyebrows, Todd glances at him wryly. “You know these are the hold keys, right? Unless you’re trying to rescue the kids off my ship, in which case, good luck with that.”

“But I thought you agreed to drop them off at the next port?” protests Tim a little, too caught off guard to properly try to extricate himself from Jason’s arms winding around him. Jason’s smile fades a little.

“Who told you that?” he asks. Then he snorts. “It was Roy, wasn’t it? I swear he can’t keep his mouth shut for more than a minute.”

“No,” starts Tim, but Jason isn’t really listening to him, suddenly holding Tim firmly at arm’s length, stepping back to critically gauge him. A crooked, lopsided smile flits across his stern lips.

“You look good in my coat,” he hums, and the back of his knuckles raise to brush against Tim’s cheek. “A pretty boy like you shouldn’t be running around this ship by yourself, love.”

Tim seizes up, breath stuttering to a halt as Jason’s amused eyes gauge his reaction. “I’m not your love,” he says abruptly, scowling, and Jason rolls his eyes in response.

“Maybe, but you are mine,” says Jason offhandedly, smirking as Tim glowers at him. “You’re loot.”

“That’s what you think,” retorts Tim challengingly, locking eyes with him, and Jason chuckles.

“That’s what I know.” He dips his head to whisper into Tim’s ear, tucking a stray lock of hair behind it. “You’d best get used to it, love.”

“But why?” asks Tim in frustration, barely even breathing in such close proximity to Captain Todd. “Why did you agree to help those kids?” He’s missing a piece of the puzzle, and he doesn’t know what it is.

Jason’s expression darkens. “So long as I captain this ship, she will never be a slave ship. We don’t kidnap children to sell them, lad. That’s not how we do things here.”

“So why me?” asked Tim quietly. “Why am I still here?”

“Hm,” hums Jason in an exaggerated manner that has Tim wanting to punch him. His fingers graze over the elaborate collar of the vibrant red coat that’s too large on Tim. “Why indeed. Maybe I just liked the look of you, love. A pretty little thing like you is a gem on the open seas.”

“So ransom, then.”

“There’s no one willing to pay for you, lad, as far as I’m aware of, at least. No family, nothing. And your pretty childhood friend didn’t bat an eye at leaving you at my mercy.” Jason raises an eyebrow daringly, breath ghosting along the shell of Tim’s ear and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His voice lowers, his grip gradually tightening on Tim's arms. “So tell me, Tim, what would you do if I made you my woman?”

Chapter Text

What would you do if I made you my woman? The words repeat in Tim’s mind like a broken record, echoing off the walls of his mind until he realizes he’s staring speechlessly, wide eyed like a startled deer caught exposed outside the safety of the underbrush. Jason’s grey-blue eyes are amused but his expression is expectant, almost anticipatory as a thumb grazes across Tim’s parted lips.

“You’re teasing me,” Tim manages shakily, unable to keep the edge of nervous laughter from coloring his voice. “If you were really so desperate for a woman, there’s plenty who sail under your flag.” He’s seen them milling about, though most he can’t put a name to except Kory after the inopportune poker match.

“Who says I’m desperate?” Jason smirks, and his gaze is so predatory Tim takes an involuntary step back; his back accidentally hits the wall of the narrow corridors, and before he knows it, Jason is crowding him, backing him into a corner both literally and figuratively. “Though no, I don’t sleep with the women on my ship unless I want my balls strung up and people claiming I’m showing favoritism.” He barks a loud, amused laugh that doesn’t comfort Tim in the slightest. “Kory sleeps with whom she wants to, when she wants to, and I’d say that more or less goes for most of the women on this ship.”

“You’re lying, then,” says Tim in a small voice, and he wonders if Jason can hear his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

“And what makes you think that, love?” breathes Captain Todd, and two of his calloused fingers press gently against the pale of Tim’s throat.

Tim swallows, and he hates the fleeting realization that Jason can probably feel his pulse spiking, his breaths shallow. He swallows thickly. “You’re a pirate,” he manages, not daring to let his gaze slide from Jason’s gleaming eyes as the fingers slowly map the expanse of his neck, gliding down his jugular and drifting along the jut of his collarbone, pressing a little harder where Captain Todd’s mouth had once lapped at the skin there, leaving the faintest of bruises on his skin from spilled wine and a lost wager. “And if you had such…intentions, you would have acted on them long ago.”

A lazy smile is all that is offered to him. “Intentions,” murmurs Jason shrewdly, thoughtfully, as if he’s tasting the word. Then his smile sharpens. “Ah.”

Tim flinches as Jason’s fingers splay along the side of his throat, thumb digging into the underside of his jaw and forcing him to look up once more as Jason speaks into the curve of his throat, air ghosting along suddenly achy, shivering skin.

“Well then, love,” hums Jason, and Tim keeps forgetting to breathe in such close proximity to his captor, “would you like a statement of intent?” Tim feels the unmistakable nip of teeth along his neck, and that alone is enough to shock him into action. He yelps, shoving Jason away with all his might, breaking free from his grasp. Jason lets him go easily enough, and Tim wonders how truly terrifying it would be if Jason Todd were serious.

“You bit me.”

“A declaration.” Jason eyes him drily. “That I don’t let things I like go easily.”

“I’m not your plaything,” says Tim scathingly, touching his neck cautiously. He doubts the flesh will even redden slightly, but the fleeting memory of what had just transpired between them is seared into his brain. Just the mere thought of it alone has a flush rising high on his cheekbones.

“If I wanted a plaything I wouldn’t keep one who keeps insisting on going where he’s not meant to be,” snorts Jason. “But you are interesting, Timothy Drake.” Then his voice drops, a whisper only meant for Tim’s ears. “And if my instincts are correct, dangerous.”

Tim schools his expression and curbs the reflexive urge to just react. There’s something fluttering in his stomach like the thrill of a fight, the adrenalin and the excitement of being regarded as someone to be on guard with – and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. “I don’t know what makes you say that,” he manages truthfully.

“There’s only a handful of people who’d be able to pick out patterns in a rigged deck, love, especially in a game like poker where after every hand is shuffled.” Jason quirks his brows challengingly. “And fewer still who could learn that on the fly when all the players are cheating except you. It’s obvious you’re a rookie, kiddo, but whatever’s in that head that makes you tick – well.” Jason chuckles softly. “Who wouldn’t be intrigued?”

“Wait – you were all cheating?” Tim doesn’t quite screech, but it’s a near thing.

“It’s the pro table, kid, what did you expect?” Jason rolls his eyes, but once again there’s tangible amusement about him. “You’ve got a lot to learn kid.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” mutters Tim, barely even listening to him anymore, so distraught as he was at the reveal. “You guys were all –”

“Yes, Tim, cheating. You know, like pirates,” says Jason conversationally. Tim wonders if he could get away with throttling Captain Jason Todd, and very nearly goes with the notion.

“I hate you,” he announces finally, after struggling and failing to articulate his rage after several moments, and Jason snorts and marches him in the direction of the captain’s quarters, where Tim’s cold dinner is waiting for him.

~*~*~*~

“How do you do that?” asks Tim curiously, gnawing at the rock-hard bread that’s all that remains of his dinner. Jason bridges a deck of cards, shuffles them, cuts them in half and shuffles them again dexterously.

“Practice, kid. Have you finished stewing in your own rage so that you can speak like a normal person again?”

Tim viciously bites into the bread, coming away victorious when he rips away a chunk of it after pretending it’s Jason’s head. “Shut up,” he announces around the food in his mouth, and Jason gives him a weird look.

“Anyway, like I said, it’s just practice. Even you’d get decent enough at it eventually.”

“What do you mean, ‘even me?’” asks Tim dangerously, and Jason mentally groans.

“Do it enough and you’ll get better, right? Poker, fighting, shuffling cards –”

“Cheating?”

“Watch it, punk.” Jason glares at him warningly. “But yes, cheating as well.”

Tim frowns sourly at him.

“I want my belt back. And everything else.”

“We always want what we can’t have, love,” sneers Jason, rocking back onto his haunches as Tim glowers at him.

“I want a rematch.”

“You’ve got nothing to stake, kid,” sighs Jason, tossing an arm over his eyes in exasperation as he sinks into the pillows of his makeshift bed. “Give it a rest, would you?”

Tim fumes quietly. For a few moments the room is filled with the not quite so blissful silence of Tim savaging the loaf into jagged pieces with his teeth and crunching on them as loudly as he can.

“Everybody wants something,” Tim says at last.

“’Course. That’s the way the world works,” agrees Jason.

“So what do you want?”

“How ‘bout you put on that nice little dress and do a twirl for me?” asks Jason sagely, not even bothering to lift his arm to properly look at Tim.

“Right. That’s not happening,” growls Tim and Jason resists the urge to rolls his eyes again.

“Well, love, if you’ve got no wager, you can’t play.”

A hard whump that Jason immediately identifies as his own coat drops onto his stomach. Then something cotton, lightweight but balled up, hits him in the face and he jerks a little. Glaring, Jason sits up, ripping the offending piece of fabric away from his face. His eyes widen as he realizes its Tim’s shirt, Tim glaring balefully at him with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Teach me how to play.”

“Seriously?” Jason gestures incredulously with Tim’s wadded up shirt in his hand. “Was that supposed to be a bribe? You’re insane, kid. ‘Sides, I’m a firm believer in hands on experience. You learn faster when you’ve got more at stake, believe me.”

To Captain Todd’s surprise, Tim blushes, leaning forward and locking eyes with him. “You said that earlier was a declaration,” he says, his cheeks pink but his eyes determined, wetting his lips unconsciously.

“Aye.”

“So a statement of intent, then.”

“That it was.”

“Then you’ll have no problems if I wager a kiss,” says Tim boldly, though his tongue trips over the words in how fast he’s speaking.

“You’re serious about this,” hums Jason almost wonderingly when Tim doesn’t back down, waiting expectantly for Jason’s response.

“I’ve already given you the shirt from my back,” replies Tim grimly. “I’ve nothing else, pirate.”

Jason lets the back of his knuckles brush softly over the soft cotton of Tim’s shirt like he’s stroking over bare skin, unscarred and unblemished from a life out a sea.

“Just a reminder that we play for keeps on this ship, love,” he murmurs throatily, and Tim’s lashes lower slightly even as his mouth thins and the contours of his expression harden with determination.

“So we have a wager?”

Jason crooks his eyebrows and lets his gaze rake hungrily over Tim’s lithe frame as a final warning.

“You don’t get to back out of this, love. But aye, you’ve got yourself a wager.”  

Chapter Text

Tim gnaws his lips in frustration as Captain Todd flips the final card with a lazy smirk.

“Reveal.” With a huff and a glare, Tim flips his two and three of hearts over as Jason reveals a three of a kind.

“You’re cheating,” Tim accuses, jaw tightening when Captain Todd gives him a wry look with something hard lurking behind his amused gaze.

“A word of advice, kid.” He lounges back on the cushions easily, downing a large gulp of rum. “Accusing people with no proof on a pirate ship usually ends with blood, and if you can’t prove it, you’d better learn how to play the damn game better than they can.”

“So why aren’t I dead yet?” argues Tim, and Jason just huffs at him as the bottle is set down with a dull thud, slightly harder than strictly necessary.

“Don’t push your luck. After all,” he surveys the cards with a grin. “You owe me five kisses now.”

Tim’s face tints pink as his mouth thins into a flat line. “One more time,” he demands, sitting up a little straighter where he’s perched on a borrowed cushion cross-legged.

Jason scoffs at him. “I’m beginning to think kisses are cheap for you, Timmyboy. That’s more than enough of those; give me something else in return when I win.”

Baring his teeth at the when, Tim wracks his head. “That’s not fair,” he argues, but Jason cuts in before he can even finish his sentence.

“Says the person who wanted his belt back after a single game.” He leers at Tim. “Sorry, love, but I doubt you’d kiss well enough for one kiss to be worth a rich man’s ring.”

Tim fumes at the jibe. “I don’t have anything else left to give you,” he grits out as Jason collects the cards and proceeds to shuffle them again.

Jason hums cheerfully. “Not my problem. After all, a belt and a ring like that…” He bridges the deck like he’s done it a thousand times. “I could easily pawn it off. I’m not obligated to give it back to you. Unless you make me a better offer…”

Groaning, Tim leans back. “Ten games,” he grits out, aggravated. “Ten wins, and you’ll give me back the belt and the ring.”

“Ten each, or fifteen consecutive wins for both,” is Jason’s immediate counteroffer. “Even pirates have to eat, kid.”

“Twelve consecutive wins,” shoots back Tim. “Surely you can’t be scared of me beating you more than that in a row.”

Jason looks surprised at that, then he throws his head back in loud, raucous laughter. “Your baiting needs work, but you have yourself a deal. Twelve consecutive wins it is. But now, what’ll you give me? And no, I don’t want your damn shirt.”

Unconsciously, Tim fiddles with the hem of his sleeves, worries at the threads that are showing the first signs of fraying along the cuffs. “I – I don’t.” He flounders; he can’t believe he’s already exhausted his one piece of leverage, paltry though it was.

“Hm.” Jason tilts his head to study him. “A question and a truthful answer per win.”

“Would this also apply if I were to win?” asks Tim cautiously.

“Greedy boy.”

“Pirate,” Tim fires back, and Jason’s face twists in wry amusement, adds a half-shrug as acknowledgement.

“Fine, you brat, but you still owe me those kisses; don’t think I’ll be forgetting about those. Now that we’re done with negotiations, can we actually start playing?” He flicks five cards in Tim’s general direction.

“I still think you’re cheating,” mumbles Tim, picking up his cards to study them.

“I don’t need to cheat in a game of two people, give me some credit,” snorts Jason. “This a variant of what we normally play in the mess hall. Although, it’s probably because I’m not cheating that you’re having a tougher time.” He smirks at Tim’s obvious confusion. “You were reading off Roy’s cards, back then, weren’t you? All you had to do was figure out what patterns were coming out since everyone was cheating each other blind.”

“Well…yeah,” says Tim helplessly. “I – I thought that was how –”

“S’not how actual games work, kiddo,” grins Jason knowingly. “You need to start from the bottom up.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” grumbles Tim, and Jason salutes him in a way that he had no idea could come across as so incredibly obnoxious.

“Tough luck. Call, raise, or check?”

“Check.”

“Good choice. I check as well. Planning on tossing any cards?”  Jason indicates Tim’s cards with a nod of his head.

Tim considers his cards; he has two of a kind consisting of a nine of hearts and spades and the rest are junk. Hesitantly, he throws down three cards that are immediately replaced with sharp flicks of Jason’s wrist.

“Gonna throw any yourself?” he asks, and Jason smirks and shakes his head.

“Show of hand,” announces Jason, and with a note of finality, Tim inhales deeply and turns his hand over.

“Hm. Three of a kind, not bad.” Jason raises a wry eyebrow at him. “At least you actually have a hand.”

“Shut up. What do you have?” Tim cranes his head to see what Jason’s is.

“…you said you were good enough to win without cheating.” Tim crooks an obnoxious eyebrow at the cards in Jason’s possession, the six of hearts, clubs, and diamonds that narrowly loses out to Tim’s hand by a slim margin.

“I certainly won’t be losing twelve times consecutively to you, kid, at least not anytime soon” says Jason breezily, admitting defeat gracefully enough that it irks Tim. “Looks like you’ve finally got your beginner’s luck. Belatedly, but at least you actually have it.”

“Shut up. Do I get my question now?”

“Cashing in on it now? By all means, fire away.” Jason smirks at him, lounging back like a king on his throne, and it needles Tim in all the wrong ways.

Tim sucks in a sigh and releases it, pondering his next words. “Why did you let Stephanie join your crew?” he asks. “What happened back when –”

“You only get one question, kid, what’ll it be?” Jason waves his hand impatiently. Tim growls petulantly at him, but corrects himself.

“When you kept me locked up,” he starts, his words pointed so that there’s no way Jason can forget that he’s still resentful, “what did you discuss with Stephanie?”

“That’s better,” hums Jason, crossing his hands behind his head in a show of relaxation. “Well, to start off, we just had a little chat. Don’t worry, it wasn't violent. Your friend wanted to know why on earth you were here. Not that it matters though. She was more or less trying to run that galleon on her own and she was running out of supplies. Wasn’t much to loot from the ship, as it turns out. She was more than happy to join forces with us, on the condition that the kids she had been trying to free were dropped off at the next port. She's particularly interested in captaining an empty ship, for obvious reasons.”

“You’d have done that anyway? Dropping the kids off, I mean?” asks Tim curiously, forgetting he was technically only allotted one question.

“I’ll give you this one for free; like I said, we don’t sell kids off into slavery, not while I’m captain. As for why she was on that ship, well, I think she’d rather tell you to your face. Or at least she would have already, if you didn’t kick up a fuss and storm out.” Tim blushes at the reminder.

“I just.” He looks down at his clasped fingers. “I just don’t understand why she became a pirate.”

“Everyone’s got their reasons, kid.” Jason’s tone is unusually serious. “Life at sea’s a harsh one, regardless of which side of the law you’re on, or even if you’re a humble fisherman. You only get outcasts out here. People who can’t find a place where they belong. Sometimes they’re running from a crime they committed, sometimes they’re forced into it. Maybe they just want a place to be free, or a tale to tell their wives and children if they can imagine growing so old. The oceans a big place. Big enough for misfits to maybe eke out a place in the world they can call their own.”

Tim licks his lips hesitantly. The candle wax has steadily melted lower and lower throughout the night, the interplay of shadows and firelight framing Jason’s face in a way that has his features seem more angular and yet softer all at the same time.

“Why did you decide to become a pirate?” he asks softly, and for a moment Jason simply looks at him, as if to assess whether he can divulge such information to Tim, like he can test the mettle of Tim’s nature simply by the sheer weight of his gaze.

“Ah, but you’ll have to take another win for me to answer that, love,” smiles Jason crookedly, the moment slipping by like water through the thin cracks of Tim’s spindly fingers. “After all, it’s time for me to cash upon my earnings.” He beckons Tim, crooking a finger which casts long shadows upon the wall like silent spells. Tim’s ears turn pink, but he slowly stretches out his legs, working the stiffness from them as he gets up, carefully stepping over the cards scattered about the floorboards to approach the pirate captain awaiting him; Captain Todd’s body language is relaxed as he lounges back with a lopsided smirk.

Tim’s fingers curl about Jason’s wrist; it’s warm and he can feel the telltale pulse thrumming beneath sunburnt skin as he tilts his head down to press a gentle kiss across the jut of Jason’s knuckles. He repeats it again; locking eyes with Jason’s determinedly even as he feels his face burning.

“You didn’t specify where you wanted them,” he mumbles throatily, his breath ghosting across Jason’s knuckles. Captain Todd’s eyes are dark, a lurking hunger in there Tim doesn’t want to acknowledge, bright with something that Tim thinks might be fascination.

“You’re finally learning, love,” murmurs Jason, his voice low and almost guttural. Tim ignores him and grazes a third kiss on the back of Jason’s hand. Then, quick as lightning, before he can react, Jason’s wrist twists; stronger, thicker fingers wrap and curl about Tim’s thinner wrist and reel him in. Stumbling, Tim gasps, eyes flying open in shock as his knees hit the cushion on either side of Jason’s legs. A hand cups the back of his head, tangling fingers gently into the mussed locks of his hair, his wrist being released but Jason’s fingers stroking the small of his back, preventing him from pulling away.

Jason’s face lifts closer; Tim’s eyes squeeze shut. Yet nothing is forthcoming, not even the anticipatory press of lips against his. Opening his eyes, Tim swallows thickly at the indescribable gaze in Jason’s expression, lips only centimeters away from his, waiting.

“Go on, impress me,” Jason whispers, a challenge shared between the space between their parted lips. Tim swallows, his heart threatening to beat out of the contours of his ribcages, and dips his head.

It’s like electricity shudders down his spine from all the points of contact; the fingers curling in his hair, the proprietary palm whose heat sinks into his nape, the fingers trailing along the curve of his spine that has Tim not quite arching away or towards Jason, the press of Jason’s lips along his own. He can’t tell, exactly, but he thinks he can taste the salt of the sea on Jason’s lips, the rasp of Jason’s stubble on his. Later on, it will annoy Tim that Jason has access to shaving tools when he does not, but in the moment he can only think about the way his hand presses against Jason’s chest to steady himself, that he can feel the heavy, telltale pound of Jason’s heartbeat that’s just as rapid and equally frightening as his own.

He pulls away from Jason, breathing harshly, chest rising and falling like he’s just ran a marathon. Jason is barely any better than him, but his gaze has Tim repressing heated shivers as Jason simply looks at him in the silence of the cabin and the rhythmic rocking of waves crashing against the hull.

It’s hard to believe the kiss had been chaste.

“You have one more,” reminds Jason hoarsely, unblinkingly, and Tim shudders as Jason’s fingers skate down the slope of his spine.

Tim dips his head down once more, considering, before he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Jason’s mouth, a minute peck.

“Good night,” he whispers, his throat dry, and somehow his muscles respond enough so that he can slowly, achingly pull himself away. Jason lets him leave without resistance, hands falling away, and Tim manages to back away a few steps. Remembering himself, Tim pulls his frayed self together, manages to turn away and walk the last few steps back to the bed as he silently slips into it and pulls the covers over his body.

Jason is unmoving, and Tim thinks he can feel his gaze eating away at him as he desperately pretends he’s somehow already falling asleep. At last, he hears Jason get up, a short two heavy footfalls. His breathe catches in his throat; the candlelight is extinguished. The soft whumpf of Jason’s body falling back into his makeshift bed of cushions has Tim breathing out a silent sigh of relief, his heart thudding against his chest like a frantic horse unable to be calmed.

“Good night, Tim.”

Chapter Text

“…Hi.” Tim shuffles uncomfortably, wilting under the harsh glare belonging to Stephanie Brown as the door to Jason’s quarters clicks shut behind him. The sea breeze gusts strongly, worsening the bad case of bedhead he knows he’s sporting.

“Hi yourself.” She strides past him, purposefully shouldering past him. He winces.

“Okay, so I might have deserved that,” Tim admits, almost half-jogging to match her aggressively large strides.

“Might have.” Her ire belies her deadpan tone.

Tim sucks in a breath, abruptly pushing past her to block her way. “I have something to say to you.”

“Well, so did I last night, but that didn’t really matter, did it?” snips Stephanie.

“I want to apologize,” he blurts. Best to get it all out in the open before she throws the first punch. Stephanie doesn’t look convinced, and he thinks he sees her knuckles subtly whiten preemptively where they’re clutched at her sides.

“Spare me,” she snorts derisively.

“I’m sorry for treating you like that last night,” he says, immediately following up his words. “It was a shock seeing you again. I know that doesn’t excuse it, but I…I really didn’t know you were alive.” He glances away. “And finding you out here, of all places…” he gestures helplessly around him, the ocean sparkling in the bright morning sunlight.

“And is that supposed to make me forgive you?” She crosses her arms, eyeing him incredulously. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“It was a bit of a shock realizing that someone I thought I’d never see again suddenly reappear announcing that apparently she’s joining forces with the same people who’re holding me prisoner,” Tim retorts. To his surprise, the corner of Stephanie’s mouth twitches up ever so slightly in response.

“A prisoner, huh?” she eyes him drily, though he can tell she’s still mad. “You seem to be having a pretty good time of it considering you’re not even in the brig, if you ask me.”

“They tried.”

“Apparently not hard enough.” She stalks off, brushing past him and leaving him blinking helplessly in her wake.

“Would have thought a little rich boy like you would have had better skills with the women.” Tim yelps as Jason saunters into his peripheral vision, fighting the unwanted blush rising to his cheeks as he unwillingly recalls the previous night’s poker rounds.

“Don’t you have better things to do than eavesdropping?” Tim remarks, recovering quickly as a scowl makes its way to his face.

“S’not my fault you’re talking right in the open,” snorts Captain Todd. “Anyway, get below deck. You’re needed in the galley.”

Tim blinks. “I’m…I’m not swabbing the deck?” he asks hesitantly, thinking he heard wrong.

“If you want to, that can be arranged –” before Jason even has a chance to finish, Tim ducks around the corner before Jason can subject him to even more manual labor.

~*~*~*~

“What, the captain sent me you?” The woman sweeps disapproving eyes down Tim’s lean body. “I thought I’d get Steph. That girl’s great.”

Tim winces. He’s seen this person around on the ship occasionally, her purple-blue hair and piercings striking even in the dim light of the galley. “You already met her?”

“Well, yeah. She’s easy to get along with; fit right in. Great to talk to too, and we can always use more girls. I swear, the ego on this ship is enough to drive me mad sometimes. At least we’ll be hitting shore in a few days, only so long people can go being cooped up in cramped quarters.”

Tim files that piece of info away in his head for later. “Not many places a pirate can enter port, though,” he notes, making his tone light and innocent.

She only snorts at him shrewdly. “You won’t be getting anything else from me, rich kid. Name’s Harper Row.”

“It’s Tim,” he repeats tiredly for the umpteenth time. He’s already figured that the best policy for Captain Todd is to pointedly ignore his condescendingly obnoxious endearments, but that doesn’t mean he has to take it from the other crewmembers. “Any way, what you need me to do?”

She gestures behind her. “I got stuck with cooking this time around, and the captain wants you out from his hair, I guess. Which is why I guess you’re my new assistant for now.”

Tim wilts under her gaze. “I can make eggs?” he offers lamely, and Harper scoffs at him.

“Like I’m letting you anywhere near the kitchen where you could grab a knife, kid. You’re on clean up.” She tosses him a filthy rag that’s seen far better days. “Get it spotless, we don’t need any more rats running around.”

Surveying it, Tim realizes that the galley is rather small and cramped, while also being absolutely grimy. Tim cringes, Harper watching him like a hawk as he gets to work.

“What do you normally do when you’re not cooking?” he asks over Harper's intermittent grumbles as she slices and preps ingredients, throwing them haphazardly into the stew she’s making. 

“Whatever that needs to be done,” she answers. “Check the riggings and the supply stores, break up any fights that go on, stuff like that which can be handled before it gets to Roy or Dick. Speaking of which, someone’s snuck food from the pantry; I bet it was Roy again, that shithead. Stop touching that,” she barks as Tim’s fingers travel a bit too close to a bread knife.

“It’s dull,” he protests, but her glare freezes any more of his complaints. Huffing, he scrubs fitfully at a particularly resilient patch of cooking oil.

“You’re even more of a stick in the mud than she said you were,” Harper says wryly.

“I’m not,” mutters Tim petulantly. His head jerks up in surprise as he processes that. “Wait, am I?”

“You have no idea,” scoffs Harper. “Though she didn’t really want to talk about you.”

Tim heaves a sigh, no doubt in his mind about whom Harper is referring to. “I think throwing me into the sea probably sounds appealing to her.”

“Damn. What did you do to her?”

“Besides snapping at her last night?” Tim grunts as the oil stain finally disappears and swivels around to work on another one. “Nothing else except me trying to apologize.”

“I meant as in before you ended up on this ship. ‘Cause it’s obvious there’s a lot going on between you two.”

“Timothy, you must be aware of your status and your position. You’re old enough to understand that you can’t associate with that indecent girl. People will think you were the one she –”

“Tim, you think I’m going to stand for this? You don’t even get why I’m upset!”

“But I still want to be around you, Steph, I don’t understand –”

“Wanting to be around me and pretending you don’t know me when there’s someone you know in the immediate vicinity are two very different things, Tim!”

“None of your business,” huffs Tim, glaring daggers at the smear he only succeeds in widening.

“Like I said. Stick in the mud.” Harper snorts derisively and leaves him be.

~*~*~*~*~

Tim manages to waylay Stephanie after Harper finally kicks him out of the galley for being too slow if admittedly thorough, and they share a wary glaring match as a few onlookers give them odd glances in passing while doing their usual tasks.

“What?” mutters Stephanie sourly, crossing her arms.

Tim sighs, shifting his weight uneasily. “Can we…talk somewhere else that’s more private?” he offers hesitantly.

“Whatever you want to say you can say it here.”

“I wanted to ask about what happened to the child,” he says quietly.

“The kids are all in the hold –”

“Steph,” he adds on pleadingly. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She falls silent, as he expected. Finally, wearily, she accedes. “You’re right, let’s go somewhere else.”

They make their way to a more secluded area of the deck where their voices don’t travel over the wind. Tim leans self-consciously against the cabin wall while Stephanie faces him, back to the railing as the wind teases her hair into unruly locks.

“You disappeared when you were pregnant,” murmurs Tim quietly. “I – I was frantic. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. Was it – did the birth go well?”

“Yeah,” sighs Stephanie as her head tilts up to gaze at the clouds rushing by. “It did. A healthy boy.” She smiles sadly.

“What happened to him?”

“I…” her head turned away. “I left him at an orphanage where I knew he’d be treated well.”

Tim stiffens, but it makes sense. “Back in our town?”

“No. By that point I had already left. I…I had to get out of there, Tim. Public opinion of me wasn’t exactly…favorable.” She laughs hollowly.

“What they thought never mattered, Steph. Not to you.”

“No. But they did to you.”

Exhaling, Tim scrubs a hand over his face. “It was a difficult position to be in. But I should have stayed by you.”

“You did. Just not in the way I needed,” acknowledges Stephanie. “I thought…I thought maybe a fresh start would be good. To be someone better.”

“You thought becoming a pirate was the way?”

“It had always been an option.” She shrugs. “The ocean always called to me. Not in the same way it called to my old man, though, since he was a small-time crook then. But I had already made the decision to sail; and a life at sea is no place for a child.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Steph?” Tim looks down, wonders if the children she saved below decks are her redemption for the child she couldn’t keep. “I would have helped.”

“You couldn’t have done anything, Tim. You…you wanted to make your parents proud of you. You didn’t owe me anything. I didn’t want to owe you anything.”

“I would have done it because we were, at the very least, friends.”

Her lips curl upwards into the first, real honest smile he’s seen. “Oh, c’mon, you definitely loved me.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at her hopefully and she groans in frustration.

“You suck, I can’t stay mad at you when you’re staring me like a lost soul.”

“That’s a relief, because I was running out of options.”

She elbows him; he winces at the bony dig of her arm that’s seen much more hardship than his.

“So anyway, how did you end up here?” she asks.

“Do you remember Kon?” he asks simply. At her nod, he continues. “He sent me a letter about my parents. He said he had some information regarding what happened to them. I was going to meet him in Bayaha. Except that I was waylaid and well…the rest is history.”

She stills. “You…you do know where we’re going, right?”

He shakes his head. “No one will tell me,” he says, frustrated. “Did they tell you?”

“Captain Todd promised me they’d drop the children off at the next port. He agreed to make a slight detour for me. We’re reaching an island off the coast of Hispaniola in a matter of days, Tim.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Then that means…” he trails off.

“You said Bayaha, right? We’re passing it on the way. You might be able to buy passage on a different ship to the mainland, if you escape once we make port.”

Tim winces. “I don’t have money.”

Stephanie sighs. “Just as well. Tortuga’s a pirate haven. I don’t think you’d be any better off.”

“Still.” Tim’s mind is contemplating all the possibilities, the gears turning in his mind. “At least now I know where we’re headed. Tortuga.” He tastes the word on his lips. He glances at her, a thought occurring to him. “Wait, I thought you joined his crew. Aren’t you going to stop me or something?”

She snorts. “Are you kidding me? I don’t trust Captain Todd as far as I could throw him.”

“That’s not very far.”

“Exactly. He’s dropping the kids off at a pirate nest, Tim. He’ll probably sell them into slavery the first chance he gets. I’m not about to let all my hard work go to waste.”

Tim swallows thickly, remembers the dark sincerity in Jason’s eyes. “We don’t sell kids off into slavery, not while I’m captain.”

“I don’t know, Steph,” he says hesitantly, but Stephanie talks over him.

“Anyway, I’ll help you. I don’t hate you that much.”

“Good to know,” he laughs, something in his chest easing. Freedom. The trip had gone on longer than expected, worries burdening his chest as he had wondered if he was ever going to see his hometown again. It didn’t matter. Once he finds Kon, it’d be all right, and he can buy passage on another ship somehow back home.

He just has to figure out how to reach Kon. Heart fluttering with anticipation, Tim glances out longingly over the vast expanse of blue.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Home.”

“Not really.”

He considers that. “Would it be strange if I said I didn’t really either?”

She shrugs. “Probably. But I sorta get it. You miss the normalcy of it, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the thing.” She laces her fingers behind her head. “I miss it, but I know it’ll never satisfy me anymore. I’d get too bored. Can’t go back anymore. What would I do, settle down and find myself a proper husband?” She punches Tim playfully when he’s unable to hold back a loud snort. “You ass.”

“You brought it up,” he manages, rubbing the sore spot she punched. “I’m just trying to imagine you all properly dressed and wandering around with a parasol.”

“I’ll have you know I would look dashing with a parasol.” She twirls and pretends to curtsey, batting her eyelashes at him. He bursts into laughter again.

“Stop. That’s just strange.”

“Oi, are you lazing around –” Tim and Stephanie immediately sit up a bit straighter, quelling their laughter as Jason rounds the corner and stops short in front of them. His eyebrows raise questioningly.

Stephanie fires off a lazy half-cocked salute at him. “Aye aye, cap. I already finished helping Roy move the barrels. Anything else you need me to do?”

“See if Dick needs any help.” Jason’s eyes land on Tim, his gaze oddly curious.

“Sure. C’ya around Timmy.” She grins at him wryly and saunters off past Jason.

“I think that’s the shortest time I’ve ever seen a woman stay mad at anyone,” he remarks and Tim just half shrugs at him.

“I think we just associate with different kinds of people,” Tim says dryly and Jason gives him an odd look again. Self-conscious, Tim frowns at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” hums Jason, tilting his head to study him better. “I didn’t know you actually knew how to smile.”

“What?” Tim scowls at him, brows furrowing. Jason jabs a finger at him. “Yeah, that’s your usual expression, kid. Easy to rile you up, too.”

“Shut up,” Tim mutters, turning away to face the open sea. A mistake. He senses Jason approaching closer, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“I can’t even leave you alone for a half second without you getting up to some sort of trouble, can I?” Jason’s voice is amused.

“I don’t think trying to apologize to her is considered trouble,” defends Tim, heart racing.

“We’ll see.” Jason’s voice brushes his ear, soft and quiet. “Don’t forget whose prisoner you are.”

“You can’t keep me on this ship forever.”

“I can certainly keep you in the brig forever.”

Tim sighs. “How many poker games would I have to win simultaneously for my freedom?” he offers.

“Your freedom’s not a negotiation, kid. And that’s final.”

Tim’s about to snap back a biting retort, when Roy skids around the corner, interrupting them.

“Jason!”

“What?” annoyed, Jason turns around to him. “What happened?”

“There’s a naval ship.”

Chapter Text

“What flag?” asks Jason suspiciously, turning away from Tim to face Roy. Breathing an internal sigh of relief at no longer being the subject of Jason’s scrutiny, Tim edges around to the side as Roy speaks up once more.

“That’s the thing. I’m not so sure it’s actually navy.” Roy exchanges a sharp look with Jason. “I think it’s been trailing us for a while, but it hasn’t tried to engage us yet.”

“Alert the rest of the crew,” says Jason sharply. “I need to get a look of that ship.” Grabbing Roy’s spyglass, Jason whirls around and snaps his fingers at Tim. “Not you. You’re going back into the cabin.”

“No.” Tim fixes him with a flat stare. “You’re not locking me up every time you think I’m getting in your way.”

“Who said I think that you’re in the way?” asks Jason mockingly. “I’m simply more concerned that you’ll try to alert the authorities. Which, as you can imagine, simply won’t do.” He nods to Roy. “Get him back in my cabin.”

Tim takes an unconscious step back, jolting when the hard wood of the ship’s railing presses against his back with nowhere to run.

“But it’s obviously not a naval ship,” he bites back, narrowing his eyes as Roy takes two steps forward, arms already outstretched. The wind gusts strongly; he tucks the aggravatingly loose strands of hair behind his ear so that his sight isn’t obstructed. “You’re flying your colours; that’s more than enough reason for real naval officers to give chase.” He nods upwards to where the red skull emblazoned across a black flag waves starkly against the bright blue skies.

“Still, wouldn’t want your pretty little head getting the idea that another ship might be cozier than mine,” retorts Jason easily.

“Perish the thought. Your company is just so….enjoyable.” Tim shoots back sarcastically, scooting backward as far as he can possibly go. Roy stares, and then bursts into laughter, stopping in his tracks.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever expressed that feeling verbally, captain.”

“Roy.” Jason jerks his head towards Tim again. Chuckling, Roy nods and takes another step forward.

“I’ll wreck your entire cabin again,” threatens Tim, though he stops trying to pretend that the ship’s railings will extend just for him to escape the huge calloused hands reaching for him.

“Charming. You can tie him to the bed again if you need to, Roy. It’ll make a pretty picture for when I’m done sorting through this,” leers Jason.

“Again?” queries Roy, arching a skeptical brow and turning to look at Jason, and Tim reddens at the implications.

“My mistake,” says Jason lazily. “It was handcuffs last time, wasn’t it?” He smirks at the way Tim glowers at him furiously.

“I’d like to see you try,” scowls Tim, bristling angrily, and Roy just sighs and stalks forward.

“Do you really want to do this the hard way?” he asks.

“Doesn’t he always?” snorts Jason, turning around as he shakes the spyglass open expertly. “I’m counting on you, Roy. Is the ship to starboard?”

“Yep.”

“Once you’ve finished come join me,” commands Jason, popping the collar of his coat. “Chances are we’re gonna need all hands on deck.” Turning the collar, Captain Todd exits, leaving Tim to face off with Roy alone.

Roy’s certainly stronger than Tim by a long shot, but Tim scowls. Jutting his chin out in a mulish pout, he regards the redhead warily. This section of the ship is narrow, but Tim thinks he has just enough wiggle room to get by.

“Look,” sighs Roy, scratching his head, and Tim notes how his body language subtly relaxes in an attempt to be disarming, though it’s poised to snap into either an offensive or defensive position at a second’s notice. “I have a hundred other things that I need to be doing, none of which includes forcibly dragging you into the captain’s cabin. Which, by the way, is going to look pretty farfetched, if you catch my meaning.”

“Not my problem,” says Tim stubbornly, edging away further.

“Actually, it kind of is. You’re a smart kid, Tim.” Roy crosses his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. “What is it going to look like to the crew if you’re forcibly resisting me and getting nowhere?”

Tim glowers, but he sees the merit in Roy’s view. “They’ll think I’m an easy target,” he admits reluctantly.

“Right. And look, I have my orders, and I don’t want to get in trouble with Jay, all right? It’s my responsibility to make sure that I get you into that cabin, got it? But I’ll make a deal with you.” Roy reaches out to him, palm facing upwards. “If you come with me without a fuss, I won’t tie you up, got it? You can make as huge a mess as you want in his cabin, not my problem.” He winks.

Tim blinks, taken aback a little. Reading his mind, Roy adds, “he only said to tie you down if I needed to; whatever happens once you’re inside and I’m off doing my duties is none of my business.”

“I – oh.” Tim considers the hand extended to him. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

Roy shrugs. “You don’t,” he admits. “But like I said, we could do this all day, and eventually you’re going to end up in that cabin whether you like it or not. I’d really just rather not expend all my energy chasing you around this damn ship when we might have to fight an actual battle.”

“I could be useful in a battle,” shoots back Tim though he’s lying through his teeth. Roy gapes at him and then promptly dissolves into laughter.

“I don’t doubt it, kid,” gasps Roy after several seconds, and Tim glowers at the way he’s dramatically clutching his hand to his stomach. “But I’m more concerned that you’d be trying to run us through with whatever you could get your hands on.” Abruptly his laughter fades, eyes hardening like cold steel. Tim flinches backwards at the serious expression, Roy taking two steps forward that carries him more than halfway to where Tim’s flattened his back to the rail.

“You’re plucky kid,” admits Roy honestly, no lingering traces of amusement in his expression. “But in a fight where your life’s on the line, you’re a liability.” Tim grits his teeth at the pirate, but can’t find any words to refute him. “The captain wants you in his quarters, and that’s that.”

Tim takes a deep breath and releases it. He’s out of chances, and if Roy’s abrupt change in tone is any indication, further protests are only going to end with more trouble.

“Fine,” he relents, crossing his arms angrily to show that he’s not happy with this arrangement. He’d been a fool to think that pirates could even vaguely be reasoned with, considering his severe lack of bargaining power.  Roy extends an open palm towards him; he swats it away bitterly. “I can walk by myself,” he spits, striding across the deck. He doesn’t pass Roy nearly fast enough to avoid seeing his face change into a look of surprise, somewhat taken aback. Yet Roy doesn’t say anything, only choosing to walk a few steps behind him as Tim storms off in the direction of Jason’s quarters.

The crewmembers that he passes sneak cautious, wary glances at his thunderous expression even as they go about their own work until he reaches Jason’s quarters. He wrenches the door open and storms in, but not before he turns back slightly to give Roy the biggest glare he can muster.

“You promised,” he bites out grimly to remind the pirate, distrustful and wary that Roy might renege on his assurance.

“I did,” Roy says, annoyance seeping above the surface as Tim passes over the threshold. The second the door locks behind Tim, he flings himself onto the bed and punches the pillow bitterly.

It would have been easier if Jason had just ordered Roy to lock him in the hold instead. He takes several deep breaths to try and recollect himself. He counts to seven slowly, controlling his rapid breaths to match the pace. Feeling his elevated heartbeat slowly abate, Tim repeats the count five more times, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the anger threatening to seep back into his thoughts once more.

When he feels more in control of himself, Tim rolls onto his back and stares blankly at the ceiling. The cabin isn’t particularly soundproof so he can hear the constant pound of feet against the deck and the calls of the crewmen communicating with each other as they make preparations for whatever ship is tailing them. It’s hard to hear over the omnipresent sound of the waves, but Tim doesn’t pick out a sense of anxiety in their voices or in the gait of their footsteps – the crew seems relatively self-assured for the most part, if wary. It’s hard to say.

Still. He clambers off the bed, surveying the room. Jason had managed to clear up most of the mess Tim had made in his rage just the previous night (and it frustrates Tim that he doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on his temper anymore like he used to). However, Captain Todd hadn’t had the opportunity to fix or replace the locks that Tim had broken on the chests, and Tim resolves that it’s an excellent time to see what the Captain might be hiding. He’s already gone through most of the loot that Jason used to carelessly thrown on the bed until he’d finally cleared it for proper use, but none of it is particularly useful, just odd bits and baubles that look pretty, but Tim didn’t come from a merchant family to learn nothing – he knows value when he sees it, and most of Jason’s loot that he carelessly stashed on his bed comprises of cheap glass and pretty beads and stones and necklaces and the occasional pewter goblet. He suspects breakables and the truly valuable pieces are stored elsewhere, and Tim resolves to go find them in the hopes that maybe his belongings are well hidden somewhere in the room as well.

He tests every floor and wall board that the bed and the desk aren’t blocking – there’s a loose springboard that gets Tim’s hopes rising, only to expose mold and a rat carcass – Tim cringes and replaces the floorboard just as fast as he had pried it open. Save for a useful knothole that overlooks the decks, Tim doesn’t find anything else so he turns his attention towards the chests. Tugging open one of the chests with the broken lock, Tim properly sifts through its contents. He pulls out the captain’s log book first – Tim’s eyes widen and he shoves that under the mattress to flick through later. Several scarves, some vials that he can’t make out the contents of, an empty hip flask, a stained glass candle cup that’s pretty albeit inexpensive, and a full case of pistol rounds later, Tim’s fingernails scrape across something that’s smooth to the touch and polished. He pulls it out, and his eyes blink in astonishment.

It’s a chess set.

Tim’s immediate thought is that the poor soul that Jason must have surely robbed it from lost a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, and that Captain Todd had a better eye for detail than he had given him credit for. The box is wooden – mahogany, Tim thinks reverently, running a hand over the wooden rim and over the lid with familiar black and white squares. Scanning the bottom of the box, there’s a craftsman’s mark, but no common brand that Tim’s acquainted with – commissioned then, probably. He unclasps the lid, peering inside – the chess pieces seem of French-make judging by the bishops at any rate, though that doesn’t particularly tell Tim anything. Picking up a white bishop, he studies it, thumb carefully scraping across the polished material –ivory. Tim’s best guess is that it’s of walrus tusk, the entire chess set probably worth a small fortune, then.

Still, Tim opens the box a little wider and catches sight of an odd piece- the black king. It’s made of a different material; a touch is all that Tim requires to tell that it’s ebony wood – an expensive replacement for a presumably lost or broken piece. Still, it’s made to fit perfectly into its unique plush velvet groove that each individual piece is nestled in. Maybe Jason thought that the peculiar piece made it unsellable – or did he choose to hang on to this set and keep it locked away until he could find someone who could assess its worth? Tim doesn’t know. He doesn’t imagine that pirates would have time to try and get the most out of their money, though, or that pirates know how to play a gentleman’s game. At least until he catches the faint words etched into the bottom of the lid.

For Jason, for his twelfth birthday.

Tim abruptly closes the lid with a loud clack, leaning away like he feels like he’s stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have. He doesn’t know why. It feels personal, and Tim wonders why he feels like an intruder. It’s a key to his captor, a link that maybe Tim can eventually exploit. Most of all, it’s a mystery.

He jerks up at the sound of feet pounding against the deck, agitated orders being shouted that he can’t discern clearly through the walls. Tim buries the chess set back where he found it and presses his ear against the walls just next to the small knothole he can barely see out of. Struck by a flash of inspiration, he snatches up the candle cup which he had tossed onto his bed, pressing its rim to the wall to better hear what’s going on beyond the walls of Jason’s quarters.

“Be on your guard, I’d trust a rat more than I trust him; just because he’s not here to fight doesn’t mean he can’t.” Dick’s orders cut through the surge of voices.

“Why the hell are we letting him on board?” Roy’s voice is easily discernable through the noise, though he isn’t visible through the knothole. “Jason, this is a bad idea.”

“I want to know why he’s tailing us. Best to just confront him head to head rather than drawing this out; I want to sleep well tonight, thanks.” Jason breezes through the tiny gap of the knothole for a brief second and disappears the other side. “He claims he’s unarmed.” Jason’s snort is incredulous and dismissive.

“I believe him,” mutters Dick grimly. “He doesn’t need to be armed to take us on.”

“Shut up Dick, you’re supposed to be morale here. Everyone be careful; he’s coming.”

The noise level increases; Tim huffs and squints through the knothole and abandons his eavesdropping for the time being to trying and catch sight of whoever the newcomer is.

Then a gloved hand grasps the railing, right in Tim’s line of sight, pulling the body attached to it up. Tim flinches back as an orange-black mask appears over the edge of the ship, followed by the rest of the stranger. A single eye is all that he can see of the man beneath the mask, and the mysterious newcomer drops to his feet steadily in the center of the deck, barely even flinching as Jason’s men circle him warily.

“Been awhile, Captain Todd. Tight ship you’re running as ever, I see.” The man sounds nearly dismissive, barely even acknowledging the pirates surrounding him to address Jason instead.

“Deathstroke.” Dick’s voice cuts through once more, tense and wary. “What do you want?”

“Ah.” Deathstroke turns a half step, facing off to the side to presumably address Dick. “It’s been awhile, Grayson. You’re looking well.”

“You mean since you last tried to kill me?”

“You seem to have recovered,” notes Deathstroke dryly, and Tim marvels at how he can practically hear the smirk in his voice through the wall. “I’m not here to try again this time, though.”

“Enough.” Jason’s sharp voice rings out. “What do you want, Deathstroke? You’re not here to catch up. Shame that the navy hasn’t found your barnacle-encrusted ass yet and hanged you for going rogue.”

“Of course not.” Deathstroke’s voice is deceptively silky. “If the navy can’t catch you, they certainly can’t catch me. But, more importantly, I’m here for information. And…perhaps a person.”

“You’re not getting a single person on this ship, Deathstroke.” Tim nearly startles at the tangible ferocity present in Jason’s voice, breath catching as Deathstroke slowly turns, facing Tim’s direction once more.

His heart stops when Deathstroke seems to look right at him.

“On the contrary, I believe I will.” Deathstroke’s visible eye glitters dangerously like sunlight off beaten steel. He turns away; Tim exhales shakily, freed from the alarming feeling like he was at the mercy of a predator. “But, it would be a shame to kill all of you when I’m just asking for a few things.”

“You ass-” snaps someone, but Dick interrupts.

“What do you want, Deathstroke?” he repeats once more, an edge of irritation entering his voice.

“Ever the peacemaker, aren’t you, Grayson,” sneers Deathstroke flippantly. “I’d like to have Rose back, if you’d please.”

Rose. Tim flicks through his memory. He’s the only prisoner on this ship. She might be a crewmember, or one of the kids in the hold.

“Rose? She left ages ago,” rebuffs Dick, confusion evident in his voice. “She wanted to strike out on her own.”

Deathstroke makes a noise of disbelief in his throat. “Right. I’ll give you guys one more chance.”

“Seriously,” scoffs Jason. “You know how Rose is; she’s your own damn daughter.”

Deathstroke’s not facing Tim anymore, but his body language is nothing short of dangerous. “I know you think that having had a tryst with her makes you an expert on her, but I beg to disagree.” His voice drops lowly.

“I – what?” Jason scoffs, but Tim’s eyes widen like dinner plates at the split second of hesitation in his voice. “I would never –”

“Don’t lie, Captain Todd,” sneers Deathstroke. “I know she’s in your cabin, hiding from me.”

“I don’t know where the hell you’re getting your info, but it’s wrong,” snaps Jason. “She’s not on my goddamn ship, Deathstroke, you have no fucking right –”Deathstroke moves. Tim starts when he realizes he’s no longer visible in the knothole’s periphery, panicking as the sounds of fighting erupts on the ship instantaneously.

“Stop him!”

It’s too close quarters for Captain Todd’s men to use firearms, deduces Tim from the lack of gunshots, scrambling madly for a means to defend himself. The shouts are becoming increasingly louder, the clang of steel on steel – Deathstroke probably managed to grab a sword from some pirate with an unfortunately weak grip. He keeps track of the battle through sound alone as the noises approach closer and closer until it’s right outside the cabin door, wringing his hands desperately as he backs as far away from the locked door as possible.

“Don’t let him –”

“What the fuck are you all doing –”

“Get back, I’ll handle him myself!”

Tim by no means is expecting it, but he nearly jumps ten feet into the air as the door is physically kicked down, the fearsome masked man instantly spinning around to fend off a mob of Jason’s men as the door falls down with a terrific bang, his back towards Tim for a few precious moments.

Tim’s body instantly moves on instinct. He hurls the candle holder as hard as he can. He doesn’t know how, but Deathstroke moves to deflect it with his acquired rapier like he had two eyes in the back of his head. A flick of the blade sends the candle holder shattering to the floor, shards scattering across the floor.

The noise is all the distraction Tim needs. Deathstroke’s visible eye widens in surprise as Tim throws his blanket at him like a net. Stumbling back, Deathstroke growls as the blanket obscures his vision.

And like an idiot, Tim charges.

The idea was to slam into Deathstroke’s stomach, to offset his balance of gravity the way Connor had taught him all those years ago when they used to roughhouse together in mock fights. Yet when Tim threw his entire weight against Deathstroke, it was like running into a brick wall.

Deathstroke doesn’t give an inch, left arm wrapping around Tim like a vise – Tim can barely believe that a man could hold so much strength in his non-dominant hand – before Deathstroke whirls, the blanket falling from his face and trapped between their bodies. Steel presses against Tim’s throat; he stills his frantic movements as Deathstroke expertly backs into Jason’s quarters as Jason’s crew shout from beyond the threshold; it’s too tight a squeeze for more than one man to force through at a time, and Deathstroke somehow, remarkably, holds all the advantages.

“Hm.” Tim shudders as he feels that merciless eye staring down at him. “I suppose Captain Todd was telling the truth after all.”

“I’m not Rose,” Tim manages, but stops short at saying anything else as his Adam’s apple bobs against the blade.

“Evidently,” snorts the man dryly. “No, you’re his new bed partner, aren’t you?”

Tim flushes to the roots of his hair. He desperately wants to protest but the blade forces him to remain quiet.

“Tim!” shouts Roy, rushing into view from the broken doorframe. “Hang on, we’ll –”

“Spare me,” drawls Deathstroke, and Jason shoulders into view, blazing eyes meeting Tim’s stricken ones. “We all know how this will play out, Captain Todd.”

Jason’s visibly grinding his teeth, but he stays silent. Tim hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as Deathstroke tilts the blade. It catches the sunlight filtering in as the sword nicks skin, drawing blood.

“Stand down.”

“I appreciate it, Captain Todd,” says Deathstroke mockingly, as Jason’s crewmembers begrudgingly lower their weapons. “You must really like this one.” He nudges Tim. “Well, go on.”

Tim takes a half step forward. And another. Deathstroke keeps pace with him easily. Slowly and carefully, they make their way towards the side Deathstroke boarded their ship. Jason’s face is expressionless; Tim can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He tries hard not to breathe as the blade remains perfectly still against his flesh, a constant pressure. Deathstroke’s hand never shakes at all, and Tim wonders just how self-assured and experienced the man has to be to have that perfect motor control. Halfway there, Deathstroke clicks his tongue loudly.

“Ah-ah-ah, none of that now, Grayson. You won’t get away with a sneak attack like that.” Tim can’t help a sharp inhale; the blade cuts a little deeper. He’s nudged again a little harder. “Get a move on, would you?”

When they’ve finally approached the railing, Tim glances over the side and sees a small rowboat that’s lashed to the sides of Jason’s schooner. Then he’s whirled around as Deathstroke easily backs up until he’s gone as far as he can without clambering over the sides.

“You’re a pretty one,” he hums, and Tim can’t help the tremor that flickers through his body. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” he offers shortly, relieved as the knife relaxes enough for him to take a breath.

“Obedient, too,” Deathstroke notes in amusement. “You’ve trained him well, Captain Todd.”

“Give him back,” snaps Jason. “He’s of no use to you.”

“Hm.” Tim gets the impression that Deathstroke is smiling. “But then how will I get back to my ship in one piece?”

“Deathstroke!” growls Jason threateningly, but then the blade presses once more against Tim’s throat.

“One of you gentlemen throw me a pair of handcuffs, would you?” leers Deathstroke. When no one moves, Tim’s breath hitches as the knife traces a fine line of red over his skin. “I’m not asking again,” Deathstroke warns. A pair of handcuffs are tossed to him; Deathstroke catches the handcuffs expertly with his rapier by the chain before letting them drop to the floor.

In one smooth movement, he sheathes his weapon in a loosened belt loop. Roy starts towards them, but then in a flash there’s pressure around Tim’s throat, Deathstroke’s massive hands practically squeezing the life from Tim. He panics, thrashing for air as the huge fingers brutally clamp down on his air passageways. Roy stops in his tracks. Tim’s pinned arms are released; he fights against the stranglehold, his fingers helpless to stop Deathstroke’s hands from suffocating him. Clawing desperately at the chokehold, Tim gasps frantically as Deathstroke says something, shifting to pick up the shackles and lock them against Tim’s wrists. The death grip relaxes though Deathstroke’s hand remains warningly on his throat. Tim swallow down a huge lungful of air, blinking away the tears reflexively forming at the corner of his eyes. Then before he even realizes it, Tim yelps as the world flips upside down, Deathstroke hoisting him easily onto one broad shoulder as the blanket falling uselessly to the ground.

“You’re going to not squirm or move unless you want to die, got it?” Deathstroke asks grimly. Tim just nods as best as he can, still reeling from the dancing spots in his vision. Satisfied, Deathstroke vaults over the railing, his grip on Tim secure as he easily clambers down the rope ladder one-armed like it’s nothing to him. Tim is dumped unceremoniously into the rowboat with a loud grunt when they’re hovering a few feet above it; Deathstroke jumps in behind him and cuts the tether with the rapier, keeping his balance as the boat rocks dangerously close to the water.

“So, how long have you been Todd’s bedmate?” asks Deathstroke breezily once the boat settles, and Tim stiffens. He glances away, curled up defensively as far as he can be from Deathstroke as the pirate takes the oars. He glances up to where Deathstroke is rowing, the naval ship’s flags displaying the same colors as Deathstroke’s mask.

“How did you know I was in there?” he asks quietly, choosing to ignore the question. Deathstroke scoffs at him.

“I saw you.”

“That was a tiny knothole,” Tim protests, but a single gleam in Deathstroke’s visible eye makes him fall silent once more.

“So, Rose isn’t on the ship, is she?” asks Deathstroke calmly, his row strokes even as the boat cuts through the rippling ocean waters.

“What does she look like?”

“Long silver hair, eyepatch from when I last saw her,” Deathstroke responds with a careless shrug.

Tim shakes his head. Deathstroke huffs. “Damn. Have to start from scratch all over again.”

Tim glances worriedly towards where Jason’s ship is gradually growing smaller in the distance. From here, he can make out the ship name Sheila Haywood emblazoned into the side.

“So, how did you wind up on Todd’s ship?” The question is asked casually.

Tim glances away again. “It doesn’t matter,” he retorts shortly.

“No?” Deathstroke shrugs as best as he can while rowing. “Well you can’t have been on there for too long; you don’t have the mean look to you that seasoned seamen have, and you haven’t been marked as Todd’s as far as I can tell.

“Marked?” Tim shudders, face paling. Deathstroke smirks at him.

“Nothing bad, kid; really more for your protection than anything. You know, usually men will jump at the chance to bed the captain’s woman unless she’s blatantly off limits. But hey, maybe Todd’s crew is one of a kind.” Deathstroke’s derisive tone suggests otherwise. Tim can’t blame him.

“I’m not his woman,” he mutters, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering in the cold ocean breeze. For a split second, he misses the warmth of Jason’s captain’s coat; he immediately reprimands himself – and Tim wonders with a jolt if that was what Deathstroke meant by being marked.

Deathstroke only snorts dismissively. “Right.” The rest of the time is spent in silence, the waves rocking against the boat and Deathstroke’s smooth, efficient strokes of the oars. When they’re much closer to Deathstroke’s ship than the Sheila Haywood, Deathstroke beckons him over. Warily, Tim clambers over, keeping as much space as he can between him and the pirate.

“Well, it’s been fun, kid, but this is where we part ways.”

Tim panics. “If you kill me, I’m capsizing this rowboat,” he threatens before realizing how ludicrous his threat sounds.

Deathstroke barks with laughter. “Nothing of the sort,” he reassures, but Tim isn’t even remotely comforted. “If you had any bit of visible seafaring skills, maybe I’d keep you. But as it is, it looks like Todd can’t even use you as a cabin boy I don’t need another mouth to feed. I just needed you until we were out of firing range.” Then Deathstroke lurches forward – Tim tries to scuttle back but to no avail. Deathstroke yanks on the oars, pulling them partially out of the water and driving the butt of them brutally into Tim’s gut. Tim cries out as Deathstroke pushes him overboard like a sack of potatoes.

Tim’s head breaks the water desperately as he tries to paddle with his handcuffed arms. “W-wait!” he calls desperately, but the man only laughs at him, readjusting his position to start rowing again.

“Nothing personal, kid,” calls the man. “Just survive for long enough until they rescue you. If they do, that is.”

Tim tries to paddle after the boat, but the boat cuts easily through the waves as he bobs uselessly in the tide.

“Please,” he gasps desperately, reaching out with his manacled hands, but Deathstroke’s not even looking at him any longer; the boat leaves him to flounder in the sea, the Sheila Haywood’s sails stretches of ocean away on the horizon.

Chapter Text

The water is freezing. Tim’s head breaks the surface of the water as he gasps for breath. His chained hands thrash in the water to try and keep himself afloat. Deathstroke is far out of reach, the even strokes of his oars pushing the rowboat further and further from Tim. It feels like there’s miles and miles of ocean separating Tim from Jason’s ship, hundreds of waves and cresting sea foam tossing him away from the safety of the Sheila Haywood. Tim sucks in a single lungful of breath just before another wave breaks over his head to send him under once more.

“Yeah, that’s it,” chided Kon as Tim broke the surface of the water as he flailed in the watering hole situated on the Kent’s farm. “One day, you’re going to thank me for teaching me how to swim.”

And probably, without Connor’s help, Tim would have already drowned long ago on the fateful day he crossed paths with Captain Jason Todd. Still, the peaceful ripples of the Kent’s watering hole were a pale comparison to the merciless ocean waves, and Tim is caught in its clutches.

His saturated clothes make his futile attempts to swim against the waves harder. Kicking his waterlogged boots off is its own battle, but he manages –he lets them sink into the depths. In the far off distance, Tim catches a glimpse of a rowboat lowering down from the Sheila Haywood before another wave crashes over him. He’s tossed unforgivingly in the ocean currents for several precious seconds before he gasps for air once more.

Disoriented, Tim twists around as best as he can to find his bearings. The miniature figure of Deathstroke has already reached his ship, scaling up the ladder rungs as his rowboat is hauled up. Gritting his teeth, Tim dog paddles forward, the manacles limiting his movements as yet another wave breaks over his head. He manages to not get dragged down once more by the relentless waves, but Tim realizes with a sinking dread that the ocean current is dragging him slowly but surely away from the Sheila Haywood. He fights against the current, but each wave cascading over his head drags him slightly off course despite his efforts.

Still, Jason’s rowboat is making progress towards him – as the minutes slowly pass by Tim can make out dim shapes of people in the boat, and while that bolsters his determination, his strength is quickly failing him, deadened from the cold water and his numbed limbs.

He spies someone moving to stand upright on the boat – to Tim’s shock, it’s Jason. Tim’s so caught off guard that another wave drags him under – it takes longer for him to resurface this time, and his manacled hands stretch towards the boat desperately before he’s sucked under again. Every breath dragged in feels like a miracle, his chest is burning from exertion. His movements have noticeably slowed. Then Jason dives in with a splash without any hesitation or regard for his own safety, and all Tim can think is that he has to get to him now.

Spurring on his efforts, Tim fights against the current as he forces his exhausted limbs to move. Jason’s form cuts easily through the water, his strokes solid and confident as they cut through the ocean waves towards him. At this point, it’s all Tim can do to stay afloat and keep his head above the water. It’s slow, and it’s painful –Tim’s lungs feel like they’re burning. Yet the sight of Jason fighting to get to him encourages Tim as he uses up the last vestiges of his strength to kick towards the pirate captain.

“Jason!” he calls, reaching out again. His voice barely carries over the open sea. “Jason!”

Strong arms wrap around Tim and pull him in. An immeasurable amount of relief fills him as he lets himself sag against Jason’s bare chest, the waterlogged cotton of Tim’s shirt sticking between their bodies.

“It’s not over yet,” growls Jason, but there’s no aggression in his tone, just the heavy pants of exertion. Tim’s about to reply, then –

Boom. A resonating cannon blast deafens Tim’s ears. Jason drags him under without warning, his grip more demanding and unrelenting than any other wave. Tim chokes, accidentally inhaling seawater.

He struggles against Jason’s grasp, precious air bubbles escaping his mouth as he fights towards the surface. Jason drags him into the depths, and Tim closes his eyes against the salty sting of seawater. His vision grows fuzzy. Jason’s lips seal over his, slotting over his mouth to breathe oxygen into Tim. His panicked struggling abates slightly. Twisting around behind Tim underwater, Jason wraps an arm about Tim’s middle as they resurface.

“Tim, I need you to kick.” pants Jason. “We’ll be out of his range soon –can you do it?”

“I –“ begins Tim, but then another earth-shattering boom forces Jason to drag Tim beneath the surface once more.  Jason is practically swimming on his side, forced to support Tim’s weight and tow him along. Twisting his head up to instinctively seek air, Tim sees the cannon ball break the surface where fragmented sunlight dances on the other side of the water. It sinks into the depths, and Tim weakly helps to propel their bodies back to the surface.

“I can’t –“ Tim gasps desperately the second he has enough breath to speak, desperate and exhausted and petrified.

“You can,” snaps Jason. His tone leaves no room for argument. He resumes his strokes once more in earnest.

It feels like hours as Jason helps him through the current. Every so often they’re forced to swim below the surface when there’s a frightful cannon blast, and every time Tim grips Jason’s arm for dear life as he weakly tries to assist Jason by kicking. When Tim struggles for air, bubbles escaping parted lips, Jason is there to support him, breathing life back into Tim and the perseverance to keep going. And then, when Tim really thinks he can’t go on further, Jason huffs loud and weary against his ear.

“We’re out of his firing range. How’re you holding up?”

Tim just shakes his head noiselessly, sinking against Jason and closing his eyes. Jason strikes him smartly across the cheek. Tim jerks his face up to glare at him wearily, no energy left to react to his stinging face.

“You are not drowning on me here. Kick.”

And Tim does, even though every muscle and organ feels like it’s protesting against Jason’s order. Eventually, he feels arms lifting him up and out of the water, shivering against the ocean wind as concerned voices surround him. The boat rocks beneath him nauseatingly. His eyes flutter open in time to see Dick pulling a completely soaked Jason into the boat. Jason’s weight rocks the boat; it swings wildly to and fro before righting itself. Tim dry heaves.

“Tim.” Kory’s voice floats over to him, worry easily discernable in her voice. “Are you –”

“No.” He starts coughing.

“Shit,” Dick says. Someone manages to drag him into a position so that he empties the contents of his stomach over the side. When he’s done, Tim curls up into a wretched ball at the shallow bottom of the row boat.

“Easy,” breathes Kory, stroking the back of his head. Someone finally unlocks the cuffs about his wrists. His shirt is peeled off him, a dry blanket wrapped around his freezing body. “I need you to stay awake. Stay with us, Tim.”

“Deathstroke?” mumbles Tim groggily.

“He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

“S’not safe,” mumbles Tim. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the black spots dancing in his vision.

“Tim. Tim, you can’t go to sleep. It’ll only a few minutes, and we’ll reach the ship. Stay awake for us, Tim, please.”

He doesn’t quite fall asleep, but it’s a near thing as he drifts in and out. The voices prod Tim insistently, and he grudgingly responds to the banal questions they ask to keep him awake, closing his eyes against the too bright sunshine and shivering in the wind that prickles his wet skin and clothes uncomfortably.

He moans softly when someone stands up the in rowboat, the tiny boat rocking precariously. They try to move him but he resists, curling into a tiny ball at the bottom of the boat. They have to hoist the rowboat up with him still in it, and he groans at the precarious lurching of the boat in midair as it’s finally hoisted onto the Sheila Haywood.

“Tim? Tim!” Stephanie’s voice. “Oh my god, he looks terrible.” He’s dragged upright, his shoulders shaken. He finally opens his eyes to glare at Stephanie, but one look at her frightened expression melts the irritation from his exhausted body.

“I’ll take him.” Someone gently pulls him from Stephanie, hoisting him up easily like he weighs nothing. “Shit kid, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Someone get him fresh clothes, he’s freezing.”

“Roy,” mumbles Tim, and he curls into Roy’s chest to try and hide from the sunlight. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Roy’s voice is incredulous. “What for?”

“I really was a liability,” Tim whispers, miserable and wretched. He wishes the all noises and light would stop so he can sleep.

“No, kid. It’s our fault. Rest. You’re in good hands now.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s the growling hunger of his stomach that awakens him. Tim stirs, groaning softly. It takes time for his eyes to readjust to his surroundings. A single candle lights the semi-darkness of Jason’s cabin comfortably, though it’s not absolutely necessary. The broken door is propped against the entrance crookedly, the final rays of sunset seeping in through the jagged cracks of the door’s edges.

While he’s mostly dry, his hair’s still damp – Tim shivers briefly at the feel of an escaping breeze that glides through the broken doorway. Burying himself deeper into the covers, Tim inhales deeply– and realizes that once again, he’s curled up in Jason’s coat.

“Well you can’t have been on there for too long; you don’t have the mean look to you that seasoned seamen have, and you haven’t been marked as Todd’s as far as I can tell.” Deathstroke’s words echo back to haunt him; Tim shivers at the memory of the cruel orange-black mask and the one eye that gazed coolly back at him, goosebumps racing down his skin.

Maybe he’s naïve, but if Jason’s signature coat isn’t what Deathstroke meant by marking, then Tim doesn’t have the foggiest clue to whatever hidden meanings Deathstroke might have been hinting at.

The pirate lifestyle is still a complete and utter mystery to him.

Tim wants nothing more than to just not move his aching limbs and go back to sleep, but his stomach growls once more, reminding him that he’s parched and had heaved up the contents of his stomach just hours earlier. Muscles complaining, Tim gingerly rolls himself out of bed, treading gently to the door and –

“You’ve gone soft, Jason.” The breeze carries the words over to Tim, his hand frozen on the handle. Dick’s voice is stern, the tone of frustration evident in his hushed voice where they’re talking just outside the doorway.

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you for your opinion.” Jason’s voice is rough and deceptively calm.

“Jason.” From the splintered cracks in the wood, Tim watches with bated breath as Dick leans in close towards Captain Todd’s face. “Maybe you should act your age a bit and learn to take criticism where it’s sorely needed.”

“Sorry for not filling out my big boy britches the way you wanted me to, Dickie,” drawls Jason antagonizingly. “But you know, this is my goddamn ship, and I’m not taking criticism from you of all people.”

“You put the crew in danger,” hisses Dick. “And all for Tim.”

“I had a handle on things.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” snaps Dick, “not even yourself. You should have stayed on the ship instead of rowing out.”

“Deathstroke –”

“Forget Deathstroke for a minute,” growls Dick. “I know how to handle him better than you. But because you insisted on coming on that rowboat, Deathstroke took the gamble in trying to shoot you down. Do you know what would have happened if anything had went wrong and you drowned with Tim?”

“I kept Roy back on the ship for that reason –”

“You should have sent Roy and me out instead of coming yourself! Don’t you see what I’m trying to get at?” Dick rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “Roy’s a better swimmer than you, anyway. In risking yourself – you put us in danger too.”

“Shut up, Dick.”

“This is for your own good, Jason. You’re just being willfully ignorant,” hisses Dick, exasperated. “You chose to become a pirate captain – act like it.”

“Funny, now you want me to act like the pirate that I am?” sneers Jason. “My, how the tables have turned, Goldie.”

“I need you to act like a goddamn captain. Roy and I – we’re going to have to run damage control, now because of your blasted inability to think before you act! Do you even realize now what everyone thinks now? Deathstroke, me, Roy, pretty much the entire crew –now think that the easiest way to getting under your skin is that kid. And you won’t acknowledge that because you’ve got your head up your ass and pretty much everyone else hasn’t worked up the courage to say it to your face!”

“We’ve gone to so much fucking trouble keeping him alive, you think I’m going to let Tim slip through our fingers now just because of Deathstroke?”

Dick sighs in exhaustion. “You’re avoiding the subject. Jason, don’t you see?” He lowers his voice. “You’re in over your head. Tim’s a good kid. We all like him. But he’s not worth losing you.”

Jason scowls darkly. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Screw your head on right and get a grip. And think about –properly I mean – just what Tim means to you. If he’s loot – treat him like loot, not a bedmate. If he’s a prisoner, keep him in the brig the way we’ve always done it. If you want Tim as a cabin boy or something– make him one officially. Because after that stunt you pulled – people are talking. And when a captain’s authority gets undermined…well, we don’t need to worry about quelling a mutiny on top of everything else.” Dick claps a firm hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Now, you can go check up on him. Roy’s bandaged him up already.”

“Great, anything else I need to know?” asks Jason sarcastically.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you bringing food and water to loot.”

“Shut up.”

Tim tears himself away from the crevice in the cracked door, dashing silently back to the bed and throwing himself a top the mattress to curl up in Jason’s coat. His eyes squeeze shut just as the door’s awkwardly shoved to the side and Jason’s heavy footsteps lumber in.

“Tim?” Jason’s tone is soft and unobtrusive in counterpoint to Tim’s pounding heart. He stirs slightly, feigning grogginess.

“Jason?” he murmurs. He pretends to yawn.

“I brought food. How’re you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” says Tim truthfully. His muscles are protesting just sitting up.

“Lemme check – shit, your neck.”

“Huh?” Tim blinks up at the dim silhouette of Jason bracketed by the clean light of sunset filtering in from the doorway. Tim’s fingers reach up to gingerly touch his neck.

“No, let me.” Jason’s calloused fingers gently brush his fingers away. “Shit, that bastard,” he curses, and Tim realizes what Jason is talking about. Jason’s fingers trace the bruising skin of his neck, and now that Jason called attention to it Tim can feel the dull ache from where Deathstroke had squeezed the air from his throat.

“Don’t bother,” he mumbles, turning on his side and away from Jason. “S’not like you haven’t done the same before,” he can’t help but add.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” acknowledges Jason. Tim can’t hide a shiver when Jason’s fingers gently press down on the forming bruises, unable to conceal his vulnerability.

“Why does everyone try to strangle me on sight?” he grumbles, wrapping Jason’s coat tighter around him.

“Stephanie didn’t.”

“She hit me with a brick the first time,” mumbles Tim.

“Obviously you haven’t gotten over that particular humiliation if this is the second time you’re telling me this,” observes Jason wryly, and Tim can’t help a choked laugh escaping his lips. Jason’s fingers drift away from his neck.

“Can you eat anything?” he asks, and Tim nods as he remembers his hunger. Jason offers up a tray of food – mostly porridge and bread. Tim dives voraciously into it, his stomach complaining at him for neglecting it for so long.

“You’re quieter than usual,” observes Jason, and Tim manages a half shrug, avoiding his discerning gaze. He nibbles at the bread, fidgeting under Jason’s steady observations until he can’t bear it anymore.

“I thought…” he pauses to swallow the bread thickly. “I thought you wouldn’t come.” He stares down into his bowl of porridge.

Jason doesn’t respond. Tim doesn’t dare to look up, can’t even fathom what kind of face Captain Todd must be making right now. Silence ensues between them as Tim stares fixedly into his food.

“I didn’t think that Deathstroke would be enough to intimidate you.”

“Excuse me?” Tim looks up incredulously.

“Nothing. But…maybe I was too quick to assume that that you’d be fine, considering that you were dumb enough to charge point blank at Deathstroke, which, I may add, you should really not do, ever. Seriously.”

“It…it wasn’t about being scared.”

“No?’ Jason’s eyebrows lift dubiously. “You’re moping.”

“No! I mean… it was scary – terrifying, if I’m being honest.” Tim laughs shortly, eyes downcast once more. “But more than that…I guess I’m just angry at myself.” About my own damn helplessness.

“Deathstroke’s not a man any normal person can go up against, physically or otherwise. He’s ex-military.” Jason gestures towards the broken door. “If it were just his brute strength that’s one thing, but he’s got the stamina, the experience, and the skills. I don’t think we’ll encounter him again, but you do ever see him again…just run.”

“On your ship?” Tim laughs bitterly. “Not exactly many places to run or hide.”

“It’ll probably raise your chances for survivability than you running at him,” snorts Jason. “Of all the stupid shit I’ve seen people do, you really surpass them all.”

“Flattering,” mumbles Tim. Finishing off his food, he curls up again as Jason takes the tray from his hands.

“Feeling better now?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Tim mumbles into the fabric of Jason’s coat. As soon as the words are out of his lips he wishes he could take them back.

“Are you complaining?”

“No… it‘s just…it’s nothing.” Tim sighs as he nestles into the pillow. An idea springs to mind. “I guess at times like these when I’m just well, moping…I’d play a lot of chess.”

“A game that sounds like it’s right up your alley, rich boy.”

“It’s not for rich people, it’s for anyone,” Tim protests.

“Do you really think people who have to work for their livelihood actually have time to play a gentleman’s game?”

“It helps me focus,” hedges Tim to avoid answering the question. He sighs for dramatic effect. “But you’re right, I suppose I wouldn’t find any worthy opponents on this ship.”

A certain mischievous glint enters Jason’s eyes, one that Tim would have missed in the dim lighting if he hadn’t been looking for it. “Hm, I suppose not.”

“I could teach you if we had a chess set,” sighs Tim. “It’s a very complicated game though, it would probably take a lot of time for you to understand everything.”

“You seem very fixated.”

“I’m tired of having to play poker every time I want something from you,” snorts Tim. “Think of it as having a handicap for once.”

“So what do you want from me, Tim?” Jason’s voice drops lower.

“I –” Tim falters, caught off guard. “My belt and ring, for starters. And I guess…a distraction would be nice,” he adds on softly, letting his eyelids fall shut. “And answers.”

“Oh?”

“The reason I’ve got bruises around my neck is because I got dragged into your affairs,” points out Tim logically. “And since you’re a pirate and you refuse to tell me anything, I’m just going to have to pry it out of you.”

Jason chuckles, a soft genuine sound that throws Tim for a loop. It’s rough, it’s coarse and not at all refined – but it’s real, and more surprisingly, not meant to antagonize.

“I might actually have what you’re looking for love, though as for being a worthy opponent I guess we’ll have to see.” He stoops up, grabbing the candle to light instead a much larger lantern that casts a gentle glow about his quarters. “Now, where the hell did I put it?” He stoops in front of the chest, opening the lid with a loud creak and rummaging through it. Tim cheers internally as he pulls out the chess set. “There we go. A little beaten up, but no worse for wear I think.”

“That’s an awfully nice chess set for a pirate,” says Tim suspiciously. “Did you steal it off someone?”

“Maybe I murdered a man for it,” said Jason smugly. “It’d fetch a pretty penny, wouldn’t it?”

“Seems like an awful lot of work for a leisure game you don’t know the rules to. Especially for one missing a king.”

“But as you said, it’s an awfully nice set. And before you keep talking in that condescending tone, love, you can skip the tutorial; I’ve played it once or twice.”

“I’ll be sure to go easy on you then,” drawls Tim.

Jason stares at him suspiciously as he shakes out the contents of the set. Tim manages what he hopes is an innocent smile, but he notices that Jason carefully opens the lid so that the lettering Tim knows is etched on the inside isn’t visible. As they arrange the board, Jason messes up the position of the bishops and knights; Tim corrects him.

“We’re still wagering, by the way,” interrupts Tim casually, just as Jason’s about to make the first move, fingertips resting atop the crest of a white pawn. He’s chosen the center, a good choice for an opener.

Jason chuckles throatily. “We’ll make a gambler of you yet, love. What are the stakes?”

“For every piece I capture, you answer a question,” says Tim smoothly. “And for each piece you take…”

“I get a kiss?” Jason smirks at him.

“Yes.” Yet when Tim glances down to observe the chess board, he’s stopped by fingers gently catching hold of his chin. Jason’s thumb gently presses against the fullness of Tim’s lips; Tim freezes in place.

“You wouldn’t be counting the ones earlier when I was saving you, would you, love?”

Tim swallows thickly. “Is that a complaint?” he counters, pulling away from Jason’s touch.

“Maybe it is.” Jason’s gaze challenges him.

“Better learn how to deal with it then.”

“Do you even know how many times I had to give you air? I don’t think that’s a reasonable stipulation, love.”

 “Eight.”

“I don’t think I heard that right, Timmy.” Tim fights the blush emerging onto his cheeks as Jason surveys him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Repeat that for me?”

“Eight,” grinds out Tim through his teeth. “You gave me air eight times. Are you going to move your pawn or not?”

“I guess I’ll just have to capture more than eight of your pieces, then,” hums Jason.

For the life of him Tim can’t tell if Jason actually does know how to play. His opening is sound; he claims most of the center territory, but he plays recklessly with moves Tim finds difficult to decipher. He takes two pawns; Tim takes his knight as Jason moves his queen out into the battlefield.

“You’re just playing to capture pieces, aren’t you,” he accuses, and Jason roguishly winks at him.

“Nothing against the rules regarding that.” He snags another one of Tim’s pawns and loses two. Tim grits his teeth as he’s forced on the defensive as Jason’s queen ravages his setup. “Do I get more kisses for more important pieces?”

“Only if you’re willing to answer more questions.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Jason smirks at him. “The mystery’s part of the swashbuckling charm, Timmy.”

“Would it kill you to call me Tim on at least a semi regular basis? I don’t think that’s asking for much.”

“Maybe if you win I’ll consider.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Well, that’s nice, but it’s check for you.”

“What?” Tim scans the board incredulously. Jason chuckles as he tosses Tim’s newly captured queen into the air, snagging it in his hand to place a kiss atop its cross. Tim backpedals; he sacrifices his rook, Jason in hot pursuit of his king. He flushes when Jason steals his ninth piece; Jason’s blatant leer tells Tim that he definitely noticed. Jason snags another piece as Tim evades a second check.

“So, Tim, any other tricks up your sleeve?” Jason smirks and twirls Tim’s queen idly. “You have less than half your pieces left.”

“Not particularly,” hums Tim, scanning the board. “But if I take your bishop…” He snatches up Jason’s chess piece, moving his into position. “That’s checkmate, isn’t it?”

“Fuck.” Jason jerks forward, squinting at the board as Tim leans back in triumph.

“No re-dos,” says Tim smugly, as Jason groans, carding his hand through his hair.

“You’re a real piece of work, kid.”

“It’s Tim.”

“I only said I’d consider,” retorts Jason. “Sorry, love.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Captain Todd.” Tim grins at him victoriously, too ecstatic at finally achieving an indisputable win to be disgruntled at Jason’s reluctance.

“Good to see that you’ve finally perked up, kid,” grumbles Jason, but he doesn’t seem too irritated, which Tim takes as a good sign.

“I get seven questions.”

Jason huffs, stretching as he starts packing up the chess set, making sure the inside faced away from Tim once more. “You sure do, kid. Fire away.”

“Hmm.” Tim sighs as he curls up in Jason’s coat, feeling like some of the stress and tension from the last few weeks had melted off his shoulders. “Where did you learn to play?”

“Chess is a good way to swindle rich gentlemen brats like you, kid.” Jason smirks at him. “Bored egalitarians with too much time on their hands used to be some of the best ways to earn good money.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Jason utters a short curse under his breath, scowling as Tim smirks at him proudly. “England,” he says shortly.

“What happened to the black king?” Tim asks curiously, picking up his piece to examine once again curiously. “Did you make this one?”

“Lost it, and no I didn’t. Three questions down, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” mutters Tim. “So…who was Rose?”

Jason’s eyes narrow slightly. “She used to be a crewmember of mine.”

“Well, I gathered that much,” snorts Tim. “But what I meant was…just who was she to you? And that’s me rephrasing the question, not asking a new one.”

“We weren’t anything special, kid.” Jason Todd shrugs. “We had that spark together, we acted on it, and we parted ways. She wasn’t part of my crew for long.” He casts an amused look at Tim. “Jealous?”

“You wish,” says Tim scathingly. “What did Deathstroke want her for?”

“Dunno. Wish I knew the answer to that too. Next.”

Tim chews on his bottom lip. “Why…why did you come rescue me?” His fingers knot themselves into Jason’s coat. “You could have sent anyone. You didn’t even have to send anyone. But you left your crew and came. So…why?” His voice trails off into a whisper.

Jason is utterly silent. Tim swallows, the silence unnerving. “Please,” he offers. “I want to know.”

Jason’s expression is strained, like he can barely formulate the words in his head. Then he speaks, and his next words stun Tim into speechlessness. “You’re important to me.”

Tim laughs, shocked and confused. “You’re…you’re teasing me again,” he manages. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you truly think you’d be in my cabin right now if I weren’t serious?” Jason’s voice is deceptively calm. “Final question, love.”

There had been a thousand questions Tim wanted to ask, but now they disappeared, replaced by new ones all echoing in his mind screaming to be heard. Still, one single question that’s niggled at the back of his mind since Deathstroke had brought it up remains. Choking down the rest of the mysteries and his complete confusion, Tim finally brings it up.

“Earlier on, Deathstroke mentioned my….not being marked by you.” Tim glances up at Jason. “What did he mean?”

Jason sighs. “Fucking bastard,” he mutters. “The captain’s woman…well, normally has some sort of…ornament or symbol that signifies she’s his. Just you know, less trouble and all that.”

“And…I’m guessing that Rose had said ornament,” Tim says carefully, trying to probe for more answers.

“Actually, no.” Jason guffaws. “She threatened to hamstring me when I offered it. She can take care of herself; she doesn’t need that sort of protection.”

“You said she wasn’t anything special, but you offered it to her?” Tim squints at him suspiciously.

“It was more out of courtesy than anything else.”

“Right.” Tim snorts.

“See, I’m even being nice, answering an additional question. Are you happy?”

“I suppose so,” mutters Tim. “How nice, a pirate hopefully answering my questions honestly.”

“Knew you’d come around eventually.” Jason grins at him. “And now…I think you owe me some kisses, love.”

“But only two.”

“You’re a tough miser, love.” Jason sighs dramatically. Yet he leans in, only to be stopped by Tim’s hand pressing against his chest.

“W-wait.”

“What?” Jason glances at him, annoyed.

“I…it just doesn’t make sense.”

“If you’re just doing this to stall, Timmy, I –”

“You said that I’m…I’m important somehow. To you. But this…I don’t understand what you want from me.” Tim glances away. “How do I know you weren’t lying?”

“I daresay that a pirate on any given day is lying through their rotten teeth,” says Jason flippantly, but Tim’s glare quiets him.

“I just…want to know what all this means to you. Because you’re right. You do treat me differently.” Tim doesn’t fight the blush rising to his cheeks anymore though he hides his eyes in his bangs. “You wouldn’t wager kisses against someone who…who…” he can’t finish his sentence.

“Whom I didn’t desire?” Jason’s fingers brush his cheek. “You’re right. But I’ve already declared my intentions once, love, and I don’t think you’re dense as you are willfully ignoring it.”

“You’re…offering me a choice.”

“Of a sort. But things can’t go on like they did before, Tim.” Jason kisses him on the corner of his lips before Tim can react. “My crew doesn’t like the fact you’re getting special treatment without rhyme or reason, I’m afraid.”

“So what are my options?” asks Tim hesitantly.

“You can stay a prisoner. Or loot.” Jason shrugs at him. “You’ll be kept in the brig. As loot, you’ll be chained inside all day. Or…you can become mine.”

The answer is easy enough. Stephanie had said they’d be reaching Hispaniola in a matter of days. If he’s locked up in the brig or in Jason’s cabin, most likely Jason will have the keys on his person. He needs relative free reign of the ship, and there’s nothing better than choosing his fate of his own free will. Stephanie would be the most likely suspect in any escape attempts Tim might make, being caged would only further complicate matters.

He exhales deeply, letting his head drop forward to rest against the crook of Jason’s shoulder. He thinks he feels a hitch in Jason’s breath, but he tells himself he’s imagining it as he gathers his courage.

“I’m yours.”

Chapter Text

“You’re becoming a menace and you know it.” Roy huffs and throws down his cards, shoving his coins towards the center of the table where they’re clustered. “That’s the third time in a row, you cheeky brat.”

“Beginner’s luck?” says Tim coyly, cards fanned out as he hides his smile in them. Roy chucks a coin that bounces off Tim’s face.

“Ow.” Tim rubs his stinging forehead. “What was that for?”

“You don’t get to act all innocent now, kid.” Roy tousles his hair. “We all know Jay’s been giving you lessons.”

“More than one kind of lesson, probably,” mutters Harper behind her cards.

“I’m sorry,” says Tim sweetly. “But I don’t think I heard you over the sound of my four of a kind.”

“Piss off,” snorts Harper good-naturedly as Tim collects his winnings. She punches his arm companionably, but Tim’s arm smarts from the friendly blow.

“Let’s hope Captain Todd doesn’t teach him how to rig the dealer, or we’re all fucked.”

Kori smiles as she reshuffles the cards dexterously, Tim staring enviously at the ease with which she bridged the deck. “But I am glad that Tim is able to talk with us so easily now. Before you were…somewhat distant.”

“You can add aggressive to that too,” adds Roy, grinning wryly.

Tim reddens a little. “Sorry,” he mutters abashedly, glancing away. Roy blinks in surprise at his embarrassment before laughing raucously.

“I guess spending your alone time with Jay has been doing some good if you can make expressions like that, huh?” He grins meaningfully at Tim.

“I – we haven’t –” splutters Tim, and Harper punches him in the shoulders with a grin.

“It’s a bit late to be embarrassed kid, especially when you’re wearing his mark.” She flicks the singular earring dangling from Tim’s left ear, a miniature bronze-wrought broadsword with an ornate hilt.

“Don’t touch it,” huffs Tim, cupping a hand over his ear. Everyone snickers at him.

“I trust Jason was…gentle, with you, yes?” Kori asks, cocking her head her head him. “He was reluctant to give us details.”

Tim chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he asks, gasping for breath.

“C’mon guys, don’t tease the rich kid so much, he looks like he might die from embarrassment,” laughs Roy cheerfully as Kori deals. He lounges back as he rearranges his cards.

“That’s true, this is the first time he’s refused to tell us anything,” snorts Roy. “That ass.”

Kori smiles at Tim winningly as she flicks his cards towards him. “He’s good in bed, isn’t he?” she asks nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather. “There’s no shame in admitting that.”

“Oh my god.” Tim cringes and hides his burning face behind his cards. Harper snickers at him audibly, not even trying to conceal her mirth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’ll hurt.” Jason scrutinizes Tim’s expression for a betrayal of his thoughts.

“I don’t doubt that,” mutters Tim, watching the flickering candle flame heat the needle. He draws his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees to himself where he’s perched on the edge of Jason’s bed.

“Do you know what it means to be mine?” murmurs Jason lowly, withdrawing the needle from the flame. “Because I don’t think you have the slightest idea.”

“Are you saying I get to reconsider?” asks Tim, raising his eyebrows. “Because if I do –”

“There’s no take backs once you walk out that door with this, Tim,” replies Jason. He drops the earring into Tim’s open palm. Tim examines it; even without a trained craftsman’s eye he can admire the handiwork. Etched faintly into the center of the guard he can just barely make out JPT in the dancing candlelight clearing away the shadows. He looks back up; Jason’s eyes are dark and maybe for the first time, earnest.

“You’d better clean that because I’m pretty sure your ears are goddamn filthy.”

 “Your choice, princess,” Jason peers at the needle tip. It gleams brightly for a moment, golden in the lamplight. “I think it’s cooled. Ready?”

Tim exhales. “As much as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Yet as soon as the tip touches the flesh of his earlobe, Tim panics. He grips Jason’s wrist, stilling him. “Wait,” he pleads. He glances up anxiously at Jason. His eyes blink curiously as they regard Tim. “I’m not…I – I’m just…me.”

For a second, Tim wonders if he needs to clarify. Yet Jason’s head dips lower, breath ghosting across the shell of his ear before he can even formulate the words.

“No one knows that better than me.”

The needle presses harder, breaking skin. Tim’s eyes scrunch shut and his fingers dig hard into the bedcovers, resisting the urge to flinch away. The pain intensifies, then recedes as the needle passes through his lobe cleanly. He steadies his breath, trying to focus beyond the pain.

The earring is inserted in; Tim winces at the residual sting and the new, unfamiliar weight of Jason’s mark as Captain Todd carefully wipes away the blood and evaluates his handiwork.

“It doesn’t look half bad,” he says, smiling crookedly. “Looks better than I thought it would.”

“It feels…weird.” Tim grimaces, tilting his head experimentally. The tip of the sword taps against his skin, heavy and prominent. “Like now one side of my head is too heavy.”

“We could always give you a second one,” smirks Jason, and Tim makes another face.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Shame.” Jason’s hand presses firmly against Tim’s chest as if to push him down; Tim predicts it. He grips Jason’s wrist and jerks it towards him, offsetting Jason’s balance as he rolls to the side to avoid being caught under Jason’s bulk. Jason’s body twists as he falls forward, landing on his side. As Jason rolls onto his back, a warning glint in his eye, Tim makes his move, landing with a hard thump atop Jason’s stomach as he straddles him.

Jason’s mouth is partially open in surprise; the fleeting expression disappears as quickly as it comes, replaced by a leer.

“I didn’t think you’d be so eager, love.”

“Hold up.” Tim has to act fast; if he takes too long Jason will simply push him off, but for now Jason’s entertaining him, his curiosity piqued. “I think you got something wrong, love,” Tim says, gratified when he doesn’t stammer.

“Oh?” Jason’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his fringe.

“I said I’d be yours.”

“I heard you.”

“I didn’t say I’d be your woman.”

The edge of a sly gleam flash through Jason’s gaze. “Is this the game you’re playing now, love?” he asks slowly, and Tim jerks in surprise as Jason’s free hands graze against the outside of his thighs. “I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

Irritated at his moment of weakness, Tim schools his expression, cocking his head and gazing down at where Jason is sprawled under him, easily accommodating his weight. “I have an offer I think you’d be interested in.”

“Normally we call them propositions ‘round here.”

Tim chooses to ignore the comment, leaning forward until his body nearly draped across Jason’s torso, leaning so that he can whisper in Jason’s ear. “Twenty-five consecutive wins against me in chess, and I’ll be your woman.”

Jason stills completely under him. “Fifteen.”

Tim sits back up as if to draw himself to his full height, gazing down at Jason scornfully. “You underestimate my worth, pirate.”

“And you think you’re in any position to make that sort of offer?” retorts Jason, but there’s no sneer in his tone, just a subtle interest that Tim detects.

“I’ve accepted your wagers when I was disadvantaged,” says Tim loftily. “Are you too cowardly to do the same?”

Jason’s calloused fingers squeeze Tim’s thighs hard; he ignores the brief instance of pain.

“And what makes you think you have any right to make those sort of demands?” murmurs Jason. “To be mine is to be my woman.”

“The crew is yours, and so is the ship. So are your belongings. By that logic, I don’t have to be your woman to be yours.”

“So then, what are you, Timothy Drake?” whispers Jason. “What will you be to me?”

“Myself. And nothing else.” Tim bites down on the inside of his cheek.

Jason considers him, eyes dark and gaze incomprehensible.

“And what will stop me from taking what’s mine as I please?” he says softly, his fingers skimming up to Tim’s waist in a subtle warning.

“The same thing that’s been stopping you all this while,” responds Tim. His pulse races, blood thrumming in his veins. “There’s been nothing stopping you since day one except yourself.” He takes a breath, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels as he faces down Jason Todd in the biggest bluff he’s made yet. “So, what will it be, Captain?” He prays his gamble will pay off.

Jason’s eyes gleam starkly in the candlelight, his hands now resting gently against Tim’s sides, a deceptively gentle presence. Never before, despite Jason’s relaxed form beneath him, has Tim ever felt so at Jason’s mercy. After what feels like an eternity has passed, Jason shifts beneath him and speaks, his voice so low Tim nearly misses what he says next.

“You should know better than to challenge bad men, love.” Jason’s hand rises to cup Tim’s cheek; Tim waits with bated breath, nerves thrumming in anticipation. “My offer is twenty, take it or leave it.”

A sigh escapes Tim’s lips as his rigid muscles relax; unbelievably, he’s won his bet.

“It’s a deal,” he says simply, moving to slide off. Then it’s Jason’s turn to reel him in; Tim gasps as he sprawls across Jason’s chest, jerking his head up until he realizes that his face is inches away from Jason’s.

“I think you’ve forgot something, love.”

Anxiety twists Tim’s stomach into knots. “What?” he asks, heart pounding against his ribcage.

“You still owe me one more kiss.” And Jason’s lips press hard against his.

It’s a long while before he’s permitted to breathe again.

~*~*~*~*~

“Land ahoy!” Everyone’s heads jerk up at Dick’s faint voice, the card game forgotten. The call repeats again, the shout taken up by other crewmembers until it reverberates through the ship, excitement infectious in the chant. "Land ahoy! Land ahoy!"

Harper is the first one to act. “What are you bastards waiting for? Let’s go!” she laughs joyfully, excited. She tosses her cards to the floor and races up towards the deck. Kori follows immediately after, but when Tim stands up, Roy’s hand curls about his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m supposed to get you to Jay’s quarters,” he says simply. Tim looks at him pleadingly, unable to voice what he really wants to say, but despite Roy’s sympathetic glances, the pirate stands firm. Roy guides him to the deck. Around them, pirates are rushing out towards the sides, and sure enough, faintly in the distance, Tim can see the shimmer of green and brown in the gleaming horizon where the ocean tides meet. Despite himself, he stops in his tracks, gazing yearningly towards what he thinks are sandy cliffs.

“Is that Hispaniola?” he asks, and Roy shifts behind him uncertainly.

“Yeah, Tim. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Will I…ever get to walk on land again?” he asks quietly. Roy heaves a sigh, and his hands descend upon Tim’s shoulders, steering him in the direction of Jason’s cabin.

“I don’t know,” is Roy’s honest reply. Tim bitterly tears his eyes away from the sight upon the horizon, letting himself be pulled away.

“Tim?” Stephanie rounds the corner, nearly dashing into him. “Where the hell have you been – Captain Todd wouldn’t let me see you after he saved you –”

“Been kind of…preoccupied,” manages Tim with a shrug. Roy is watching their exchange keenly, but hasn’t intervened yet. Stephanie’s eyes narrow, and Tim knows intuitively that her eyes are fixed on the broadsword earring resting heavily on his earlobe.

“I don’t believe it,” says Stephanie quietly. Tim swallows, wondering if he’s seriously miscalculated. The wind gusts strongly, the excited voices of the crew carrying over to them.

“Steph –”

“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Stephanie. “Of all the unbelievable – you absolute idiot. You actually became his woman?” Her furious expression conveys what Tim thinks he can only interpret as disgust and disappointment. Any possible excuses Tim could have made dry up in his mouth, rooted to the spot in shock as he is.

“I…” Stephanie glances away, her golden hair shadowing her eyes in the early afternoon sun. “I thought that maybe…I still meant something to you.”

“Stephanie…” Tim swallows. She makes as if to stride away; he reaches out but she slaps his hand away.

“Don’t talk to me.” She disappears as quickly as she had come, a mercurial tempest come and gone and leaving Tim still winded by what had just transpired.

“Did I really deserve that?” he wonders aloud, and Roy’s hand squeezes his shoulder in a gesture that’s probably meant to be consoling.

“Women are mysterious creatures,” Roy says wisely. “I guess she didn’t realize she still thought of you as her paramour? And by the looks of it…neither did you.”

Tim nods his head wordlessly; Roy gently prods him to move. Once he’s escorted back into Jason’s makeshift prison for him, the door closes shut. Roy has managed to fix it, but Tim personally thinks a strong enough wind would break it once more. Still, once more he’s a prisoner in Jason’s quarters, no matter how much nicer it is than the brig. He’s seen no sign of Jason; presumably he’s busy preparing for landing.

Huffing, Tim lifts up the mattress where he’s hidden Jason’s logbook. It’s still in place. Tim supposes Jason wouldn’t have had time to have written in it, given how much Tim had been purposefully distracting him every time they’d been in the cabin together.

If nothing else, hopefully it’d give him valuable insight regarding how Jason ran a tight ship. Tim opens to a page at random as he makes himself comfortable on the bed; his jaw drops.

For all the impressions Tim had of Jason, a man with some educational talent was not one of them. While his penmanship was a messy scrawl that was borderline indecipherable…

“What the hell?” mutters Tim incredulously, “he writes in Spanish?” He flips to another page. “And in French?” He squints at the spidery scrawl dotting the page, mostly comprising of just quick notes jotting down the routine, usually not in complete sentences. A lot of the French is misspelled; Tim can only pick out bits and pieces.

“Pillée…peu d'aprovisiomnt...approvisionnement? Pillage? No provisions?” mutters Tim, fingers tracing the letters as he struggles to read the illegible text. “Goddammit.” He flips to another page. He swallows thickly when his eyes stray to one word. Tim. It’s dated to earlier this month.

“Gané…su cinturón. Está mocoso loco.” Tim scowls in annoyance as he pieces together the meaning. “Rude, that’s what he is,” he mutters to himself.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Tim yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin as Jason towers over him.

“It’s not what you think,” he says immediately, then flushes in embarrassment at being caught.

“Of course not,” says Jason wryly, taking the logbook away and glancing through it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that my things got rearranged?”

“It was worth a risk,” says Tim casually, edging away, but Jason cages him in his arms. Tim stiffens, frozen in place.

“Was it now?” Jason smirks at him. “I think I’ve been letting you get away with a little too much now, haven’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” manages Tim, trying to subtly shift away from Jason’s reach, but Jason grabs his wrists and pins them before he gets very far.

“Somehow, you’re not making a very believable case for yourself,” drawls Jason. Tim protests, cringing when Jason pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “Think it’s time to set some limits, kid.”

Tim struggles, kicking out as he flails, but Jason easily dodges as he locks the cuffs around his wrists, looping the length of chain around the frame.

“You can’t do this!” snaps Tim. He tugs at the chains uselessly.

“Keep telling yourself that, Timmy,” says Jason, surveying his handiwork. “You know,” he hums conversationally, a warning edge belying his false cheer, “the usual punishment would be a whipping, at the very least. You’re getting off lightly, love. So…don’t test me.”

“Or what?” retorts Tim challengingly, and Jason quirks an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you’d like it when I’m mad, darling,” breathes Jason, and Tim bites back a growl at the obnoxious endearment. “I’ve told you to stop challenging bad men, haven’t I? One day, it won’t end so well for you.” He pats Tim’s head condescendingly. “Now, stay put, won’t you, love?”

“You can’t hold me here forever!” barks Tim, and Jason laughs at him.

“We’ll see about that, unless you learn to pick a lock.” He exits, the door swinging shut with a final click, and Tim curses and kicks the mattress in frustration.

~*~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe it,” complains Harper as she dumps a particularly unsavory-looking dinner in front of Tim, his hands unshackled for the time being. “I have to look after you while everyone gets to have proper booze on land? This is unfair.”

“Says the one who’s not a prisoner on this ship,” says Tim sullenly, accepting the tray as he sits up properly on the bed.

“You’re still hung up on that?” Harper snorts dismissively. “You’re not a prisoner, you’re his woman. Which means more trouble for all of us since now we have to make sure you’re not up to any trouble while he’s not around.”

“Usually it’s trouble finding me,” mumbles Tim sullenly as he tries to figure out how to eat the bread without breaking his teeth on it.

“Cute. Also, don’t even think about trying to escape, because I’ve punched down men three times your size.”

“What if I just really need to use the latrines?” Tim retorts, and Harper rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Now I’m really beginning to see why the captain’s always talking about your smart tongue.”

“When will they be back?” asks Tim, and Harper scoffs.

“Sorry kid, but I’ve been told to keep a tight lip where you’re concerned.”

“You can’t keep me handcuffed to the bed for days,” protests Tim.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Harper’s voice is studiously nonchalant. “Guess that’ll be up to the captain once he gets back.” Tim finishes his tray, reluctantly letting himself be shackled once again. “Get some rest, if you need anything just holler; I’ll be just outside.”

“This is awful.”

“So was losing to you three times in a row, rich brat. This is your comeuppance,” retorts Harper cheerfully. “And I got the short end of the stick in this too, so quit complaining.”

“I’m just stating facts.” Harper just mutters something under her breath and walks out, taking the tray with her. Tim notices that she locks the door behind her, and exhales tiredly.

He’s beginning to think there’s no way he’ll get to Bayaha. Now that the cabin’s quiet, he can hear the faint noises of people outside, voices carrying over the ocean breeze and the creak of the ship gently rocking with the tides. He doesn’t think they’ve docked at a port, but it’s definitely near people. Stephanie had said that Tortuga was a pirate haven; Tim doesn’t want to risk his bets with trying to scream for help even assuming his voice could be heard beyond the ship. He’s not even certain if they’re at Tortuga; Jason’s been incredibly thorough in limiting Tim’s access to information.

An hour passes, then two. Tim counts the number of planks in the ceiling multiple times, and then the number of wallboards. Eventually he finally drifts off into a light slumber, until –

Bump.

Tim blinks awake at the odd noise. The floorboards rattle slightly in the wind, creaking with the gentle sound of water lapping at the hull.

“Harper?” he calls uncertainly, softly. The soft pattering of feet skitters just outside the door. It doesn’t sound like rats.

Bump.

“Harper?” he calls again, a bit louder. “Is that you?” He wets his lips, slightly unnerved by the lack of response.

Bump! Something hits the cabin door with a solid thud.

“Oi!” Harper’s muffled voice sounds just outside the door. “Who are you – hk!”

Another solid hit. Tim tugs frantically at his chains. Silence reigns once more.

“Harper?” he calls louder. “Is everything all right?”

The silence echoes louder than the waves.

“Harper.” Tim gnaws his bottom lip. “I’m serious, what’s going on?”

Rustling. Tim tugs once more at his chains, ill-seated anxiety fraying his nerves. There’s the sound of metal, one that Tim can immediately identify as the key being inserted into the lock.

The lock turns. Then achingly, painfully slowly, the door creaks open.

There’s a hooded figure in the door frame. Tim presses himself up against the bedframe, heart practically in his mouth with fear as the door swings open wide enough to reveal Harper’s slumped figure, the stranger’s hand holding Harper by the neck of her shirt.

“What have you done,” Tim says, stricken. He means to shout it but it comes out as a dry rasp. “She’s not dead…is she?”

The figure doesn’t respond, instead choosing to step into the room, dragging Harper’s prone body in as well and shutting the door silently. The stranger drops Harper onto the floor; Tim is relieved to see Harper still breathing without any visible injuries.

“Who are you,” he demands, trying to make himself as small as possible, backed into the corner as he is. “I’ll scream if you don’t –”

“Shh.” The stranger sweeps back their hood. “It’s me.”

It takes Tim several moments to respond.

“C…Cass?” he breathes in confusion. He sags back against the wall, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Cass regards him silently, her expression betraying little. “What are you doing here?”

She steps forward. Tim’s stomach wraps itself into knots as he tenses up, but her outstretched hand opens, revealing the key to his handcuffs.

“Stephanie sent me.”

Chapter Text

“Stephanie sent me.” The words stun Tim into silence, giving Cassandra the opportunity to step forward and unlock his cuffs.

“But…why?” asks Tim blankly, incredibly confused. “She’s mad at me, and you haven’t even known her for that long –”

“Sh. No time. Explain on the way,” she says, pulling Tim up. Her firm grip speaks volumes about the compact strength folded into her small frame. Once Tim is standing upright and massaging his sore wrists, Cass hauls the unconscious Harper up and drops her unceremoniously onto the mattress. Working efficiently, she shackles Harper into the same position that Tim had been in.  Her hands nimbly shove the folds of her cloak back, loosening a handkerchief tied about her bicep to retie it around Harper’s mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Patrol in five. Must hurry.”

“How long have you two been planning this?” he asks breathlessly, his heart thumping rapidly. She doesn’t respond as she presses her ear to the door, listening intently. Satisfied with the lack of voices or footsteps, she creaks the door open before gesturing for Tim to follow her, slipping out as silently as a ghost onto the open deck.

The salt breeze and the tantalizing taste of freedom call. Tim follows the curl of Cassandra’s cloak as she pads silently over the floorboards with her back pressed against the wall of the cabin. The eaves of Jason’s quarters provide a natural blind spot so that anyone stationed in the crow’s nest is unlikely to spot them. They make their way towards the edge of the ship, both wary and on the lookout for any members of the skeleton crew that Jason had stationed.

“Do we need to steal a boat?” queries Tim, his nerves setting him on edge. Cass’s head shakes in the negative.

“Shallow water.” She darts out quick as lightning to dive behind barrels that have been lashed to the rails. She glances up, obviously gauging if she’s been spotted by the sentry in the crow’s nest, but no alarms are raised. Tim waits until she waves him over before he follows her as well.

“So where is Stephanie?” whispers Tim as they crouch between the ship railings and the barrels.

“With captain. Making sure he upholds bargain about children.”

“The slaves, you mean?” he murmurs.

“No longer slaves. Free people.”

Tim wants to say more on the subject but Cass has already turned, darting towards the sides where the ladder is situated. Before the wind has even finished carding through Tim’s hair, she’s vaulting over the sides, her cloak billowing out behind her as she disappears from view. He tenses at the creak and strain of the wood as her feet knock into the rungs before she finds her footing; the ship settles with a subdued creak as it bobs with the gentle ocean waves.

The wind picks up. By his internal count, if Cass’s estimate had been accurate, he has approximately thirty seconds before the next sentry will round the corner. The ladder just paces away on the other side of the ship suddenly seems out of reach. His feet turn to lead, fear suddenly overwhelming him without warning. Though he’s come too far to stop now, the heavy weight of what-ifs and the dread of reprisal tether him in place.

Cass’s head reappears into view from where she’s still perched on the ladder. Her gaze makes Tim feel too exposed, too vulnerable. Where Captain Todd’s gaze is shrewd and artful, hers is straightforward in its frank simplicity.

“Come. Be free.” She ducks out of sight. Tim takes a breath and wills himself to move. He hears the dull tread of solid footsteps approaching as someone nears their position. While the barrels provide some concealment, they aren’t large enough to shield Tim fully from view.

“Why the hell am I hesitating?” he hisses at himself, irritated. His eyes squeeze shut. His pulse pounds heavy and loud in his ear; he throws caution to the wind and runs.

He doesn’t manage to vault over the railing –he clumsily lumbers over the sides instead, oafish in comparison to Cass’s efficient and graceful movements. The unknown footsteps plod closer as he dips out of sight; Cass and Tim wait with baited breath as they cling to the ladder, Tim praying that whoever it is doesn’t intend to scale down or peek over the sides.

The footsteps stop only a few paces away. Tim struggles to measure his breaths to alleviate his panic. The wind is gusty though not overly strong and he hopes desperately that he doesn’t sneeze, goosebumps raising along his skin. It’s a warm but dry night, and Tim wants to scream in frustration at how badly he can taste freedom.

The footsteps still haven’t moved on. Tim frantically tries to recall if Cass and Tim had inadvertently left some sort of indication that Tim has escaped. Still, no red flags have been raised, no indication that anyone’s found the unconscious Harper yet or noticed her missing.

The scent of tobacco smoke wafts to his nose. Tim grips the ladder rungs until his knuckles turn white. All this while, Cass remains perfectly silent where she’s perched beneath him, unmoving. Their backs are facing the land; if any of the land party returns, he and Cass are blatantly visible and exposed from the shore. If the worst possible scenario does occur, their only hope is if returning crewmembers can’t make his face out underneath the guise of darkness.

It’s an eternity as the pirate above them continues smoking. Tim wants to cough at the smell; the breeze blows the cloying scent towards Tim’s face. He buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle the worst of it. Cass remains eerily silent, but her steady presence serves to calm Tim’s rapidly fraying nerves.

At last, the pirate sighs in satisfaction; the heavy footsteps clomp away. Tim breathes his own sigh of relief. He glances back down; Cass remains still, unmoving for another minute before she finally drops down, skipping the remaining ladder rungs and onto dry shore, allowing Tim to climb the rest of the way down.

He stumbles once the soles of his boots hit the wet rocks; Cass catches him easily like she had predicted it.

“Lost land legs,” she says softly. Tim detects the faint hints of a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards. “Careful. Did well.”

“I…I can’t believe it,” he breathes shakily, his heart pounding. The ground doesn’t rock beneath him; his legs wobble before he manages to stand properly again, whether from adrenaline or from being too long out at sea he doesn’t know. He turns carefully; the rocks are wet and slippery; the ocean is already quickly soaking through the leather of his boots. The darkened silhouettes of unfamiliar and exotic trees wave beckoningly.

“I’m on land,” he says incredulously, more to himself than anything else. Before he can continue to revel in his freedom or do something like kiss the very earth they’re standing on, Cass tugs his arm.

“Still danger. Come.” She leads him as they jump from rock to rock. Her grip is strong and reliable; whenever he stumbles, she’s there to catch him, to lead him to the next dry patch and then the next. Before Tim knows it, they’re standing on damp, smooth sand, footprints visible before the waves conceal them to lapping teasingly at their ankles.

“Follow,” Cass says, and willingly Tim trusts her. The pirates had chosen to anchor in a shallow inlet with some rocky outcroppings, easy to lurk just out of sight from potential enemies, and Cass uses the geography to her advantage. It’s mostly cloudless night and the moon casts shadows over the sand as Cass blends into the rocks and darts towards the shadows of the palm trees with Tim right behind her. He notices that she keeps away from the sand where possible to minimize her footprints, and where she does tread, the waves cover her route. At long last, they reach the trees and Cass tugs Tim into the shadowy fronds.

“Thank you,” breathes Tim, when his heart has calmed down enough for him to finally speak again. “I am indebted to you.”

“Not over. Captain will hunt. Must leave Tortuga.”

“But how?” Tim groans and rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “We have no boat, and no –” He’s abruptly interrupted as Cass tosses him a coin purse which he snags in midair. It smacks the center of his palm with a hefty weight to it, jangling merrily with the sound of metal against metal.

“Thirty silvers. Need about twenty for passage.”

“You’re…giving me this?” Tim gapes at her in astonishment. “Just where did you get all this money? It must have taken you at least –”

“Harper. Stole with key.”

“Oh.” Tim recovers as gracefully as possible. “Why would you risk yourself like this, though, to betray Jason –” Realization finally strikes Tim like a bolt of lightning; he’s an idiot.

“You were never part of Jason’s crew, were you? You were always on Stephanie’s side.” Cass’s nod affirms this.

“But then...how did no one else notice you? They said it was just Stephanie and the sla – children.”

“Stephanie decoy for me. Snuck on. Stowed away in hold. Kept eye on children.” By the tone of her voice, Cass sounds pleased and a little proud of herself.

“You’re joking.”

“No.” Cass’s mouth briefly twitches upwards in amusement, but her demeanor sobers quickly as she surveys Tim critically.

“What? Do I look weird or something?” Tim scrubs his chin, grimacing at the bristly scratch of stubble against his fingers.

“Stand out too much.” She produces another cloak from a bag that Tim hadn’t realized she was carrying, handing it to him. “Put it on. Hide face. And take.” She offers him her rapier, unbuckling it from her waist

“But…what about you?” asks Tim hesitantly, as he shakes out the cloak to wrap it around himself. The temperature is a touch too warm to be wearing such garments in such a tropical climate, but Tim is sensible enough to realize that if he encounters any of the pirates on the island, he needs all the concealment he can afford.

“Don’t need,” she shrugs easily. “Keep it visible. Or people think easy target.”

“Won’t you need it more than me, then? Um, not that I think you are an easy target, but…”

Cass pats his shoulder in a way that makes Tim think that she’s pitying him, before moving onwards.

“Ermm, right.” Tim sighs as he buckles the rapier about his waist. “Hold up!” he calls, as he chases after her retreating back.

“Hide earring. Too conspicuous,” she says, like he hadn’t said anything. Tim swallows; he’d already forgotten about the heavy significance of Jason’s mark weighing down his earlobe. His fingers fumble at the clip, gingerly unhooking the earring and wincing. The wound still hasn’t healed fully, and Tim carefully slips the piercing off. With the earring now resting in the dip of his palm, Tim unexpectedly found himself at a crossroads as what to do with it.

“I…Should I get rid of it?” He calls, half-hoping that Cass would assertively take the decision from his hands with a logically sound argument. Cass doesn’t look back as she guides him stealthily under the umbrage of the palm fronds to make their way further inland. With a sigh, Tim opens the flap of his trousers pocket, dropping the earring inside.

Just in case.

“Envy him.” Cass says suddenly, speaking up for the first time in minutes. They pass a signpost, sand and moist soil gradually transitioning into a well-walked dirt trail, and then into a beaten road.

“What, Jason?” Tim laughs harshly, but his traitorous pulse disregards his words. “Hardly.”

“His freedom. His confidence. Envy that. Maybe admire.”

“I think admiration is a bit far,” huffs Tim, but he doesn’t bother trying to correct her; Cass seems like she had him figured out from the start anyway. “He’s an arrogant bastard, and that is an understatement.” Tim sighs. “I don’t know where he got all that confidence from, but.” He falls silent, trying to collect his thoughts as he follows after Cass. They pass by fields and cottages as the path picks up into an incline. In the distance the smoke of city lanterns and campfires beckon.

“But?” prods Cass gently, for once indicating that she is listening, and Tim groans, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“That he can disregard authority while having the skills to stand on his own and back up what he says,” mutters Tim petulantly, “that I might admire. It’s still going to bite him in the ass soon, though,” he follows up immediately after.

“Hm.” Cass’ pace slows slightly, allowing Tim to catch up to her. She holds a hand in front of him, blocking his path. “Wait.” Further up the road there’s a small footbridge crossing a large ditch, and Tim can see two figures clustered about it, illuminated by the light of a small lantern and the moon.

“What is it?” murmurs Tim, and Cass shrugs.

“Do not know.”

“Have you been to Tortuga before?”

“Once.” She steps forward, and Tim can only follow in her wake. When they’ve approached further so that the faces of the men at the mouth of the footbridge are distinguishable, the men stand up. They aren’t wearing the uniforms of possible guards or soldiers - their clothes are tattered, perhaps more so than Tim’s, and when the stocky one smirks at them, even in the dark his teeth are mostly blackened or gone.

“Toll,” the burly one says, folding his arms about his chest.  Compared to him, Cass barely reaches his chest, and Tim doesn’t fare much better. “Eight pieces of silver.”

“No money,” Cass says plainly. Tim winces.

“Tough luck then,” snorts the shorter, stockier one, and Tim fumes when the man blatantly leers at Cass. “You’ll have to go around then, it’ll take two hours by foot. You wouldn’t wanna be traveling long in the dark, my friends, there’re a lot of ruffians in the area.”

“Look,” placates Tim. “We’ve been traveling for a long time, and my companion here needs rest and food. Couldn’t you just let us pass, gentlemen?”

“Gentlemen, eh?” The burly one dissolves into crude laughter. “Are you tryin’ ta take the piss outta us, boy?”

Cass nudges Tim discreetly with her elbow. “Go forward.”

“What?” mutters Tim. “I’m not leaving you here to deal with them.” His hand falls discreetly to the rapier Cass gave him.

“Trust.”

Tim hesitates as the stocky one swaggers forward, thrusting his face into theirs aggravatingly to sneer, “Well I mean, we might be obliged to do so if your pretty little companion could – hngh!” Tim startles, pausing in his tracks in surprise when Cass steps forward, using her forearm to casually sweep him to the side of the road like the man weighed nothing.

“No thank you,” Cass says calmly, and the two men stare at them nonplussed, clearly too shocked to react.

“Well, you heard her,” Tim begins smoothly, recovering from his surprise faster than the soldiers. He offers Cass his upturned palm; she links her arm in his, a small smile quirking her lips. “We’ll be on our way, gentlemen.” Just as Tim gets one foot on the makeshift plank bridge, the stocky one snarls at him, launching forward.

“You bitc –” Cass sidesteps him neatly. Tim opens his mouth to warn her, but the words never leave his throat as Cass’s foot trips the man, sending him sprawling into the ditch.

“Your companion. Go help him,” says Cass meaningfully to the second man. She jerks her head towards the ditch to emphasize her point.

“You don’t tell me what to do –” starts the man, but Tim speaks up.

“Do you really want to do this, right now?” he asks pointedly. “Surely you should help your friend first.”

The man glares belligerently at them. The wind picks up, the edges of Tim’s cloak flaring and letting the hilt of his rapier show from the shadows of his cloak. The metal gleams wickedly in the dancing kerosene light. The wind gusts once more, and this time its strong enough for Cass’s hood to fall backwards, revealing more of her face.

The man startles like he’s been burned. “It’s you!” he growls, and Tim detects a hint of fear and wariness. Cass says nothing, but her hand tightens on Tim’s arm.

“Tell your leader,” says Cass coolly. “Will find later.”

“They know you?” mutters Tim under his breath. Cass tugs him along across the ditch. She doesn’t respond as she hurriedly drags him over the expanse of the bridge. “What, are you infamous around these parts?”

“Of a sort.” Cass glances behind them. “Faster,” she mutters under her breath. Tim chances a look of his own; the man who had fallen into the ditch is being helped up. Tim keeps pace with Cass easily, but their gait quickens.

“Get to inn. Leaky Goblet.”

“Are we meeting Stephanie there?”

“No. Too risky.”

“Wait. So is she going to stick around with Jason Todd’s crew?” Tim blinks incredulously. “We need to convince her to come with us.”

“No. Of our free choice.”

“Our…?” Tim trails off. “Are you…going with them, too?”

“…perhaps.”

“But why? They’re pirates. You both risked yourselves helping me – why return to them?”

“Tim,” Cass says gently. “We are…outlaws, too. Outcasts. But, more important….have unfinished business.”

“With Jason?”

“No. But unsafe. Under Jason…would have some protection, for short while. He is…not unfair to his crew. Rare.”

“So you’d…be formally introduced to his crew then, once I’m gone,” deduces Tim. “What if Harper recognizes you?”

“Will see.”

“I think you should reconsider. If Jason ever finds out –”

“Does not matter. Stephanie decided. Will follow her,” says Cass decisively.

“But, what if –” begins Tim, but Cass flings her arm in front of him, blocking his path. “What?”

“Sh.” Cass scans the surroundings. They’ve made it to the town, small huts and buildings scattered about. The roads are cobblestone, the buildings further in the town made of more solid constructs. And now that they’ve stopped, Tim feels unsettled. The sounds of nightlife echo faintly from far off, the street deserted and dark.

“We should get out of here,” mutters Tim. “It’s too quiet –” Cass pushes him aside roughly. Tim stumbles, gasping as a blade slices through the thin air where he’d been standing just seconds ago. The knife tears through his cloak; he cries out, startled as the weapon rips through the fabric just as Cass falls back, tugging him with her.

“Well, well, well.” The stranger who’d attack them backs up half a pace, regarding them coolly. His face is difficult to make out in the darkness. “It’s been awhile.”

“Tim,” murmurs Cass, and Tim doesn’t miss how her entire posture is on guard, poised to attack at a trigger’s notice. “Run.”

“Look,” mutters Tim from the corner of his mouth as he makes to pull out his rapier. “I know you can handle yourself, but I’m not about to leave a woman alone to defend herself against some asshole.”

“Tim. You will die,” states Cass flatly, and Tim feels a chill run down his spine at the icy, closed-off expression on her face as she regards the stranger.

“So,” says the man casually, advancing upon them. “Who’s your new companion? Did the blonde bitch finally run off on you?” He smiles coldly, twirling the slim dagger. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Cassandra. Did you think I wouldn’t catch up to you eventually?” Cass moves fluidly to stand between Tim and the man.

“Cass,” starts Tim,” but she’s already drawing a blade concealed within her sleeve. It’s slender but longer than the one the man is wielding as she adopts a guard stance, her eyes never once straying from their attacker.

“Not involved in this,” Cass says, her words clearly directed at Tim. “Stay out of it.”

“Isn’t he involved now, though?” The man smiles sharply. “Well, I’ll give you both a chance. Where are the children, Cassandra? Be a good daughter and tell your old man where they are.”

“Tim,” hisses Cass, falling into a crouch. “Go, now!” Her last words end as a shout as the man rushes forward and they meet in a clash of steel on steel. “The inn! Ask for –!” Her sentence is drowned out as their daggers clash again, sparks flying from the friction of the blades, but Tim hears her loud and clear. He hates himself for it as he sprints down the alley, hand on the hilt of his rapier. But when he reimagines the thinly-veiled fury on Cass’s normally stoic expression, the man’s smirk as he’d sought to kill Tim where he stood, he knew that once again, he would have only been a liability had he stayed.

His feet pound against the cobblestone; he chances a glance back, Cassandra and the man have their blades locked together, equally matched in strength as they wrestle for control. Suddenly the man pulls back; Cass rushes forward. Tim grits his teeth and prays to the heavens that Cass will prevail as he races down the grimy alley, leaving the sounds of clashing steel behind.

He races down the street until the alley ends, and then sprints blindly, running towards what he thinks is the city center. He's lost, but all he knows is that he has to put as much distance between himself and the man as possible and allow Cass to buy him as much time as she’s able to.

His lungs burn; he doesn’t know where he’s going, or how long he runs for. He passes through an archway, searching for a town plaza of some sort to orient himself better. If he can find a crowd, it’ll be easier to hide within it or to ask for directions. From what he's come to understand of Tortuga from the little information he's gleaned, he highly doubts he'd find someone willing to stop Cass's assailant. Eventually, he passes what appears to be a small town square, but it's largely deserted, with only the mild grunts of sleeping hogs in their pens. He keeps running. The noise of city life gradually loudens, signaling that he’s heading in the right direction. He rounds the corner –

“Ow!” He crashes into a huge crate, staggering back winded and trying to catch his breath. He reopens his eyes –

Shit.

His ribs slightly ache from where they’d collided with the edges of the crate. Tim stumbles backward another pace, shocked as he realizes that the crate in question is being carried by none other than Dick. The pirate is just as surprised as Tim if not more so, mouth slightly agape as he stares at Tim.

For several seconds, they stare at each other wordlessly. Tim recovers first; he panics as he attempts to get the blade out of his scabbard, fumbling desperately.

Dick starts forward. Tim flinches reflexively; the blade gets stuck halfway out of the scabbard as he prepares himself to fight -

“I saw nothing.” Dick’s voice is deceptively calm. “Go.” He brushes past Tim, the crate still in his hands. Tim freezes, a tiny part of his brain screaming that Dick would take advantage of his moment of hesitation to take him down. Yet Dick continues on his way. He passes through the archway and disappears from view, leaving Tim alone in the darkness of the Tortuga night.

Chapter Text

Tim stumbles in his haste to get away from the square, feet hurrying away from where he had bumped into Dick. The cobblestone roads guide his way, but he gets lost more than once before he finally gets some sense of his bearings.

It’s visibly apparent that the bulk of Tortuga’s population is concentrated in this town. Tim is terrified he’ll bump into another one of Jason’s crew. He’s a long way from home and at this rate, it’s only a matter of time before he’s recaptured. Someone will eventually discover Harper and raise the alarm, and hell will follow shortly after. Tim has no doubt that any pirate or buccaneer on Jason’s ship knows this island more intimately than him. He needs to get off pronto.

The thought of facing Jason’s retribution for his escape stirs uneasily in the back of Tim’s mind. Angrily, Tim casts aside his doubts. There’s nowhere to go except onwards, wherever the Leaky Goblet is.

He has no desire to ask for directions, and the only person nearby to ask is a drunkard who’s currently passed out by a horse. Tim tip toes past him and counts himself lucky. He imagines the island’s inhabitants would sooner gut him than point him in the right direction.

Tim thinks hard. The majority of the taverns would probably be concentrated on the outskirts of the town, but Cass had led him inwards before they had been separated. Given that Tortuga seems to be a never-ending town of debauchery, he also wouldn’t be surprised if their taverns would simply be scattered haphazardly throughout the area. He starts inwards, checking cautiously down side streets and the well-lit areas while making sure his hood conceals his face.

He is reluctant to admit that the buildings have their own charm; they make for a stark contrast compared to the Gothic style he is so acquainted with. Buccaneers of every kind walk the town, a distinct swagger in their gait as they drink. Each one is armed to the teeth and equally foul smelling whenever Tim is unfortunate enough to be downwind of them. The stale smell of fecal waste linger in the streets and Tim hurries on, careful to give a wide berth between him and everyone else.

Tim passes a tavern; he peeks in. His heart nearly stops as he catches sight of several of Jason’s crewmembers, laughing merrily as they drink uproariously. He moves on.

He continues his search, nearly losing track of time; he estimates he’s been searching for the better half of an hour when the bell tower chimes ominously. Time is sliding away and he’s wasting it in all the wrong places. Right when he’s about to give up all hope, tension looming in his veins as panic threatens to make him hasty and clumsy, he spies a dimly lit street he hasn’t checked yet.

He wants to sob with relief when he sees the building’s wood carved sign: a precarious goblet overflowing to the brim with its contents sloshing over the sides. Just as he’s about to enter, he pauses at the door as he sidesteps a puddle. His reflection catches his eye in the dark water.

Tim hasn’t seen his face for the better part of months, and the stark difference astonishes him. His face has lost the scant remnants of baby fat that had determinedly clung to his cheeks; his jaw seems more angular with the scratch of dry stubble. His hair is longer as well.

Leaner and meaner, Tim thinks privately. He’s a very much different person than the boy who had left London in search for his parents, though he still hasn’t given up quite yet. Still, Tim can’t shake off the niggling thought that he’ll be a different person all over by the time he returns home.

He glances through the window to make sure none of Jason’s crew is there. Satisfied, he pushes open the door.

He failed to anticipate every pair of eyes redirecting towards him. Perturbed, Tim considers backing out of the doorway, but he doesn’t want to present himself as a weaker target. He catches the door just as it’s about to close on him and pushes inwards.

Making his way towards the counter, Tim ignores the shrewd stares sizing him up. Four in the corner smirk nastily, but continue talking in lowered tones. Two are sitting at the chairs right in front of the barkeep, matching each other shot for shot. Another pirate is simply passed out in the corner, and Tim has the horrible feeling that no one would care if he were dead or alive. Three glance in his direction but then continue with their game of cards.

He at first walks towards the counter, then changes his mind and takes a wall seat instead that faces away from the window. If he’s going to get his throat cut tonight, he’ll at least make it difficult for anyone who’s bloodthirsty enough to try. A busty tavern maid makes her way towards him.

 “What can I get for you?” she asks, accent sultry as she winks at him.

Her charm doesn’t hold a candle to Jason’s. Tim hates himself a lot for thinking that.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he says instead. Tim is fully aware that he needs to save his money, and he has no intention of spending it on spirits he doesn’t care for.

It’s very clearly the wrong answer, because she scoffs at him. “Well obviously, honey, no one drinks alone here.”

No one except him, apparently. Within the folds of his cloak, Tim subtly loosens the drawstrings of the money pouch, unwilling to count his money publicly. By touch alone, he counts them slowly. His fingers feel the ridges and sizes of the coins as best as he is able.

He all but has a heart attack when his fingers brush against open air.

He doesn’t let his panic display on his face. There’s a hole in the bag. His fingers rub against the gaping opening; the ridges are frayed messily in a long, diagonal slash. With a restrained start, he remembers sound of ripping fabric when the man who had attacked him and Cass had slashed at him.

The knife had ripped clean through the money pouch. Tim, in his haste to get away and his mounting nerves, hadn’t even noticed.

He’s an idiot. A thorough, bumbling idiot. Right now, Cass could be anywhere or dead, or their attacker could be hunting him. Jason probably wants him dead too, and Harper at this point is probably furiously screaming or gnawing through the gag they’d shoved into her mouth if she hadn’t been found already.

He waits on edge for something or someone, stalling for time as he counts what few coins remain in his possession. He’ll have enough for two, maybe three days if he rations them out.

The tavern owners and maids are shooting him sour looks as he warms the chair without actually buying anything. Tim racks his brain, teetering on the brink of mounting frustration. The four men seated across from Tim have lowered their voices, and every so often one will covertly glance in his direction.

He has no allies in this room, that’s for sure. He sizes up the rest of the occupants, biting his lip as he considers his limited options.

At this point, he really only has one viable route.

He waves the barmaid over. “I’ll have one of your rums,” he says. The bar maid finally looks less disgruntled as a disgustingly lukewarm bottle is shoved towards him. Tim pushes his seat back as he stands up, walking over the three who had paid him the least attention.

“Enough room for another player?” he asks. Their heads turn to size him up once more, their card game briefly interrupted.

“Why not?” the largest man says, amused. His companions scoff at him.

“Lay off,” snorts the other. “You just want to end the game coz yer in a pinch right now.”

“I’m willing to wait,” Tim offers. The third one waves dismissively.

“A pretty face like yours? Perish the thought.” The pirate grins at him. “Oi, make room for him you lugs.” With some grumbling, the two men scoot for just enough space for Tim to squeeze between them and take a seat on the last side of the table.

“I was just about to make it big,” complains the second, as the third deftly reshuffles the cards.

“Sure you were – and then you’d lose it all in the next. Shut up and deal.”

The grumbling subsides as the cards are flicked out. Tim glances through their winnings before picking up his cards. The second and third pirates have decently sizable earnings, while the first is clearly not having a good night.

Tim takes a look as his cards; as he suspects, they are absolute garbage. It hardly matters at this point as he settles in and takes a swallow of his rum.

Time to see just how good of a teacher Jason was.

“So, where’re you from?” asks the second pirate, and Tim suspects it’s hardly a friendly question – testing the waters to get a feel of him.

“Bayaha.” Tim shrugs indifferently as he tosses his wager onto the table. Let them think he has some money to gamble. “And yourselves?”

“Bred and born here, all three of us,” winks the first man. It stinks of as huge a lie as Tim’s. “So, you waitin’ for someone?”

“Seems like the girl I called out to earlier changed her mind,” snorts Tim. “Pity. She was a pretty one.”

“Women,” scoffs the second. The third pirate glares at him. “Sorry,” he says hurriedly. He tosses two of his cards.

“But, I feel you,” adds the first pirate companionably. “You’d best get a whore, lad, if you’ve got the coin. You’ll find them on the south side of town. They’re less likely to gut you, just steal your clothes and your coin.”

Tim grins, letting a hint of his teeth show. “Who says I don’t know where to find them?” He laughs, tossing out most of his hand and redrawing.

“You don’t look like you’ve been here a day, mate,” laughs the second. “How long you been in la tortue?”

“Long enough to know I want to get off this island,” grins Tim. “Know anyone willing to offer passage?” There’s a blur of rapid exchange with the cards; Tim is hard pressed to keep up as he tries to memorize which cards are passing hands. He’s pretty certain by now this isn’t a standard deck; he’s counted at least five nines passing through devious wrist flicks and the aide of the second pirate who’s dealing.

“If yer looking to go home? Depends.” The first buccaneer is playing conservatively; he’s hesitant as his fingers idly reshuffle his hand. The third one is the hardest to read, expression perfectly blank save for the occasional short bark of laughter and grin at the occasional comment. “Fort Liberte’s there; not many people on this island here willin’ to pass by it, if you catch my drift.”

“Perhaps,” comments Tim, taking another swallow of the rum. It sears his throat, but he keeps talking through the burn. “But someone who’d be interested in a little money might.”

There’s a stir of interest in their eyes. “You come into a little plunder, mate?” The second pirate asks innocently.

“Maybe I did,” Tim says nonchalantly. “Or maybe I’m about to come into it about now.” Show of hands. Tim flips his cards over as the rest of the table does the same; he wins out by a narrow margin.

“Good game,” compliments the first pirate with a frustrated sigh as the second one glares at Tim.

“Lady Luck is favoring me tonight,” Tim says modestly as they shove the small pile of coins at him. He revels briefly in the ugly expression the second pirate is shooting at him, and Tim can imagine just a few of the choice words on the tip of his tongue. Still, Jason’s words ring true even now. Accusing people with no proof on a pirate ship usually ends with blood, and if you can’t prove it, you’d better learn how to play the damn game better than they can.

The second round takes longer, the pirates warming to their new contestant. Tim, after some reluctance, is forced to fold early; he watches his meagre stack of coins diminish slightly once more and patiently waits for the other three to battle it out. He takes the opportunity to take another sip of rum; it renews the fire in his throat.

“If you ain’t enjoying that, I’ll take it,” scoffs the third pirate. “You drinking that like it’s poison.”

“Only if you pay for it,” snorts Tim. The pirate scowls a little, but reluctantly accedes.

“Fine, why the hell not? I ain’t drunk enough yet tonight.” Tim shoves his bottle towards her; she takes a long swig.

“Disgustingly warm, but what the hell, that’s what you get for cheap rum.” The round finishes up; she’s the clear victor this time. This time it’s Tim’s turn to deal; he’s been waiting for this. He might still be a novice at this, but Tim manages as he cuts the deck evenly and reshuffles, dealing out the cards evenly.

“You said you were looking for passage?” The second pirate glances at him again before looking through his cards. His face might be neutral, but Tim knows exactly what he has. It’s utter garbage.

“Yeah. To Bayaha, or close enough at least. I raise.” Tim throws in another small handful of coins.

“Hmm. Could talk to our captain.” The companions exchange meaningful glances.

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“You’d have to find out for yourself, have the captain get a good look at you...” The pirate trails off meaningfully. Tim gets the hint.

“Tim. Tim Jackson,” he lies through his teeth. He really needs a better false name. He’ll get around to that once he’s off this godforsaken island.

“So Jackson, how’d you find yourself here?” the third pirate asks. “I call.”

“The honest truth?” Tim places a hand dramatically over his heart. “Woke up in a pigsty with a hangover fit to keel a horse and without a single piece of silver.” Tim rolls his eyes, and the three cackle at his expense. Apparently he smells just as foul as any other pirate if they believe that fabrication. “I finally got the money, and now I need to get home.” He keeps his cards as the other three discard their own; he hides a frown, distracted by the fact they’re not playing as he anticipated. There’s another subtle exchange of cards as they cheat each other blind, and Tim suspects there’s another ruse and he might be getting played for a fool.

“Y’know, we could probably use another cabin boy. Last one came down with scurvy. Poor bloke.” The second pirate shrugs as he takes his turn, replacing one card; Tim had anticipated him taking two.

“That’s unfortunate. Well, I don’t mind working for the duration of my passage,” shrugs Tim. “I suppose I’d work out the details with your captain?”

“Aye. That’s if the cap’n takes a liking to you. Who can say?”

Tim smiles as the round shifts to his turn. Internally, he’s screaming. The pirates have shaken up his moves; he senses that the flow of the game has changed. The first pirate hasn’t grown any more confident, the third pirate is as unreadable as ever, and the second pirate is the only one whose cards he knows for certain now. Tim’s hand is good, but there’s something subtly off about the game that he can’t pinpoint.

It’s the very dredges of his money. Tim contemplates all-in and wagering down to the last coin. He knows the second one will fold to keep his money, the first one will as well due to his lack of confidence in his cards. The third pirate…it’ll be a gamble.

His lips thin. “I fold.” Tim acknowledges his defeat. The third pirate cocks her head knowingly.

“Reveal.” The cards are shown with easy wrist flicks. Tim glances through their cards.

Tim had had a full house, and somehow, somehow – Tim’s mind rapidly flicks through the flow of cards through the game that had occurred, both honest and dishonest – it was the second pirate who had won, with a perfect royal flush. The third pirate had had a four of a kind, and the first had another full house that narrowly edged Tim’s hand out by a narrow margin. Tim breathes a narrow sigh of relief – his decision to fold had been the correct choice. Well, at least he still has a day’s worth of meals, if he can survive out to morning. Tim is already making plans to flee the town and get out to the less densely populated areas of the island before Jason can catch wind of him.

“You have an uncanny instinct for cards, Jackson,” praises the second pirate. “So, who taught you?”

“A gentleman, if you catch my meaning,” responds Tim dryly.

“I’ll bet,” snorts the third pirate dryly. She tosses something into the air easily and catches it. The object catches the dim light of the tavern and flashes before being enveloped in her fist – and Tim all but has a heart attack.

“What the –” he says, because he’s pretty certain that had been nestled in his pocket the entire time.

“So, tell me Tim,” the third pirate grins devilishly at him, leaning back in her chair as she tosses Jason’s earring in the air again. “What’s the real reason you’re looking for passage off Tortuga? We’re talking business now, not cards.” She waves the barmaid over again. “Get me some real liquor, and a malt for my new friend here.” Tankards are filled to the brim and shoved towards them; she drinks and sighs in satisfaction.

“Now, that’s the stuff. So, Tim, tell me about yourself.”

“I’d love to,” Tim responds just as easily though his heart is going to go into palpitations any second now, “but I think I deserve a fair introduction here, first.”

She grins. “Glad you finally asked. I’m the captain. I’m known to my enemies as Ravager, but you can call me Rose.”

Chapter Text

“I’m known to my enemies as Ravager, but you can call me Rose.”

Tim narrows his eyes, and she tracks the movement with an ease that belies her one eye. “Heard of me, have you?” she laughs. She sets the deck of cards aside, signaling that it’s all business now. “What did Jason tell you about me? Or did you hear about my adventures from elsewhere?”

“Jason might have said a few choice words,” he says carefully. The two men around Rose are bigger than him and brawnier. There’s no easy way of getting around them and escaping from the tavern, and he has the sinking feeling that all the men in the Leaky Goblet sail under Rose’s flag. “But he didn’t tell me how easy you would be to find.”

Rose leans forward in interest. “Now that’s something I didn’t expect to hear. Looking for me personally, hmm? Any...other interest asides from getting off Tortuga?”

“I’ve some news you may have some interest in hearing,” shrugs Tim. The barmaid arrives, setting their drinks down. Tim eyes the malt suspiciously. Rose laughs at him, swallowing from her own flagon voraciously. When she sets the flask down, it’s already half empty.

“It ain’t poisoned, Jackson. Drink up. There’s better ways to kill ya, like a dagger through the stomach. Why, that malt wouldn’t even put a suckling babe to sleep.”

“Considering this seems like a place you often frequent, you appear to be pretty relaxed.”

“We’re on land.” Rose rolls her eyes. “We’re on land with good food, good company, and a good game of cards with money to be won. What else can you ask for?”

“If I were you, I’d be making haste out of port and into the open sea,” replies Tim nonchalantly. “But perhaps that’s just me.”

“What? Ain’t an enemy of mine who can waltz in here without me knowing.” Rose slams her flagon down with a hearty thud after a loud swallow. She wears her confidence well, but Tim suspects she’s on crumbling ground.

“What about a certain Deathstroke?”

The tavern goes dead silent. Tim keeps his expression carefully guarded as the merriment is snuffed from the room. All eyes in the room swivel around to stare at him without bothering to conceal the motions.

“You don’t say that name without good cause, boy.” Rose never takes her single eye off him, an action eerily similar to her father. Goosebumps race down Tim’s spine as he remembers the way Deathstroke could have easily strangled him without breaking a sweat. Ravager might not have the same lethal grip as her father, but he’s under no pretense that she couldn’t kill him if she wanted to. “Not in this tavern.”

“No,” Tim agrees. He keeps his hands carefully across the table where the rest of the room can see them. No sudden movements. “He could be here any day now.”

“How do I know what you’re saying is true, Jackson? It’s no secret on the oceans I’ve beef with Deathstroke.” Rose steeples her hands, elbows resting against the table surface.

“He paid a visit to the Sheila Hayward one day, two weeks sail from here. He thought you were still sailing with Jason.”

“Hah,” she scoffs. The tension lifts from her shoulders as she relaxes slightly. “Then his info’s long outdated. I left Jason’s crew over a year ago. It’ll be awhile before he’s sniffing around Tortuga. He’ll probably wind around Hispaniola first, and then it’ll be off to Barbados for him.”

“Is it?” asks Tim dubiously. “Because from what I’ve gathered, you should be worried. There’s only so many places you can hide in the Caribbean.

Rose laughs. “They might say it’s a small world, Jackson, but don’t you ever believe that. The seas are huge, and all rivers lead to the ocean.” She gulps down the rest of her drink. “Thanks for the tip anyways, kiddo.”

“It’s Tim,” he says patiently. “But asides from whatever you did to throw him off your scent, it’s not going to last forever. You’ve been here for too long – and if I can track you down, so can he. Let’s say he’s realized the trail’s cold now. Where do you think he’ll sail to in order to get his next lead on your whereabouts?” Tim pauses to let that sink in. “Tortuga. It’s a buccaneer’s haven, and he knows for a fact that sooner or later, you’re going to be on this goddamn island. I’m actually surprised he didn’t find you before me.”

“Hm.” Ravager regards him with something akin to grudging admiration. “Your reasoning’s pretty sound, I’ll give you that. But now – back to your current predicament. Are you telling me this info in the hopes that I’ll give you a free ride to Bayaha? Because if you did, that was a pretty piss poor idea, Jackson.”

“There was a person who said you could help, and told me to come to this tavern to find you. But she wasn’t able to make it here tonight.” Tim frowns into the depths of his malt which still mostly untouched. “A woman called Cass. Does that name ring a bell?”

Ravager blinks in some surprise, the most telling emotion she’s expressed all night in front of Tim. “Cassandra Cain? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Hell, I thought she was still over in the Orient.”

“She’s somewhere on Tortuga. We were separated.” He’s getting more comfortable with the tale he’s telling, now that it’s closer to the truth.

“Separated, huh?” Ravager squints at him. “Waylaid, were you?”

“Two people claimed they wanted a toll for their bridge.” Tim scoffs. “She declined.”

“The bridge over in the southern part of the island?” Rose bursts out laughing. “Hell, those were my men. No wonder they came here crying about that earlier. That was you two, huh? So what happened after? They’re lucky she didn’t beat them black and blue.”

“I can’t say.” Tim hedges. “Someone had a score to settle with her. I had to leave her behind.”

“You ran? Well, aren’t you a piece of lily-livered scum.” She looks at him as if he’s worth less than the dirt on her boots. “There’s no place on my ship for cravens like you, Jackson. Get out of my sight.”

“It was her fight to settle; not mine,” argues Tim, but he can’t refute her point. Shame pools in his gut for having abandoned Cass. “But I intend to repay my debt.”

“Intend to? You can’t repay someone who might be dead.”

“She’s not dead,” Tim says with a certainty that surprises even him. “I know she isn’t.”

Ravager folds her arms, the smile gone from her expression. “There’s many with scores to settle with Cass, Jackson. The girl can handle herself, I warrant, but she ain’t got many friends here. Most don’t take kindly to her ‘round these parts, especially with her looks. But, tell me.” She leans forward. “So why shouldn’t I deliver you back to Jason? What’s in it for me if I help you?”

“Why not do it for the coin?” Tim flicks his one full piece of silver towards her. “Consider that an advance. You get the rest when I reach my destination. Like I said before, I’m willing to work for my passage.”

“Hmm.” She considers that for a moment, rolling the coin across her knuckles. It disappears and reappears in her dexterous fingers, and Tim is momentarily distracted by the motion. “Tempting. But does Jason value you enough to pay me more than what you can offer?” She smiles widely, sharp and menacing. “It’s not every whore he runs into that he makes his woman, you know.”

“If I said he didn’t, would you believe me?”

“No,” she admits with an ease that Tim had anticipated. “But...I’ll make you an offer.”

Tim blinks, caught off guard and unable to hide it. “I’m listening.”

She licks her lips, a slow smile spreading across her face. “As it so happens, I’ve a small score to settle with Cassandra myself. A rematch, if you will.”

“A duel?” asks Tim despite himself.

“Nothing quite so formal, but yes, essentially. I was disgraced in our last bout, ashamed as I am to admit it. But if she’s here, I want a rematch. Give me that, and you’ll get your passage to Bayaha.”

“And what if you die?” Tim furrows his brow.

“You have my word that my men will take you to your destination if you can arrange this, regardless of the outcome.”

“Words are meaningless.” Frustrated, he takes a larger gulp of his drink. It goes down easier this time. “Dueling terms should be arranged by whoever would be your seconds.”

“So be her second,” goads Rose, eye gleaming in the dim light of the tavern. “Unless you’re craven, that is.” She tosses the silver piece back to Tim. “I’ll even give you free passage. You’ll have to work for your bread, though.”

“It’s a good deal, Jackson,” offers one of the pirates. “Hell, I’d take it if I were in yer boots.”

“It is,” agrees Tim. He stands up, exhaling slowly. “It’s been a pleasure, Rose, gentlemen.” He regards each of them with a nod of his head. “But I’ll find passage elsewhere. Thank you for your time.”

“Oh?” Rose crooks her head. “The terms not good enough for you, coward?”

“I won’t drag Cass into this for my own sake,” says Tim firmly. “She’s been involved long enough when she had no reason to risk herself. I owe her my life, Rose. I won’t betray her confidence by forcing her into some duel to sate your petty retaliation when she’s not even present.”

Slowly, Ravager nods. She looks at him approvingly. “You’ve got mettle I can’t help but appreciate, Jackson. Pity that negotiations fell through. But hey, I’ve another idea.”

“Which is?”

“Kill you and take your silver.” Her lackeys move as one, gripping Tim by the shoulders and hauling him up painfully. He struggles, shouting as he’s slammed across the table and held in place. His rapier is taken away like it’s a mere toy. Smiling broadly, Ravager stands up and pulls her pistol from her belt. Nobody in the tavern moves to help him, all spectators to his execution. She takes an eternity to finally point the barrel down at him, smirking at his useless struggles. The first man slams his head down against the surface, holding him pinned as she presses the barrel against his forehead.

“Really, Jackson, it’s not a personal thing. Trust me. You’re a pretty boy, and I’m sure we could have gotten along in a different life. But, it is what it is.” she sighs dramatically. She nods to her men. “Search him.”

Tim snarls but a hand cuffs him hard against the back of his neck, silencing him as they feel through his pockets.

“Hell, Rose, he ain’t even got enough for two meals.” They toss his ripped pouch onto the table where it forlornly collapses, his precious few coins clinking against the surface where they spill from the tear.

“Seriously?” Instead of the anger Tim anticipates, Rose laughs in genuine amusement. “You talk a good game, Jackson. Under most circumstances, I’d ask you to join my crew, but looking at you, you don’t have much sailing experience. To me, seems like you’re only a couple drops of blue blood short of being an aristocrat, with the way you talk all fancy like you’re better than us.”

“I never thought that,” gasps Tim from where his cheek is being smushed into the wood.

“Sure.” Ravager downs the rest of his malt and belches crudely. “Well, I don’t want to draw this out any longer. Any last words? And stay still, I don’t want your guts in my drink.”

“Fu-” Tim begins. The tavern door swings open with an obnoxious creak, interrupting him mid-word.

“Rose,” barks Jason, striding into the room and into the center. His coat blazes behind him in angry crimson. Roy and Kori flank him, their presence loud and vibrant in the tavern halls. “We need to talk – what the hell.”

“Tch.” Rose clicks her tongue. From his low vantage point, Tim senses that she’s not all that perturbed. “Jason. I suspected you’d be around sooner or later.”

“Rose,” Jason says carefully. Tim can’t see his expression from where Ravager’s lackey is still pressing his face into the table, but he has no doubt that it’s priceless. “Care to explain what’s happening?”

“Your pretty little woman came to me begging for help,” Rose smiles sardonically as she eases out from her chair to greet him. They meet in the center of the room, only a few footfalls from each other. “Where’d you pick up such a pretty thing like him?”

“Out on the open sea, like most of my things,” Jason responds. He still sounds slightly bemused, but the cockiness of his tone hasn’t diminished in the slightest. “Seems to me like you’re trying to murder him. I don’t appreciate that, Rose. He’s a helluva lot to maintain.”

“Murder tends to be inevitable when people try to cheat me.” Rose’s lackey releases his grip on Tim’s head, allowing Tim to crane his neck up to watch Jason and Rose. “He was trying to buy passage from me to get off Tortuga. Doesn’t seem like you treated him well, if he’s turning tail and running. Traitorous little bastard, if you ask me.”

Tim instinctively tries to meet Jason’s eyes, but Jason is determinedly avoiding his gaze as he focuses solely on his former crew mate. “Don’t go reading too much into it, Rose. He’s mine, and if you harm a hair on his head...” he trails off pointedly. His hands are loose at his hips, fingers a hair-breadth away from his weapons.

“Oh, Jason,” Ravager coos mockingly. “So you do care about him. Fancy that. I’m surprised, though. He’s just...so different from everyone else you tried to have something with.” Rose walks back over to Tim, and Tim hisses as she pinches his cheek. “Well-bred, naive, and frankly, pretty weak. Did his taste change while I was gone, Kori?”

Kori narrows her eyes at Ravager. “Rose, you might know Jason well, but do not lay a hand on Timothy. His blood means our wrath.” Her expression is furious, and only Roy’s calming hand on her shoulder seems to be keeping her from launching herself at Ravager.

Ravager crooks an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Jason. He tried to cheat me out of a fair game. Did you teach him all those card moves? That’s what tipped me off – he plays like you. Reckless, talented, and three steps ahead of everyone, or so he’d like to think.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jason smiles coldly. “Rose, if you’d be so kind to hand him back over -”

“Why should I?” Ravager interrupts. “He’s adorable. You’re not using him to his full potential. If you gave him a little more leeway...why, I wager he’d be an excellent addition to any crew. My crew, specifically.” Ravager snaps her fingers and her men force Tim into a normal sitting position once more. This time, he has a clear front view seat of Jason. Rose steps next to Tim, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look right at Jason. “I think I’ll snap him up for myself after all, I think. He’s a real treasure, this one. Almost as delectable as you.” She presses a quick kiss to Tim’s cheek before he can react. Tim seizes up, eyes wide as he tries to gauge just exactly how livid Jason is.

“Ravager.” Jason takes a threatening step forward, but Rose's men all aim their weapons at him before he even puts his foot down.

“Go back to your ship, Jason.” Ravager rolls her eyes. “You’re outnumbered here and outgunned. This is my territory.”

“I came to warn you.”

“About Deathstroke? Don’t bother, I already know about him.”

Jason shoots a sharp, disbelieving look at Tim. Tim doesn’t know which side he’s rooting for anymore, if he’s even rooting for either one. “He’s tracking you.”

“Don’t be dumb,” scoffs Ravager. “You think I don’t know how my father operates?”

“All I’m saying, is -”

“You idiots,” Tim blurts, unable to take it anymore. Jason and Ravager turn to stare at him. “Don’t you guys get it? Why do you think Deathstroke let the Sheila Hayward sail on without a skirmish and without any bloodshed? He was tracking you through Jason, because he thought that he’d go her last known whereabouts to warn her!”

The tavern freezes for a moment. Jason snorts as he addresses Tim for the first time since their unexpected early reunion. “Kid, you’re talking out of your ass. Give up. Deathstroke sailed northeast of us when we parted ways, we would have seen him tailing us -”

Blam!

The shot ricchochets around the room. The noise reverberates throughout the tavern. One of the men holding Tim captive falls to the floor, a bullet hole in his head.

“Get down!” bellows Ravager. The tavern churns into action. The other lackey kicks the table over as a shield as gunfire rains from the entrance. Jason and his crewmates are nowhere to be seen as Tim is deafened by the roar of gunfire into the tavern. Ale and whiskey and other spirits slosh onto the floor. Tim curls up behind the bullet-ridden table, covering his ears in a panic.

The bullet storm ends as abruptly as it began. The tavern's occupants warily poke their heads around their makeshift shields to try and spot their aggressors.

“Ravager,” calls the recognizable voice of Deathstroke from beyond the entrance. The distinct sound of multiple muskets and other firearms reloading arises from the dusty, bloody silence. “I know you’re still alive and kicking. Come on out before I set fire to this whiskey-soaked hovel.

Chapter Text

Tim’s immediate thought after the barrage is that that he’s not going to survive another five minutes in Tortuga, let alone get off the island. Next to him, Ravager lays flat against the ground, listening intently. Across the room, Jason, Kori, and Roy have scattered to different tables. All three have taken up positions with their back to the walls, waiting intently as the wounded in the room stir weakly, struggling to get to any makeshift cover.

It is only now that Tim can appreciate—no, fear— Deathstroke. In that fleeting moment where bullets had rained upon them, Tim had finally seen that the man was a different sort of beast from Ravager or Red Hood. He was methodical and so were his men. As the sound of muskets reloading echoed dimly in the silence, it occurred to Tim that normal pirates would have stormed the room to ransack everything, relying on numbers and brute force to secure victory. This was more than just a brazen firefight. This was a meticulously planned, well-executed assault. The way Deathstroke's men reloaded in perfunctory succession—they were trained and disciplined, and in a way the average motley crew of buccaneers could never be.

"Oi." A sharp prod to his shoulder makes him twist around. "Listen up, Jackson." Rose waves a hand in his face to make sure she has his full attention.

"What?" Tim narrows his eyes warily, realizing that he's almost touching shoulders with Rose. She shimmies next to him and Tim does his best to keep his distance while still remaining out of the line of fire.

"This is your lucky day." Ravager grins viciously. Tim has a difficult time thinking of any woman he knows who shares the same amount of blood lust as her. "Think of it as a little trial. We get out of this alive, I'll take you on board and get you to your destination."

"You just tried to kill me."

Rose opens her mouth to respond but Deathstroke's voice slices their conversation like a knife through butter. "I'm not joking around, Rose. And don't worry Hood, I know you're in there too."

"That's a real sweet way to greet your daughter!" yells Rose at the top of her lungs. She rolls to the side of the ramshackle bar to change her position, and Tim scrambles to follow her. They crawl behind the bar counter, plopping down behind it while Rose speaks.

"I'm your best ticket outta here alive, Jackson, and everyone here knows it,"' snorts Rose, lowering her voice. She grabs Tim by the front of his collar and jerks him towards her so that they're faces are almost touching. "You wanna go back to being Jason's pretty little bedmate? 'Cause right now, you've got everything to lose here." Deathstroke says something distantly that Tim can't hear, but Rose is barely paying any attention. She releases him and makes a hand motion to the rest of her surviving crew. They fan out while remaining undercover, weapons at the ready.

"Why should I trust you?" hisses Tim distrustfully, but he stops short when Rose turns around and offers him Cass' rapier hilt up.

"That make it up to you?" grins Rose, and the inmate wilderness in her expression is palpable. "Go on, take it. Truce?"

"What's stopping me from letting Deathstroke have you?" argues Tim in a harsh whisper. Ravager rolls her eyes at him, all but thrusting the rapier into his hand.

"You trust my old man to take you to your destination?" Rose doesn't hold back a derisive snort. "You're not an idiot, and neither am I."

Blast them all, but she's right. Even if Tim were to stab her in the back right now, she's his best bet off this accursed island, and he's not taking his chances with either Deathstroke or Jason. A wary glance towards the opposite side of the room sends goosebumps racing down Tim's back.

Jason's expression is steel-knit with determination, and his eyes blaze with an intensity that roots Tim to the floor he's crouching on. Jason's gaze is fixated solely on him as if the three-way battle royale is insignificant, and Tim can intuitively feel the way it sets his nerves alight.

Tim tears himself away and ignores the way Jason's gaze continues burning into his back like a brand. "What's your plan?" he demands as he secures the rapier in his belt. Rose grins at him, but Tim doesn't miss how her hand rests lightly on the grip of her pistol if he tries anything funny.

"There's a secret exit beneath the cellar that they use to cart in the bootleg stuff," Rose whispers into Tim's ear. She leans in close, messy hair cascading over her shoulder. This close, Tim can smell gunpowder and blood and alcohol on her. Her self-assurance and her composure make Tim understand why Rose and Jason had had something once—and why they didn't anymore. "We'll go that route, though chances are good that Deathstroke already knows about it. He's not someone who half-asses things."

"You don't have any better ideas?"

"We'll make it work." Rose's easy camaraderie bewilders Tim, her mercurial swings impossible to read. She flips her hair behind her breezily.

"Hey, Jay, Jay ," she waves her hand at Jason impatiently. He glares at her with a wary but oddly wry gleam in his eye. Hand on the hilt of his firearm, Jason nods his head to show that he's listening. Behind him, Roy and Kori have managed to rendezvous with Jason, squatting awkwardly beneath a bloodstained table and some overturned chairs.

"You want outta here as much as I do, aye?" Ravager winks at him and twirls her pistol expertly. "Make some noise and try pulling some of your weight, won't you? Leave the rest to me."

Jason rolls his eyes, an impertinent expression that's equal parts irreverent and affectionate at the same time. "The ol' run and gun, huh? And just where do you think you're taking Tim, huh?" He glares at the way Rose is carefully keeping herself between him and Tim, their backs purposefully against the wall.

"It's your favorite strategy. Also the only strategy in your arsenal." Rose drags Tim with her as they retreat towards the back of the bar. "We can fight it out over darling Tim later, Jason. For now..." she nods towards where Deathstroke is calling out orders to his men. The first shots ring out to complete her sentence as Tim reluctantly follows after Rose. Jason growls a little, keeping a gun trained towards the front entrance and his back to the wall. His eyes follow Tim as Rose and Tim duck into the backroom of the tavern.

The tavern's storeroom is well stocked as they hurry down the rickety wooden steps and into the cellar. Rose grabs the lantern hanging on the adjacent hook as the door swings shut behind them. The walls are lined with silhouettes of barrels and wine shelves. Tim shivers, the coolness of the cellar prickling his skin. The swinging lantern casts eerie flickers of light along the walls and floor. Tim's and Rose's shadows elongate into large distorted shapes in the kerosene light. Rose impatiently skips the last few steps, jumping the last three and hurrying down towards the back. The last step squeals and nearly gives way under Tim's weight, causing him to stumble. Tim's boots crunch against the smooth dirt of the cellar floor as he catches his fall, his eyes slowly growing accustomed to the semi-darkness. He hears Rose rummaging around. Crates are pushed to the side as she searches for whatever she's looking for.

"What happened to your men?" Tim glances back towards the cellar steps suspiciously. He jumps when the crack of gunfire echoes beyond the cellar walls, eliciting a short bark of laughter from Rose which he ignores. As Tim's eyes adjust, he sees Rose take several bottles off the shelves. He wonders incredulously just how much liquor she could consume in a single night.

"You think we didn't have a backup plan, Jackson?" Rose rolls her eyes. "Make yourself useful and push this shelf aside."

Tim scowls, standing up from his stooped position. The way she casually tosses out orders is not unlike Jason, but it prickles him to defer to someone so fickle and willing to gut someone for a dime. Trudging warily towards her, Tim grunts as he braces himself against the shelves of spirits and pushes . The rack doesn't budge.

"Put your back into it," Tim can't tell if she means it to be sarcastic or encouraging. She makes no move to assist him, but he hears her open one of the bottles with a definitive pop, fueling his irritation towards her. With an aggravated growl born from months of frustration, Tim shoves with all his might. Little threads of cobwebs snap as he finally feels the wine shelves move under his force. The shelves creak as they drag over the dirt floor. He coughs, dust sailing up in little clouds as he shoves again. The bottles rattle in their cases. Muscles straining, Tim pushes once more until the area is clear.

"Not bad." Rose whistles. The sound echoes faintly before another blaze of gunshots nearly deafens Tim again. Distant cries and an undeniable whiff of gunpowder follow them into the wine cellar. Tim wrinkles his nose at the smell, heart racing.

"You said Slade already knows about whatever so-called secret exit you have here, right?" He squints carefully at the wall. "If you've been using this for smuggling, doesn't look like it's been used recently."

"Old owners were the smugglers, not us." Rose pushes past him, swigging down a large gulp from the bottle. "But that's not important right now." She raps against the wall experimentally before pressing her ear against it. "Hm, maybe it's the wrong section..."

"If you're wrong, I'm not pushing the rest of those shelves until your memory's jogged." Tim shifts his weight from one leg to the other restlessly, the sounds of the gunfight ensuing outside making him jittery. Roy and Kori and Jason and god knows who else are caught in the crossfire, but that also raises the possibility that Dick and Stephanie and Cass and whoever had attacked Cass might be on their way too. There's too many unknowns and it's making him anxious. Every second spent with Rose feels like another misstep closer to him catching bullets.

"You need to lighten up." Rose rolls her eyes. "I was joking here, see?" She presses her palm against the wall. It takes a few moments, but she pushes it until it swings open with a slow creak. "Didn't hear anything outside, but you never know. Probably waiting to ambush us."

"If Deathstroke's got the whole tavern surrounded, you won’t get three paces until you're gunned down," Tim is quick to point out.

"For you, maybe. But he wants me alive. As you may have noticed, my old man isn't a stranger to hurting others to get what he wants." She doesn't elaborate any further, instead grabbing a greasy ragcloth and tearing it into several long strips. Upending the open bottle of alcohol onto the cloth, she soaks the strips thoroughly to Tim's further bewilderment.

"What a waste of alcohol," is all he can say, staring at the sad looking puddle of wasted spirits soaking into the dirt.

"I don't want to hear that coming from you, Jackson. You know how to strike a flint?" Rose tosses a small tin towards him. Catching it, he takes the flint and a piece of char cloth from the little container.

"Don't treat me like a child," he grumbles, kneeling down in the semidarkness. He fumbles with the flint in the dark. It's been awhile since he'd had to do this, but he does know how. "You got steel on you?"

"Use your own, dumbass." It takes Tim a moment to realize she's referring to his rapier.

His cheeks redden. "Shut up. What the hell are you doing?" He gapes as he watches Rose crack open multiple kegs, letting the contents slosh onto the ground. She kicks a wine rack, watching the shelf fall in slow motion and crash, broken glass and wine and rum fly everywhere in almost manic glee.

"Don't stop on my account." Rose waves him off airily. "Hurry up, I hear them reloading for another round." She raises a hand to her ear to listen better. "Jason's doing a damn good job of keeping him at bay, considering we're not all dead yet." She saunters back up the steps, cracking the door open and taking a quick peep. “Good, my men have driven most of them out.” Now that she says it, Tim realizes the gunshots do sound slightly further away, if still loud and violent to his ears.

“So what’s the plan?” He strikes the flint against the edge of his sword. No sparks. “You’re crazy, you realize that, right?.”

“Crazy is your best bet right now, my friend, and there’s a method to my madness. You’d better get that spark lit soon.” Rose abruptly extinguishes the lamp, pitching them into darkness. Tim yelps, nearly dropping the char cloth. He hears a little clink from Rose’s end of the cellar, a few bumps and curses and a slosh as she steps in one of the puddles of alcoholic spirits soaking into the dirt.

Heaving a sigh and deciding not to question why Rose couldn’t have let him use the lamp to make a fire, Tim closes his eyes and envisions the flint and the steel of the sword. He dashes the two together again. A single spark winks in the darkness. Encouraged, he strikes harder. More sparks flash in the night, and one settles on the char cloth. With bated breath, Tim cups the spark in his hands, willing it to live. It licks at his fingers curiously, the little ember eating hungrily at the black char cloth as it heat strengthens.

“ There we go.” Ravager nudges him to the side. “I’ll take it from here. Get ready to bust your way out.”

Tim nods before he realizes she can’t see the motion. “All right.” He stands up, carefully dusting his knees off and sheathing his sword. The spark becomes a flame in Rose’s capable hands as he readies himself by the hidden door. “Ready?”

“One moment. Get that hood over your head so my father’s men don’t riddle you with holes on sight. Get a heads start, and don’t look back. Oh, and cover your ears.” Rose feeds the flame, and it twirls to life as it feeds greedily on what Tim realizes are the alcohol soaked strips jammed into one of the bottles. Shit.

He bursts out the door at top speed. The humid Caribbean night is surprisingly quiet, Tim expecting the immediate hail of gunfire directed at him. He sprints past houses and a closed down blacksmiths forge before he hears distant rifle cracks and far away shouts. A second later he hears Rose’s voice echoing along the alleyways, and he claps his hands over his ears in preparation.

The tavern goes up in flames as Rose’s makeshift bomb explodes. He feels it in the ground shaking under his feet, the air reverberating. Tim thinks he can feel the heat licking his back as he sprints for his life, away from the burning tavern. His ears ring with the force of the explosion.

He ducks through seedy alleyways before it occurs to him he doesn’t actually know where he’s running to.

He stops, twisting around to see if he can catch sight of Rose. Not a damn soul in sight. He curses his stupidity. He can see a large plume  of smoke and flames trailing into the night sky, an acrid, burning smell pungent in the air. Thankfully the night isn’t too windy, because he dreads the thought of the fire racing through Tortuga.

So what now? Does he go search for Rose? Tim hesitates but dismisses the thought. Rose couldn’t be trusted, too capricious for his liking. He suspects ditching him had been a part of her plan anyway. After all, what did he really have to offer to her crew? Chances are she just wanted to pull Jason’s proverbial pigtails. Which meant his best bet was reuniting with Cass, or the more likely option of finding somewhere safe come morning. If Cass is alive, the fire at the Leaky Goblet would be a sure magnet for her. But heading back now meant most likely walking into Jason and Deathstroke.

Damn it all. Tim heads away from the tavern. He has to secure his safety first. He makes his way towards the outskirts of the town. He prays he’s less likely to get shot on the fringes that are less sparsely populated.

He turns the corner at a brisk pace, gnawing his bottom lip. God, this was more than he had bargained for-

Something viciously smashes against his head. Tim gasps, reeling back from the blow as his temple erupts in pain. Staggering, Tim looks up in time to see an unfamiliar man raise his pistol one more time and smashes the butt of it over Tim’s skull. Tim crumples, stars reeling in his sight just before his eyes close.

~*~*~*~*~

Tim doesn’t quite pass out, but it’s a near thing. In his state of groggy half-consciousness and his head feeling like it’s on fire, he can dimly hear the voices floating around him.

“You recognize him?”

“I dunno. Maybe ‘e’s a powder monkey or suffink.”

“Oi, mebbe he ain’t even with the Ravagers. He’s too scrawny. Also, he’s too old to be a powder monkey, you lug.”

“Shaddup. Take him along with us for now, it ain’t like he weighs much. If it turns out we don’t need him, we kin just kill ‘im. Don’t even need to waste a bullet.”

“Fine, but only if you carry the bigger ‘un.”

Tim stirs weakly, grunting as he’s lifted up and thrown over someone’s back like a sack of potatoes. He groggily forces his eyes to open. Through the haze, he registers the back of one of his assailants. He’s wearing Cass’s rapier on his belt. Tim raises his head, twisting to his right. There’s another man who’s in the same position as him, slightly heftier than Tim but with bad wounds over his body. Whoever he was, he hadn’t gone down without a fight. Tim doesn’t recognize him from anyone in the tavern or from Jason’s crew. Despite his wounds however, the man is far more conscious than Tim. He moves his mouth, but no words come out. Tim thinks he’s asking for help, but his head spins in another wave of pain. Tim drops his head, closing his eyes to try and block out the throbbing.

He’s fairly certain the men are Deathstroke’s. He dimly wonders where they’re being taken, but being assumed to be one of Rose’s lackeys seems to be the only thing keeping him alive. A wave of nausea washes over him. He fights the urge to retch all over his captor’s back.

“Boys.” The recognizable timbre of Deathstroke’s voices sends an uncontrollable shudder wracking though Tim’s body. “You’d better have brought me some good news.”

The two men jump to attention. Tim feels the tension stiffen their bodies as they straighten up.

“Caught one of the targets, but Ravager got away,” one of the men says warily.

Deathstroke tsks. “I said I wanted good news.” His voice grows more irate with every passing syllable. He kicks the wooden post next to him and the rotting wood creaks in protest. The awning sways precariously then stills.

“Sorry, captain. The others are looking for her as we speak.”

“Never mind that. You said you got one target, who’s the other one, then?”

“Found him fleeing the fire. Thought it was Ravager at first, had ‘is hood up. Nabbed him and figured we could keep him alive, see if he’s useful.” Tim’s captor throws him down roughly. Tim groans as he hits the ground, struggling up and coming face to face with a surprised Deathstroke.

“Well, well, well.” Deathstroke watches Tim intently. “So we meet again.” He circles him like a predator playing with its prey.

“Deathstroke.” Tim’s blood turns to ice as the man scrutinizes him.

“Who is he, cap’n?”

“No one of importance. Except to maybe the Red Hood,” chuckles Deathstroke darkly.

“Let me go, Deathstroke,” grits out Tim. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe, but your captain has made a mess out of a big night for me.” Deathstroke’s eye bores into him. “And I’m looking for a little...payback.” He smiles at the visible shudder that runs through Tim’s body. “I must say though, I’m surprised. The Hood let such a pretty little thing out of his sight and into the middle of a crossfire?” Deathstroke clucks his tongue. “How careless of him.” He draws his dagger. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He dismisses the men with a wave of his hand. “Get back to the ship. I’ll join up with you afterwards.”

“Cap’n, what about him?” The man gestures awkwardly to the other prisoner who’s beginning to struggle again. Tim is struck by how furious the stranger’s eyes are, angry and wild with how he stares at Deathstroke.

“Keep him in the brig until I get back. I’ll deal with him later.” Deathstroke advances slowly on Tim. “Hood has been a persistent thorn in my side tonight. And now, I’m going to ruin your night as well.”

Tim headbutts him in the stomach. His head erupts into pain again, but he’s gratified when he elicits a sharp, uncharacteristic oof from Deathstroke. Tim bolts up, driving an elbow into Deathstroke’s face when the man doubles over. Taken by surprise, Deathstroke’s lackeys are slow to react when their other prisoner breaks free from his restraints, shredding the ropes with relative ease.

“Run!” shouts Tim to the prisoner. He wrenches Deathstroke’s gun from its holster, but Deathstroke grips his wrist painfully, twisting it behind Tim’s back. Tim drops the gun with a pained gasp, but he kicks it off to the side. It skitters away in the dust. Deathstroke’s men dive for it-

The gun discharges with a bang. Tim jerks in Deathstroke’s hold in shock. Everyone freezes, except for the other prisoner. Taking advantage of the distraction, he dashes off in the moment of opportunity Tim had unwittingly created.

Deathstroke is the first to react. His head whips up to glare at his men. “Don’t just stand there, you fools!” He snarls. The two men rush off. Deathstroke pins Tim to the dirt, glaring furiously from his one good eye. “You’re going to wish you were never born, boy.” He traces a line of red along Tim’s throat with his knife. “Tell me, which eye would you prefer keeping?”

Tim doesn’t respond. Deathstroke’s mouth is moving, but Tim’s ears are ringing again and he’s too dazed to really understand what Deathstroke is saying. All he comprehends is the dagger at his throat and the fact that he’s going to die.

“Should I break every bone in your body until you beg for me to end it? Or should I take out your tongue first?” snarls Deathstroke. “Tell me, or I’ll-“

“ Get your filthy hands off him.” Deathstroke looks up at the sound of a gun cocking. Through the pain, Tim looks up, dizzily wondering what had Deathstroke so riled up.

Jason’s revolver is trained on Deathstroke. Deathstroke’s pistol rests just out of reach. Tim chokes on his air, torn between sobbing with relief and screaming with frustration. God, Jason.

Slowly, Deathstroke raises his hands in the air, his focus trained on Jason. “Drop your weapon,” demands Jason. “Don’t fuck with me Deathstroke, I mean it.”

The knife clatters to the ground as Deathstroke slowly, painstakingly moves away from Tim. His hands free, Tim blinks dazedly as he scoots away from under Deathstroke.

“Tim, did he hurt you?” demands Jason. Tim is awed by the fire in his eyes and the fury in his voice.

“ You’re hurt,” Tim manages weakly. He slowly sits up, clutching his head. Jason looks battered, his coat torn but Tim doesn’t see any major wounds save for a nasty gash on his arm and some dried blood bleeding from a gash on his forehead.

“Never mind that. Come here.”

Tim swallows, hesitating. His eyes dart between Jason and Deathstroke. Jason makes a noise of frustration.

“For god’s sake Tim, I’m not going to hurt you. Come here.”

“ You should listen to your bedmate,” sneers Deathstroke, palms face up. “Heel like the good pet you are, boy.”

“ Shut up. You’re not allowed to talk,” snaps Jason, but Tim is already slowly shaking his head.

“I can’t.” He can’t look Jason in the eye. It hurts.

“ Tim.” Jason’s gun lowers for a fraction of a second.

Deathstroke strikes. He whips out another gun, diving into a roll as Jason’s revolver fires. His shot goes wide, missing Deathstroke. Deathstroke takes aim, and Tim’s heart nearly stops. No.

He tackles Jason, bodies colliding before Tim realizes he’d even moved. Deathstroke fires. Tim gasps, shoulder spasming in pain. Another shot. Broad hands grip Tim tightly, and Jason rolls them both out of the line of fire.

“Tim, fuck. Why would you do that?” Hands grasp at him, turning him into his back. Tim makes a soft whine at the back of his throat as hands press over him to check for injuries. They’re crouched behind some barrels as Deathstroke advances on them.

“Take aim there,” Tim manages, gesturing upwards with his left arm. He squeezes his eyes shut as his right shoulder blossoms with pain.

“What? Why?” Jason demands.

“Weakened in that section,” breathes Tim. He touches his own shoulder. His hand comes away sticky. Tim swallows hard at the sight of so much blood covering his hand. Jason glances upwards, following where Tim had been pointing and nods in understanding.

Deathstroke fires again, bullet ricocheting off the barrel as Jason aims. He squeezes the trigger. Jason’s bullet hits the rickety section of awning above Deathstroke’s head. The wooden structure groans, swaying. Jason fires once more. The awning squeals, collapsing. Deathstroke freezes, eye widening but it’s too late. The awning falls on him in a cloud of dust and broken wood with a satisfying sound.

“Let’s get out of here,” demands Jason, hauling Tim to his feet. “It’s gonna take more than a few rafters to slow him down.” Tim doesn’t resist him, stumbling to his feet. Together, they stumble away from the alley.

“You’re limping,” Tim mumbles faintly. Jason’s coat flutters slightly as they walk, and Tim’s eyes widen. Jason’s vest is stained red beneath the coat from a nasty wound Tim hadn’t seen earlier. Jason barks a dry laugh.

“You’re a helluva handful. We need to patch that shoulder up and your head.”

“No.”

“The hell you mean no?” Jason glares at him. “We gotta check your shoulder.”

Tim shakes his head. They limp past some huts with broken rafters and an empty stable. “I mean no, Jason. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me. Not in your current condition.”

“You’re insane. You’re not making it off Tortuga without someone’s help.” Jason coughs weakly.

“I can and I will.” Tim drags Jason forward another step before his legs buckle beneath their combined weight. Jason groans as Tim helps him into a leaning position against the wall. “I saw Dick here earlier, he’ll probably find you soon—mpf!” Jason tugs him down abruptly. Tim loses his balance, catching his fall just before his weight crashes onto Jason’s wound. Yet Jason’s hand wraps around the back of Tim’s head, his lips meeting his own in an ambush. Tim’s breath catches in his throat as Jason’s mouth moves desperately against his, furious and wanting.

“Stop.” Tim pushes him away, staring at Jason fiercely as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clear his mind’s fuzziness and the sudden flare of want in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not your woman, Jason. I’m not kid, or love, or whatever you’ve been calling me. It’s Tim. And whatever this is-” His arm gesticulates wildly for emphasis, “it doesn’t matter. I have to find my parents.”

“Your parents are probably dead.” Jason thumbs Tim’s lip tenderly, rubbing away a dried droplet of blood. His eyes are serious and dark like flint. “Even if they weren’t, why didn’t they return to you? Don’t go, Tim.”

Tim’s chest constricts painfully as he moves away from Jason’s touch. “I have to.”

“There’s no one out there for you,” snaps Jason, wincing as he clutches the gash in his side. “Leave dead things be. Don’t go. You’re wounded. Let my crew take care of it. Let me take care of it.”

Tim gingerly touches his wounded shoulder. The pain has dulled temporarily, maybe due to nerves or adrenaline or something else, but Tim isn’t going to wait for it to flare up again.

“You’ve saved my life many times, Jason,” he manages. “That was just one debt repaid. But you’re wrong when you say there’s no one out there waiting for me.” Kon is out there somewhere on Fort Liberte waiting for him. Somewhere, there’s someone who Tim matters to. Maybe the truth about his family’s fate had been lost to the ocean’s depths long ago, but it’s too soon to give up yet. Not when freedom is at his fingertips.

He just has to walk away.

Jason’s eyes darken as he watches Tim slowly back away from him. “I’ll chase you to the ends of the oceans,” Jason breathes, and it’s like an oath as his eyes rake down Tim’s form. “There’ll be nowhere safe from me, Tim.” He moves to stand up, but he doubles over, coughing.

“I know.” Tim scrubs a dirty hand across his bleary eyes. They feel like they’re burning. “Goodbye, Jason,” he forces out.

He turns and runs. It’s an effort to drag one foot forward and the next, but he jogs down Tortuga’s grimy streets and alleyways towards the shoreline. Jason shouts something, but Tim’s ears don’t catch it as his feet pound against the dirt.

He skids to a stop when he sees a figure sprawled out across the ground, a little ways from the dirt path leading out of Tortuga. He thinks it’s some drunk at first, but his heart skips a beat when he realizes it’s the other prisoner who had escaped from Deathstroke when the gun had accidentally discharged. His shock of blonde hair is visible now as the night turns a lighter shade of blue in preparation for the sunrise. Tim moves to carefully sidestep him, but the man silently rolls over, his eyes flickering over to gaze weakly at Tim. His eyes widen in recognition.

“Do you need help?” asks Tim, cautiously extending a hand. “Do you have someplace safe to stay?” For all his bold talk with Jason just moments earlier, Tim really doesn’t have a plan.

Slowly, the man nods, grasping Tim’s hand and permitting Tim to haul him up. The man points eastwards, where Tim can make out the shoreline near the trees and some low hills.

“Is that where your home is?” The man nods. Tim sighs, helping the man up but being careful not to bear weight on his injured shoulder. “I’ll take you there.”

The man isn’t as broad as Jason, but he has more bulk to his body than Tim expected as Tim helps him away from the town. A few times they stumble and trip, but they manage to support each other’s weight. The sun slowly emerges over the horizon as they make their way to the coastline. Beyond the hills, their steps leave footprints in the sand which are quickly washed away by the tide.

“What’s your name?” manages Tim breathlessly. It’s an effort to talk, between helping the man walk and trying to ignore his complaining head and shoulder. The man points to his throat, opening his mouth soundlessly.

“Oh.” Tim blushes a little. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” The man smiles and shakes his head.

“I’m Tim,” he offers awkwardly. The man nods. They continue walking in silence. Tim looks up, sucking in a loud breath when he chokes on his own air. They’re headed towards another pirate ship anchored a little ways off the coast, but Tim can see the bold name of Ravager etched into the sides.

The man looks at him concerned as Tim splutters. “I don’t think your captain likes me very much,” mutters Tim warily as he stops wheezing. The man looks at him questioningly, but Tim just shakes his head, not wanting to discuss it any further. Near the hills, the man points towards the beachy cliffs. They stumble over the coarse sand, Tim watching as the man brushes aside some seaweed and driftwood to reveal a hidden little dinghy. Tim helps him push the vessel over the sand and into the ocean waves. The waves lap cheerily at the sides as the man jumps into the vessel.

He extends a hand towards Tim.

“Uh, I’m fine,” says Tim, palms up. ‘I don’t really want to get killed by Rose. But do you know how I can get to Fort Liberte?”

The man rolls his eyes and makes a hand motion that seems to say “ nonsense.” His hand still remain outstretched towards Tim, beckoning.

“You want me to go with you?" The man nods. "Promise she’s not going to murder me or maybe try and steal the clothes off my back?” asks Tim, fidgeting.

The man nods again, smiling warmly at Tim. The first morning rays touch his blonde hair, illuminating the warm Tortuga waters.

“Well, all right,” says Tim, throwing caution to the winds. “But you’d better put in a good word for me, okay? Does she like you? Because god, I hope so.” He splashes into the water, hopping into the dingy as the man takes the oars. The oars cut strongly through the waters in bold, long strides as Tim closes his eyes, lulled to sleep by exhaustion and the lapping waves.

Chapter Text

Jerking up with enough force that the thin blanket falls off his body, Tim wakes with the terrible feeling he’s made an irreversible mistake. What had he been thinking, going along with the mysterious blonde just because the stranger had vouched for Rose not slitting his throat and dumping his body over the sides? 

Berating himself, Tim clutches his head as he slowly sits up. Miraculously enough, he’s alive and more or less in one piece. Sitting upright, Tim winces at the flash of pain lancing through his shoulder. He tests his mobility by gingerly rotating the wounded joint. It’s stiff and sensitive to his movements and he feels the telltale tug of bandages wrapped around it as he tries to figure out his new surroundings.

He closes his eyes and rests against the wall. He vaguely remembers the mysterious blonde man, and can assume it’s thanks to him that Tim is still alive. Still, Tim is wary. There’s no doubt now that the blonde man is a pirate, or least is affiliated with Rose’s crew, and is presumably somewhere on this vessel. Regardless, Tim can tell he’s on a ship that’s swiftly cutting through the rocking waves. On the off chance that this were the Sheila Haywood, Tim is pretty sure he’d either be back in Jason’s quarters or the brig. Most likely the brig.

His thoughts unwillingly trail back to Jason. He buries them away, but he can’t help wondering if Jason had made it out safely. Guilt flickers over him briefly for abandoning Jason in what had basically been a war zone.

“Get over it,” he murmurs to himself. Whatever had happened to Jason is of no concern to him anymore. He wonders if Stephanie and Cass are safe as well, and he wonders if anyone had managed to rendezvous with each other. Had Dick ever recovered Jason, where Tim had abandoned him to essentially bleed out on the street? Did Cass make it out alive from their encounter with the stranger? 

Tim understands now that the sea kept a lot of secrets, and it’s unlikely he’ll ever know what happened to them. For now, he has to find his bearings. It’s time to focus on the present and make plans. He’s come too far to go back empty handed. He limps out of bed, wincing at the residual aches in his body. A small beam of sunshine squeezes a dime sized ray through a stray knothole. He tests the doorknob, but the handle doesn’t budge.

So he’s to be a prisoner. Tim sighs and walks back to the bed, sitting down and burying his head in his hands. Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire! He can hear the faint stomp of boots and the faint calls of the seamen above him echoing through the woodwork of the vessel. He has nothing to bargain for with Rose. Anything of value he had still remains with Jason. The proof of his heritage and his identity is out of reach now. Without the Drake ring, he’s...no one.

The thought doesn’t entirely bother him, and that worries him more so than the actual loss of his possessions. 

He’s heard old seawives tales of men with medical knowledge captured by pirates and being forced to work under them. At least they had a bargaining chip to stay alive, Tim thinks bitterly. There is nothing valuable about him the way he is now.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to the old Drake estate. They had been well tended to in his parents’ time, but as Tim had recentered his efforts on reclaiming his father’s company and fending off the creditors that had flocked to him like crows, the grounds had fallen into neglect and disarray.

What did you do when you had nothing and everything you knew was at stake? Tim thinks back to Rose’s wicked smile, teeth sharp and eyes predatory. She had strung him along for her own amusement, baiting him to see of what use he could be. She reminded him of a cat, circling and toying with her food, though perhaps a shark was a better analogy. He stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to a memory of his past floating to the surface unbidden.

It had been an investor, hungry for Drake Industries and for a piece of the pie. Tim wonders why he can barely remember the man’s face. Like many others, he had attended the Drake’s memorial service. Tim remembers the closed empty caskets which had been a loan from the funeral parlor. A service that Tim hadn’t seen necessary at the time, but had agreed to it anyway to appease the guests circling him. A litany of endless apologies and witless exchanges had marked the somber event. Some of his father’s business friends had offered their insincere condolences, and if Tim ever needed anything, all he had to do was simply ask.

Those he could deal with. It was the sincere ones that had shaken him the most. People had appeared out of the woodwork that he barely spoken to or even seen in years to try and offer some paltry form of consolation when word had spread of the Drake’s funeral. And for all their offers and prayers, after the funeral was over, he was all alone. He remembers Mrs. Mac draping a blanket over him as he curled up by the fireplace as the embers died down. It’d been foggy that day, with a light shower earlier that morning before the service. Time had dulled both the memories and the pain. 

He hears the lock turning, voices just outside his door. Tim immediately scrambles up, all senses on high alert as he waits with baited breath. 

“Oh good, he’s awake now.” Rose saunters in with an easy grin, the blonde man at her side. Rose is tall for a woman her age, and she stands at around the same height as her companion. “How’re you feeling, Jackson?”

“I’m fine,” he says, guarded and cautious. He flexes his fingers experimentally. Rose laughs at him, free spirited and amused.

“Relax, if I wanted to kill you I’d have done so already. You were sleeping like a babe when my brother carried you in.” 

“Brother?” Tim asks stupidly. God, there’s more of Deathstroke’s hellspawn? He doesn’t think he can handle anymore of the man’s ilk. One was already more than a handful to deal with.

“Yeah, or half brother, I suppose.” Rose swings an arm around the blonde man’s shoulder in what appears to be affectionate camaraderie. “You’re lucky you got Joey vouching for you, Jackson. I still think you’re a lily livered coward, but you have my thanks for helping him all the same.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Tim straightens up as best as he can. “So, uh, where are we heading?”

“Fortunately for you, we’re heading towards the mainland. Fort Liberte’s on the way, so we’ll drop you off somewhere along the coastline. Can’t have you eating up all our provisions, though I doubt you each much to begin with.” Rose grins at him. “I don’t know what star you were born under Jackson, but it’s a damn lucky one. Better count your blessings.”

“That one we can both agree with,” Tim says dryly. He trails after them, stepping over the cabin’s threshold. He is immediately engulfed in the blazing Caribbean sunshine. He squints as he looks over the horizon. The sea is a brilliant shade of blue and he can hear the distant cry of gulls over the hum of the wind in the sails, which means land isn’t far off.

“I’m afraid you won’t have the full run of the ship without being accompanied, but I trust you can understand my decision.” Rose strides along the full length of the deck with Joey bringing up the rear. “A precaution, really.” She leads them towards the mess hall. “There’s some vittles waiting for you, though if you take too long I suspect one o’my men will eat it. I’m leaving him in your care, Joey.” She bids a brief goodbye to them and walks off, and leaves Tim alone with his mysterious friend.

~*~*~

“So...what’s Rose like? Usually, I mean. Like when she’s not trying to kill people.” Tim eats ferociously, speaking through a mouthful of food. The food is fresh, Rose’s crew obviously having stocked up during their time in Tortuga. It seems like such a shame to not savor it, but Tim is too hungry to care.

Joey is proving to be a silent but amicable companion. He mimes gestures, face contorting into expressions to convey himself, and Tim finds him surprisingly easy to talk to. Somehow, he’s more forthcoming than any other seaman Tim has met yet. In the natural light flooding through the portholes, Tim now sees for the first time a thin but deep scar that mars Joey’s neck, no doubt the reason he’s mute.

“Bossy?” Tim guesses when Joey mimics yelling and pointing towards invisible seamen. Joey winces. “Ok, uh...commanding?” Shaking his head, Joey smiles sheepishly at Tim and launches into another game of charades. Tim finishes his meal with vigor, accompanying Joey up to the deck when Tim is done with his meal. 

The wind tosses Tim’s hair about as Tim peers out over the horizon, sweeping his growing fringe to the side of his forehead. He can see the distant shape of the mainland, and he suspects Rose’s ship will hug the coastline until they get too close to comfort to Fort Liberte. The schooner is small and fast, but even Tim doubts Rose is likely to disrupt a hornet’s nest of naval soldiers without good cause. Why bother attacking a port town that was well protected when she could simply get supplies at Tortuga? 

“So...you and Rose are related, then?” Tim sighs and looks out towards the land longingly. “Neither of you look alike.” He can certainly see the resemblance between Rose and Deathstroke, but he would never have guessed that Joey had any relation to them. 

Joey nods. He points towards Rose’s cabin, holds it for a moment and then points skywards towards the pirate flag blazing overhead. Tim has to think long and hard about what Joey means.

“She takes after your father, then?” he asks hesitantly. Joey nods, pleased with Tim’s comprehension. “And so I guess you take after your mother.” Tim leans against the railings. “Do you guys have more family?” 

A shadow flickers over Joey’s face. He nods.

Oh, god. “A sibling?” Tim hazards. “A sister, maybe?”

Joey shakes his head in the negative. Tim scrunches up his nose. “Please tell me he’s not a pirate.” Another shake of the head, and Joey mimes holding a gun and squeezing the trigger. Tim can only imagine what sort of childhood the siblings must have had growing up.

“You seem close with Rose. What about your brother?”

Joey looks sad for a brief moment. Then, tugging down the collar of his threadbare shirt, he pulls it low enough to expose a nasty scar that runs over his collarbone and into the depths of his shirt.

Tim swallows, glancing away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask such personal questions.”

Joey smiles briefly, the shadow over his face leaving as quickly as it came. He shakes his head once more, as he motions for Tim to follow him. Joey accompanies him towards the main mast, where he mimes pulling at the ropes to lash the sails. 

“You need help?” Tim offers. Joey brightens as he hands the ropes to him. Together, they make quick work of the sails. Tim’s muscles strain with the effort. The sails pull relentlessly against his grip, filled with the billowing wind that blows the ropes and turn the palms of his hands bright red with the tension. Occasionally the rest of Rose’s crew hurry about, casting odd looks at the two of them, but neither Tim nor Joey pay them any heed. 

By the time they’re done, the sun is sinking over the edge of the horizon and bathing the waters in red-golden rays. Tim follows Joey inside where Rose is waiting for them. 

“Was he any problem, Joey?” Rose calls as she approaches them. “Because if he was, he’s not getting any dinner.” When Joey responds in the negative, she heaves a dramatic sigh. “Pity. Well, I need to talk with Jackson for a moment. You can join the rest of the crew in the mess hall.”

Joey waves goodbye as he makes his exit. Tim stiffens, unsure of what she wants from him. 

“Well, don’t just stand there all day.” Rose walks briskly past him. She smiles at him with all teeth when he balks. “I don’t bite, Jackson. Usually, but I think I told you that already.” She kicks her boots off, grabbing hold of the rat lines as she swings herself up. “C’mon. Help a girl out here, won’t ya? Gotta do the mizzen now.”

Tim hesitates but follows suit shortly after, kicking his boots off as well as he scales towards the yardarn. His toes find easier purchase in the ropes than the slick soles of the boots would.

“So Jackson, what’re your plans when you get to Fort Liberte?” Rose reaches the second sail quickly as she dangles from the ratlines to wait for him. “You got family there? Don’t look or sound like you hail from there, if you catch my meaning.”

“There’s a friend I was meant to visit with some months ago,” Tim says simply. “Best to let him know I’m not dead.”

“Hah! A social call then? Long way to come from England just for that. That a cut glass accent I’ve been hearing?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

Rose snorts. “Can’t hide anything from me, Jackson. You gotta know when to stop playing so close to the vest, if you catch my drift. My father had a good friend o’his who took care of me some back in Britain, so don’t think I don’t know that’s Queen’s English you’re speaking.”

“Really? What part?” 

“Oxford.”

It takes time for Tim to digest that. “I would never have guessed, to be honest,” he admits. Rose just laughs as she lashes the sails tightly, her knots tighter and more even than Tim’s.

“Never listened to him when he tried to correct how I said things. As long as you can convey yourself, what’s it matter? And more than words, it’s actions that make the difference.”

“Hm.” Tim pushes his hair out of his face again, tilting his face towards the wind. “I guess I never really thought of it that way, but you’re right.”

Rose hums thoughtfully, the sound carrying over the wind. “Nevermind that. How’d you meet someone on the other side of the world?”

“We were friends a long time ago.” Tim gazed at the shining Caribbean sea, the water glittering in the sunset. This high up in the sails, he thinks he can almost glimpse the mainland. “But he chose to seek his fortune in the Americas. The last I heard from him he’d been thinking about joining the navy.”

“Navy, huh?” Rose gives him a side-eyed look as she yanks on the ropes to check that they hold firm. “That would explain why you’re heading towards the fort.”

“His family wanted him to learn a different trade. We lost contact awhile ago. I don’t know what’s become of him, but I hope he’s doing well.”

“Right.” Rose smiles at him, silver hair whipping in the wind as she leans closer. The ship subtly turns, sails billowing with the rising wind. The ropes creak and groan against the salt-soaked wood. “You know Jackson, that’s a pretty interesting story. So how did all of that turn into you meeting our dear Jason?” She starts making her way back down to the deck, Tim following after her step by careful step.

“Honestly?” he calls out over the wind. “You can probably guess most of it.”

Dinner consists of rum and surprisingly decent food that’s still fresh from their stay Tortuga. Tim sticks closer to Joey for the better part of the night. Rose is conspicuously missing, though Tim catches a glimpse of her silver hair occasionally throughout the night weaving throughout the mess hall. The rum is still hard to swallow, but the burn is tolerable this time around. At the end of the meal, Joey takes pity on him and finishes the rest for him. 

Tim still gets queer looks from the rest of the pirates, but they don’t seem to make any move towards him. Whether that’s due to Joey’s presence or Rose’s command, he doesn’t know, but he sticks a little closer to Joey all the same. Then, one of them breaks away from the group they were eating with, coming up to Tim’s and Joey’s little corner.

“Hey, mute!”

Joey stops mid pantomime, where he was regaling Tim with the story of them having a narrow escape from the navy by feigning being a plague ship. Tim glances at Joey from the corner of his eye. “Do they always call you that?” he murmurs from the side of his mouth. Joey’s face pinches, the set of his eyes frustrated as he gives a minute nod. However, there’s no more time as the pirate stops in front of them, arms crossed as he sizes them up.

“Didn’t mean ta interrupt- the captain wanted to chat with your friend.” 

A moment of hesitation on Joey’s part causes some of the others in the mess hall to sneak glances at their corner of the room. Joey moves to get up, but he’s stopped by the meaty hand of the crewman.

“Just with the kid, but she’ll need you below deck in a bit. Y’can finish yer food, though.” 

Joey gives him a concerned look, glancing between Tim and his crewmate.

“It’s okay, Joey.” Tim reassures him. “If she wanted me dead she could have pushed me off the riggings earlier.”

Joey gives him a dubious look, but nods as he watches Tim get up and stretch. The other pirate waits for Tim to finish, then accompanies him out of the mess hall. 

Yet they pass the captain’s quarters, and the pirate gestures for him to go below decks. Puzzled, Tim obeys with some confusion.

“She’s not in her cabin?”

“If we had a captain who did nothing but hole ‘erself up all day in her bunk, we’d get nothing done, kid. C’mon,” the pirate says impatiently. 

Somewhat mystified, Tim trails after the pirate after the hatch closes. After another set of stairs, the pirate raps on the door.

“Brought ‘im, captain.”

“Yeah? Send him in.” 

Tim is abruptly shoved through the threshold before he can get another word out. He stumbles, twisting around to glare at the pirate, but the man is already gone, door slamming with an ominous click.

“Jackson.” Rose gives him a little wave, despite the fact they’re only mere feet away from each other. All Tim can concentrate on is the gun trained on him.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He dimly registers that they’re in the brig. It’s more cramped than the Sheila Haywood’s , and the smell of grot is stronger here. His pulse pounds in his ears at the realization that he’s on the wrong end of a gun yet again.

“No can do. Hands up.” Rose clicks her tongue.

“You’ll deafen yourself if you shoot me at this range.” Tim stares at her. 

“That’s a risk I’m happy to take, Jackson.” 

“Will you at least explain why you can’t make up your mind whether to kill me or not?” Tim snaps at her in frustration even as his hands reach for the ceiling. His wounded shoulder pulls at the muscle painfully.

“You’re a liability Jackson. Frankly, you play all your cards wrong. You hold your useless cards close to your chest, and you wear everything else on your vest for the world to see. I would have dropped you off near Fort Liberte, but then you just had to go and mention you had friends in the navy.” Rose shakes her head. “I can’t just let you walk away anymore.” 

“You can,” urges Tim. “Look, you don’t even have to drop me off near the town, please, just-”

“I’ve a duty to my crew, Jackson,” snaps Rose. “You think I’ll just let you scurry off to the fort and snitch to them our whereabouts?”

“So what now?” Tim stares at her. “You’ll just throw me overboard? Shoot me?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet, but it’d be a shame to waste a bullet on you.” Rose admits. She gestures with her pistol. “Doesn't mean I won't though. Do me a favor and walk inside the brig, nice and easy for me. Hands where I can see them.” 

Glaring at her, Tim slowly shuffles forward. 

“Your brother-”

“Isn’t coming to save you. He may think he owes you a debt, but life doesn’t work that way.” Rose offers him a bitter smile. “That’s one lesson dear old dad taught that stuck.”

“Seems like it stuck more to you than it did him.” 

“So what? My brother would have died begging in a ditch years ago if I didn’t run a tight ship.” Rose’s face contorts into a snarl. “Life’s not kind to anyone, but it’s especially cruel to mutes. I’m not risking everything I’ve built for a coward like you.”

“You’re right. Life’s not kind to anyone. Did you know your crewmen call your brother names when you’re not looking? Or is it that you know, but you don’t care ?” Tim takes another step, hands laced behind his head. The brig is tiny, and Rose has to edge backwards and towards the side for Tim to enter the cell. The ship rocks in time with the waves, bobbing quickly towards its destination. “But from what I gather-” 

The ship bounces up in a particularly strong roll of the waves, and he strikes at the first sign of opportunity. He leaps forward, crushing Rose against the wall with his full weight behind him. His hand wraps around Rose’s wrist, jerking the gun upwards and to the side.

“Bastard-” Rose struggles against him as he forces the gun from her hand. It’s knocked from her hand and the next roll of the ship causes it to slide towards Tim, who kicks it away.

“Should’ve brought a knife instead - ow!” Rose’s bony elbow catches him squarely in the gut. Tim staggers backwards, his grip weakening on her wrist. The next thing he feels is pain erupting from his nose and stars flashing in his vision when Rose’s head smashes into his face in a furious headbutt.

His vision blurs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tim stumbles to regain his balance. Rose launches herself at him again. It’s all he can do to sidestep her, but he moves with the roll of the ship, tripping her when she staggers towards him with outstretched arms.

“Rose - Rose!” he shouts, trying to focus through the pain radiating from his skull. His wounded shoulder screams at him to stop moving. “Why the hell would I tell my friend to go after your ship?”

“It’s not about your stupid promises, Jackson!” snarls Rose as she sizes him up. Her forehead is bright red from smashing into his. He almost feels sorry for her, thinking about the inevitable bump that’s going to appear later. “It’s that you can .”

He realizes his nose is bleeding profusely when he wipes the back of his hand gingerly across his face and it comes away streaked with red. His breath comes in desperate pants as he inhales through his mouth. 

“Fine,” he snaps, holding his nose through the throbbing pain. “But I’m warning you for your own good, Rose. Jason’s not the only one looking for me right now. It’s in your interest to keep me alive.”

“Who’s going to know if you disappear?” scoffs Rose. Her eyes keep glancing towards the gun beyond her reach. “Even if your body washes ashore at the fort, no one will be the wiser.”

“Except that no one with a brain goes near the fort unless they’ve got the firepower to pick a fight,” scoffs Tim. “Which then they have to wonder - how did I end up on this side of the sea? And they’ll start asking. Believe me, they will.”

“What makes you so certain of that, Jackson?”

Tim bares his teeth in what he hopes is a convincing leer, red streaking down his face as he grins through the pain. “I daresay you’ll have to ask Jason the next time you see him. By the way, you’re not wrong when you said I’m not his usual type.”

A flicker of surprise alights on Rose’s face. She explodes with a bark of laughter. “Don’t make me laugh. Is your friend an admiral or something? They don’t have that kind of power on these seas.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Tim straightens, tilting his head up to try and stem the flow of blood. “But as you said yourself - it’s a long voyage for a mere social call.”

Rose’s fiery gaze pierces him, looking for any hint that he’s lying to her. He can almost see the cogs in her head turning, piecing together the puzzle he’s laid out for her with what he’s not saying. Her fingers twitch like she’s imagining throttling him here in this tiny brig where the air is thick with grot. 

“Jason wouldn’t help the crown. He’s learned his-”

“The promise of the crown’s pardon is a hard one to shake, Rose.” He offers up the last piece of his gamble, praying she’ll swallow the bait. “I want to tell you, I really do. But the things that are at stake here..I can’t divulge them right now. All I can say is...a lot of it has to do with your father. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry we had to drag you and your brother into it. Neither Jason nor I were honest with you.”

Rose is quiet. In the dull light of the swinging kerosene lamp, they regard each other with distrust. Tim braces himself, ready for any sudden moves that Rose might make.

“Jackson isn’t your real name, is it?” she says at last.

He nods at that. His nose feels blocked, but the blood flow is beginning to lessen. He dares to pull his hand away, and his palm is slick with blood.

At long last, her clenched fists loosen. Tim feels his knees weaken as the fight leaves him with a rush of fading adrenaline. He’s won his gamble, at least for now. 

She glares at him, haughty with her arms akimbo. “I still don’t trust you, but if what you’re suggesting is true, I don’t want you on my ship. You’re nothing but trouble, and I don’t need another meeting with Pops anytime soon. We’re dropping you off tonight. You’ll have to find your way towards the port once you reach the mainland, but that’s no business of mine. I want nothing to do with you, you hear? And we’ll call it even, at least for Joey’s sake.” 

“Appreciate it, captain. And thank you for breaking my nose.”

“Hah! You’ll live. You were pulling your punches, Jackson. You could have swung at me if you wanted. If you’ve got hang ups about hitting women, I hope that snapped you out of it.”

“That’s not how I do things.” Tim shifts to the side, keeping his back angled towards the wall to pick up the gun. Emptying the chamber, he shakes the bullets into his palm before offering the weapon back to her. “I believe this is yours.”

She looks at him suspiciously, before grasping the hilt and pressing it back into her hip holster. “Get yourself cleaned up.” She spins around and marches up the narrow staircase.

“Wait.” 

“What is it?” Rose turns around, eyebrow quirked up.

“I...ah. Is your forehead okay?”

Rose blinks, and laughs shortly. “Nothing that a bit of rum won't fix. Now go clean up before my brother sees you. Once we change course, you’ve until daybreak. We’ll reach shallow waters then where you can debark. After that...you’re on your own.”

“How far is the fort from there?” 

Rose shrugs. “I reckon a day on foot. Stick to the main road near the coast, and you’ll get there eventually.” She wrenches the door open and strides out. The heel of her boot clacks against the floorboards. Tim trails after her. When he turns the corner, there’s Joey, a stricken expression sharpening his face as he sees the trail of blood drying from Tim’s nose.

He strides over to Rose, grasping her shoulder and looking between them helplessly, mouth moving soundlessly.

“It’s fine. We had a good talk.” Rose brushes his hand off, but Tim sees the hawk-like set of her face soften when she looks at her brother. “We’re dropping him off in a few hours. Make sure no one disturbs him.”

Joey’s eyes hone in on the red swelling marring his sister’s forehead. He casts a suspicious glance at Tim, eyes glancing between the two of them as if he doesn’t know who to believe.

“That one was self inflicted,” grunts Tim. “Mostly.” Rose scoffs, but doesn’t contradict him.

“Tim let me know some of the men have been giving you trouble. Joey, I told you that if they give you shit, you come to me, got it?” Rose’s voice hardens. “I won’t stand for their disrespect.”

Joey stares at Tim with an expression that clearly states, Just what were you guys talking about? Tim can only respond with an abashed shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ll explain later,” mutters Tim. Yet as Rose makes her exit, back facing them, Joey’s face morphs into concern as he gestures at Tim, blocking his path to the staircase. 

“It’s fine, to be honest, it could have ended worse,” admits Tim, but Joey’s gestures grow more frantic as Tim struggles to decipher what he’s trying to say.

“...you mean your crewmates?” Joey nods, clearly agitated. Tim winces, wondering if it had been a good idea to let that slip to Rose. “Maybe it wasn’t my problem, but it...it just felt weird that they were calling you that, instead of using your name. I’m sorry if I was overstepping.”

Joey points at the exit where Rose is nowhere to be seen, then runs a thumb across his throat. Tim pales, suddenly wondering if he’s inadvertently signed someone’s death warrant on the Ravager . 

“She wouldn’t do that...would she?” asks Tim hesitantly. As Joey’s eyes rove worriedly to the ceiling like he can imagine Rose singling out the unfortunate soul, Tim already knows the answer. Tim works out the cricks in his neck, his battered body aching like he had been through a hurricane. 

“Joey, I...I need to get going. To get ready.” Tim’s eyes close tiredly. With the adrenaline seeping out of him, Tim can think of nothing more appealing than finding somewhere to sleep. However, Joey tugs on his arm, pointing to the bruising that’s already beginning to show.

“I - okay. That sounds good.” Tim lets Joey guide him through the unfamiliar corridors of the Ravager, until they’re back in the room Tim had woken up in. Joey’s mouth moves soundlessly, the words guiding his pantomime as they stand just in front of the door.

“You’ll watch my room? I - that’s too kind. Thank you.” Joey nods reassuringly as Tim turns the doorknob. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tim stumbles towards the bed as the door clicks shut behind him.

He doesn’t remember his head hitting the pillow, except for the faint spark of hope that he might finally be a free man tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The dreary overcast caused a grey pall to drape over Borough Market, but London was no stranger to the weather. Tam Fox hurried through the market, ignoring the smell of food and the shouts of vendors in the cool morning air. However, her pace was slowed in the thick of the crowd once she reached the Legal Quays where the docks were bursting with activity.

Sailors hurried back and forth with various crates of cargo as Tam let herself be jostled by the number of people pushing their way through. The Thames was crammed with ships waiting for their turn to be loaded and unloaded. Tam’s breath misted in the air as she saw the sails she was looking for – a schooner that flew Drake Industries’ flag beneath the Union Jack.

Shoving her way through the crowd, Tam grunted as she hefted her luggage in her hand to adjust her grip. The crowd pushed her towards the Janet where sailors were making the final preparations for sea.

“Sir?” she called out. “Sir!” One of the sailors looked up. She broke free from the throng, moving towards him.

“Miss Fox.” He nodded curtly towards her. “We were expecting you.” He stepped aside, neatly avoiding two of his fellow crewmen rolling two large barrels past him.

“How goes preparations?” Tam smoothed out the crinkles in her dress, suddenly conscious of the way he seemed to be sizing her up. She heard another sailor mutter something uncouth under his breath, but she paid him no heed as she waited expectantly for the man’s answer.

“Well enough. We’ll set sail soon.” Tam waited expectantly for him to help her with the luggage, but when the sailor was no longer forthcoming, she made her way up the gangway on her own, the sailor a few paces behind. The breeze stung Tam’s cheeks, but the wind went unnoticed by the rest of the seamen, who were preoccupied piling pallets and crates to be loaded onto the vessel. Some of them paused to sneak cautious glances at her, but by and large they paid no mind. 

“Tam? Tamara!”

Curses. She stiffened up, immediately recognizing who the voice belonged to. She turned around to face the music. She had thought Luke had bought more time for her… 

“Dad, it’s okay.” She offered him a relaxed smile, but her memorized script was already running through her head as Lucius Fox barreled onto the gangway. He cut through the throng with ease, striking as the well cut suit that framed his shoulders.

“You are done here, little lady.” Now some of the crewmen were openly staring, but she gritted her teeth and stood her ground against her dad, drawing herself up to her full height. “I told you, you don’t need to do this.”

“You know I have to, Dad.” Tam hugged him tight. She was relieved when he returned the embrace, his strong arms pulling her in close. “You already know this, and the captain does too. I heard you both discussing the idea a few weeks ago.”

Lucius pulled back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he regarded her. “Tam, we’ll send someone else on the next ship. It doesn’t have to be you. I know we couldn’t find someone to do it this time, but-”

“We’re running out of time,” shot back Tam. “It’s already an unlikely shot, but if there’s a chance that Timothy is out there...it’s one of our best hopes right now.”

Lucius held her steady gaze. “The ship he bought passage on never made it to its destination. As far as we know, he’s probably dead. And even if he’s somehow still alive and kicking, why hasn’t he contacted us since? It’s been months.”

“But if there’s even a chance he’s alive, that solves half the troubles of the company,” protested Tam in frustration.

“And then what?” argued Lucius. “Even if you do find him miraculously alive, what then? Even by the time you send word of what happened to him, it’ll be too late.”

“You have to stall for time, dad. At least until I can send back word.”

Her dad exhaled sharply. “Fine. But we’ll send your brother, not you. There’s still time for Luke to get here before the ship can leave the harbor.”

“You can’t. Luke needs to be here to manage the rest of the company while you hold off the buyers,” argued Tam. “The company won’t function unless it’s got both of you. I’m the best person for the job.”

“ Tam .” Her dad’s aggrieved voice hurt her soul. “It’s not safe out there. You’re...I can’t send my baby girl to the Caribbean alone. It’s - it’s lawless there, it’s far too dangerous.”

“With all due respect, sir.” A polite but firm voice interrupted them. Lucius turned around and was met by the captain, a man who’d sailed under Drake Industries’ flag for longer than she could remember. “She’ll be under my protection. It would be a blight upon my honor if I let anything happen to her while I’m captaining this vessel. I’ll make sure she comes to no harm during the passage.” He offers Lucius a wry smile. “It’s in all our interests if we can find out what happened to Jack’s kid. If he’s alive, maybe we can stop all the people eyeing Drake properties.”

“But-”

“It’s the only thing that’s likely to end this whole mess, Mr. Fox.” The captain grimaced, crossing his arms. “Jack’s probably turning over in his grave if he’s watching us right now. It’s a tragedy, that’s what it is. Never thought the poor kid would end up the same way like his parents.”

“Please, dad?” Tam bit her lip as she watched her father anxiously. After an agonizing silence, Lucius breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Please just...be safe, Tam.” Stepping in, Lucius hugged her tightly. Tam swallowed, a lump forming in her throat, hoping her dad couldn’t see how scared she was. “Don’t do anything rash, all right? And if you think you’re in any danger, you have to escape, okay? Promise me.”

“Okay,” Tam mumbled through the lump in her throat. She gripped him tight as she buried her head in his chest.

“Write to me the moment you reach land, got it? And don’t leave your cabin unless you have to, got it?”

She managed a small, tight laugh. “Okay, daaad.”

“Promise me,” he said sternly. 

“I promise, dad.” He heaved a sigh of relief at her words, but she could still feel the tension in his form as he stepped back to survey her. The crow’s feet etching the corners of his eyes remained deep with worry.

“You got everything? I’ll go to the market and buy some extra food for you, it’ll be a long journey. There’s still time.”

“I’m okay, dad.” She laughed, feeling her courage seep back into her bones with the way he was hovering around her, like she was now the one that had to be strong for both of them. “You know most of it would spoil quickly, anyway.”

“Okay, but if you’re scared, you can still get off this ship, got it?”

“Not a chance, dad.” She brushed an unruly curl from her eyes and smiled at him bravely. “Help me put my things away, though? We can check out the cabin.”

“All right.” He stooped down to pick up her luggage. Tam felt a sense of loss pervade her when his crown of greying hair paused at her eye line. She wished she could turn back time to stop him from aging any further. Still, despite the knot of nerves tangling her stomach, she felt a surging sense of excitement, that she was on the edge of seeing new lands whose concept still seemed so foreign and remote to her.

“And don’t you dare let any sailors into your room, you hear me?” 

Tam groaned. “Daaaaaad...”

Chapter Text

Tim can barely keep still as he waits for Joey to undo the knots securing the small rowboat. The Ravager rocks back and forth along the waves. Part of him still can’t believe his freedom is within reach, and that it isn’t a fever dream. But maybe his run of bad luck was finally coming to an end? Tim isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, the nervous energy pent up inside him almost hitting its boiling point. He’s already expecting another double cross or something to ruin the rest of his week. Joey straightens up and stretches with grunt and nods towards Tim.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” says Tim. He glances around the ship. Rose’s crewmembers haven’t paid much attention to him, though a few eyed the bruises that he was sporting. It looked like word had already spread through the ship about what had transpired between him and Rose. Though they kept their distance, he could feel their stares.

“Where’s Rose?” Tim looks around for her. Rose had been too stingy to part with any provisions to give Tim, though he hadn’t expected her to. He had no belongings to pack and the boat was small enough to only fit himself and Joey. Tim inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves as Joey unties the last knot. Joey swings himself into the rowboat with enviable grace. Tim clambers in with some difficulty, teetering over the Ravager’s ledge. Joey helps him in, and just as they’re ready to swing off, Rose’s face appears over the ledge.

“Jackson,” she greets. He’s surprised she still has the capacity to be civil towards him.

“You look like you could use a little seawater on that bruise of yours.” He gestures towards the shining lump marring her forehead. Rose scoffs. 

“It’ll take more than that to take me down, thank you very much. You off to find your friend?”

“I suppose so.” Tim twists to look out towards the horizon. The ocean breeze is crisp and fresh, and even its salty tangy can’t overpower his anticipation at finally being free . Rose only rolls her eyes.

“What are you going to do when Jason catches up with you?” Rose folds her arms over her chest. “You have a plan? Be a shame to let you go just to let you get caught again.”

“Bold of you to assume he can catch up with me.” 

Rose’s brash laughter is unapologetic. “Oh, neither of us have seen the last of him, I can assure you. Jason’s more tenacious than you or I.” She tosses something over; it glints in the air and Tim snags it in his fist. He opens his palm. His heart sinks when Jason’s earring winks back at him in the sunlight, nestled in the center of his grimy hand.

“You know he likes to bullshit about that earring, right?” grins Rose. “Jason might be possessive, but he’s all bark and no bite. Anyhow, you better give that back to him the next time you see him.” Her cocky smirk irritates Tim, like she thinks she’s read him so easily.

“Maybe when you’re a fellow pirate like him.” Tim snorts.  “I’ll take the earring, just to watch his face when I throw it into the ocean.”

Rose whistles appreciatively. “What I wouldn’t give to see that. But, enough chit chat. You best be off. If you head west after you make landfall, you should hit Fort Liberte before sundown. Don’t get yourself killed, Jackson. It’d be a damned shame.”

“No promises.” Tim’s not about to tempt fate right now. Rose helps them lower the rowboat into the rocking waves. Joey undoes the last of the knots, and the boat drops with a gentle splash into the sunny waves.

The sea is calm, the sky is cloudless, and Tim keeps thinking Joey might just double-cross him at any second. But Joey only wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, sweat beading at the edges of his temples as the Caribbean sun beats down on both of them. Joey’s row strokes are rhythmic and seamless, and the boat glides over the waves with minimal effort. The tide guides them to the shore and before Tim even realizes it, the boat gently bumps into the sand, coming to rest with a little sigh. Joey jumps out and lands in the wet sand, boots sinking into the beaten sand. He stabilizes the boat for Tim to clamber out, then stretches in the humid heat.

“Thank you,” says Tim. He extends his hand. Joey stares at it in confusion before he realizes what Tim wants. Joey’s hand easily engulfs Tim’s in a firm handshake. His palm is far more rough and calloused than Tim’s, and Tim wishes he could do more for Joey.

“If you’re ever in London,” Tim says, knowing how foolish that sounds, “come look for me.”

Joey huffs a little laugh, but Tim hopes that his sentiments at least reached him. Joey claps Tim on the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. Joey pulls a small knife from his belt. Tim immediately flinches, but Joey only flips it around with dextrous fingers, until he’s offering the hilt to Tim.

“I couldn’t,” protests Tim, but Joey shakes his head urgently. He takes Tim’s hand and presses the hilt into his palm. Once Tim’s fingers are curled around it, Joey releases Tim’s wrist and steps back.

“Thank you,” Tim says, suddenly feeling embarrassed that he had ever suspected Joey. What would he have to gain from tricking Tim like this? “And I hope we see each other again.”

Something flickers in Joey’s eyes, but Tim doesn’t detect any malicious intentions from him, only an unspoken, genuine gratitude that Tim doesn’t quite understand. After all, Tim’s the one in debt to him, not the other way around. Tim helps Joey push the rowboat back to sea. Waving, Tim watches as Joey carelessly wades into the water before leaping in. 

The boat rocks, but Joey keeps his balance as the rowboat beats back against the tide. The sun is warm enough that he’ll probably dry off before he returns to the Ravager. Tim waits until Joey’s outline is barely visible against the morning sun. Then he trudges off, leaving a trail of sandy imprints across the beach and into the verdant treeline.

The first thing he’s struck with is the quiet. The natural life around him is noisy with the tree roots creaking under his feet and the noisy chatter of unfamiliar bird calls, but this is the first time Tim has had any time alone to himself since he last boarded the ship he’d chartered back in London. 

British life seems so far away now. His thoughts trail back to the company. He wonders how Lucius Fox was doing. Tim had arranged for the company to be placed in Mr. Fox’s control during his trip, and he knew Drake Industries was in good hands. Still, they hadn’t planned for Tim to be gone for so long, much less possibly dead. Still, there’d been protocols put in place ever since the death of Tim’s parents, and even if it hadn’t been expected, at least they would have implemented these measures by now.

Tim sighed and swiped the sweat from his brow. Finding another ship back to London was going to be a long affair, especially since all he had was the clothes on his back. He spitefully considers pawning the earring the second he can find a pawn shop, then pushes that thought away to the back of his mind to revisit later. 

Tim sets upon a rocky trail that curls past the foliage. He’s relieved to find a hint of civilization, where the tread of other footsteps are faintly visible in the dirt. For all he knew, Rose could have sent him off to an abandoned island and he would have been none the wiser. Without a map, Tim looks towards where the sun is slowly drifting towards the center of the sky before he heads westward, sun beating down his back.

Though he’s sweating in the tropical heat, he’s reluctant to shrug off his thin and threadbare shirt even with no one in sight along the path. When he rounds the bend of the shore, he catches sight of the fort in the distance, and he surges onward with newfound hope. The trees are all strange and unfamiliar to him and he wants to stop and examine them out of curiosity, but he doesn’t want to arrive at Fort Liberte after sundown. 

Several meters down there’s an unusual looking tree with spiky wide leaves bearing lots of odd fruit that he thinks he remembers Kon describing in one of his letters. Kon’s attempt at drawing it had been reminiscent of a melon-shaped hedgehog, but now Tim is thankful for him at least attempting to identify breadfruit. He reaches up to pick one of the tree’s yellow-green harvest from its branches. His hands come away sticky, but Tim manages to peel away the breadfruit’s skin from its flesh with Joey’s knife. The juices trickle down his wrists as he lists the fruit up to his mouth and takes a bite.

“Hrn.” Tim’s face scrunches up. He’d been expecting something sweet, but the fruit’s texture and taste is more reminiscent of a potato. He feels silly for expecting otherwise from a plant called a breadfruit, but he eats more of it despite the odd taste. Only when the core remains does he finally realize how starved he’d been. He picks another breadfruit for later, continuing along the trail. It’s both unsettling and relaxing being on his own for an extended amount of time, but Tim doesn’t feel any fear as he slowly makes his way towards the town.

The trail gradually evens out, and Tim makes good headway well into the afternoon. The trail curves along a short ridge, and Tim is excited when he can make out the dark outlines of buildings that can only be the town of Fort Liberte. His feet nearly fly down the path and before he knows it, he’s already at the town entrance. The architecture seems similar to Tortuga’s, but there’s a stark difference seeing Fort Liberte in the sunlight as opposed to panicking on Tortuga’s streets in the dark. 

He sucks in a breath. It feels strange to finally be back in civilization after being confined to a ship for so long. The thought is overwhelming. He can hear the bustle of what he’s sure is probably the town market. There’s a cathedral nearby, and he can see people heading towards it. The idea of exploring the town appeals to Tim, but he only has one destination.

He heads towards the ocean, the towering walls of Fort Liberte beckoning him forward. It takes him another hour to walk towards the fort, and the thought of making the uphill climb worries him a little. When he reaches the base of the cliff, he spies two sentries guarding the path. Hailing them, Tim hurries over, his stomach in his throat.

“Do you guys know anyone called Connor Kent?” he says in a rush. “I’m looking for him, he told me he was stationed here.”

The two guards exchange glances. “Sorry, we don’t know anyone of that name here.” The younger guard has a heavy French accent, one that Tim has a hard time deciphering.

“He might be in the navy,” ventures Tim. “I’m not sure though. I haven’t been able to contact him recently.”

The older guard furrows his brow. “Do you know what ship he serves? He might not be in port right now. The bay’s big - sometimes ships are out for weeks, you know. Why’re you looking for him?”

“He asked me to visit him.” Dread settles into his spine. “Is it - is it possible to go in to look for him?”

“Sorry.” The Frenchman offers him a sympathetic glance. “No, ah, civils allowed. But if we see him, we tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thank you.” Tim swallows thickly. “Tell him Tim Drake is in town.” With a heavy heart, he turns on his heel and makes the long trek back to the town. He eats the last breadfruit on the way back but he can barely taste anything. The walk seems longer this time, and by the time he reaches the cathedral, his feet ache from all the walking and the sun is low in the sky.

Tim gnaws his lip as his heavy feet take him aimlessly through the town. Foreign and unfamiliar people pass him by. Once again, he has no friends or money in a strange place. The townsfolk speak smatterings of both Spanish and French when he walks near enough to overhear their conversations. If he focuses enough he could probably eavesdrop and translate, but his mind is overtaken with over worries.

He winds up in the middle of the market square. He desperately needs water after the long trek in the heat, and his stomach growls to remind him that all he’s had to eat today were two breadfruits. The vendors are packing up their produce and goods to head home for the day, and only a few people are still looking over their goods. A baker stoops down, packing up the remainder of his bread for the day. He pays no notice to Tim. Tim pauses, fingering the earring in his pocket. He wonders if it would do him any good to try and barter the earring off so he can at least have something to eat, but he doubts that the earring would fetch him more than a few breadcrumbs. The sun is starting to set. Tim lingers by the fountain in the square. His throat is parched, and he’s now desperate enough to consider drinking the fountain water.

He has nothing to lose. Tim inhales deeply, gazing back towards the cathedral in some vague, desperate, fumbling hope. He bellows.

“ KON ! CONNER KENT !” The remaining vendors whip their heads around to stare at him. Tim’s so exhausted he doesn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment or shame. His call echoes around the square and filters into silence.

A giant hand falls on his shoulder. Tim spins around, prepared to apologize for disturbing the peace. Kon stares at him. A half formed word rests in the gape of his open mouth. Tim stares up at him. 

“... Tim ?” 

Tim’s throat closes up. His eyes burn a little. Kon stares at him, concern written all over his brow. 

“Tim, is it really you?” His voice is so gentle.

Tim pulls him in for a desperate hug. He thinks he might be crying. He doesn’t give a damn if they’re making a scene. Kon’s arms wrap around him. Tim’s feet leave the ground. He doesn’t protest, just clings to Kon tighter.

“Kon,” Tim mumbles into his shoulder. “It’s me. I’m here.”

“Oh my god. You idiot.” But Kon is laughing, relief and joy knit into his voice. Tim can feel his laughter vibrate deep in his ribs. Tim laughs with him, or maybe he’s crying, Tim’s not even sure himself, except for the mass of emotions unraveling in his stomach and leaving him an absolute mess. 

He can’t believe it. He’s safe.

Chapter Text

“Kon, Kon!” Tim chokes out a breathless laugh when Kon squeezes him harder. “You’re crushing me.” Kon loosens his grip. When Kon sets him down, Tim looks up. His mouth hurts from grinning so much.

“You idiot,” Kon says again, laughing. “How did you know I was here?”

Warmth blossoms in Tim’s chest. He tries to wipe away the lingering wetness in his eyes discreetly, but he knows there’s no fooling Kon. 

“Maybe I just knew you’d come if I called.” He pulls back to properly study Kon. Kon’s gotten stockier since they last met. He’d always been taller, but now the difference feels more palpable. Tanned from the Caribbean sun, Kon just laughs and hugs Tim one more time before releasing him.

“I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought you were some drunk asking for a fight!” Kon tsks at him. “Seriously, I was trying to figure out who I pissed off.”

“Who would be drunk at this time of day?” scoffs Tim. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“You’d be surprised. More importantly, when did you get here? I was afraid something happened to you.” Kon looks him over, eyes lingering on the wounds Rose and Deathstroke had left on Tim. 

“A lot did. I only just got here a few hours ago.” Tim laughs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find you. They wouldn’t let me into the fort.”

“Well, obviously.” Kon shakes his head at him. “Also, I don’t live at the main fort.”

“So then, where do you live?” 

“There’s a small presidio I live in with a few others. They’re with me today, actually. What about you, do you have a place to stay?”

Tim shakes his head. “I lost most of my belongings trying to get here.” He feels ashamed to ask for help, but then again, what is there to hide from Kon?

“Hmm.” Kon thinks hard for a moment, then his face splits into a beaming grin. “I think we can work with that. Lemme introduce you to the others.” He drags Tim through the emptying marketplace, but still allows Tim the opportunity to match his pace. 

“Jaime!” Kon waves at someone on the edge of the square. Someone breaks away from the shadows of the square to join up with them. The young man is lean and tall and greets Kon with a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Who’s he?” he asks, looking Tim up and down. “He doesn’t look like he’s from around here.”

“Jaime, this is Tim Drake. Tim, meet Jaime Reyes. Jaime, this is an old friend of mine, d’you reckon we can sneak him into the presidio?”

A little gleam enters Jaime’s eyes. “You know Bart’s gonna love this. And also, we can’t tell him. He’s terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, yeah. The old bedroll trick?” Kon smirks.

“The old bedroll trick,” Jaime confirms. He studies Tim briefly. “You’re thin enough that I doubt it’ll be a problem.”

“Wait, what -” Tim’s interrupted when Jaime shrugs off the large pack he’s carrying, reaching inside and pulling up a folded up canvas bag. Kon grins.

“Get in, and make sure you don’t make any noise, got it?”

“Um-” Kon ushers Tim into the bag. Tim makes a noise of protest when Kon flips the flap over his head, shrouding him in darkness, but he’s ignored as Kon hefts him onto his back.

“Don’t worry, won’t be for too long.” says Kon. “We’ll get you over to the presidio once-”

“Oi, stop talking to your bedroll, Bart’s coming!”

“Hey, hey, Kon, I thought you were talking to someone, who was that?” An unfamiliar voice barges into the conversation. Tim bites back a choked groan when he smacks into Kon’s back when Kon adjusts the canvas bag.

“Don’t worry, we’ll explain soon, did you get the food we need for today?”

“Yep! Hey, Jaime, isn’t that your bedroll bag? Why’s Kon carrying it? Are you heading out tomorrow for something? Why’d you bring it with you today?”

“Nevermind that, we should head back to the presidio soon, okay?” 

“Whaaat?” Tim hasn’t even seen Bart yet, but somehow he can already envision his pout just from his voice. 

“In fact,” interrupts Kon, “why don’t you just go ahead of us? We’ll catch up with you soon.”

“Are you guys hiding something from me?”

“It’s a surprise.” Jaime cuts in. “You’ll find out soon, but for the love of god, just head to the presidio first!”

“Finee. See you guys later!” Tim can hear Bart leave, and he feels Kon heave a sigh of relief.

“You guys are terrible at lying,” Tim pipes up.

“Oh, shut up. He probably didn’t notice too much. He’ll forget about it soon enough.”

“Are you sure this is okay?” Tim feels bad about imposing like this, but Kon just scoffs.

“What kind of friend would I be if I left you on the streets? You owe me a long explanation of what happened to you since your last letter.”

“Kon.”

“Yes?”

“You’re a good friend.” 

“And you’re a dummy. But a good friend. C’mon, we’ve got some guards to fool.” 

Kon and Jaime make the hike to the presidio. Tim pokes his head out a few times to breathe, but then Kon protests and pushes him back inside.

“Seriously, Tim, this place isn’t that big, if people see me talking to my bedroll, what are they gonna think?”

“It’s a Saturday night, who cares?” pipes up Jaime. “They’ll just think you’re drunk.”

“ Oi .”

“Come on, ese. We should drink tonight. Tim’s here to visit, that’s as good a cause as any to drink, right?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“So we’ll drink tonight. You know,” Jaime addresses Tim, “he’s been worried about you the whole time. You never responded to his letters.”

“When I’m out of this bag, I’ll explain everything,” mumbles Tim, poking his head out of the bedroll again. It’s stuffy inside and Tim feels like he can’t breathe. “But the short answer is pirates.”

“Seriously?” Kon jolts slightly in surprise. “Man that’s gotta be a good story. But I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too-” Tim starts, but then Jaime pushes Tim’s head back into the bag. 

“Shh!” Kon straightens up. 

Someone’s walking over to them. Tim can hear the stomp of boots on the ground.

“Evening,” calls Kon. His posture shifts. Tim focuses on not moving or making any noise.

“What d’you have there, Conner?” A foreign voice calls out. Conner and Jaime pause in their tracks.

“New bedroll. Old one got eaten by moths.”

“Bad luck, that. Your friend’s already back by the way. Looked like he was about to cook up a storm.”

“Yeah? Thanks for the heads up. Have a good night.”

“G’night.” The officers wave them through. Tim waits with bated breath as Kon passes through, Jaime bringing up the rear. Kon’s gait speeds up. Tim tries his hardest not to move, but the canvas bag is stifling. 

“We’re in the clear,” mutters Jaime. “But keep quiet until we’re inside. Seriously Kon, moths ?” 

“I panicked! What should I have said?” They walk up a short incline, Kon amicably bickering with Jaime. Tim always knew Kon had been in good shape, but he’s still impressed that Kon doesn’t even sound out of breath after lugging him around. 

Jaime raps three times when they stop at the presidio’s door step. “Bart? Open up, it’s us.”

The door swings open with a bang. Tim jolts in surprise. 

“Heyy! So I started cooking, and I’ve kinda burnt the chicken, but I tasted it and it still seems edible? Also, I’m refrying the fish from yesterday, and honestly I think I can eat everything so I’m making extra, is that all right?”

“Bart. Calm down.” Kon groans as Jaime closes the door behind them. “Also, keep your voice down. We’ve got a guest.”

“Whaat? You guys should have said something! I knew it was weird your bedroll looked so lumpy! Who is it?” Kon puts down the bag with a long suffering sigh.

“Bart, do you remember when I told you about my friend Tim? Well, he just landed in port, he’ll need to stay for a little while. You don’t mind if we let him stay for a bit, do you?”

“‘Course not!” Tim finally fishes himself out of the bag. His hand is immediately gripped and shaken enthusiastically. “Hey, so I’m Bart, I’ve heard a ton about you, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you-” Jaime shakes his head in exasperation, but Tim notices the fond smile on his face as Jaime heads inside, taking Bart by the hand and leading him to what he presumes is the kitchen judging from the delicious smell of spices. 

“Anyway, we’re going to have to make more food, sorry about that, Bart.” Kon glances over to Tim. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet?”

“Nope. I thought Bart said he made extra?” 

“When he said that,” Jaime calls from the kitchen, “that meant his portion. Pretty sure Bart can eat double your weight.” 

Kon claps a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Enough of that, lemme get a good look at you.” He ushers Tim into the light of the candles, scrutinizing him closely. 

“No wonder I almost didn’t recognize you, you actually put on some weight. Maybe you’ll be heavier than my actual bedroll soon. Also, is that scruff ?”

“Oh, shut up.” Tim laughs and punches Kon, who blocks it easily. “There’s only so much weight I could have gained living on hardtack and gruel.”

“Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?” Kon pouts and pokes Tim’s cheek. “I’ve never seen you so disheveled, you could pass for a sailor. A scurvy-ridden one, but a sailor. What happened to the clean and polished Tim Drake I left behind in England?”

“Got waylaid by pirates and not permitted to shave, that’s what.” Tim runs his fingers over his scruff. Now that Kon’s brought it up, he really does need to shave. 

“How barbaric .” Kon claps a faux-shocked hand to his mouth, but Tim knows that inwardly Kon’s concerned. “Seriously, they didn’t do anything to you?”

“Well…” Tim trails off, but Bart bursts back into the room.

“Guys, time to eat! Jaime rescued the chicken, it’s definitely edible.”

“Shall we?” Kon offers Tim a grin and nudges him inside. “We’ll drink to your arrival, how does that sound?”

Tim laughs, his heart feeling lighter than it had in many long months. “Like everything I ever wanted.” Kon ushers him into the dining quarters. The table is already set, with Jaime helping Bart get out an additional set for Tim. Kon brings the chicken over, and only when everyone is seated does Tim allow himself to start eating.

The chicken is indeed a bit burnt, but the blend of spices is unusual and smoky. Tim devours everything ravenously. He hasn’t seen this much food in forever . The cornmeal is unusual and he tries the breadfruit fritters that are surprisingly delicious. Tim finds himself asking for second helpings.

“ Ese ,” Jaime says in awe. “Slow down, we’ll make more food if we need to.” He refills Tim’s cup. The rum is somehow sweet, and it goes down smoothly. Maybe a lifetime ago Tim would have choked, but now he downs it easily. It pairs well with the rest of the food.

Tim laughs in some embarrassment. He leans back to take a short respite from stuffing himself. “I’m sorry for imposing on you all out of the blue.”

“Don’t worry, Kon’s friends are our friends. Seems like you’ve been through a lot. You said it was the Red Hood that captured your ship?”

Tim shakes his head. “He sank it. I was the only one that was spared.”

“Huh. Wonder why that is. That would explain why we received no news, though. We thought your ship sank in a storm or worse.”

Tim knocks back another cup. Seriously, how had he been expected to drink the shit that Jason’s crew used to pour when they could have been drinking this ?

“Well, there was a storm along the way, but that’s not important now.” Tim sighs. He feels pleasantly warm. His head lolls gently onto Kon’s shoulder. Kon steadies him without question. “Seriously, it was insane.”

“I bet. How’d you escape?”

“There was a shootout in Tortuga. I got away and made a deal with a different pirate. It was madness.” Tim gestures upwards in frustration. 

“Was it the Red Hood that injured you?” Kon asks. His fingers brush over Tim’s bruised face.

“No, someone else. Actually, Jason saved me more than once. It was confusing.”

“Saved you from what?”

“Other pirates? Drowning? Drowning multiple times, actually.” Tim waves it off. “Again, it’s a long story.” Bart keeps the drinks pouring, and Tim happily obliges. “Anyway, he wasn’t as bad as you’d think in person. Usually. But he was really confusing and annoying.” Tim squints at his empty cup. “Did I say that already?”

“It’s funny he’d save you, though. He’s got a record for not sparing people. Was there any reason behind it?”

Tim scowls into his glass. “He was so full of shit. He wouldn’t tell me anything.” 

Kon pats his back, soothing him. “Well, you’re safe here. He’d have a death wish if he tried to attack the fort.”

“I know right?” Tim rolls his eyes. “He said he’d ‘chase me down to the ends of the ocean.’ What’s his plan if I just hide out in the middle of Europe? He’s an idiot.” Tim groans and covers his face with his hands. 

“You’re not in Europe, though,” Bart points out helpfully. He’s curled up in Jaime’s lap. Tim blinks his tired eyes open to thank Bart for the astute observation. Instead, Tim’s greeted by the faint blush on Jaime’s cheeks. His arm is loosely wrapped around Bart’s waist, keeping him steady as Bart lurches forward to refill everyone’s cups. 

“Well, still . I could head to a landlocked region to wait him out. How’s he gonna get to me then?” Tim rolls his eyes. 

“You won’t need to do anything that drastic,” says Kon confidently. “We’re here now, and if we see his ship in the bay he won’t get anywhere close to port.” He gently nudges Tim off. “I’ll clean up.”

“I’ll help,” protests Tim. “It’s the least I can do.” He’s proud when he gets up without swaying. He trails after Kon with the rest of the dining utensils. His eyelids feel heavy, but he perseveres and helps Kon with soaking the dishes.

“When you dry them I’ll put them away,” Tim offers. Kon waves him off.

“I already know where everything goes. Actually, can you ask Jaime if he or Bart got water earlier today? I know we have enough for tomorrow, but not sure if we need to make another trip.”

“Sure.” Tim rubs his eyes and finds his way back to the dining area. “Jaime?” Tim calls. He pokes his head over to where they had just finished eating. “Kon wants to know if-” He sobers up.

Bart’s kissing Jaime. It takes Tim’s rum-addled brain a few seconds to realize that fact. Jaime’s pressed against his chair, arms curled about Bart’s waist. Bart leans in eagerly, but Jaime pushes Bart off, a blush riding high on his brown cheeks as he stares at Tim in alarm.

“It’s not what you think,” blurts Jaime. 

Self conscious and a little embarrassed, Tim ducks out of sight. “Kon wanted to know if you got water earlier today,” he calls back. 

“I - yeah. Yeah we did.” Jaime’s voice is steady, but Tim can hear the embarrassment in it. He returns to Kon, the pleasant burn of the alcohol gone. The rest of the cleanup goes without incident, and by the time Kon and Tim return to the living room, Bart and Jaime are already gone.

“They’re probably gonna rest for the night,” Kon says. “You sober yet?”

“More or less. I wanted to thank them properly for the meal.”

“You can do that tomorrow. You should sleep soon.” Tim trails after Kon and follows him to the sleeping quarters. Tim changes quickly out of his clothes when Kon offers him some of his own. They’re too big for Tim, but Tim’s too tired to care as he shrugs them on and flops face first into the covers.

“Oi, move over.” Kon pokes Tim in the side. Tim grunts in complaint but rolls over nonetheless.

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” he mumbles into the pillow. “I thought I was gonna end up sleeping on the streets.”

“No worries. You’re gonna have to deal with my cold feet though.”

“How can you have cold feet in this heat?” grumbles Tim. “Seriously, this place is so hot, how do you stand it?” He tugs at his shirt. The cotton is light, but Tim’s having a hard time acclimating to the weather.

“How you stand all that rain in London is what I’d like to know,” scoffs Kon. He nudges Tim a little further to the side as he settles in and blows out the candle. They fall silent. For a few tranquil moments they lie there, quietly listening to each other breathe.

“I’m sorry if Jaime and Bart made you uncomfortable.”

“Why would they?” Tim rolls onto his side.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess you saw them, right? I guess I was afraid you might not be...accepting. Not that I think you wouldn’t have been, but I wasn’t sure either.”

“Were you always? Accepting, I mean.” Tim fidgets slightly. It’s hard to believe that they’re having this conversation. He blames the rum.

“To be honest, I thought it was...strange at first, but I got used to it. But they’re good people, Tim. And if I were ever in trouble, they’d have my back in a heartbeat, and I’d be there for them too, no questions asked. But is it a problem for you?”

Tim mulls the question over. “I guess not. Wouldn’t they get in trouble if people found out?”

“Yeah. Keep it a secret, I don’t want them getting hurt. They’re my friends.”

“Of course.” Who’s there to tell, anyway? Tim’s grateful to them for allowing him to intrude on their lives at all in the first place.

Kon breathes a palpable sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I was nervous that you’d think badly of them.”

“Maybe once, I might have,” murmurs Tim. “But now…”

“Now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Tim closes his eyes, but his mind churns with confusion. 

How could he even begin to explain what had transpired on the Sheila Haywood ? That Jason Todd, the pirate captain who could bring fleets to their knees, sometimes looked at Tim the way Jaime looked at Bart? How could he begin to explain that in the early days of his captivity, he had thought Jason had been purposefully tempting him to break his will, to sink to Jason’s level? Tim had resisted, not only because Jason Todd was a pirate, but because a part of Tim thought the feelings that he’d tried to suppress were wrong . 

The world was turning upside down, right was wrong and night was day. Bart kissed Jaime with so much love and how could there be anything wrong with that? Jason was terrible and awful and possessive and yet all Tim could think of was the smoulder of his glare and the warmth of his coat keeping Tim safe.

“Tim, you know you can tell me anything, right?” whispers Kon. 

“I know.”

“The pirates really didn’t do anything to you?”

“It’s not that. There was a lot that happened.” Tim sighs and kicks the blanket over Kon. He already feels too warm next to Kon’s heat without the additional blanket stifling him. “I’m...trying to work through it myself.”

Kon relents. “All right. I’m here for you, when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” whispers Tim into the inky darkness. “Good night, Kon.”

“Good night, Tim.”

Chapter Text

When the first rays of the sunrise peek through the crack in the shutters, Tim inches out of bed. Careful not to wake the snoring Kon, Tim pulls on his clothes in the semi darkness before tiptoeing out of the room. The door creaks shut as Tim creeps across the bare floor of the presidio. 

It’s probably not safe for him to wander outside in the early hours of the dawn considering the pains Kon and Jaime took to sneak him into the presidio, but Tim’s too antsy to care. If he’s spotted, he can just say he got lost when trying to find his way back to the town. He sticks out enough as an outsider that he figures he’d be believed.

The door clicks shut behind him as he takes in the quiet lull of the morning. The presidio has a spectacular view of the rising sun over the ocean waves. After finding a small copse of trees, Tim settles underneath it to watch the dawn break over the Caribbean. Sunlight glints off the breaking waves. Time slows to a standstill. Tim closes his eyes and wills himself to not think . 

“You know, I thought you were a night owl, not an early bird.”

“I am.” Tim opens his eyes. Conner stands there, still dressed in the loose clothes he’d worn to sleep. Kon takes a seat next to him. A gull cries over their heads as it flies towards the sea. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I know. You wouldn’t keep still.” Kon yawns widely, stretching his limbs. His messy curls fall over his eyes before he slicks them back with his palm. 

Tim leans his head on Kon’s shoulder with a sigh. “It was too hot last night.”

“You’ll get used to it eventually.” Kon pats him sympathetically. “Sorry the bed is so cramped.”

“Don’t be. And I hope I do.” Inhale. Exhale. The fresh air feels good on Tim’s skin, the calm before the Caribbean heat sets in. They stay like that for a few moments, taking in the view of the bay from their vantage point. The waves crash on the shore, soothing Tim’s fraying mind.

A small chuckle bubbles from Kon’s lips, breaking the tranquil silence. Tim raises his head to give him a quizzical stare.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I just remembered something. Do you remember that one time Steph talked us into poaching wild game from your neighbor’s estate?”

A wry grin sneaks to Tim’s lips in spite of himself. “I remember. And it wasn’t just one time.”

“Ok, but we made pretty good poachers.” Kon grins at him. “I remember when your mom found out she was pissed .”

Tim can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into doing that. We were lucky that we were never shot at!”

“And remember the time we nearly got caught when the keepers were chasing us? You tripped into some stinging nettles and you had rashes for weeks!”

“Oh my god. Don't remind me.” Tim snorts. “Steph was always the one who got away without a scratch, and she was the mastermind.”

“I don’t know if she was the mastermind, to be honest. More like the instigator. You’re the one that came up with an overly elaborate plan to poach two pheasants.”

“In hindsight, that plan was really bad,” mutters Tim. “Too many moving parts. But it worked .”

“Yeah, but then Steph went and named them Corky and Squiggle and then we felt too guilty about eating them,” grumbles Kon.

“What did she name the hare we caught that one time? Bobby?”

“I thought we didn’t name it because Krypto tried to attack it and ran away.” Kon smiles. “I miss that dog. What a dork.”

“No, Steph named it something before Krypto spooked it, but I don’t recall what it was.” Tim scratches his head. “Do you know what was the worst part?”

“What?”

“This was after you left, but a couple years later I was invited to the same estate to join a shooting party.” Tim grimaces. “I kept thinking he was going to find out who I actually was!”

Kon bursts out laughing. “Seriously? Wish I could have been there to see that.” He leans back against the trunk of the tree. “I’m surprised you went, though. You were never particularly interested in hunting.”

Tim sighs. “It wasn’t an invitation my family could afford to refuse at the time. Too many potential investors to pass up on.” Still though, he remembers that he had had a good time on the hunt. Though Tim found the sport a poor way of spending his leisure, the shooting party had been one of the last fond memories he’d had with his father. 

“That whole Drake thing, huh?” Kon settles back. “Now that I think about it, you never really liked most of the activities your parents wanted you to do.”

Tim chuckles. “Well, the fencing lessons didn’t turn out so bad. They’re the reason I met you, after all.”

“What? But you were always skipping classes!”

“I liked it as a sport. My mother wanted me to learn it for the sake of dueling.” Tim scowls. “In case the Drake name was ever insulted.”

“I know. I remember you always complaining about how duels are stupid.”

“It’s immature .” Tim snorts. “I’m not going to shoot or stab someone just because we can’t agree on something. Anyway, I didn’t hate fencing. I just...I just didn’t like the reasoning behind my taking lessons in it. It was better than learning how to use pistols, though.” The fencing lessons had been short lived, though. Since most duels were conducted with pistols, Tim’s mother had opted to focus more heavily on Tim learning how to handle a firearm.

“I get that. Well..how about now?”

“What do you mean?”

Kon grins, revealing two practice swords resting at his hip. “If you’re up for it, wanna spar? For old time’s sake. Unless you think you can’t keep up, of course.” Kon smirks.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to rise to that bait?”

“When have you ever said no to me?” teases Kon. He offers one of the swords hilt first. “C’mon, take it. If you ask nicely I’ll even go easy on you.”

Tim looks at the offered pommel, then back to Kon. “I should be the one telling you that,” Tim says at last, gripping the hilt. He tests its balance, taking a few practice lunges. “You won’t get in trouble if someone sees us?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” says Kon breezily. He gets up first to stretch, then offers Tim an extended hand. Tim accepts the proffered hand and Kon pulls him up. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.” Feet sliding into position, Kon levels the blunted sword at Tim. “You haven’t forgotten your footwork, have you?”

“You wish, Kent.” Tim bares his teeth in a grin.

“En garde, Drake.” Conner advances. Tim settles into a defensive position, stepping forward to counter Conner’s attack. Yet as Tim moves in, Conner’s rapier catches the point of Tim’s blade on his guard. Conner’s arm flicks up, catching Tim wide open as he lunges forward. Conner’s rapier taps Tim on the side of his neck.

“I guess the student has surpassed the teacher, huh?” Kon smirks. He steps back, the blade leaving Tim’s throat.

Oh, it is so on. It’s Tim’s turn to strike first now. Initially his limbs are slow to respond to what he wants, but the muscle memory of the fencing drills still lingers. Tim flicks his blade, the steel catching the light of the rising sun as the point whips towards Kon’s unprotected side. Kon parries with enviable ease. Tim is able to drive Kon back a few paces, but once again it’s Kon’s rapier tapping at his shoulder when the round ends.

“Looks like the navy taught you a thing or two, huh?” Tim says breathlessly.

“Best in the class.” Kon laughs as he parries Tim and lunges forward. Tim sidesteps and taps his shoulder. “Funny thing, I pissed off a few people on the first day.”

“You? Pissing off people? Impossible.”

“They thought I was cheating somehow. I mean, how could a lowly farm boy possibly win against someone whose family was part of the aristocracy? Little did they know I had a pretty good teacher who’d skip his own classes to come teach me.”

“I bet they believed that answer.”

“Obviously.” Kon switches to the offensive, battering Tim down with a series of thrusts Tim is hard pressed to parry. “Long story short, a couple people tried to jump me after that.”

“How’d that turn out?” 

“Oh, you know, got myself another friend that way.”

“Jaime or Bart?”

“Jaime, actually. Bart I met while some idiot recruit was trying to beat him up for other reasons.”

“That sounds suspiciously like how we met.” Tim shakes his head as he darts forward and taps Kon on the chest.

“I’m a magnet for trouble and girls, what can I say?”

“You are such a dork.” Tim falls for Kon’s feint, huffing as Kon’s blade nicks him in the shoulder. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, settling back to catch his breath.

“Heeey!” They turn at the sound of Bart’s shout. Bart waves at them from the threshold of the presidio. “Jaime’s made breakfast! Hurry up or I’ll eat it all!”

Kon glances at Tim, rapier lowering. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Truce?”

Tim’s stomach rumbles greedily. “This isn’t over,” he says, grinning as Kon claps a hand on his shoulder and steers him towards the presidio.

Breakfast consists of eggs and plantains. It’s an unusual combination, but Tim finds that the crisped up plantains fill him faster than expected. He tucks in with gusto, but even when he’s long finished Bart is still plowing ahead, shoveling plantains into his mouth at an incredulous speed.

“Where do you put away all of that?” Tim says in amazement. Jaime just laughs, pushing another plate towards Bart. If they feel any discomfort about yesterday, Jaime and Bart don’t show it.

“I don’t know, but somehow he doesn’t put on any weight.” Jaime settles back in his chair, watching Bart devour his cooking. Tim wonders how Bart isn’t blushing with the gentle fondness Jaime’s gazing at him with. 

“What plans do you have today?” Kon asks. Jaime turns towards him and the fleeting spell is broken.

“Today’s a quiet one. We were thinking of maybe going to the market, see if they have conch today. Unless you had other plans?”

Kon glances at Tim. “If you’re not busy, I wanted to show Tim what you told me about.”

Jaime makes a thoughtful sound. “I don’t mind, but in truth, there’s not much to tell.” He turns towards Tim. His expression is apologetic. “Kon told me you came here to find out what happened to your parents. I know you’ve travelled a long way to come here, but I don’t want to give you false hope either. I hope you can understand that.”

Tim inhales and releases the breath he’s held for so long. “I understand.” Everyone else had said as such. Still, he had come this far, not out of blind faith that his parents were miraculously alive, but simply in the hopes he could put the past at rest, knowing that he had left no stone unturned. “I simply want to know the truth, if it exists.”

Jaime nods. “All right.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “We should get a head start on the day then, it’s a bit of a walk where I was planning to take you. I’ll tell you more on the way there, does that sound good?”

Tim nods. “I really appreciate anything you can tell me, no matter how insignificant it might be. Thank you.”

Jaime’s expression softens. “You’re not the only one who’s lost loved ones here. I’m happy to help out if I can.” He claps Tim on the back, surveying Tim’s attire critically as Bart stands to collect the dishes. “Go wash up, I’ll see if we have any clean clothes that fit you.” 

~

As it turns out, Bart’s clothes are a little too small even for Tim. Jaime’s clothes fits better, though they’re both a touch too snug and too long for Tim. After smuggling Tim back out of the presidio and into the town, the four of them walk towards the western outskirts.

“What did you want to tell me about?” Tim asks. He kicks a few pebbles along the gorgeous shoreline. Jaime takes a breath like he’s preparing yourself.

“Before I joined the navy, I was a pearl diver. The family trade, so to speak.”

Tim blinks in surprise as he makes the connection. “Kon told me about you in his letters. I didn’t realize you were the person he was talking about.”

Jaime laughs. “It’s been a few years. Sometimes I’d go out a little further than I should. Not for pearls or anything, but just to explore the depths.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was one of those times. I swam out to the bottom. The deeper pearl divers go, the larger the pearls we find. I wasn’t looking specifically for them, but well, you never know what you find out there. A lot of the more shallow depths have oyster beds that are harvested prematurely, and I was hoping I could uncover one that hadn’t been discovered yet. That day had perfect visibility. The waters were calm. Maybe that’s why I saw it then. A sunken ship.”

Tim’s breath catches in his chest. “Did you know what the name of the ship was?”

“No. It seemed like a relatively recent wreck, but it was clear it’d been resting there for some time. The lettering was peeled off. There wasn’t much remaining. That being said, it was Kon that filled in some of the details.” Jaime sighs and looks at Tim. “The figurehead was a lion, holding up a crest that had a bird in mid-flight on it.”

Tim exhales. “It’s possible.” The crest Jaime described sounded very much like the Drake insignia. However, it was still inconclusive. In the company’s line of work, it was normal for ships to disappear from time to time. While the company did its best to retrieve the ships they lost and to uncover what happened to the ships that never returned, sometimes it was simply impossible.

“I scoped most of the wreckage, but there was very little left. Probably other pearl divers like me, who picked it clean.”

Tim frowns. “Wouldn’t someone have reported it? Didn’t you?”

An uncomfortable expression settles over Jaime’s face. To Tim’s surprise, it’s Bart that comes to Jaime’s rescue.

“Pearl fisheries aren’t known for taking care of their divers. Even if someone did report it, it’s possible the bosses kept the knowledge of the location to themselves, and had other divers retrieve what they could from the wreck.” 

“Bart’s right.” Kon nods at Tim. “Don’t blame him.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Tim gnaws his lip. “Is it possible to dive down to the wreck?”

Jaime shook his head. “Even if you could hold your breath for more than five minutes, I wouldn’t let you go. Pearling is dangerous, even for experienced divers. Out there, you have to contend with sharks and the like. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Tim nods, but his frustration must bleed through his expression because Kon squeezes his shoulder. 

“Tim.” Kon’s voice is full of concern. 

“I’m fine.” Tim recovers himself. “Jaime, if it’s too dangerous to swim out to the wreck again, why are you bringing us all the way out here?” They’ve left the outskirts of the town some time ago, the gleaming fort visible in the distance as the waves roll along the coast.

Jaime gnaws his lip. “I said there wasn’t much in the wreck, but I did salvage a few items at the time that other divers missed. They didn’t have much value, so I couldn’t pawn them off, but at the time I wanted something to remember the wreck by.” Jaime guides them to a small outcropping overlooking the bay. “Let’s see...I think it was here.” He stops at a small copse of trees.

“What was?”

“I buried what I found at the time. Sometimes the bosses would search our homes, to see if we were hiding pearls to resell later. I wasn’t willing to take the chance the items would get me in trouble.” Jaime stoops down to pull aside some brambles. “I don’t know if they’d be of any use to you, but it’s worth a shot, no?”

Tim hesitates, but kneels down next to Jaime. “You’re right.” Jaime starts digging after moving away some rocks, and Tim helps him. Together, with Kon and Bart watching over them, they unearth soil and old roots.

“Are you sure we’re digging in the right place?” Tim asks dubiously. With his hands caked with dirt, Tim uses the back of his wrist to push back the bangs falling into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” admits Jaime. “It’s been a few years. I don’t think I buried it that deep, though.”

“You should have hidden it in a tree, Jaime!” chirps Bart. “I mean, seems like it’d be a little easier to remember.”

“What if the tree falls or gets cut down?” retorts Jaime. 

“Yeah, but if the soil erodes and gets washed out to sea, it’s not like it’d be any better.”

“Hey, I did what I could do as a kid, okay?” Jaime flicks some dirt at Bart who easily dodges the volley. Jaime makes a face at him before returning to digging. “Ah-” his hands scrape over something hard. “I think we found it.”

Breath held in anticipation, Tim pulls out a weathered looking chest with Jaime’s help. It’s a small, about the length of Jaime’s forearm with no lock on it. Tim tries to dust off the excess dirt clinging to its wooden sides.

“Can you open it?” Jaime asks.

“I can’t.” Tim tries to pry open the lid. “Think the hinges are rusted shut.”

“Here, lemme try.” Kon squats down between the two of them and takes the chest from Jaime. With a grunt, he rips the lid free from the entire chest.

“Ah. Oops.” Kon sheepishly offers the lid to Jaime. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

“What’s with that freakish strength?” mutters Tim, a little awed and terrified. 

“What? Freakish?” Kon mock pouts at him. “I’ll have you know that was the result of training! Although, sorry about the chest.”

Jaime just waves him off, a wry smile on his face. “It’s fine. It’s not like I need it.”

Kon offers the broken chest to Tim. “Here you go.”

With his stomach doing backflips, Tim sucks in a breath and looks. There’s not much in the chest, most of its contents caked in dirt. He wipes his hands on the grass and picks up the objects, examining them.

The first is a small pewter spoon. A pair of fishing weights accompany Jaime’s finds. Tim rolls them around in his palm before he sets them aside. He holds up the broken glass shard of a wine bottle.

“This is pretty,” he says, watching how it captured the light of the blinding sun. The light filters through, tinging the dirt directly beneath a beautiful sea-green. 

Jaime laughs, embarrassment coloring his voice. “I...I know it doesn’t seem like much, but as a kid, it seemed like the coolest thing ever.”

“It still is.” Tim offers him a small smile. “You don’t need to justify it.” He’s about to say more when his smile fades, his eyes settling on the final object in the chest.

He picks it up, examining the earring in the chest. Caked with grime and rust, its dull metal leaves dark streaks against his skin as he rubs it against his thumb.

“I thought you said everything of value had been taken?”

“They had been.” Jaime gazes down at the earring. “That one was wedged in between the floorboards. Easy to miss. I didn’t think much of it at the time, since it was so badly damaged.”

“You’re right.” Bart pokes his head over Jaime’s to inspect it more closely. “There’s an empty set for the jewel to be inlaid in the center.”

Kon touches Tim’s arm. “Do you recognize it?” he asks.

Grief twists Tim’s throat into knots. He nods, unable to say anything else. His thumb scrapes away the grime, to reveal the dull grit of tarnished silver. Kon and Jaime exchange glances.

“Your mom’s?” Kon murmurs softly. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t be,” Tim manages, his voice strangled. “I just…” he laughs bitterly. “I don’t know what I was expecting.” He stares down at the forlorn earring resting in his hand. Maybe it would have been better not to have known, to still cling to that stupid, childish hope that maybe his parents were still out there, somewhere.

He hadn’t expected the answer to hurt this much. The earring had peeled away the layers of years that had scabbed over his grief, and Tim hadn’t realized until this moment how much he missed them.

“You can keep it,” Jaime finally speaks up, his expression soft with sympathy. “It’s your family’s, after all.”

It takes Tim several seconds to register Jaime’s words. “I don’t need it,” he says distantly. “She had other things she left behind.” Keepsakes that Tim had eventually sold off, or now sat in the unused rooms of Tim’s home collecting dust.

When it had become apparent Tim’s parents were never coming home, it had been Tim who had sorted through their belongings, selecting what to keep and what to discard. His father’s second set of cufflinks he had kept, and some of the clothes he still hadn’t quite grown into yet. Most of Janet’s belongings had been sold. Wardrobes of lightly worn dresses had been auctioned off. He’d kept some of the finer jewelry his mother had treasured, but even those sat largely forgotten, kept away from prying fingers or eyes.

He remembered the earring he held in his hand now. It had been their final anniversary gift. Janet’s eyes had glittered with pleasure as she examined the dangling set at eye level, the delicate loops catching the morning light. They were the newest fashion trends at the time. The inset jewel had matched her eyes, sharp and clean and bright. Jack had kissed her hand, and after bidding Tim goodbye, they had set out to prepare for their final voyage.

Tim places the earring back into the broken chest, offering it to Jaime. “It’s yours, if you still want it, Jaime.”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“No.” Tim swallows thickly, but his voice is firm. “I have enough to remember her by. You’ve already given me what I’ve been searching for all this time. I would never have discovered the truth if it weren’t for you, and I’m grateful. I just...had one more question.”

“What is it?”

The breeze gusts through Tim’s hair, and Tim looks out towards the sparkling bay glittering in the sun.

“The ship, was it far from the shore? Could it have run aground?”

Jaime makes a thoughtful sound. “Unlikely. As I said before, it wasn’t exactly shallow water. It wasn’t a region that a captain would have trouble navigating.” 

Kon squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “Then the most likely possibilities would be-”

“A storm or pirates.” Tim sighs and stares at his clasped hands. He tries to smile at Kon, but his grief distorts it into a grimace. “I guess at least I know now, right?”

“Hey.” Kon settles down next to him, motioning at Bart and Jaime to give Tim space. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

“I know.” Tim’s eyes burn with frustration. “I just - I didn’t think I’d feel - it’s been years .” His voice breaks. From the corner of his vision he sees Jaime guiding Bart away, mouthing something to Kon.

“ Tim . You never knew what happened to them. It’s normal to feel this way.” Kon hugs him. “And you traveled all this way to find out.”

“I -”

“Nope, no I’s . We’re here for you.” Kon says firmly. “You’ve had a rough time.”

“Yeah,” Tim chokes out. He drops his head and buries his face in Kon’s shoulder. “It’s stupid. I feel like I’m lucky. To even have an answer.”

“It’s not stupid. Being lucky doesn’t mean you can’t grieve, Tim.” Kon pats his head. He holds Tim like that, letting Tim slowly piece himself back together.

“Did I ever tell you what Ma Kent told me once?”

“What did she say?” Tim asks, his voice muffled. He distantly remembers Kon’s grandma. She had always smelled of cinnamon and apple, and the one time he’d been at her place he remembers he hadn’t wanted to go home, back to an empty estate.

“She told me that grief doesn’t just stay in the past. She had a saying for it, though I can’t remember how it goes. Something like time might heal it, but it doesn’t mean it fully goes away either. And that it’s okay, and that you gotta just let yourself feel. You can’t bottle it up either, otherwise it just festers.”

Tim just nods, unable to respond. Kon squeezes him harder in reassurance. “I know you said you’re still working through everything, but you’re making me worry too. I don’t want to rush you, though. Just know that when you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”

Tim nods again, but this time, his tears fall without abandon. Kon doesn’t say anything, just holds him as Tim’s tears soak into his shirt.

“You idiot,” Tim mumbles. “I was trying not to cry.”

“What did I just say about not bottling it up?” Kon scolds. “Cry, dang it.”

A hiccuping laugh trickles from Tim’s lips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” 

Tim doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Gradually his tears run dry, leaving Tim feeling worn out and exhausted. Kon eventually releases him, taking a step back.

“You all right?”

Tim scrubs his swollen eyes. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I...yeah. I feel a lot better.” Despite his exhaustion, it had been...cathartic to finally let it out.

Kon exhales sharply, but his eyes are soft as he heaves himself to his feet, pulling Tim up. “That’s good.” He slings his arm around Tim’s shoulder. “Jaime and Bart are making their way back to town. When we get back, how about a drink?”

“Again?”

“Hey, the bar’s quite popular on weekends. It’ll be a good time. No pressure, of course.” Kon nudges him. “I will say though, watching tipsy Bart is a sight you do not want to miss.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle at the thought. “So, how many bar fights has Jaime prevented because of him?” Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Not all of them,” Kon says with a grin. He guides Tim down the rock trail leading down to the beach, before stopping to kick off his boots.

“What are you doing?” Tim squints at him, perplexed. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” Kon waves his boots at Tim. “It’s a beautiful day out, you think I want to get sand in my boots? C’mon, you do it too.”

Hesitantly, Tim mimics Kon until he’s standing with his feet sinking into the sand. Kon laughs at him.

“You look so stiff like that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tim grimaces at the feel of the sand between his toes. Boots in hand, Tim wanders into the surf, shielding his eyes from the sun with his free arm. 

“It’s gorgeous here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tim smiles as the surf rolls in, wetting the edge of his trousers. “Hey, what if I told you I ran into Stephanie on my way here?”

“What?” Kon blinks. “No kidding.”

“No kidding,” Tim sighs and gazes out to the bay. “And what if I told you I think she’s coming here?”

“What makes you say that?”

“She was...protecting these kids. I don’t know.” Tim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was messy, and I didn’t have a chance to talk to her often while on the ship. I think the initial plan was to drop them off at Tortuga, but there’s no way she went and did that. I’m not sure where else she and Jason could have dropped them off yet, but...I think there’s a reasonable chance they’d be dropping them off here.”

“Wait, wait. Slow down.” Kon stares at Tim. “Did you just tell me Stephanie became a pirate?”

“Y-yeah. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.” Tim groans and buries his face into his free hand. 

“ Tim .” Kon grips his shoulder, a worried expression on his face. “She can’t come here, Tim. You know the penalty for piracy is death by hanging, right? And you said she’s with Jason Todd ?” 

“Yes.”

Kon groans, kicking surf at Tim. “If that’s the case, I hope you’re wrong. There are other towns closer than Tortuga. Maybe they’ll drop them off there instead, where there’s less risk of being spotted by a ship from the fort.”

“Me too.”

“What’s she doing on Jason’s ship? And why’s Jason Todd saving children ?”

“She joined his crew.” Tim heaves a sigh. “I guess he was the best option at the time. And I don’t know why, but it seemed like hurting those kids was off limits on his ship, at least enough to get them to somewhere safe. It seemed...weird he’d have a conscience over that .”

“Hm.” Kon rubs his chin apprehensively. “Well...not necessarily.”

Tim immediately rounds on Kon, staring at him. “You know something.”

“...Maybe?” Kon stares back at him in confusion. “I mean, sure, some stuff filters down to Jaime and Bart and I from our captains, but I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“You said not necessarily. Explain.”

Kon sighs. “Most of what I know is either circumstantial or things you could find out easily enough from the right people. But...how much do you know about how Jason Todd became a pirate?”

Chapter Text

How much do you know about how Jason Todd became a pirate?

The question brings Tim up short. He feels like a fool. He’s travelled across the Atlantic with Jason Todd and saved the man’s goddamn life, and yet Tim feels like he knows nothing about Jason, though not for lack of trying.

“He was supposed to be executed for treason,” says Kon, wading deeper into the waters. The spray sloshes across Kon’s tanned skin. “It was quite the talk among those in the know.”

“Treason?” Tim repeats, mulling it over. He knows he shouldn’t be startled - after all, pirates were those who had betrayed their loyalty to their home country. Still, it feels strange to hear the charges spoken aloud, to fully realize that Jason wasn’t just a petty criminal, but one of the highest order. Tim wonders if he’s been gone from polite civilization for too long.

“Yes - tried and found guilty.”

Tim nearly drops his boots into the water. “ Tried - so he escaped?”

“His crew came for him.” Kon shakes his head in mild disbelief at the memory, but Tim can tell that Kon’s secretly impressed. “Say what you will about pirates - I’ve no love for them myself, but the Red Hood’s crew would have died for him that day.”

“How do you know all of this? Was the trial held here?” 

“I’ve no idea. Most of our news comes from the merchants that dock in port to trade.” Kon shrugs. “But it was big . Word was that he’d pushed his crew to commit crimes under duress. Apparently he even signed a statement and everything admitting to it.”

“ You’re kidding .” Tim leans in, hanging onto Kon’s every word. He can’t believe it - Captain Jason Todd, admitting guilt ? It doesn’t sound like Jason at all.

“I’m not. The signed statement isn’t what made it huge though.” Kon looks at him steadily. “The Red Hood’s crew was supposed to walk free, and he was supposed to hang. But they threw all of that away for him.”

Just for some context, you don’t find that kind of loyalty in the navy often, Tim. We have a couple men who were pressed into service in our ranks. Most people just want to go back to their families. The Red Hood’s men - they had that opportunity. And they chose him over it.”

Tim tucks his hair back behind his ear, but the wind pulls it free immediately. “I...didn’t know any of that,” Tim says softly, turning back towards the land.

Kon’s puzzled expression conveys that he doesn’t understand Tim’s reaction. “I would have been surprised if you did. You would’ve been busy managing the company back when the news first broke.”

Tim concedes. “I suppose so. But back to the point, what makes you say that it might not necessarily be in Jason’s nature to...hurt kids?”

Kon shrugs, splashing water onto his face. Rivulets trickle from his hair and down the slope of his jaw and nose. “Maybe he’s losing his killing edge. There’s been rumors, you know. Nothing verified in our corner of the Caribbean, but there’s talk. Whispers that he’s left survivors here and there. Maybe it’s to spread the word of what he’s doing, maybe he’s getting sloppy. In truth, I was hoping you could tell me more about that. After all, you’ve spent a lot of time on his ship.”

Tim exhales with a tired sigh. “Jason didn’t attack other merchant ships during the time I was there. He did plan to attack the Cluemaster while claiming he had a grudge against the former captain, but that was where we picked up Stephanie and the children.”

“Well, he is notorious for sacking slave ships. Far as I know, most of the slaves he’d taken ended up either being set free or joining his crew. Most pirates would probably just resell them elsewhere. Track record seems to be in line with what you told me. I assume the kids you mentioned were originally slaves, if Stephanie’s involved in this. Seriously, what is that girl thinking?” Kon shakes his head in bewilderment.

“I think I heard about that, actually. The sacking part.” Tim hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but Kon’s words seem to corroborate Tim’s vague recollections. Drake Industries didn’t have any hands in the slave trade, and it was customary to have armed escorts for the company’s merchant ships regardless, so the only pirate-related matters Tim had cared about then was knowing which which sea routes to avoid. 

“Well. There you go.” Kon gestures at him. “Does it sound like something in line with what he’d do?”

Tim goes quiet. The conditions on slave ships weren’t foreign to him, and the more he thought about it…

“He’s...kinder than what most people would give him credit for,” Tim says at last. Kon stares at him, clearly thrown by his choice of words. 

“ Kinder .” Kon echoes. “You can’t mean that.”

Tim shakes his head. “He’s dangerous. I’m not disputing that. But if you had been on that ship, I think you’d understand why his crew is so loyal.” Jason had had no reason to help Stephanie, let alone take on an additional shipload of mouths to feed. And yet he had, against all of Tim’s expectations and prejudices.

“Tim.” Kon scrutinizes him. “Do you…?” he trails off uncertainly.

Tim’s heart throbs, fast and panicky. “He’s an asshole.” Tim laughs abruptly and turns away. He faces towards the blinding sun and away from Kon, fearful of what Kon is prying at. “But he protects what he considers his own. C’mon, how far is the bar?” Tim trudges back to shore, pushing through the receding tides. 

He doesn’t check if Kon follows him, too scared of his heart showing on his sleeve. Looking ahead, Tim sees a small hut tucked away into the edge of the hillside. He’d like a place like that one day, Tim thinks to himself, a quiet respite in a tropical paradise overlooking the glittering waves. A part of Tim understands why Kon hasn’t returned to England after all these years.

Tim hears Kon wading after him. Only when he’s wrestled control of his expression does Tim check that Kon’s following him. Kon steps out of the surf, only a few paces back. Tim can immediately tell Kon is worried. Thankfully Kon doesn’t pursue the matter, instead changing the subject as he leads the way to the bar. They leave wet footprints in the shore before the waves erase them. Tim frowns as sand sticks to his wet feet. He wiggles his toes to try and get rid of the gritty feeling, but it only makes it worse.

Unsurprisingly, the bar has a gorgeous view of the beachfront. The opposite side of the bay is visible even in the setting sun. Jaime and Bart are already seated, and Kon waves at them as he ushers Tim in. The clientele consists of locals and a handful of people in uniform who are presumably stationed at the fort.

“You okay?” Jaime asks, glancing at Tim. Tim offers him a small smile, seating himself across from him.

“I am.” 

Jaime doesn’t look convinced, but Bart bangs down two pints and slides them over to Tim and Kon. Tim notices they’re already halfway done with their first drinks.

“C’mon! Drink up! This round’s on Jaime!”

Kon side eyes Jaime. “You spoil Bart too much, you know that right?”

A light flush dusts Jaime’s cheeks. “Shut up. Are we drinking or not?” Jaime lifts his cup expectantly and the rest of them follow suit. 

“To absent friends,” Tim says. 

“May misfortune follow you the rest of your life, but never catch up.” Kon grins at Tim and winks. Tim can’t help but smile back, knowing that Stephanie had taught them that very toast over a cup of stolen hooch and poached quail eggs. Kon’s cup clinks against theirs, and his rum sloshes over the sides and mixes into their drinks.

“May the winds always be at our backs,” Jaime says, and his beer nearly froths over when his hand bumps against Tim’s.

“And may the roof above us friends never fall in, and may the friends beneath this roof never fall out!” sings Bart in a single breath. His cup bangs into everyone’s with gusto, and they drink deep.

 Tim leans in, sighing in satisfaction as the beer quenches his thirst. “I’ve never heard the last toast before,” he comments. 

“You need better people to drink with,” laughs Jaime. “C’mon ese , we’ve gotta loosen you up, show you how to live a little.” He waves down a server, and a basket of bread and cheese appears in front of them. Bart immediately shovels the food into his mouth. Tim swears that Bart doesn’t even taste the bread. 

“Good drinks and good company, it doesn’t get much better than that, right?” Bart says, his mouth completely free. He downs the rest of his drink to wash down the bread. “Hey, miss! Miiiiss! Excuse me! Can we get another one of these, and more drinks? Next round’s on me!”

“Bart, slow down,” Jaime laughs, looping an arm around Bart’s shoulders. “You’ll outdrink us all at that pace!”

“It’s fiiine, I can handle it.” Bart brushes him off, a sly grin on his face. “Hey hey, Tim, Tim, friendly match?”

“Don’t do it,” Kon warns. Tim raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure you can drink me under the table,” Tim points out wryly. Bart makes a face at him.

“C’mon, I’m already down one and you’re just starting,” Bart whines. The server comes around and refreshes their drinks, and before Tim can react Bart is walloping down the bread again. “It’s not like you have anywhere to be tomorrow!”

Tim considers that, looking at Jaime for help. 

“Waking up in a pool of your own vomit is an experience everyone should have once in their life.” Jaime volunteers unhelpfully.

“Well…” Tim snatches the last bread before Bart can get to it and sinks his teeth into it. The bread is warm and soft, and it pairs well with the cheese and beer. “I gotta live a little, right?”

Bart and Jaime cheer. Kon shakes his head at him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” mutters Kon, and Tim laughs, taking another swig of his drink. 

“Don’t act like you’re not a willing participant, Kent.” Jaime grins. “First one down has to sing?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Reyes,” Kon casually eyes Tim. “I thought this was a penalty for the loser, not the winners.”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“All I’m saying, I’ve heard you sing Tim, and you’re no nightingale…”

“That’s funny, because I’ve heard cats wail with more talent than you.” Tim lifts his glass and clinks it against Connor’s. “May the best man win?”

Three glasses meet his in an enthusiastic toast. “May the best man win!”

~~~

Tim’s head slumps against Conner’s shoulder. The room spins pleasantly. 

“Jesus, how are they still going at it?” he mutters, eyes closing.

“Hell if I know.” Kon had tapped out early, and Tim squeezes Kon’s hand in silent gratitude for giving him an out. He’s not entirely sure how the four of them hadn’t been thrown out after Kon’s passionate caterwauling. Though Kon’s out of the contest, he’s still nursing another beer, eyes hooded and lazy as he wraps an arm around Tim to steady him. “You doing okay there?”

“Yeah.” The server refills Tim’s water, and Tim gratefully drains the glass. The bread and cheese is long gone, but Tim watches Bart laughs and all but trip into Jaime’s arms as he tries to stand up.

“Is he tipsy? I actually can’t tell,” mumbles Tim.

“Getting there, I think?” Kon giggles , a sure sign that Kon’s feeling the alcohol by now. “Usually around now he’ll try and dance.”

“Not sing?”

“If you’re unlucky, maybe both.”

Tim yawns, curling into Kon’s side. It’s hard to focus on Bart. “The room is spinning,” he comments.

“You’ll be fine, you’re not slurring yet. Lemme know if you start seeing double though.” Kon offers him his own water, and Tim cheerfully accepts. “You need some fresh air?”

“Yeah. Gotta piss.” 

Kon laughs at him. “Privy’s ‘round the back outside. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Make sure those two don’t get us thrown out.” Tim sets down Kon’s emptied mug, pushing himself to his feet. Jaime and Bart had been making kissy faces at each other all night, as if the tavernmaster hadn’t noticed by now. Tavernmaster? Barmaster? Tim decides not to sweat the small details as he focuses on walking straight. 

He finds the privy easily enough. Relieving himself, he tries his best not to breathe in. When he’s done, Tim exits quickly, sucking in a breath of clean Caribbean air.

Tim leans against the wall of the bar, letting his fuzzy thoughts settle. Compared to Bart and Jaime, Tim really hadn’t drank as much, but it was more than he’d had in one sitting before.

The wind feels good on his heated skin. Pushing off the wall, Tim walks the length of the tavern. He pauses, gazing up at the cathedral guarding over the town square only a short walk away. The streets are quiet though not empty, and the urge to stretch his legs beckons. 

Tim doesn’t get far. An angry shout shatters the peaceful silence. The few people milling about in the street scurry away. Tim’s head whips towards the source of the noise. He stumbles forwards. Even if he was in any condition to intervene, Tim supposes that it’s best to mind his own business.

The source sounds like an angry scuffle, blurry shapes in the nearest dim alleyway throwing drunken, sloppy blows. Tim has zero intention of getting involved.

“Jason, you dumbass! You never listen!”

Tim stops. The wind dies. Time slows to a crawl. His breath catches in his throat. Tim’s heart kicks into overdrive. He knows he should return to the bar, back to the safety of Kon and the rest of his friends. Yet Tim’s curiosity overcomes him. He finds himself pressing his back to the wall, peering into the dim alleyway with baited breath.

Dick’s figure is unmistakable in the shadows of the alley, his compact frame belying the lean muscle Tim knows is there. Dick grabs the scruff of Jason’s shirt, hauling him up to hiss in his face.

“I’m telling you that you need to fucking listen for once in your life!” snarls Dick. Tim’s never seen Dick like this before, unbridled wrath oozing off him in tidal waves. “We’re all relying on you. I’m relying on you to not get us all killed!”

Jason laughs, a slurred, harsh sound. “Piss off, Dickie. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? Do you ?” Dick growls at him. “Because to me and the rest of the crew, it looks like you’ve lost your wits since Tortuga.”

“You’re ‘n asshole.” Jason shrugs Dick off, slamming him into the wall with a loud thud that reverberates through Tim’s body. “We got out of it unscathed, stop fucking around with me. Just ‘cause you think you know anything doesn’t mean you get to whine like a bitch.” Every other word Jason speaks is punctuated with a haggard gasp for air.

“I don’t know anything” starts Dick, “Because you don’t tell me anything , including why you’re so hellbent on Tim!”

“Because ‘m not obligated to!” Jason swings his fist. Dick manages to partially block the blow, but Tim sees Dick wince on impact. “I don’t owe you shit . You owe me .”

 Dick sneers down at him. In a flash, his arms wrap around Jason’s torso. Tim blinks. A startling thud, and when Tim opens his eyes again Jason is sprawled out on the cobblestones, breathing heavily. 

“I might owe you,” growls Dick raggedly. “But even if circumstances are like this now, you can’t fool me with the idiot act. I know you’ve got reasons for doing this, even if you’re not going to tell anyone.”

“Piss off,” slurs Jason again. “I’m the captain. You -” He coughs, the exertion temporarily getting the better of him. “You’re just fucking loot , you have no goddamn right -” He surges up with a breathtaking growl. Dick headbutts him with a tremendous thud that has Tim wincing in sympathy at the sound of it. The back of Jason’s head crashes down onto the cobblestones. Before his head makes contact with the ground a second time, Dick hauls Jason back up by the collar.

“I might be loot,” Dick says slowly, his voice so low that Tim strains to catch it, “but we’re both each other’s goddamn responsibility. So shape up. And don’t think I won’t get to the bottom of this eventually.” He lets go of Jason, standing up to his full height and stretching out his limbs. “By the way, I let Tim escape in Tortuga.”

“You what- ” 

“I did. Let him go, Jason. He’s had enough of you.” Dick scoffs. “You’ve both been a pain in each other’s asses since day one. Or...” Dick squats down until he’s face level with Jason. “Tell me why you’re so fixated on him. I can’t - no, I won’t help you until you explain everything.”

Jason spits at Dick. Dick wipes the spit off with the back of his hand, glaring at Jason with visceral frustration.

“Fine. Be that way.” Dick stands back up. “Sober up. I’ll meet you back at the ship.” Dick turns away, rotating his neck to iron out the cricks.

Flattening himself to the wall, Tim ducks down near the adjacent barrels as Dick’s footsteps draw closer. Dick’s shadow passes over him without a whisper. Tim watches as Dick turns back to the alleyway. In the moonlight, Dick sports a split lip. His expression is unreadable. TIm catches a fleeting whiff of alcohol before Dick turns away, disappearing into the Caribbean night.

When the coast is clear, Tim knows he should escape. He should return to the bar, back to Kon, who’s undoubtedly wondering why he’s been gone for so long.

His feet take him to Jason instead.

Each step brings him closer to his former captor and further away from the cheerful ambiance of the beckoning bar. Tim’s heart stays lodged in his throat. The lit town square fades away with each step forward into the grimy alleyway, until he stops in front of Jason’s crumpled form.

“Jesus.” It slips from Tim’s mouth without meaning to.

Jason has on a plain button down, his captain’s coat nowhere to be seen. Tim can see that the wound on his stomach from Slade has partially reopened. In the darkness, Tim can barely make out the blood seeping through and staining the cloth.

Dressed like this, in the plain shirt and breeches, Tim could have passed him on any street and never known the man’s terrible crimes. Without the menacing grin, the cocky swagger, and the striking coat, Jason seems...normal.

Jason cracks his bleary eyes open. His eyes start at Tim’s boots, then travel upwards to meet Tim’s eyes.

“Damn,” he wheezes with a bloody grin. “Guess I really did drink too much.”

“No,” says Tim softly. “You didn’t.”

Tim hadn’t known what it would feel like to confront Jason after everything. He’d expected anger. Disgust. Maybe hatred. Definitely the anticipated thrill of satisfaction, to finally direct all his pent up confusion towards the source of them.

He doesn’t feel any of those. Looking down at Jason, Tim feels calm. He’s no longer looking over his shoulder constantly, alone on the Sheila Haywood with no one to confide in. On this distant land so far from home, Tim feels...grounded. He’s no longer struggling to keep his footing. Tim’s not sure he feels pity either, but seeing Captain Todd sprawled in the dirt in a dirty alleyway evokes feelings that Tim doesn’t know how to process.

He settles for prodding Jason with the toe of his boot. “If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought Dick was trying to kill you.”

Jason snorts. “He won’t. He just doesn’t know how to hold back when he’s worked up like that.”

Tim doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

Jason’s eyes linger on Jericho’s knife strapped to Tim’s waist. “You here to turn me over to the ‘thorities? You’d best get on with it while you can.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tim says. His eyes rove over Jason’s beaten form. “I think you’d look better in a dress than in a noose.”

Jason’s eyes widen. He barks out a rough laugh. “ Now that’s the ale talking.”

Tim sighs, stooping down to study Jason properly. He’s sporting a split lip to match Dick’s, and Tim can just barely make out a thin trickle of drying blood from the corner of Jason’s mouth.

“How’s Stephanie?” Tim asks. It takes several seconds for Jason to focus on him properly.

“She’s fine,” Jason slurs, eyes closing. “She w’s worried about you, y’know. Everyone was. How’d you wind up here?”

“I’m not as incapable as you think I am, Jason.” Tim sighs and props Jason into a sitting position against the wall. 

“Never thought you were.”

“ Don’t bullshit me. ”

“Heh. There you go again.” Jason tries to flick Tim’s forehead. He misses. Jason’s hand falls back limply. “Fun to rile you up, ‘s all.”

Tim shakes his head in exasperation. “How no one’s killed you yet is beyond me.”

“Do it, then.” Jason sneers, drunkenly gesturing to his bleeding wound, then to Jericho’s knife. “You’ll never get another chance like this again.”

“I would have already if I intended to.” Tim clicks his tongue. “I don’t make useless threats, Jason. But consider not getting your throat slit tonight as another debt repaid.”

“Always ‘n eye for ‘n eye with you.” Jason smiles crookedly through his bruising face.

“It’s not like...oh, forget it.” Tim scowls and rubs his temples. “Just...take care of Stephanie. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Jason cracks his eyes open to study Tim. “How d’you know I won’t kill her as revenge?” 

“You won’t.” In a different lifetime, Tim would have been shocked at his own confidence. Now, it seems clear as day, a tangible truth Tim feels deep in his gut.

“Take care of her Jason. I can’t lose anyone else to the seas again.” Tim exhales sharply, looking up skywards. The silhouette of the cathedral’s roof peeks over the alley, bearing witness to their exchange.

 “You...you were right, you know. My parents really are gone.” Saying the words aloud drives another wedge of grief into his throat. Tim scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to compose himself once more. “All these years, I was chasing after something I already knew.” Tim laughs, but the humor tastes acrid on his tongue. “I’m a fool, aren’t I? Go ahead, call me that, since you love your stupid nicknames. At least it’d be true this time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What?” Tim stares down at him.

“I’m sorry,” repeats Jason. The back of Jason’s hand grazes Tim’s cheek in an echo of a caress. Tim doesn’t avoid it, too stunned by the unfamiliar sincerity in Jason’s glassy eyes. “It must have been hard for you.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry ?” Anger surges in Tim, a dam suddenly erupting. Even Tim is surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. Rage he didn’t realize he had been harboring boils over, raw and thick enough to choke on. “Of all the things you should be sorry for - you’re sorry for that ?” Tim laughs incredulously. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Tim-”

Tim snarls, slamming Jason against the wall. Jason’s choked grunt on impact gives Tim a fleeting taste of satisfaction, yet Tim doesn’t feel any better, even as he crowds into Jason’s space. He shoves his face almost flush against Jason’s. Tim growls, “I don’t want your condolences. I’ve had enough of those. I don’t need people pretending they give a damn when it’s clear you don’t.

“What the hell would you know about losing someone? What would you know about losing family, when your crew would go to hell and back for you? If you’re really sorry, take care of Stephanie. I mean it.” 

Tim’s chest heaves with exertion, puffs of breath grazing Jason’s battered face. At such close quarters, he can’t make out Jason’s expression. Tim’s mind fills in the details anyway. Gunmetal eyes, a thin scowl marred by his bleeding mouth, and a simmering violence Tim can’t bear to see reflected in his own frame.

He hates how breathtaking Jason still seems, even in a bloody heap at his feet.

Tearing himself away, Tim stands up. Jason’s breaths are labored. He doesn’t move when Tim turns on his heel, striding out of the alley. At the alley’s mouth, temptation compels Tim to look back, to commit Jason to memory. He waits, watching Jason for any sign of life. Only when Jason stirs does Tim have the strength to turn away, to return to the flickering candlelit streets of Fort Liberte.

Tim’s feet propel him back to the bar. He doesn’t recall the walk back. The moment Tim opens the door of the bar, Kon waves at him. Kon’s other arm props Jaime up. Bart splays out over the length of the table, blissfully oblivious to his surroundings.

“There you ‘re!” Kon slurs as Tim takes a seat. “Was wondrin’ where you went.”

“Yeah.” Tim picks up the jug of water to refill his cup. His hands tremble violently. The water sloshes all over the table. Setting aside the jug, Tim clasps his glass in both hands, willing himself to calm down.

“Tiiim,” Bart says drowsily. “Your lip’s bleedin’.”

Tim licks his lips. Sure enough, the faint tang of iron lingers on the tip of his tongue.

He drains the small amount of liquid left in his glass. “Bit myself,” Tim lies.

Chapter Text

“Tim. Tim. Tiiiiiiiim.” A finger prods Tim’s cheek. “Timmy Tim Tim-”

“ Stop .” Tim swipes a hand at Bart, but Bart dances out of reach before Tim’s hand can make contact.

”Kon said last night you told him you ate a raw breadfruit. That’s wiiiild. Did you finish the whole thing? You’re supposed to cook it-“

“How are you so energetic when everyone else is still sleeping?” Tim grumbles. Sunlight streams in through the window as they tucks into their breakfast with gusto.

Bart grins. “Alcohol's never worked well on me.” He disappears into the room he shares with Jaime.  Tim hears a muffled “ Ow !” and a “ Dammit Bart, go away !” before Bart zips back out the door.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll see much of him for the rest of the day. How’s Kon? He had more than Jaime, you know, just that he drank it slower.”

Tim grimaces. “Not great.” Tim had had the foresight to keep a bucket by the bed the night before. He was glad that he had, because he had woken up to Kon retching.

“Kon told us you were always busy with the company and that’s why you’ve never visited. What’s it like running one?”

Tim drums his fingers on the table. “It’s not so bad. Good days and bad days, I suppose. Like any other job.” It’s strange to imagine the mundaneness of returning to Drake Industries, to submerge himself in the blissful monotony of catering to the whims of his investors and the inevitable backlog of paperwork that must surely be waiting for him.

“Are you heading back to London now that you found your answers?” 

The concept seems impossibly foreign, but the prospect of being grounded in a place he can call home is appealing. “I suppose I have to.” Tim smiles a little at the thought. “I should inform the company that I’m not dead. I imagine some may be disappointed.” He’s not too worried. Tim had left Drake Industries in trusted hands, and if his lack of leadership was enough to permit the company to crumble in mere months, Drake Industries deserved better than Tim at its helm.

“You should explore the market, you know,” Bart says through a mouthful of bread. Tim is slowly learning to predict Bart’s impossible tangents. “They’ve got all sorts of things.”

Tim laughs. “I’ll have a look, but I don’t have money on me. I’ll need to find a way home eventually.”

“Oh, right. Kon said to give you this.” Bart fishes around in his pockets and tosses a small bag into Tim’s palm. The coin pouch jingles in Tim’s hand as he examines it. 

“He said to get some beef from the market today for the four of us, but don’t pay more than 10 coppers for them, and don’t get the fish, they tend to be a bit more expensive. And also there’s a barbershop on the south-east end of town he said you might be interested in.”

“Fish is more expensive on an island town?” Tim’s skeptical look sends Bart into a long explanation that Tim is hard-pressed to follow. 

“The fish here’s pungent compared to what people like you and Kon are used to, we’ve tried to cook it before but it’s always disastrous, I don’t know if you’ve ever watched Kon cook, but the last time I’ve seen it it was bad , seriously, have you’ve ever lived with him before? Because when he came here he was awful , I swear if Jaime and I hadn’t come along he’d be surviving on just breadfruit and bread. He says he can cook, but the only thing I’ve seen him make decently is eggs...” Tim lets Bart ramble as he finishes off the rest of his food. Only when Bart pauses to breathe does Tim quickly interrupt.

“Are you coming to the market as well?”

Bart shakes his head. “My crew needs me today. We’re doing maintenance on our ship, keep her airtight ‘n all.”

“Are Kon and Jaime on the same crew as you?” Tim glances towards the bedrooms where the two are still nursing hangovers. He can’t imagine the two of them getting up any time soon.

“Kon and Jaime were assigned together. I’m serving a different captain. You see those sails over there?” He points out the window, and Tim’s eyes follow his finger. Towering above the palms, sails tinted gold in the sunlight gleam above the calm Caribbean waters. Tim hadn’t noticed before, but he realizes it’s not docked in the same harbor with the rest of the merchant ships in port.

“Is that one yours?”

“Yep! She’s called the Cassard . Beautiful, isn’t she?” Bart grins as he shuffles up to clear the table. “She’s not the navy’s flagship, but I bet we could give her a run for her money.”

“Which one’s the flagship?”

“Not in port right now, she’ll be rounding back along the coast back to the fort in a few days time.” Bart sets the dirty dishes aside. 

Tim glances towards the window once more. “What time do you need to be there? It’s pretty late in the morning, no?”

“Oh.” A panicked expression shapes itself onto Bart’s face. “Crap. I’ll see you later this evening, Tim!” He blows by Tim, and the last Tim sees is the door slamming shut in the wake of Bart’s speed.

Tim supposes that his ability to adapt to odd situations has improved, if Bart’s inexhaustible energy no longer fazes him. He finishes clearing the dishes before he pokes his head into Kon’s room. He’s relieved when he isn't welcomed by the sound of retching.

“Kon?” he calls softly. “You need anything?”

“I’m fine,” Kon’s groggy voice responds. Tim winces at how ragged his voice sounds. “Make sure Bart leaves on time.”

“Yeah,” lies Tim. “I’ll get the beef. Feel better soon.”

Kon mumbles something indistinguishable and rolls over to face the wall. Tim closes the door with a gentle click. Gathering his things, he slips out of the barracks to see what the day would bring.

The town square bustles with activity, and Tim sucks in the sights and sounds with an eagerness he hasn’t felt in a long time. He smells the fresh scent of baked bread, but he’s too full from breakfast to eat anything right now. With the morning sun blazing down with a vengeance, the events from the previous night seem like a faded wisp of a dream.

Tim doesn’t want to carry any purchases around with him for the rest of the day, so he bypasses the market and heads in the direction of the barbershop. The docks are full of sailors and merchants, and Tim slowly cuts a path through the swathe of people.

“Excuse me…” Tim calls. A sailor carrying a large crate of cargo jostles into him, and Tim stumbles back against someone.

“Watch it!” A foot jerks out from under Tim’s boot. Tim winces.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” he trails off when the woman whips her head to glare at him, black hair peeking out from beneath her hood.

“Cass…?”

The woman mutters something rude under her breath in a language that Tim doesn’t recognize. “What did you just call me?”

“I-No, I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone I knew.” Tim shakes his head, his hands up to show that he doesn’t mean any harm. 

“Hm.” The woman assesses him with a shrewd look. Tim feels self-conscious under her gaze. As Rose had said before, there weren’t many easterners in this part of the world, and the woman’s features stand out from the rest of the townsfolk and merchants. As if sensing Tim’s thoughts, she pulled her hood tighter about herself despite the muggy heat.

“That’s all right,” the woman says at last. Her speech is accented differently from Cass’s, and her English is far more fluent. “Do you know where I can find the private docks?”

Tim blinks. “I’m not sure what you mean, but if you’re talking about the ones for the fort’s use, they’re in the other direction.” He gestures behind her. 

“No, not those,” the woman says, her tone dismissive. “For the merchants. The ones here are for the civilians, no?” She spreads her arm out to indicate the bobbing rows of smaller fishing boats mere meters from them.

“Ah, you’ll want to keep heading the same way then. You can’t miss it once you round the corner along the market.”

“Hm. Thank you.” Her head dips in a polite nod. She melts into the crowd like she had never been there in the first place. Tim scans the crowd for her, but he’s already lost her in the sea of faces.

After gaining his own bearings, Tim finds his way to the barbershop. The barber only speaks French, but with the state that Tim’s facial hair is in right now, the barber gets to work with little instruction. Four coppers and forty-five minutes later, Tim runs his hand over the newly exposed chin, surprised at the difference between the rest of his sunburnt face and the paleness of his jaw. The barber neatly trims his hair, his clippers cutting away the unkemptness until all that’s left is the young man who had left London all those months ago.

“ Merci ,” he tells the barber as he gets up from the chair. The man looks pained at Tim’s pronunciation, but he repeats the same as Tim exits the shop. Returning to the market square, Tim is free to delve into the rows of shops filled with both familiar and exotic items.

The beef Kon had asked for is easy enough to find, and Tim doesn’t startle when the merchant whirls on him with a cunning gleam in his eye.

“You look like someone who’s got a keen eye,” the seller proclaims. “What’re you looking for today?”

“You’ve got some good things here.” Tim examines the salted beef, glancing towards the merchant. “How much for three pounds?”

“You’re not from around here, are you? For a new friend, one silver,” The merchant’s chin lifts up in a proud gesture of his generosity.

Tim tsks. “The beef looks good, but a whole silver?” He shakes his head. “I heard the man five stalls down offering four coppers.”

“Ah, you’re talking about Jean!” The seller wags his finger. “But you see, it’s about quality. Jean can afford the four coppers because his meats haven’t been cured as long. You can taste the difference, ask anyone here that’s bought from him!”

“You might be right there,” acknowledges Tim. “But he can afford it even when it’s imported? Five coppers is as far as I can go.”

The seller grins, rubbing his hands together. “Young man, I’m sure we can come to an agreement here. Ah, it’s a difficult price, but I can come down to ten coppers. After all, we both have people we need to feed, no?”

Hemming and hawing, Tim makes a show of it, glancing down the aisle of stalls to where he saw the other vendor. He makes sure that the merchant is tracking the movement of his line of sight, before Tim exaggerates an aggrieved noise.

“I can meet you in the middle,” Tim offers at last. “Eight coppers.”

“Done!” They shake hands. Tim realizes that he’s missed this, as he takes the salted meat and shakes the merchant’s hand with a winning smile. 

“Whoever taught you how to barter, taught you well,” praises the merchant. The man rolls the coppers between his thumb and forefinger, and they vanish into his pocket before Tim’s eyes can track the motion.

“I could stand to learn more from you,” Tim says, and he sees his grin mirrored in the crinkle of the merchant’s eyes, both of the men satisfied with their bargain. As he turns away from the merchant, Tim’s eyes catch the flash of movement.  Shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, he narrows the movement to the adjacent wall. Intrigued, he follows the movement, walking away from the market towards the adjacent buildings that offer some respite from the sun.

A smattering of posters cluster along the walls. The wind tugs at their edges, and Tim finds himself strolling towards them to take a closer look.

WANTED , reads the poster in bold but weather-worn font, and Tim’s heart twists when the paper unfurls to reveal an angry likeliness of Jason. Tim scans the proclamation, but the flyer is yellowed from sun damage and he can barely make out any other information. The curve of Jason’s hand drawn nose seems sharper with his brows and mouth furrowed into a furious scowl, but Tim can’t help but notice how young this depiction of Jason looked. Perhaps it was simply a poor sketch, based on limited information and the tools on hand at the time, but Tim gnaws his lip as he turns away from the image.

The Jason in the poster seems so different from the one he had met last night, and yet the night before didn’t even seem real , with the way Tim and Jason kept finding their way to each other, whether by sheer coincidence or by the overbearing strength of Jason’s determination.

The earring continues burning a hole in Tim’s pocket.

Tim is so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize he’s wandered in the opposite direction of the presidio. Looking up, Tim sees that he’s unknowingly followed the trail back to the direction of where Jaime had hidden the chest. He hums tunelessly as he continues along the shore, but Tim's mind churns with useless thoughts.

He should have turned Jason in. Tim sighs as he follows the shoreline. Gulls cry in the distance. He knows Kon means well, but sometimes his concern sends Tim into even deeper confusion and frustration. Teeth tugging at his bottom lip, Tim tries to reason out his next steps. 

If Jason’s on the island, is it even safe to be out here on his own? Guilt wells up at the idea of asking Kon to finance Tim’s passage back to England, when Kon’s already done so much for him. Still, he can’t stay here in Fort Liberte forever. Tim weighs the odds of Jason attacking the fort in a mad, desperate move, but he discards the idea almost immediately. Dick would be Jason’s voice of reason, and the Red Hood’s crew had more to lose than to gain if they were to make any sort of far-fetched attempt at taking the fort and the town.

He sees the glint of a roof peeking out from among the cliffs, and recognizes it as the red house he had passed yesterday. The view of the bayou from there would surely be spectacular, and he changes direction. The cliffs here aren’t as steep as the fort, but Tim feels a wink of excitement stir within him.

Tim follows the trail deeper into the foliage. On the outskirts of the town, the trees and vegetation grow thicker together, but Tim slowly finds his way through the winding path. Flowers grow bright and big along the path, and Tim thinks that Janet would have liked them. She had always preferred bold colors, danger red and emerald green to suit her personality. 

Huffing with exertion, Tim finally reaches the clifftop. The trees block the view of the sea, and he ventures further in. The house Tim had spotted earlier edges into view around a sharp bend, and Tim stands there for a moment to admire it as he wipes the sweat from his brow. 

The house, if he could call it that, looks more like a hut on closer inspection. Faded paint peels away from the wood in wide stripes. A chunk of the roof has fallen in, and sections of the walls look like they would cave in with a strong draft. Despite the visible state of disrepair, Tim can tell that someone is trying to restore the building. A pile of fresh timber rests on the edge of the property with a tarp strewn haphazardly over it. Making his way through the tall grass, Tim wonders if anyone even lives here at the moment. 

He cuts his path through the trees, their shadows casting dappled sunlight over him. The sea shines through the fringes of the palms, beckoning him to the cliffside. Then, at the very edge of the cliff, the bayou emerges in its full glory. It opens into the shimmering sea, and Tim fees as if the world is at his very fingertips.

He takes a moment to take in the sights and sounds. In the distance, he can see the Cassard leaving the docks, its white sails vivid against the horizon. Tim hopes Bart made it on time. Turning around, Tim realizes that he’s not alone.

An older man sits on the rickety porch of the house, wrapped in a thin blanket. The man sits facing the bayou as well, his chair rocking gently in time with the wind. The porch shadows most of the man’s face, but as Tim steps away from the cliff ledge, their eyes meet. A beautiful woman comes out of the house, standing beside the man and placing a gentle hand on the chair’s back. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear, before leaning down to say something to the man.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “I didn’t know this was your property. I just wanted a look at the view.” As he passes the porch, Tim’s eyes adjust to the shade. The man’s deep worry lines and thinned hair manifest more clearly, and Tim takes in the man’s ragged clothes and grizzled face.

“...Tim?”

Tim stops in his tracks. Heart caught in his throat, he turns to fully face the porch.

“How do you…” He trails off in confusion, like a wild deer caught unawares. He stares at the man, back to the woman and then back again. The man’s eyes are dulled, but there’s a light in them that feels so acutely familiar ...

“You’re supposed to be dead,” whispers Tim. A wave of nausea threatens to overcome him. He looks back to the gorgeous blonde woman, and back to his dad. The pieces are falling into place, but his confusion melts into a maddening cocktail of grief and joy and rage.

“Tim,” croaks Jack Drake. He moves as if to sit up from his chair, but the woman rests a placating hand on his shoulder as if to hold him back.

“I mourned you,” Tim chokes out. “I wept for you. And yet all this time...” He swallows down an ugly laugh.

Jack’s eyes widen. “Tim, no , that’s not how it is, I-” He lurches forward, but Tim is already turning on his heel. The woman shouts something, but Tim stumbles away from them, racing back into the refuge of the forest. The woman shouts something, but Tim doesn’t hear her over his pulse thundering in his ears.

Tim flees down the path as fast as his feet can take him. He stumbles over the cobblestones as he reaches the marketplace. People shout when he rushes through the mass of bodies, but their anger doesn't register as his mind repeats the same thing over and over and over.

He’s alive. He’s alive, but he never looked for me. Never cared enough to write, never cared enough to return. He was alive all this time and yet I never knew.

His feet take him back to the presidio, and he pushes past up the trail leading up the hill. The setting sun casts a dazzling haze over the landscape as his lungs burn for air. There’s no guards stationed at the moment, and his feet pound up the path until he bursts through the door with a loud bang.

 Kon jerks up with a start. He’s seated at the kitchen table with a cup in hand, but one look at Tim’s frazzled state sends him scurrying over.

“Tim, what happened? You look like-”

“I’ve seen a ghost?” Tim laughs wetly, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. “Yeah. Yeah, I just might have.”

Kon’s expression grows even more alarmed. Tim strides over and lurches into the chair adjacent to Kon’s. He cradles his head in his hands.

“Tim, what’s gotten into you?”

“Honestly? I need a drink.” Tim’s hands shake. “How’re you feeling? Where’s Jaime?”

“I should be the one asking you that.” Kon settles into his chair. “I’m alright. Still have a headache, but nothing I can’t manage. Jaime got called away, but I only have duties starting tomorrow. What about you?”

Tim laughs bitterly. His fingers knit together and he presses his forehead into them. “What do you do when you find out your dad is alive, but wasn’t arsed enough to let you know he was still alive after all this time?”

“Christ.” Kon stares at him. “Your dad?”

“I found him.” Tim closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down. “He’s alive. He recognized me. I should be happy he’s alive.”

“Tim. Talk me through it. You’re not making sense right now.” Kon grabs a spare cup and a pitcher of water. While Tim pulls himself together, Kon offers him a glass. Tim drains the cup in a single gulp, setting it down with more force than necessary.

The retelling helps to settle Tim’s mind. Kon, bless him, doesn’t say anything, just lets him talk and spill his thoughts to spill over him like a breaking dam.

“So just to make sure,” Kon says slowly, when Tim finishes, “you found your dad with a different woman, living in the red house on the outskirts of town?”

Tim nods.

“Oh, Tim.” Kon reaches out and squeezes his hand. “You shouldn’t have run away.”

“I know.” Tim stares into the bottom of his cup. “I...I was just stunned. I blanked out. I thought I’d be over the moon. I think I am. But I didn’t know I’d feel this way either.”

“We should go back,” Kon says decisively. His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands up.

“ What ?” Tim blinks. “The sun is almost down, by the time we get back it’ll be dark.”

“ Tim . You’ve wanted this your whole life. You didn’t even get to ask what happened to your mom. You’ll go eventually anyway, I know what you’re like.” Kon tugs him out of the chair. “I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind his son being a late visitor.”

“But..”

“No buts. You have to confront this sooner or later.” Kon pats Tim’s back. “And the longer you take the harder it’ll be.”

Tim’s bottom lip sticks out. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You love me.” Kon rolls his eyes affectionately and pats Tim’s head. “C’mon, let’s get going-” Jaime bursts through the door, perspiration heavy on his brow and his breaths coming in pants.

“Jesus, what is with everyone today?” Kon mutters, but his complaint dies out when he looks over Tim’s shoulder at Jaime’s disheveled appearance.

“Bart,” breathes Jaime. “The bastards took him.”

“Who?” Tim begins, but Kon is scrambling up, dismay written on his face.

“ Shit . How’d you find out?”

“The petty officer on his ship told me.” Jaime covers his ashen face in his hands. “What are we going to do?”

“What is he talking about?” Tim glances to Kon. “Who would even want to take Bart?”

Kon’s knuckles whiten when he grips the chair, to the point that Tim thinks that the wood might actually splinter in his grip. “The captain of the Cassard has had a vendetta against Bart for a while now. He doesn’t tolerate...” he trails off, his troubled glance directed at Jaime.

“He doesn’t tolerate people like me or Bart,” finishes Jaime. “Fuck. Do you think he knows about me?” He stumbles over to an empty chair and collapses into it. “If they got Bart, I might be next.” 

“Calm down, we don’t know anything for sure yet.” Though his smile is strained, Kon squeezes Jaime’s shoulder reassuringly. “And even if he did, you don’t serve under him. He can’t hurt you directly.”

Jaime doesn’t look convinced. 

“Well, even if they have him, the worst thing that could happen is that they don’t allow him to serve anymore, no?” Tim purses his lips. While not ideal, it doesn’t seem to be a situation that Bart wouldn’t be able to recover from.

Jaime laughs darkly. “You don’t understand. When I say the Cassard’s captain doesn’t tolerate us, I mean he despises the idea that we exist.”

“So what’s going to happen?” Tim crosses his arms.

Kon paces the length of the floor and back. “Bart said they were doing maintenance on the Cassard . Most likely they’ll hold him at the fort. He might get off with a few lashings and a dismissal, if he’s lucky.” The way Kon says it like it’s the best case scenario sends a chill down Tim’s spine.

“I saw the Cassard in the bay,” Tim interjects. “It was heading out to the sea. If they were doing maintenance, it doesn’t seem like it.”

“ Bastardo ,” hisses Jaime. “That piece of shit, if I ever get my hands on him…” 

“Shut up Jaime, talking like you’re going to start a mutiny isn’t going to help Bart either.”

“Then what?” Jaime throws his hands up into the air. “This is all my fault. I should have been more careful. I knew the captain suspected him. When Bart wanted to keep seeing each otherI should have put my foot down. We didn’t lie low enough…” Jaime’s expression crumples like his heart is splitting into two.

Tim glances between Kon and Jaime. “I take it that Bart’s probably on the Cassard , then. What’s the most likely outcome?”

Kon’s expression doesn’t bode well. “Again, at best it would be a flogging. At worst... keelhauling.”

“What’s that?”

“A punishment only messed up sadists would use, that’s what.” Jaime’s voice grows soft and bitter. “They tie you to a line that goes ‘neath the ship, then throw you overboard. You get dragged underneath the hull to the other side of the ship. Down the length of the ship, if you really got on the captain’s bad side.” 

Tim shudders at the thought, remembering how large the Cassard was even from a distance. “Wouldn’t most people drown?”

“Drowning’s the least of your worries. It’s the barnacles that do most people in. When you’re dragged under and you hit the hull, the barnacles cut you up real bad. That’s what they say, at least. I’ve never seen it happen myself.”

“It’s just a rumor that the captain uses that sort of punishment.” Kon shifts uneasily. “He likes people to think he’s a hardass.”

“ You’ve met him. Tell me that’s not something he’d enjoy doing.”

Kon’s silence is damning. Tim glances worriedly out the window, the dying sun tinging the waves a deep red. Dusk settles in with the oppressive weight of the situation.

“There must be something we can do,” Tim says at last. “Tell someone higher up the chain of command?”

“Who’d want to step in for people like us?” Jaime snarls. Tim flinches, but Jaime’s face only sinks deeper into his hands in defeat. “Captains are the absolute authority on their ships. Their word is law. If he were held at the fort, maybe he’d have a chance. That bastard is gonna kill him and say it was justly deserved. He could’ve just held Bart at the fort and then gone about maintenance. But no, he’s sailing out to sea to mete out punishment because he’s a goddamn freak .”

Tim thinks about Bart disappearing out the door of the presidio that morning, the wind at his back and the sheer brightness of his energetic personality. It’s hard to fathom that that fleeting moment would be the last time they’d ever see Bart.

“Maybe you guys are overthinking this,” Tim says weakly. Jaime emits a hysterical noise that verges on the inhuman. 

“...Something like this has happened before.” Kon clasps his hands together, his eyes cast downwards. “A different officer under the same captain was court-martialed. The official charge was sodomy. No eyewitness as far as I know. Just a reputation and rumors that broke out while he was on land. Can you guess what happened?”

“Public flogging?” 

“A thousand lashes. A death sentence.” Silence drapes over the room. The shadows lengthen in their gradual creep across the floor.

“Kon,” whispers Jaime. “What am I going to do?”

“There’s...nothing either of us could possibly do,” says Kon at last. “Even if they come for you, there’s nowhere you could hide on this island. But I don’t think they will. They would have arrested you with Bart if they suspected anything.”

“Kon,” says Tim, could you get me a map of the area? And light a lantern for us, it’s getting dark.”

Kon’s gaze grows puzzled. “Why do you-” Jaime gets up from his chair, interrupting Kon as he disappears into his room and comes back out with a rolled up parchment.

“Thanks.” Tim unfurls the map across the table. Kon grabs a pack of matches, lighting one and then a lantern. Setting it next to Tim, Kon steps back and folds his arms across his chest.

“Tim, I know you mean well, but the Cassard is long gone. We can only hope for the best.” 

“I know, I know,” mutters Tim. He scans the map. “Jaime, where are we right now?”

“Over here.” Jaime points out to the western part of the town. Tim nods, his mind running over the possible routes.

“This section of forest seems pretty dense,” Tim says. “Is that accurate? This here, too.”

“There? Yeah, the waters are pretty shallow in that part of the coast. A lot of trees along the coast line.”

Tim nods. Both are within walking distance, on opposite ends of the town. He knows which one he’s visiting first.

“I’m taking these,” Tim says. He grabs the lantern, scrunching the map up into his first.

“Tim!” Kon grabs his arm. “What are you planning? You have that look in your eyes.”

Tim twists around, facing Kon fully even as he steps away from him.

“I think I know a way. But I know you won’t like it.”

“ Tim ,” Kon pleads. His voice grows softer. “We’re not chasing pheasants anymore.”

“I know.” Tim extricates himself from Kon’s grip. “Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for everything. But don’t follow me.”

“Tim-”

“If I don’t return,” Tim says, striding towards the door. “Tell my dad I still love him.”

“Tell him that yourself, idio-” Tim slams the door shut behind him as he takes off at a dead run. The lantern swings wildly in his hand as he makes his way down the hilly path. He dips to the side to avoid any guards at the entrance, praying his flame doesn’t give his location away as he circles around the opposite outskirts of the town.

The town glimmers with lantern light the further away Tim gets away from it. In short notice, the underbrush grows thicker and Tim has to find his way by lantern light and the full moon. His lungs burn with exertion, but Tim keeps running, stopping only occasionally to check the map and make sure he’s going the right way.

What he has to do has never felt so clear. Resolution solidified, Tim picks his way through the darkness as he follows the coastline. If he read the map right, this section would be a blind spot for the fort, despite the fort’s higher altitude. If a ship were flying false colors in order to enter the bay...

Tim stops to catch his breath, his thighs complaining at the abuse he’s putting them through. After a moment of thought, he steps off the trail, climbing gingerly through the undergrowth while taking pains to steady his lantern.

His guess is right. With a heady burst of exhilaration and dread, Tim peers out over the hills where an all-too familiar ship is moored in the remote cove. Heart thundering against his chest, Tim extinguishes the lantern and stows the map in his pocket. He inches towards the Sheila Haywood . Each step is another foot into the lion’s den, yet Tim never falters. He thinks about the way Bart and Jaime looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. He thinks about Kon’s concern and Jack’s stricken expression.

Maybe this was all meant to be.

He freezes when a branch snaps underneath his foot. He waits with baited breath, counting backwards from forty. No one comes. Emboldened, Tim sneaks down to the coastline where he can see the lights from a guard’s lantern.

With a leap in his heart, he recognizes Stephanie’s blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. He throws a stone towards her. She tenses up.

“Steph!” Tim hisses. He steps away from the tree line, hands up in a show of goodwill. She raises her lantern, and Tim shields his eyes from the brightness.

“ Tim ?” She doesn’t look happy to see him. “Why are you back?”

“I need to talk to Jason,” he says in a rush. “There’s no time to explain.”

Stephanie hisses at him. “Cass stuck her neck out for you so you could escape last time! You got away once, what makes you think you can do it again?”

“Kon needs help,” he said in a rush. “Please. It’s important.”

She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “What makes you think that Jason will help, huh?”

“Can you sneak me onto the ship?” begs Tim. 

Stephanie smacks him. “Are you crazy? At this point I may as well capture you myself and drag you to him!”

“Hm. No, that doesn’t work. I need to be on equal terms for negotiation.”

Stephanie looks like she might strangle him. “I wasn’t being serious, dumbass!”

“I need to talk to him, Steph. Please .”

“Stephanie? We need your help tying down the rest of the crates. Who’re you with?”

Stephanie’s eyes widen in panic. “Tim, go away .” She tries to push Tim out of sight, but he plants his feet into the dirt, refusing to move as Jason comes into full view. Jason stops dead in his tracks, eyes taking in the view of Stephanie’s palms pushing back against Tim’s chest. The wind gusts in the wake of their silence.

Jason recovers first. “I didn’t think you’d make yourself this easy to track,” he says, his eyes flickering between the two of them. Tim can’t read his expression in the lantern light.

“You looked so pitiful last night,” Tim replies with a careless shrug. “I couldn’t help but feel sorry for you.”

Stephanie gapes at him, but Jason’s poker face remains unbreakable.

“So why’re you back? Missed my bed that much, did you?”

“Because I have an offer you can’t refuse.” Tim never tears his gaze from Jason. In the light of Stephanie’s lantern, bruises both highlight Jason’s wan face and underscore the bags lining his eyes.

“Do tell.”

“There’s a ship I’m after.” Tim folds his arms. “I don’t care what you do to it. But there’s a man on there I want alive and unharmed.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “What kind of ship?”

“Naval galleon. It’s leaving the bayou tonight. With the Sheila Hayward you’ll catch up to it easily.”

Jason smiles thins. “Why should I risk my crew and my ship in a firefight for you?”

“You have the firepower. They won’t be expecting you.” Tim shrugs and crosses his arms. “You control the Cluemaster too. It’s a fight they can’t win out in the ocean.”

“I’m not risking my crew for your whims, much less for a stranger.” 

“It wouldn’t be for free.” Tim licks his dry lips. “We both know what the other wants.”

“Tim, no .” Stephanie glares at him. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

Jason sneers. “Make me an offer then.”

“I want you to get my friend off that ship. In return, I’ll stay with you. I won’t run away anymore.”

“Stephanie is right, you are crazy.”

“Crazy? The only crazy one is you if you don’t accept the offer.” Tim scoffs. “I’m making your life a hell lot easier by coming to you first. How much more time and resources can you devote to chasing me before your crew turns on you, Jason? How long can you keep playing the obsessed, lovesick fool ?”

Jason glares, his eyes narrowing. “Nothing’s stopping me from dragging you back to the ship. This cove’s deserted. No one will come for you.”

A solid grip closes around Tim’s upper arm, yanking him back against a familiar chest. Kon draws his sword and levels it at Jason. A firearm audibly cocks, and Tim revels in the knowledge that Jaime is not far behind. 

“Ah,” Tim says. “That’s where you’d be wrong.”

Chapter Text

“Right on time,” Tim says. Jason masters his shocked expression with enviable ease as he bares his teeth, shifting into an aggressive stance.

“Right on time, my ass.” Kon glares down at Tim. “Don’t act like you didn’t just try to pull a disappearing act on us! Did you really think we wouldn’t look for you after your stupid spiel?”

“‘’Course not.” Tim shrugs as best as he can despite Kon’s heavy arm restricting his movements. “I’d have done the same in your shoes.”

Kon mutters something rude under his breath before redirecting his attention to Jason. “Are you Captain Todd?” he demands. “I’ve heard everything about you, asshole.”

“Who’s asking?” Jason’s hand falls to the hilt of his blade. 

“Don’t move, I’ll blow your head off before that sword makes it out of your scabbard.” Jaime’s voice cuts in before Jason’s fingers even graze his weapon. 

“Shut up, all of you,” snaps Tim. “No one is going to die tonight.”

“ You shut up, you came to this guy for help?” Kon gestures with an incredulous flick of his sword towards Jason.

“He’s our best hope for saving Bart. Unless you have someone who’s willing to loan you a ship and crew to challenge the Cassard.” Tim tries extricating himself from Kon’s grip, but Kon’s hold on him only grows tighter.

“Tim, you don’t have to do this.” Jaime pleads. “If anyone does, it should be me .”

“Maybe. But I’m willing to.” Tim cranes his neck to try and look at Jaime. Kon and Jason circle each other, tension electrifying the air.

“Steph. You with him, or with us?” Kon’s voice cracks when he addresses her. Stephanie’s face grows more stricken with every passing second, eyes darting between them and Jason. “We’re your friends ,” Kon pleads.

“ Were .” Stephanie crosses into the line of fire, putting herself between the barrel of Jaime’s gun and Jason. She doesn’t reach for the pistol in her belt, but her eyes dare Jaime to pull the trigger. “I’ve made my choices. I’m not sorry.” Glaring at Tim, she mouths something that he can’t make out in the dim firelight.

“Don’t you know what could happen if you’re caught with him? You could hang . Did he force you to join?”

“I knew what it meant when I signed his articles, I’m not an idiot,” snaps Stephanie. “I don’t expect you to understand Kon, but I chose this. No one forced me into it! And if I die a pirate, so be it.”

“No one is dying tonight!” Tim shouts over them. “Jason. What’s your answer?”

“You’re asking for the impossible. I won’t risk my crew for what, a friend of yours?”

The tip of Kon’s sword wavers. “You heard him. He’s not interested.”

“Your crew would have minimal risk.” Tim sucks in a breath. “With the Sheila Haywood and Cluemaster-”

“ Spoiler .”

“Sorry, Spoiler , you’d outnumber them. You have the advantage.” 

Stephanie speaks up. “The Spoiler only has a skeleton crew. There’s not enough hands to man the cannons.” Jason glares at her but with her back to him, it goes unnoticed as she stares down the barrel of Jaime’s gun.

“The Cassard doesn’t know that. All they’d see is a galleon and a schooner closing in on them.”

“Tim, stop negotiating with him! I’m not just going to hand you off to him just for him to do god knows what-”

“Oh, he won’t hurt me,” Tim locks eyes with Jason. “You love me too much.”

Jason’s lips twist at the accusation. “I wouldn’t kill you, no.” His eyes drift down to Kon’s protective arm wrapped around Tim. 

“Tim, tell your friend to put his stupid gun away,” calls Stephanie. “He shoots, and the rest of the crew will hear.”

“By the time they get here they’ll only find both your corpses,” counters Jaime. “I don’t want to shoot a girl-”

“Do it then, coward! You think I can’t kick your ass?”

“Shut up, both of you!” Tim glares before addressing Jason. “What’ll it cost?”

“Collateral, for starters. For all I know you’ve tipped off the navy already.”

“Tim,” Kon’s breath brushes over Tim’s earlobe. “Don’t give him what he wants. He can’t be trusted.”

“Jason, I already said I’d go with you.” Tim jerks a thumb at Stephanie. “Even if you don’t believe me about not alerting the authorities, believe me when I say I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

“Not good enough. Those two are liabilities.” Jason indicates Kon and Jaime with a flick of his hand.

“I’ll go too.” Jaime’s gun lowers but stays trained on Jason and Stephanie.

“What? No .” Tim jerks, choking in Kon’s grasp. He twists around to gape at Jaime. “He only wants me-”

“What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t put my life on the line for Bart?” growls Jaime. “This isn’t your choice to make, Tim. This is mine .”Jaime strides towards the four of them. He stops at the edge of the firelight, the flames casting shadows over his grim expression.

“Oh?” Jason’s mouth crooks up. “And who the hell’re you?”

“Jaime Reyes. The best damn gunner you’ll ever meet.” Jaime’s back goes ramrod straight. “I’ll come with you if you go after the Cassard . And if it’s manpower you need, I know my way around a cannon.”

“I don’t need gunners. I need bodies.” Tim shivers at the steel in Jason’s eyes. “Listen up. On my ship, my word’s law. You answer to no other man when you’re under my colors. You’ll do more than serve. You’ll fight if I tell you to. You’ll goddamn bleed and die if I tell you to. You still feel like coming along?”

“Yes, captain.”

Jason barks out a laugh. “You’re a treasonous piece of shit, but who am I to judge? I’m assigning you to the boarding party.”

“ What ?” Kon jerks, his body tensing up. “That’s a suicide mission and you know it!”

Jason’s eyes bore into Jaime’s. “You want to save your friend? Then put your life on the line with the rest of my crew. If you’re not the first man into the fray, I’ll have your damn head. So, what’ll it be? Is this ‘Bart’ worth betraying your fellow comrades?”

“Jason,” Tim begs. “Leave them out of this!”

“You don’t get to make this kind of call on your own, Tim. I’ve known Bart for far longer than you.” Jaime’s gun fully lowers when he addresses Jason. “Listen up. I don’t trust you...but I accept your terms, captain.”

“Then we have an understanding.” Jason’s teeth glint in the dancing lantern light. “Now, the real negotiations. Reyes, If I see a single sail on the horizon that’s not the Cassard’s, I’ll have your head. Understand this - you’re expendable to me .”

“We’re seriously going along with his shtick?” Kon swears under his breath. Straightening to his full height, he addresses Jason. “Listen up, asshole. If you’re not back within two days with something to show for it, I will signal the fleet to move. I’ll have the fort scour the bay for you, and you’ll hang for your crimes.”

Jason scoffs. “If your navy were competent we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Enough of that. Tim.” His hand reaches out and beckons. “Come here.”

Kon’s grip nearly crushes Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t go,” Kon whispers. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. “I want your word, Jason,” Tim grits out. “Save Bart, and I’ll do whatever you want. I...I’ll be yours.” Please don’t lie to me.

“That is not an option.” Tim has never heard so much rage and fear imbued into Kon’s voice before. “I swear to god Tim, he’ll have to go through me first to get to you.”

Jason doesn’t react to Kon’s anger, his expression unreadable. Tim’s skin crawls as they wait for Jason to say something . Even Stephanie’s expression grows concerned, sweat beading on her brow.

“You have my word.”

Kon lunges at Jason. This time it’s Tim who yanks him back, and he sweeps Kon’s feet out from under him. Kon hits the earth with a thud of scraping gravel, twigs cracking under his weight. Tim pins him to the ground the way Stephanie had taught him all those years ago. Jamming his knee into the crook of Kon’s elbow, Tim immobilizes Kon’s sword arm with his leg. The rapier clatters to the dirt and out of Kon’s reach.

“Kon,” Tim pants with the exertion of keeping Kon down. His full weight presses hard against Kon’s chest. “You have to let me go.”

“Like hell!” Kon surges up with a growl, but Tim slams him back into the ground with a strength he’d forgotten he possessed. 

“Trust me.” The way I trust you.

Kon stills, but Tim can see the worry etched into his face. In Tim’s periphery, Jason had started towards them, halted only by Jaime’s raised rifle.

“Tell my dad what I said, okay?” whispers Tim. “Tell him I’m alright.”

Kon’s teeth grind together. “Like I said. Tell him yourself, idiot.” Kon exhales, and the tension in his limbs loosens.

“Yeah.” Tim’s voice cracks. “Yeah, I will.” Sliding off Kon’s chest, Tim stands up to face Stephanie and Jason. 

“Kon,” Jaime says, his voice steady like his finger on the trigger. “Get out of here. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Tim?”

Tim nods, unable to speak. Kon looks to him, then back to the unmoving Jason as he slowly gets to his feet. Leaves and twigs cling to his tunic; Kon brushes them away.

“Two days, Captain Todd,” Kon warns. “Keep me waiting, and we’ll see how you fare when the bay’s blockaded and the fleet’s on your tail.”

Jason waves him off with a dispassionate shrug. “Get a move on. I’ve a ship to hunt.”

Go. Tim mouths at Kon. Stricken, Kon gazes at Tim one last time before turning to Stephanie.

“I thought you were better than this, Steph,” Kon says. “I really did.” Turning on his heel, Kon melts into the darkness. His heavy footfalls are the last sign of him to fade.

“Finally.” Jason’s attention swivels towards Jaime. “Reyes, you’re coming with me on the Sheila. Bring the gun, you’ll be needing it. Stephanie, I’m moving you to the Spoiler.”

Stephanie doesn’t look happy with the switch, but she nods. “You got it, captain.”

“Good. And you .” His gaze lays waste to Tim’s bids for freedom. “Come here.”

Tim shivers. With all eyes on him, he closes the gap. Stephanie moves away as he passes her, her eyes betraying her worry.

“I’ll be okay,” he whispers to her. She only shakes her head at him as she steps back.

Tim stops in the center of the firelight, and Jason meets him halfway. Jason’s coat flutters open as he crosses the clearing. He takes Tim’s wrists with a gentleness that blindsides him.

“I hope you enjoyed your reprieve,” Jason says, his voice low and rough. He fishes out a pair of manacles, locking one around Tim’s left wrist with a solid click.

Tim smacks away Jason’s hand. His free hand shoots out, digging his fingers into Jason’s stomach where he remembers the wounds inflicted by Deathstroke are located. Jason chokes on a pained grunt, scowling as he grabs Tim’s right hand to manacle it.

“Double cross me, and I’ll make your life a living hell.” Tim retracts his hand.

“Promises, promises.” Jason turns his attention to Jaime. “After you,” he says with a mock bow. 

Jaime’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Passing Tim and Jason, Jaime turns towards the Sheila Haywood.

“Where’s the Spoiler moored?” Tim asks. He tests Jason’s grip, but it remains unshakeable.

“Unimportant. Stephanie, rendezvous with them and sail out within the hour.” Jason dismisses her with a flick of his wrist before turning back to Tim. “When did the Cassard leave?”

“Late afternoon.”

“Three masts, or four?”

Tim struggles to remember. “Three, I think?” Jason steers him towards the Cassard, and Tim is helpless but to trudge forward in Jaime’s wake. The motley trio moves towards the shore where the Sheila Haywood bobs undisturbed with the tide.

“Roy!” Jason calls. When no answer is forthcoming, Jason purses his lips and emits a short, piercing whistle that carries over the wind. “ Roy ! You napping on the job again?”

“How dare you. I would never .” Roy pokes his head over the side, squinting through the darkness. “Who’s with you, Cap’n?”

“The best of both worlds, Roy. Fresh ‘n familiar faces.”

Roy shines a lantern down. Jaime raises his hand to shield his eyes from the light. The lamplight moves away from Jaime and casts a pale yellow over Tim. He averts his eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The blinding light vanishes, forcing Tim’s eyes to readjust to the abrupt darkness. Roy disappears behind the guardrail, coming up again with a rope ladder that he unfurls over the side. “Kid, you born under a bad sign? ‘Cause I ain’t seen luck as shit as yours before.”

Tim grimaces. Jaime slings the rifle over his shoulder and tests the ladder with a sharp tug. With a final backwards glance at Tim and Jason, he starts the climb. When Jaime swings his leg up and over the gunwale, Jason nudges Tim forward.

“Get a move on. You said time is of the essence, right?”

“I know, I know.” Tim grumbles as he grips the rungs. The manacles hamper his ascent, but he grits his teeth with each step up. Jaime helps him over the ledge, and Tim heaves a sigh of relief as his feet touch the floorboards. Before he can catch his breath, he hears an angry yell and spins around in time to see Harper Row striding towards him, her face taut with rage.

“Rich kid! We’ve a score to settle!” She throws a punch; Jaime pushes Tim out of the way. Tim hits the deck with a jarring thud that reverberates through his knees. Her fist smashes into the side of the ship as Tim rolls back to his feet. She whips around to glare at Jaime.

“This doesn’t concern you!” she growls, and Jaime’s fingers twitch towards his rifle once more.  A few onlookers cheer Harper on, jeers and catcalls echoing across the deck as the pirates are drawn to the unexpected sideshow. Tim meets Jaime’s eyes with a slight shake of his head as he faces Harper alone.

“The hell do you want, Row?” Tim settles into a crouch as Harper circles him like a shark. From the corner of his eye he sees Dick staring at the spectacle from the lower riggings, mouth parted in surprise.

“You think you can goddamn leave me tied to a bed post and get away with it?!” Harper growls as her fists clench even tighter. “I hope you have a god, because you’re about to meet him!” She launches herself at him and Tim’s not fast enough to dodge. She grabs the fabric of his shirt, her full weight knocking him over. Tim’s back hits the deck, and Tim and Harper scrabble at each other for the upper hand as the crowd closes in on them with hoots and boos and bets. Harper lands a solid blow against his sternum; he retaliates by jamming his knee into the center of her stomach, his hands hampered by the manacles.

“Enough!” They’re pried apart, Harper’s fists still swinging as Roy drags her off him. Someone yanks Tim backwards by the scruff of his collar, pulling him up and away from Harper’s wrath. “What the hell have I said about fighting on my ship?” The spectators shrink away from Jason’s fury. Jason glares at the crowd, taking a moment to convey just how pissed he is before he begins speaking.

“Harper, I’ll deal with you later. Dick! Where the hell are you?”

“Here.” Dick splinters away from the crowd, his expression guarded. “What do you need?”

“Make sure everyone is accounted for, and get ready to sail. The moment the tide goes out, I want us along with it. We’ve got a ship to catch.” Jason’s face suddenly hardens, Dick’s expression growing stormy to match his. Something unspoken passes between the two of them, a palpable shift in the air as Dick’s shoulders tense. 

“You have something to say, Dickie?” A subtle murmur runs through the crowd, the challenge lingering in the air. Dick’s eyes narrow. His fingers flex, knuckles cracking with the motion. Jaime glances worriedly at Tim, rifle loose in its strap but ready to swing into position at a moment’s notice.

“No, Captain.” Dick’s muscles loosen, though his body language radiates belligerence. The rest of the crew releases a collective sigh of relief.

“Good. Well? What’re all of you standing here for? Get going, all of you.”

The crew disperses, but not before Harper flips Tim off. Roy stays behind, arms folded across his chest. Kori lingers by Roy’s side, unasked questions clearly on the tip of her tongue.

“You gonna introduce the new guy?” Roy asks, stalking up to Jason. “And what’re your plans for him ?” he jabs his thumb at Tim. “Because I think the crew would really like an explanation on what’s going on.”

“I was , until Harper decided to pull that shit.” Jason shakes his head. “Forget it. There’ll be time for introductions when we’re on our way. “Kori, give Reyes a tour, let the crew know he’s vetted. Have everyone meet me on the quarterdeck when we’re moving.”

“Of course.” Kori smiles and walks up to Jaime. Jaime startles at their height difference, realizing she towers a good head over him. “I am Kori, I’ll show you around. This is a good ship, and I think you’ll like it here. It’s always good to meet new friends.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Jaime manages, obviously unsettled by her friendliness. With a last skeptical glance at Tim, he follows her. 

“And Tim?” Roy raises an eyebrow.

Jason turns back to Tim, his expression inscrutable. Tim matches his gaze, holding his breath as he waits to hear what his fate will be. 

“Put him in the brig.” Jason turns on his heel. “Let me know when we’re ready to sail. And make sure you’re the only one with the keys.”

“Yessir.” Roy claps a firm hand on Tim’s shoulder. Satisfied, Jason heads towards the quarterdeck and leaves Tim alone with Roy.

Already knowing the way to the brig, Tim resigns himself and leads the way. “Long time no see,” he offers.

Roy snorts. “Never a dull moment when you’re on this ship. You look like a kid again with that haircut, by the way.”

“What was that about, earlier? Dick and Jason, I mean.”

“Oh, that.” Roy shakes his head. “Oil and water, the two of them, but Dick always gets uptight when we raid. I have to say, you should’ve seen it when they came back from a night on the town. Three sheets to the wind, both of ‘em.” 

“Seems like more than just a tavern night gone wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” mutters Roy. He steers Tim below decks. “Let’s just say there used to be a lot of bad blood between the two of them, even if they work together well enough.”

“You might as well tell me the whole story.” Tim shrugs with feigned carelessness when they enter the brig, but he wrinkles his nose at the damp smell of mildew and seaspray. “I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Roy laughs. “Fort Liberte did you a world of good. You’re more confident now. I like it.” He grabs the keys off the hook, unlocking the brig. “Unfortunately, that story is far too complicated to get into right now.”

“You think so?” Tim walks into the cell of his own accord. He takes a seat on the small bed as Roy locks him in.

“Definitely. So, what changed at Fort Liberte?” Roy pauses in the doorway, sliding the keys into his pocket as he waits for Tim’s response.

“Purpose.” Tim drums his finger on the unpadded bed. “And clarity, to some extent.”

“That so? Who’s the new guy?”

“A friend.” Tim leaves it at that. Realizing that Tim’s no longer forthcoming, Roy shakes his head and sighs.

“I just hope Jay knows what he’s doing. Stay put, and no funny business like last time.” Roy wags his finger as he exits, leaving Tim to collect his thoughts.

Tim exhales sharply, tension bleeding from his body. He stretches out the full length of the bed, closing his eyes. He can hear the calls of the crew as they get ready to sail, the Sheila Haywood bursting into activity with the stamp of feet and the echo of barrels rolling across the deck to be tied down.

There’s no blanket in the brig, but Tim doesn’t need one in the ruddy heat. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but his mind is plagued with worry. Too many unknowns, too many variables. He’d taken Jaime at his word, but what if they were on a wild goose chase? What if it was too late to save Bart? What if something happened to Jaime during the boarding? And his dad- 

Time squashes that train of thought, folds it into the farthest compartment of his mind. The brig is poorly lit, the only light available from a small deck prism likely catching precious rays from an on-deck lantern. It makes sense; open flames below decks in an area that wasn’t well monitored were risky.

Tim hears a chorus of synchronized shouts; the Sheila Haywood creaks, wood groaning like a rising fellow rudely awakened. The waves lap at her hull as she sets sail, and Tim knows that the die has been cast. There’s no going back now, and he curls onto his side to await his gamble’s result.

He dreams of Jason, as the muggy heat closes his eyes with a gentle touch.

Tim opens his eyes to the interior walls of Drake Manor, his heart constricting with a sudden wave of homesickness. The manor has fallen into disrepair, broken floorboards and dusty cobwebs strewn in his wake. The floral wallpaper has aged to a sickly yellow, peeling in long narrow shreds. He takes a step forward and his boots crunch on broken glass. The windows that once illuminated the foyer no longer have panes, but they are not the reason for the mess of glass on the floor. The gorgeous chandelier that was once a famed conversation piece now rests in a cratered heap of dented frames and glass splinters in the center of the foyer.

“I’m so disappointed in you.”

Tim turns around. He’d forgotten her voice, but it rings with the power she once commanded with graceful severity. The kind of power he struggled to emulate when speaking with investors. “Mother.”

She doesn’t look a day over her departure date as she stands in the doorway. She wears her anniversary earrings, but they are dull with grit and dirt as if plucked from Jaime’s rusted box.

“You have forgotten who you are,” says Janet. She smoothes the creases of her dark green dress. “I taught you better than this.”

“Forgive me.” Tim bows his head. “I’m sorry.”

Janet’s eyes glitter with scorn. “No. Perhaps I am the one who wronged you. I was far too lenient. I allowed you to act beneath your dignity as a Drake. Now look at you! Still hanging with riff raff. They are dragging you down. Do you want to end up like him?” She points behind Tim. Stomach churning with dread, Tim follows the line of her finger and turns.

“No.” Bile rises to his mouth. Where the chandelier once hung from the ceiling, Jason’s corpse dangles from a gibbet, his face frozen in a gruesome rictus. His glazed eyes see past Tim, staring sightlessly at Janet Drake.

“I don’t want to see you like that, Tim.” Janet’s arms wrap around him from behind. He jolts and freezes, his mother’s embrace a foreign concept to him. “You are our pride. Do not dishonor yourself by caring about this worthless man.”

Through the broken windows two crows swoop in. The moth-eaten curtains flutter gently when the crows circle the gibbet. Their harsh cries hurt Tim’s ears as they land on Jason’s shoulders. To his horror, they begin pecking Jason’s eyes out.

“Let me go!” He shouts. “I need- I have to stop it-”

“How dare you raise your voice to me.” Janet’s voice roots him to the spot. “How dare you take that tone with your mother, when you have doomed a ship of honest, god-fearing men over - over a homosexual .” she spits the last word like a loathful poison.

“Mother,” Tim pleads, but his words wash over her deaf ears.

“Watch. And realize how far he has corrupted you.”

He opens his eyes. Jason’s blank sockets stare into Tim’s soul, and the crows have turned to pheasants and his heart stops -

Tim lurches back to the safety of the real world, brow covered in a cold sweat and his breaths coming in harsh pants. He sits up and presses his face into his hands, unable to stop trembling.

Purpose? Clarity? What a joke. Tim’s fooling no one, not even himself.

A cannon fires. It’s followed by a whole line of them going off, each one shaking the ship’s frame. The Sheila Haywood staggers through the riptides, sending a wave of nausea over Tim.

He clings to the brig bars as the Sheila sways precariously. The Cassard returns fire, each distant shot sending terror ripping through Tim. He hears the creaking groan of splintering wood, and knows that one of the cannons has hit its mark. Shouts from the deck travel to the brig, and Tim prays the Sheila Haywood doesn’t lose this battle, or worse, sink.

A third set of cannons ring out in the distance, likely the Spoiler coming to the Sheila Haywood’s aid. With no porthole in the brig, he’s left to await the battle’s outcome with increasing trepidation. He rides out the swell of the waves, fighting back his nausea as he clenches his eyes shut and braces himself against the bars.

Eventually, the cannons cease. The smell of burnt gunpowder lingers in the air. Tim looks up at the deck prism, wishing he could see beyond the confines of his jail. The Sheila stops tossing about in the waves like a ragdoll. He can hear the stomp of feet and the muffled calls of the crews hailing one another.

And at long last, he hears celebratory whoops echo through the Sheila Haywood. Tension seeping from his frame, he sinks back against the bed in relief. He knows they’re not out of the woods, but at least Jason held true to his promise.

His stomach growls, reminding him that the last meal he had eaten was his final breakfast with Bart. He slumps against the wall, praying his nausea will abate. He curls up, willing his headache to disappear and wondering if Jason is planning to starve him.

Tim quickly loses track of time as the hours pass. The noise on deck subsides to the constant monotone of sounds that blurred into each other that Tim had grown accustomed to during his first stay on the Sheila Haywood. The light filtering through the deck prisms fade to a soft afternoon glow as he waits impatiently for someone to remember that he’s down in the brig.

After Tim paces the narrow stretch of the brig for an eternity, the door creaks open. Jason enters, and Tim is relieved to see the evening light reflecting off Jason’s pretty blues.

“Bart,” Tim blurts out. “Was he on the Cassard? And Jaime, is he-” Tim blinks when Jaime follows in Jason’s wake. “Oh, god.” Tim’s panic grows at the amount of dried blood sprayed across Jaime’s clothes.

“None of that’s his, don’t worry your pretty head about it,” drawls Jason. Jaime grimaces but doesn’t refute him. 

“Where’s Bart?” Tim tries to look behind Jaime, but Jaime shakes his head.

“He’s alright, but he’s resting.”

“What? Was he hurt during the battle?”

“No.” Despite the victory, Jaime only looks pained. “He was flogged. A lot. It looks bad, but...he’s alive. I think he’ll be okay.”

Tim nods, a small sigh leaving his lips before he looks at Jason. “Thank you,” he admits softly, too relieved to hide his sincerity.

Jason doesn’t return his smile. “We’ll be leaving the bay soon.”

Tim jolts upright. “What ?” His hands ball into fists. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Jason’s impassive face only serves to further infuriate Tim. “I’m on a tight schedule. I’m not turning around and risking being trapped in a blockade.”

Tim rattles the bars with a fury that ignites through his veins. “I trusted you,” he growls. “You gave me your word .”

“And I’ve given you what you wanted. At the end of the day, isn’t that all that mattered?” Jason folds his arms. “I have obligations I need to fulfill, and those take precedence first.”

“Then you shouldn’t have promised! Jaime, say something,” Tim rattles the bars for emphasis.

Jaime’s face grows ashen. “I...I’ve already betrayed my comrades for Bart’s sake. I might not have served on the Cassard, or even, well, liked my crew, but what I’ve done is unforgivable . I’ve...I’ve already been too selfish.” He avoids Tim’s eyes.

Jason’s neutral expression aggravates Tim further in his inability to read Jason’s thoughts. “I’ll have someone bring you dinner.” Jason turns on his heel, not waiting for Tim’s response. When Jaime doesn’t follow, Jason pauses in the doorway. “Reyes. Come with me.”

“I need to talk to Tim for a moment. It won’t take long.”

“...Fine.” Jason crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. When it becomes clear that he intends to listen in, Jaime sighs and turns towards Tim.

“Why did you agree to this?” Jaime’s eyes flicker towards the empty key hook on the wall. “Why’d you do it?”

Tim sags back against the bed. Jason’s back is carefully turned to them, but it’s clear that he’s listening to every word.

“It was an emergency.” Tim avoids Jaime’s eyes, willing himself not to betray his thoughts. “There was no time.”

“People don’t just sacrifice themselves for people they just met, Tim.” Jaime crosses his arms, and Tim wants to yell at Jaime to stop interrogating him in front of Jason, or else Jaime will expose all the things Tim isn’t ready to confront yet and bring them crumbling down. “ Why?”

“I.” Tim glances away. “I just reacted. Jaime. There’s nothing more to it.” He stares at Jaime, pleading for him to understand.

Jaime sighs, his crossed arms loosening. Then Jaime’s gaze sharpens as he looks at Jason, then back to Tim again. Tim can’t bear the sight of realization washing over Jaime, and he looks down at clenched hands balling up in his lap, ashamed.

“Nothing more to it,” Jaime repeats, his voice neutral. Tim flushes and remains silent. “I’ll take you at your word, then,” Jaime says at last, disbelief evident in his tone.

Jaime turns away. Relieved, Tim flops onto the bed, rolling over onto his side to face the wall. Jason leads Jaime towards the deck, his heavier footsteps a touch faster than Jaime’s. Only when they fade out of earshot does Tim exhale in a rush of adrenaline, his heart hammering against his chest.

Tim doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. When his pulse settles once more, Tim rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling and to ignore his gnawing hunger. The time idles by slowly. Roy eventually brings him food but doesn’t stay for long, apologizing as he whisks off to finish his duties. Tim doesn’t even have time to say a word before Roy vanishes around the corner and out of sight. 

Tim devours the food in a manner reminiscent of Bart, then sits back to wait once more. It hasn’t even been a day and he’s already sick of having nothing to do. He starts counting the planks in the ceiling then the ones on the floor. He’s halfway through counting the number of screws holding the brig bars together when the darkness seeps in and he’s forced to abandon his count for the night. He settles back onto the bed, drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep as the ship creaks and settles in the waves. He can hear the distant chatter of the crew, hearing them celebrate their victory long into the night.

There’s a lull in the celebrations when Tim hears the squeal of the brig door. He jerks awake, startled to see Jaime furtively slip into the room.

“Mierda .” Jaime scowls at the still-empty key hook. “They still haven’t put it back?”

“Roy has the brig key.” Tim shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”

“I was trying to break you out,” admits Jaime. He chances a furtive look back at the door, fearful of being caught. 

Tim shakes his head. “Jason’s got the keys to my manacles.” He rattles the chains for emphasis. “You have a plan?”

“It’ll be high tide in about an hour, and we’re reaching the mouth of the bay soon. It’ll be the shortest distance to row to land.” Jaime shifts his weight from one foot to another. “It’s our only shot at getting off this ship.”

“What about Bart?”

“I’m waiting for them to get drunk.” Jaime gestures towards the upper decks, the sounds of merriment floating down to them. “Then we’ll steal a rowboat.”

“The lookout will spot you before you make it to shore.”

“Probably.” Jaime’s voice grows grim. “That was also where you’d come in.”

“What? Oh.” The pieces click together. “They won’t shoot at us if I’m with you.”

“Right. Doesn’t matter if we can’t get you out of here, though.” Jaime sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t seen Roy at all since I’ve been on board. I’m not sure where he’s at. If I can find him, maybe I can get him drunk enough-”

“He doesn’t touch alcohol.” Tim shakes his head. “But...Jaime?”

“What is it?”

“If you’re taking Bart, where will both of you go?” Tim steeples his fingers. “There’s nowhere for Bart to hide on Fort Liberte. He can’t hide in the barracks with you and Kon forever.”

“I don’t know.” Jaime’s shoulders sag, his expression crestfallen. “But I can’t just leave him here. And what about you? Maybe I’m wrong, but...it seems like a part of you wants to stay .”

Tim’s breath catches in his throat. “I don’t know where you got that idea from, but-”

“Tim.” Jaime sighs. “You think I was born yesterday? I see the way you look at the captain. Which, by the way, are you out of your mind ?”

“I think you mean the way he looks at me .” 

Jaime snorts and rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath in Spanish. “Dios, who am I to judge you? Forget it. I need to get you and Bart out of here somehow.” Jaime rattles the bars with a sharp pull, but they hold firm. 

“It’s no good. Take Bart and go without me.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s dark enough that they might not be able to see only two people on board.”

“You needn’t worry about that.” Tim bolts up as the door swings open. Jaime’s face goes white as Dick enters the room, arms folded across his chest. Jaime starts forward, but Dick raises his palms up in a gesture of goodwill.

“I’m here to help you. Tide’s changing, you should get ready soon.”

“Do you have another set of brig keys?” Tim asks, but Dick shakes his head.

“I don’t, but I’m the lookout tonight. I won’t raise the alarm if you leave.”

“Why are you helping us?” Jaime’s voice is laced with suspicion. “And why do you care?”

“I was in your shoes not all that long ago.” Dick nods towards Tim. “And I know what it’s like to have your freedom taken away. If you want off this ship, I’m happy to oblige.”

“I trust you.” 

“You what- ”

“Dick’s helped me before. You can trust him.”

Jaime scowls. “Seems like I don’t have a choice either way. Dick, do you know how Bart’s doing?”

“Still sleeping. Jaime, you may not want to hear this, but taking Bart back isn’t a good idea. He’s not in any shape to move right now.”

“I’m not leaving without him.” Jaime’s hands ball into fists as he draws himself to his full height. “It’s too dangerous.”

“And Fort Liberte isn’t?” Dick’s tone remains placid, but Tim recognizes the signs of keyed up impatience. 

“I’ll protect him. I swear it.”

“Where can you hide him? There’s only so many places to hide in the town.”

“If the barracks don’t work, I - he could stay with my family-”

“Then you implicate them for hiding him. The only way you could possibly guarantee his safety is to leave him with us. Jason won’t kill a wounded man for no reason, especially not after all the pains we went to rescuing him.”

“And if the navy tracks this ship down?”

“Then you’d better make damn sure no one knows what happened to the Cassard.” Dick watches the two of them. “It’s up to you. But it’s only a matter of time until they realize the Cassard is missing.” 

“Jaime,” Tim curls a hand around the bars. “I..I’ll talk to Jason. I think he’ll listen to me. He has no reason to hurt Bart if I’m here.” 

“He broke his end of the bargain just hours ago!” hisses Jaime.

“He had a reason for it,” Dick interjects. “But you’re right. He shouldn’t have made that promise.”

“Forget it.” Jaime shakes his head irritably. “I’m taking Bart. I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t be. Just...tell Kon not to worry about me. I'll be fine.”

“Only if you stay safe, ese.” 

“You’d best get moving.” Dick gestures at Jaime. “I need to talk to Tim for a moment. I’ll meet you and Bart at the rowboat.” When Jaime doesn’t move, Dick groans in annoyance. “For god’s sake, I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to ask Tim a few questions, okay?” He motions Jaime away and turns towards Tim. 

“What do you want to ask?” Tim sighs. “If you’re looking for answers, I don’t have any.” Jaime slips out of the room as Dick walks over. 

“Why is Jason so interested in you?” Dick stands in front of the cell door, hand on his hip as he keeps his weight balanced with the roll of the ship. “I’ve never seen him act like this, and it’s not because he likes you.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be in the brig.”

“Look. Jason and I - we go way back.” Dick scratches the back of his neck. “Despite everything, I don’t want him to get hurt. Or to hurt someone else. Do you really not know why?”

“I’ve been trying to find that out myself too.”

“Damn.” Dick huffs and kicks the bars lightly with his foot. “Well, at least he had the good sense to keep you here. No point in having you underfoot while we were chasing the Cassard.”

“Why did you help me in Tortuga?”

“I thought it was for the best. You’d get to go back to your life, and Jason would finally regain his bearings.” Dick scowls. “I didn’t expect him to immediately plot a course for Fort Liberte.”

“Are - are you by any chance...jealous?”

“What ?” Dick chokes. “God, no. That is - no , absolutely not.” Dick looks green at the very thought. “I just know what it looks like when Jason cares for someone, okay? And what you guys have doesn’t look like that.”

“Then I guess he’s keeping us all in the dark.” Tim ignores the sting of Dick’s words cutting into his heart.

“Maybe not for long.” Dick taps on the lock thoughtfully. “Say, how do you feel about joining forces?”

“Huh?”

“You’re of no use to anyone in the brig. We need to get you out. And then maybe, just maybe...we can get Jason to ‘fess up to what he’s doing.” Dick smiles, a spark in his eyes revealing a far more mischievous side Tim hadn’t noticed before. “What d’you say?”

“What’re you planning?”

“I can create a chance. An opening of sorts, if you will. And if we can get you free reign of the ship, make nice with the crew properly. It’s not Jason you need to please, Tim. It’s us.”

“Ok.” Tim breathes out, trying to calm his racing heart. “Ok. And then what?”

“The rest depends on you.” Dick’s eyes flicker up towards the deck.. “I should go. I’ve been away for too long, and Jason’s already not happy with me for letting you escape at Tortuga.”

“You’ll help Jaime and Bart, right?”

“I’ll do my best.” Dick steps away. “Get some sleep. If everything goes well...we might be looking at a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

Tim settles back against the bed, as Dick turns to leave. Just as he crosses the threshold, Dick pauses in his tracks and turns around.

“Tim?”

“What is it?”

“It’s just a thought, but...have you and Jason met in the past?”

Tim can’t bring himself to deceive his newfound ally. “Yes. Once.”

Chapter Text

Tim tugs on the stiff collar of his starched shirt as he steps out of the church accompanied by his parents. He straightens out the creases in his Sunday best, stretching his arms and legs after sitting still for so long. 

Janet brushes a speck of imaginary lint from Tim’s shoulder. “I think that was one of the better sermons the preacher delivered today, don’t you think?”

“Agreed.” Jack smiles down at Tim. Crow’s feet crinkle the edges of his features, laughter lines sharpening and fading with the pull of his lips. “You were good today, Tim. When I was your age I could never sit still for long. I was always stirring up trouble in the pews.”

“Timothy was adequate,” says Janet, and Tim knows the words to be high praise. 

“Thanks, mother.”

“Queen’s English.”

“Thank you, mother,” Timothy draws the words out, slowing his cadence to better enunciate. Janet nods approvingly as they make their way through the square.

“Where are you both heading to for your next trip?” Tim asks, knowing better than to hope that they would stay longer this time. Janet frowns at him again.

“We shouldn’t discuss work on the Lord’s day.”

“Let him live a little, Janet. It’s good that he’s interested in what I do.” Jack placates her before turning to Tim. “We’ll be boarding a ship headed for Cape Cod in two weeks. You think you can hold down the fort while we’re gone?”

“Yes!” Tim tries to make himself look taller, puffing out his tiny chest as he looks up at Jack.

“Attaboy.” Jack turns towards Janet. “Darling, let me know if you need additional luggage since it’ll be a longer voyage this time.”

“What we have will suffice.” Janet fixes her hair when the wind teases it loose. When she’s done, there’s not a single strand out of place. 

Tim tugs at Jack’s sleeve to get his attention. “Dad, can I throw a coin into the fountain?”

“Sure. Make a good wish, kiddo.” Jack fishes out a farthing from his pocket and hands it to him. Janet shakes her head in exasperation.

“Jack, you indulge him far too much.”

“He’s a good kid, Janet, he doesn’t ask for much. It’s only a farthing.” They watch as Tim scampers to the fountain, farthing clutched in his hands. He stops short at the fountain’s edge. The water shimmers in the sunlight, ripples flashing silver-gold in the cold morning air. 

He already knows what he’ll wish for. 

“It’s him! The one I told you about!” A hand grabs Tim’s shoulder. Startled, Tim drops the coin onto the cobblestones as he’s yanked backwards. He twists around to face an older, freckled kid. The kid is scrawny and he’s sporting a bruised lip, but he has enough height to spell trouble. On the fringe of his vision, Tim catches his aghast parents gaping.

“Who’re you?” Tim’s brow scrunches up in confusion. He can’t imagine what the kid could want with him. He doesn’t recognize the kid from school, and fraternizing with someone in such grubby attire would have only drawn Janet’s ire if she had known.

The kid shakes Tim roughly, drawing a scandalized gasp from Janet as she starts towards them, and Tim knows nothing good can come of this. “You got me in so much trouble the other day! You’re in for it now, asshole!”

“What the bloody ‘ell are you doing?” An older adult yanks the kid away, and Tim’s heart sinks when he recognizes who it is, because oh , he thinks he knows what this is all about now. Harvey Dent glares down at them, a black scowl marring his features. “Don’t you know who this is?!”

“Who cares?” Letting go of Tim, the kid shoves his hands into his pockets. “I told you, this was one of ‘em from the night before! I didn’t get a good look at the others, but this is one of ‘em for sure!”

“You idiot!” Dent boxes his ears, and the kid yelps at the sting. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

Janet swoops in, Harvey Dent in her sights. Icicles drip from her voice as she addresses him. “Might I ask what business you have with our son?”

“Janet.” Harvey turns towards her, a buttery grin affixed to his face. “I’m sure this was just a misunderstanding.”

“This is not a misunderstanding,” growls the kid. Dent cuffs him on the back of his neck for his belligerent tongue. “Why won’t anyone believe me!”

Jack appears at Janet’s side, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Harvey, what on earth is going on? Who’s the child with you?”

Harvey’s lips twitch upwards in an approximation of an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse me, Jack. This is one of the servant’s children. You understand. It’s so difficult to find good help these days.”

“He’s a thief and a poacher!” the kid points an accusatory finger towards Tim. “I saw him just a week ago with the rest of his stupid friends on the grounds!” The kid utters a tiny, prepubescent growl from the back of his throat. Tim’s hair stands on end when he senses his mother’s ire growing. 

Dent snarls and slaps the kid.  “You think that kid is just like you, you brat? Huh? You need your eyes checked? Only gutter trash like you and your worthless parents would even dream about poaching!” 

“Harvey, calm down. There’s no sense in getting worked up over this. Tim, is there anything you need to tell us?” Jack scrutinizes Tim for any change in his expression. “We promise we won’t get angry at you if you do.”

“No, dad,” Tim mumbles, glancing away. His heart sinks into his stomach as Janet sizes him up with suspicion. Oh, if she knew he was still slipping out to see Kon and Steph...

Tim holds in a breath of relief as she turns away from him. “Discipline your workers, Harvey, before I do it for you,” Janet clips. “You disgrace your household if this is the sort of urchin you keep in your employ.”

“It won’t happen again, Janet. You have my most heartfelt apologies.” Dent dips his head, grabbing the kid by the back of his head and forcing him into a deeper bow. “You’ll have to forgive his upbringing, his parents aren’t the educated sort. I’ll have the steward take corrective steps.”

Janet runs a disparaging gaze over them, the kid’s venomous expression as meaningful as a bug crushed underfoot. “I won’t tell you how to run your household, Harvey, but take my word for it when I say that it’s better to weed out the blights when you find them.”

“I’ll certainly take your words into consideration, Janet. And you!” he turns to the kid, ire flaring in his voice again. “Apologize to them properly.”

“Like hell I will!” Resentment ignites in the kid’s eyes, leaving Tim breathless in the wake of the kid’s hostility. “I wouldn’t accuse anyone for no reason!”

“You didn’t accuse just anyone , you stupid nobody!” Dent’s hand slaps the kid across the face in a vicious backhand that resonates through the square. The kid’s face snaps to the side. When he recovers, his eyes are fresh with reflexive tears as he glares at Tim.

“Tim,” Jack repeats, ever the mild-mannered peacemaker. “Are you sure you don’t know anything?” Behind Jack, Janet’s eyes narrow at Tim, daring him to speak. Passersby stop to gawk, whispering amongst themselves. “If your friends pressured you into doing something bad, you can tell us. We’re on your side.”

Tim’s fingers curl into fists at his side. Dent’s arm raises lingers in the air, waiting for Tim to speak.

“No.” Tim swallows around the bitter lump in his throat. “I think he may have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Then it’s settled.” Janet places a hand on Jack’s shoulder to signal that she’s reached the end of her patience.

“But-”

“Are you calling my son a liar, Harvey?” 

“...No. I’ll punish him accordingly and dismiss his father.”

“No! My dad didn’t do anything wrong-”

“Shut up, you ungrateful little brat!” Dent hits him again. “You’re a disgrace!”

“The state of affairs within your household is evidently lacking, Harvey,” sniffs Janet. “It seems you ought to dismiss the steward too. I suppose Gilda’s been ailing recently, with the move and everything? Poor thing, I suppose that would explain everything today. Do send our regards to her.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Harvey grits out through clenched teeth. He offers a strained smile in a forced impersonation of civility. “I hope you’ll excuse this unsightly behavior I’ve shown you. It seems I’ve been too remiss in my duties.”

“Please see to it.” Janet’s eyes flicker to Tim as she turns to leave. Tim follows obediently, eyes lowered to his shoes. Jack brings up the rear as they make their way to their carriage. The footman helps Janet in first, then Tim. Jack closes the door, but Tim can still make out snippers of Jack’s conversation with the coachman if he listens hard enough.

“Watch.” Janet draws the curtains open just a crack. Tim peeks through the slit, guilt churning in his gut.

Dent’s postilion holds the kid down as one of the other servants thrashes the kid in the public square. Tim watches the kid struggle against the undeserved beating. His faint shouts echo through the marketplace. Nausea coils in Tim’s gut, and he swallows down the urge to retch.

“It’s cruel, isn’t it?” Janet watches him with an eagle’s eye, and Tim’s heart sinks with the overwhelming suspicion that she knows . 

“...Yes, mother.”

“Such is the life of our lessers. Remember this.”

Tim watches, unable to tear his eyes away as the kid is beaten within an inch of his life. When the kid is no longer moving, Dent’s servants step back, leaving the wretched kid curled up in the dirt.

“Do you know why I am doing this?”

“No, mother.”

“The Drakes did not attain wealth through inheritance, Timothy.” Janet closes the curtains with a quiet swish. “Our family worked hard to become what it is today. But that is meaningless without reputation. Do you understand that I am doing this for your own good?”

Tim lowers his gaze, ashamed. “Yes, mother.”

The carriage door opens and Jack enters. Once he’s seated, the footman closes the door. The coachman cracks his whip, and the carriage rolls forward.

“Never see that blonde wench or that farmer’s boy again. Do you understand me, Timothy?”

“...I understand.” 

Tim wakes at the crack of dawn after another fitful night. The familiar creak of the Sheila Haywood coasting over the waves drowns out his yawn as he stretches. He winces at the mild aches in his back from sleeping on the hard bed. Apart from the crew’s loud singing during their victory celebration, the night had passed uneventfully. Tim takes it as a good sign that Bart and Jaime had managed to slip away undetected.

He rolls onto his side and tests the strength of the manacles. The metal holds firm. Tim’s eyes slide shut again as he waits for Roy or Jason to bring him food. Dick had tried to wring the truth out of him the night before, but the guilt of the memory had had Tim clamming up and refusing to say anything.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Tim had told Dick, but his heart feels heavy at the thought that maybe it had . The multitude of what-ifs and had-nots had left Tim tossing and turning the entire night. Another two hours pass until the door swings open, its creaking hinges alerting Tim to his new visitor.

“...Rough night?” Tim’s compelled to ask, because the sight of a disheveled and worn out Roy was not the sight he had expected to see at the crack of dawn.

“Tim,” Roy greets. His bleary eyes speak loud enough for both of them. “Yeah. You could say that.” He hands over a thin stack of wafers and watery gruel, and Tim is just thankful that they’re bothering to feed him.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Tim says, and Roy emits a short grunt of agreement.

“And I don’t.” Tim’s eyebrows shoot up, because if he didn’t know any better he could have sworn it was a hangover that Roy was nursing.

“Party sounded eventful.” Tim soaks the wafers in the gruel, grinding them against the bottom of the bowl to make them edible. Roy doesn’t respond. Tim feels self-conscious as Roy watches him eat.

“...Did you need something?” Tim asks after he demolishes the wafers. He chugs the bland gruel in one gulp, unable to bear the silence anymore. Roy shifts from one foot to another, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Come again?”

“It was my fault Jason broke his oath,” Roy blurts. The words spill from his mouth like a broken floodgate. “He meant to uphold it. He wouldn’t have sent us after the Cassard if he had had any intention otherwise. I’m so sorry. I know no amount of apologizing will make up for that, but I had to tell you.”

“What do you-” 

“I know it’s shameless of me when it’s my fault that you’re in this situation, but I have to ask you for a favor. Please, just hear me out. That’s all I ask.”

Tim gapes, his mouth half open when Roy finishes his spiel. Was this what Dick had been talking about? An opportunity? But it was so soon .

“I..What could you possibly need that I could even help with?” Tim manages, verging on the edge of hysterical, confused laughter. 

“ Roy .” An unfamiliar female voice drifts from the hallway. “Deep breath.”

“I know.” Roy sucks in a measured breath that does nothing to alleviate the stress radiating from his frame. “God, I know.”

The woman steps through the doorway, and Tim startles because -

“I remember you,” he says. “I gave you directions to the docks.”

Her mouth curves into a thin, amused smile. “Roy did mention he knew someone with remarkably terrible luck. I didn’t expect to have already crossed paths with him.”

“Tim, this is Jade, uh, Harp-”

“Nguyen.” The edge in her expression sharpens the atmosphere. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Tim.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Tim pushes himself off the bed and onto his feet to get a better look at her. Without a hood obscuring her face, Jade’s features are sharper than Cass’s, all angles and knobbly limbs and wild black hair curling down to her waist. “I’m guessing you’re the reason why I’m still here?”

“Yes.” Jade tips her head into a slight bow. “Time was of the essence. Roy filled me in on some of the details. However, the quicker we end the issue at hand, the greater the possibility we may be able to return you to Fort Liberte.”

“To be frank, a ‘greater likelihood’ doesn’t mean much to me right now, especially after everything that’s happened.” 

“I figured as much.” Roy heaves a sigh, rubbing his tired eyes. “I know you don’t trust us, and rightfully so, but-”

“I do.”

“...Huh?” Roy stops mid-sentence. Even Jade’s brow quirks up in surprise. “...Really?”

“Absolutely not . But I’ll hear you out. It’s not like I can leave even if I wanted to.”

“Christ, and everyone thought you were a stick in the mud.” Roy cracks a wry grin and cards a hand through his tousled hair. “Still...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t promised you anything.” Tim makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

“Right.” Roy sucks in a deep breath and exhales. “Without going into all the details right now, we need your name and reputation.”

“Is it the both of you that need it, or Jason?” Tim scowls at the thought of playing into Jason’s palm again. 

“The former.”

Tim leans back, considering the two of them. About the same height as Roy, Jade stands with her hand cocked on one hip. She looks more alert than Roy, but Tim can see worry etched across her brow as well.

“What do you need it for?” Tim tilts his head to the side. “If it’s legitimacy you need, you already have it. Jason still has my ring.”

“It’s more than just legitimacy,” Jade interrupts. “We’d like to borrow your brain as well, if you’re willing. Roy’s spoken quite highly of your deductive skills.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “And Jason knows about this happening?”

“Well…” Roy and Jade share a glance, and Tim knows he has them hooked.

“First off, let me out of this cell.” Tim slides off the bed and jiggles the brig bars. “Then we’ll talk.”

Roy hesitates, but Jade rolls her eyes and moves forward.

“You haven’t changed at all, Roy.” She twirls the keys in her hands. Roy startles, hand flying to his pockets. He pats them before glaring at her.

“Would it kill you to stop trying to pickpocket me?”

She flashes another razor-sharp smile at him as she twists the key. “There’s no trying about it, Roy.” The lock clicks open and she opens the door.

“You know I’m the one that’ll get in trouble, right?”

“You’ll be fine, you big baby.” Jade scoffs. Roy’s fingers wrap around Tim’s upper arm in a firm grip. “Jason won’t do anything to you.”

“Says who?” 

Roy flinches as he turns around. Pulled along by Roy’s grip, Tim stumbles forward to face Jason, who looks none too happy to see Tim out of the brig.

“You’re down here earlier than expected.” Jade’s hand rests on her hip, wrist brushing against one of the knives at her hip. “Not a busy morning, then?”

“Hardly.” Jason’s scowl deepens. “Seems like I can’t take my eyes off anyone these days. First Dick, and now you?” His eyes flicker to Tim. “Put him back in the brig Roy, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“With all due respect.” Jade moves in front of Roy, putting herself between them and Jason in the narrow room. “Having this kid in on the plan would greatly increase the chances of it succeeding.”

“Funny, I don’t remember ever asking you for your opinion,” snaps Jason. “We can execute the plan without him.”

“Lian’s life is on the line, Jason!” snarls Jade, and Tim’s heart nearly stops when she wrenches Jason forward by his collar until they’re eye level. “I would move fucking heaven and earth for her. If Tim is what it takes to rescue her, I’ll break him out of this goddamn ship and slit your throat if that’s what I have to do.”

“...I would very much like that,” Tim pipes up. “The breaking out, not the throat slitting,” he amends when Jason glares at him.

“See? Tim and I, we have an understanding already,” says Jade as she releases Jason. Roy releases a giant sigh of relief as Jason steps back to regard the three of them. 

“Jason.” Roy looks unsure but defiant as he moves into Jason’s space. “It’s my little girl we’re talking about here. If anything happens to her-“

“Christ, Roy. It’s fine.” Jason scowls and glances away, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not mad.”

“Really?”

“...I just wish you knew it was fine to talk to me about it.” Jason scratches the back of his head. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m not pissed at you either.” 

“Thank fuck.” Roy breathes out in a sharp rush of air as the tension seeps from his limbs.

Jason flashes a dry grin at him. “Thank me after we get Lian back safe and sound. You and Jade gather everyone who’s in on this.” 

“Yessir.” Roy takes Jade’s hand, tugging her through the doorway as if he’s scared she’ll threaten Jason again. Her smile only grows sharper and more amused, and she flashes the briefest of Cheshire grins at Tim as she heads out.

Tim frowns as he turns to Jason.  “What made you so determined to keep me out of this?” Jason just scowls and looks away. When no answer is forthcoming, Tim scoffs. “Fine then, be that way. I’ll know sooner or later.” He takes a half step forward when Jason’s quiet voice interrupts.

“I know that you never meant it when you promised to be mine,” Jason says, his voice a soft rumble, “but you’re still under my protection, even if you’re only playing pretend.”

“You can’t protect me from yourself, Jason.”

“But have you considered not jumping headfirst into every clusterfuck you find?” Jason’s fingers graze his wrists and Tim’s pulse spikes. Tim swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

“Then I guess we both shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep.” Turning around, Tim offers his chained wrists up to Jason. “Take them off if you don’t want your crew tearing me to shreds.”

“Being mine was supposed to prevent that, you know.”

“You don’t have eyes on the back of your head. At least this way I’ll have a fighting chance if Harper comes after me again.” Tim tries to grin at him to alleviate some of Jason’s worry.

“I’m more worried about what you’ll do when I’m not looking,” grunts Jason as he unlocks the cuffs. “You’re a goddamned menace.”

“But I’m your menace.” Tim smiles and leans in.“I told you I’d make your life a living hell, didn’t I?” he whispers, breath grazing Jason’s lips. 

Jason shoves Tim away. The manacles fall to the floor with a clang as Jason stomps off. Holding back a snort of laughter, Tim follows Jason’s retreating back.

Tim clambers into the bright sunshine with a sharp inhale, grateful to no longer be breathing the stale air belowdecks. It takes time for his eyes to adjust, but he’s never been so glad to smell the salt spray on the breeze. Roy helps Tim first, then pulls Jason up too. When Tim’s eyes can make out more than the glaring sun, he sees Dick moving towards them.

“Everything ok?” Dick asks when he’s within earshot. It takes all of Tim’s willpower not to flinch when Jason’s expression darkens once again. 

“Would have been better if someone didn’t fall asleep while on watch and let Reyes give us the slip.”

“Oops,” Dick shrugs. Taken aback, Tim gapes at the clear insubordination in Dick’s tone. Jason’s ire grows physically palpable.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself? Oops ? You get your head stuck in a rum barrel last night?”

“Relax.” Dick leans against the gunwale. “Reyes won’t snitch.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“We get caught, he goes down with us.” A relaxed shrug rolls across Dick’s shoulders. “He participated in the raid, and he’s equally complicit with no alibi if he’s questioned. You should be glad I got some shuteye when I did. This way, you’ve kept your end of the bargain. Unless there’s something you haven’t told us?”

Jason grunts. “You’re still on latrine duty for the next two weeks, jackass.” He avoids meeting Dick’s gaze.

“Suit yourself. But you know I’m right.” Dick’s confidence doesn’t falter. “So, I guess Roy talked you into letting Tim help?”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet.” Jason shakes his head. “Come with us. Strategy meeting.”

Dick follows without complaint, but he winks at Tim when Jason’s back is turned. Offering Dick a weak smile of his own, Tim trails after them.

Jason guides Tim and Dick to one of the side cabins. When the door swings open, Tim is surprised when he’s greeted by the sight of both Stephanie and Harper Row. Neither look pleased to see him.

“Steph? When did you come back from the Spoiler?”

“Not long ago.” She folds her arms across her chest. With her feet propped on the table, Stephanie rocks onto the back legs of her chair. “Jason called me back.”

“Why the hell’re you here?” Harper jabs her thumb at him. “Thought you were gonna go back to being his goddamn woman-”

“Watch it, Harper.” Roy scowls at her. “You got off light for that last fight on a technicality. If he were a crewmate you would have been-”

“That’s why I did it, Roy. He ain’t crew. And if you ask me, if Tim’s not crew, and not the boss’s woman, then he’s got no right being on this ship, let alone being at this table.”

“He’s staying until Jason says so, and you’ll just have to like it,” snaps Roy. Surprise flickers across Harper’s face before her expression morphs into grudging acceptance. The rest of them take a seat as Jason holds the door open to make way for Kori. She smiles brightly at the rest of them as she sits down between Dick and Roy. Closing the door behind her, Jason takes the last seat.

“Now that we’re done getting the bickering out of the way,” drawls Jason. “Jade, care to fill everyone in on what’s happening?”

“Of course.” Jade spins one of her daggers on the tip of her finger. “First, thank you for agreeing to help, all of you.”

“We are happy to.” Kori smiles, but a hint of wariness pervades her tone. “The sooner we wrap this up, the better. It has been a long time coming.”

“Yes.”  The dagger falls, then vanishes mid-air with a flick of Jade’s wrist. “Today, we are allies with a common cause. Stephanie, I’m told that you took up arms against your father before joining forces with Captain Todd, correct?”

“That’s right.” Stephanie’s voice doesn’t falter, but a shadow flickers across her face. “I stole the Cluemaster when he was delivering a cargo hold full of slave children to Barbados.”

Jade nods. “There is another ship headed to Barbados in a few days' time. I have reasons to suspect that my daughter is on that ship.”

“How old is your daughter?” Tim whispers to Roy. “Barbados needs laborers for the sugar trade, not...kids.”

“She’ll be eight this-.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Jade’s glare silences them. “However, Tim is correct. The Cluemaster was not your everyday slaveship. Its cargo was handpicked, but they were children hailing across all nations, no matter the color of their skin.” 

“What were the criteria?” Tim furrows his brow. 

“They weeded out the sick.” Kori’s face clouds over. “I was on one of those ships that Jade spoke of. But they looked for the strong. Those that were weak physically or mentally did not survive for long.”

“So it comes as no surprise to me that my search has led me here.” Jade glances to Dick and Jason. “Your crew always had a reputation for the pursuit of such ships. This time however, I have a lead. In three days time, there will be an auction in Bridgetown. And perhaps we can put an end to all of this.”

Tim purses his lips. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but all of this seems...strange. I haven’t heard of any companies doing such a thing.”

“Tim.” Stephanie looks at him as if she’s carried the weight of the world on her shoulders for too long. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The children onboard these ships never go up for public auction. They’re sold in private sales. Few records exist, if any. We - I’ve tried to trace who conducts them, but I’ve found nothing so far.”

“There must be something,” Tim argues. “You can’t run a business of that size and scope without leaving a trace. Bill of sales. Ledgers -”

“Exactly.” Jade steps up again. “There were traces. And now I have a lead, and it’s one that you may be familiar with. A certain Slade Wilson.” 

Dick swears under his breath. “I fucking knew it,” he mutters.

“He’s my only lead. But he’s not a big player, as far as I can tell. But we find him, we find whoever’s truly pulling the strings.”

“You’re a step too late.” Jason speaks up for the first time. “He’s still chasing Rose out there.”

“If we sail to Barbados, that’s all the better for us. It’s a chance to find Lian without having to confront him.” Jade clicks her tongue. “He’s not someone we should be tangling with if we can avoid it. The longer Rose can keep him occupied, the better.”

“...Why is he so busy trying to find her?” Tim scratches the back of his neck. “Doesn’t seem like it was for a family reunion.”

“They’ve always been estranged to some degree,” Dick says. “But...it’s possible everything is more connected than we’ve previously thought. Ravager, Deathstroke, us...I feel like we’re on the verge of something huge. And whatever he wanted Ravager for, I don’t think it was for reconciliation.”

“He wanted her brother too. He almost left Tortuga with me and Joey,” pipes up Tim. 

“That part I understand,” Jason says with a frown. His fingers drum the table as he mulls it over.  “He takes Joey, and Ravager comes to him instead. It ends the chase. But it doesn’t answer why .”

“It doesn’t matter. Ravager and Deathstroke are distracting us from the main prize.” Roy stands up, steel in his gaze when he addresses them. “Anyone who touches my baby girl is going to answer for it.”

“And I’ll see to it that they’ll never be able to take anyone else’s kids again.” Jade’s knife embeds itself into the table where it quivers furiously. 

Stephanie unfurls a map across the table, and Dick grabs a compass to use as a makeshift paperweight. “I don’t know where the next sale will occur, but Barbados is small. It wouldn’t hurt to check the usual slave auctions first.”

“...I disagree. You’d be wasting your time.” All eyes turn to Tim. “If these are private sales that are happening, they’re not going to happen at your average run-of-the-mill auction sites. They’re going to wealthy bidders. These...slave children are not meant to be farm laborers or domestic servants.”

“What are you suggesting, then?” 

“There has to be something special about them. I don’t know what. But it would be...unusual to turn a profit with the business model I’m hearing right now.” Tim shakes his head. “To take a risk like that...you’d have to have guaranteed customers. People with a vested stake.”

“I bet you’d know all about that, huh?” sneers Harper. “Bet you know everything there is to know about selling people.”

“My family has never participated in the slave trade, but go ahead, keep talking shit you don’t know about, Harper.” Tim clicks his tongue, ignoring Stephanie’s obvious surprise at his sharp tone. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about Lian.” 

“Right.” Roy runs a hand over the map of Barbados. “So, where would you start looking?”

“The docks first, then the holding pens would be the most obvious option.” Tim strokes his chin. “Jade, can you tell me more about the ship you spoke of?”

“She was called the Capricorn . As far as I know, she’s bound for Barbados in a matter of days, if she’s not already made landfall.”

“Do we have a map of the town?”

“I know the place like the back of my hand,” interrupts Kori. “I can sketch it out if we don’t have one available.”

“Good. We can start off checking the usual quarters they hold slaves at. I don’t know if they’d be there if they’re not up for the usual auctions, but there should be some sort of holding area while getting them ready for the sale. I doubt they’d keep them on the ship until it’s time. But even if they aren’t, we can still check the docks for the Capricorn . And if we can find a point of contact, then all the better. There’s probably a liaison in charge of finding buyers.”

“Hold up, who died and made you the captain?” Harper growls.

“ Harper .” Jason’s chilly tone freezes her in place. “You’re on fucking thin ice right now. Make nice before I get involved.”

Despite her sullen expression, Harper nods. On the verge of a snarky remark, Tim swallows it down as he recalls Dick’s advice.

“Row,” he offers instead. “Roy’s daughter needs you. Maybe needs us . But if you’re reluctant about this at all, then there’s no point to me being in this room.” 

All eyes turn on Harper. With a grudging sigh, she crosses her arms. “Fine,” she mutters under her breath. 

“Alright.” Tim glances back to Roy. “Whatever plan you guys have, I’m all ears.”

Roy’s eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion. “Are you offering your help?”

Tim’s fingers drum the table. “My ring,” he says, holding his hand out. “That’s my only demand.”

It’s Jason’s turn to suffer under the pressuring stares of his crew. Muttering something under his breath, Jason rummages in his pocket. The Drake ring drops into Tim’s outstretched palm, the metal warm from Jason’s heat. Tim’s fingers close around it, and slips it into his own pocket.

“Well then,” Tim says, leaning forward in his chair. “How might I be of assistance?”

Stephanie is the first one out of the cabin, as she yawns and stretches out the stiffness in her limbs. She slips to the side to let the others out, and Tim hurries to her side quickly.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs to her. “I was worried.”

She nods, but then a heavy arm falls on his shoulder. Tim is expecting Jason, but it’s Dick that meets his gaze instead.

“Mind if I borrow him for a bit, Steph?” 

She shrugs. “Go ahead, I’m not his keeper, you know. That’ll be him.” She jerks her thumb towards Jason, but he only makes a mild noise of annoyance before leaving.

“I don’t think he’s been happy to see me since I got back,” mutters Tim. 

“Did you want him to be?”

“What? No . I was making an observation.”

“Right.” Dick steers him away. “You’ve got someone who wants to talk to you.” It takes Tim a few seconds to realize that Dick is steering him towards the infirmary again. His heart jumps in his throat. 

“I thought you said they left,” Tim says, his heart thudding furiously in his chest.

“I didn’t say they .” The door swings open, and Tim locks eyes with a bleary-eyed but conscious Bart.

“Bart!” Tim starts forward. “I thought Jaime took you back!”

“He tried. But I talked him out of it.” Bart’s tremulous smile wanes when he attempts to push himself up. Pain lances through his expression, and the arm supporting his weight crumples. The covers slip down to reveal a swath of bandages wrapped around Bart’s sternum.

“Better for all of us, I’m afraid.” Dick folds his arms across his chest. “How’re you holding up?”

“Like I could eat a horse,” Bart rasps out. 

“Good.” Dick flashes a quick smile towards Tim. “I’ll get you something to eat. I guess you both have a lot to talk about.” 

“Thanks. Wasn’t expecting so much hospitality when you guys first nabbed me, if I’m honest.” 

“You’re a guest. Though for how long that lasts is up to Jason. And both you and Tim, I suppose.” Dick adds the last sentence as an apologetic afterthought. He ducks away, clapping a reassuring hand on Tim’s shoulder as he leaves.

“What happened the night before?” Tim sits on the edge of the bed. Bart grimaces, shrugging his shoulder experimentally.

“After you all scared me half to death thinking I was about to become cannon fodder? Jaime tried to get me to go with him.” Bart makes a half-hearted shrug, fingers playing with the ragged loose threads of his blanket. “I told him to go back by himself. Kon would be worried sick about all of us, you know?” He laughs, but his voice trembles. He doesn’t meet Tim’s eyes.

“Bart.” Tim reaches out, taking the back of Bart’s hand and gently squeezing it. “Did the two of you fight?” 

Bart flinches, eyes going wide. “I - how did you know?”

“Call it an educated guess.” Tim shakes his head. “He was...quite adamant last night about taking you back.”

“I know.” Bart’s fingers knot themselves into the blanket. “But Fort Liberte isn’t safe. And I tried to reason with him, and he just...he just couldn’t get it. Or wouldn’t get it. And we argued before he finally left.” Bart blinks furiously. 

“Oh, Bart-”

“There were a lot of things that probably shouldn’t have been said. And I wish I could take some of it back, but I just couldn’t get through to him! He wouldn’t listen and I know he’s been through a lot but he can’t protect both of us back on the island and...and…” Bart takes a huge gulp of air. 

“ Easy .” Tim squeezes his hand tighter, but even he can’t fight off the sense of helplessness overwhelming him. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

A strangled sniffle escapes Bart’s throat. “I think he hates me.”

“Look at me.” Tim tugs on Bart’s hand until he reluctantly meets his gaze. Tim pretends not to notice the wetness in his eyes. “Jaime doesn’t hate you. He was scared for you too. He was willing to do anything to get you back, you know?”

“I know.” Bart tries to surreptitiously wipe his nose. “I know, and it’s stupid. His - his whole family’s on Fort Liberte and he has so much to lose, compared to me. I...I couldn’t do that to him.”

"He was just looking out for you."

"Well he should have looked out for himself first!" Bart clenches his jaw. "I swear, he's so ... so dumb sometimes! Seriously, who just says "oh, let's go ask the pirates if they can save my lover from the high seas, that's such a great idea!"

Tim coughs. "It does sound terrible when you put it like that."

"Right?" Bart heaves a guilt-ridden sigh and picks at the fraying blanket. "He's an idiot, but...even still, I care about him so much. And now, who knows if I’ll ever see him again?"

Tim squeezes his hand again. "We'll get through this," he promises. "Captain Todd won't hurt us."

“...Jaime did mention something about that.” Bart scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand before frowning at Tim. “You didn’t mention any of this back on Fort Liberte.” His bony elbow digs into Tim’s ribcage. “You didn’t say the captain had eyes for you. Well, I guess you sort of did, but I mean, not in that way.”

Tim grimaces. “I don’t...he... argh , forget it.”

Bart offers him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I get it, ya know? I mean, it took me time too. To accept who and what I am.” It’s his turn to squeeze Tim’s hand. “It took Jaime even longer.”

Tim glances away, an abrupt wave of discomfort overwhelming him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

“But, you...you’re like us, aren’t you?” Bart cocks his head in confusion. “At least, that’s what it sounded like, coming from Jaime. And I think he’s pretty good at reading people, at least, better than me at any rate.”

A distressed noise leaves the back of Tim’s throat. “I’m not...I don’t...I like women , Bart!” Tim bursts out. “How could I possibly be interested in... that when I know I like women?”

“Oh, Tim.” Bart’s eyes widen, like he’s had an epiphany, and Tim hates it, because Bart looks like he’s suddenly got him all figured out when Tim’s mind still churns with confusion. “It’s not the same for everyone, you know? Oh gosh, Jaime was just exactly like you, he should be the one talking to you about this, he was dancing around it for ages , and it was so painfully obvious-”

“What?”

“Look, whether you believe me or not, and maybe this is a weird discussion to have with someone you’ve only known for a few days, people can like both men and women.” Bart exhales sharply through his nose. “It’s not one or another, you know?”

“But it’s not right,” Tim says weakly, but he regrets the words the moment they fall from his lips. 

Bart shakes his head, and Tim hates how earnest he looks. “I’m not going to argue with you about whether it’s right or wrong. All I’m saying is that it happens. It’s up to you with how you deal with that, but it’s not strange. Well, to me at least.”

Tim mulls that over. Jason comes to mind first, with the way Tim’s pulse quickened when the man was near, the way Tim’s eyes could never stop following him. He thinks about Stephanie, with her blonde tresses reflecting the sun as she pulled him through the woods, and the electrifying touch of her lips when they had first kissed, a clumsy peck on the lips. 

“When did you know you...preferred gentlemen?”

“I think I always knew,” admitted Bart, and it’s strange to hear the words said without shame. “But Jaime? I think it felt like he was fighting against something inside of himself, especially when we first met. He didn’t want to be different.” Bart huffs a soft laugh. “And after yesterday? I get it.” 

He glances towards Tim shyly. “What about you? When did you start liking the captain?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Tim bites back a frustrated growl. “I don’t like him. And he doesn’t like me either. We have a mutual agreement, and that’s all it’ll ever be.”

“That sums it up nicely.” Bart’s eyes go round like dinner plates at the recognizable rumble of Jason’s voice. Tim’s stomach lurches like a fish out of water. Tim twists around to look back at Jason, and he wonders how a man of Jason’s size could move so quietly through the ship.

“Jason,” Tim greets, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. Belatedly he realizes his hand is still resting atop Bart’s. He snatches his hand away like he’s been scorched. Jason’s eyes track the motion, but his expression remains impassive.

“You’ll be joining the rest of the crew in their quarters,” Jason says. His eyes flicker to Bart. “How’re you holding up?”

“I-I’m alright.” Even Bart seems to have lost his tongue.

“Good. I’ve got a job for you ready soon, so rest up.”

“A job?” Bart and Tim ask at the same time.

“Yeah. Don’t eat us out of supplies before then.” Jason clicks his tongue. 

“Um, I’ll work hard!” Bart straightens up. “So you don’t need to worry about me, Captain.”

“We’ll see. Once you’re back on your feet you’ll be sleeping in the crew quarters. If you have any questions, Roy’s your man.” He exits as quickly as he had entered. Turning to mouth a quick apology at Bart, Tim turns on his heel to chase Jason’s retreating back.

“Jason, wait! I said wait !” Tim grabs onto Jason’s sleeve, forcing him to stop. Tim pauses to catch his breath, fingers curling into the fabric.

“What?”

“I - I just wanted to tell you that it wasn’t what it looked like.” Tim curses himself. What the hell was he even saying? Why did he feel like he was already on the backfoot in attempting to explain himself?

Jason raised an eyebrow. “All right.”

Tim blinks, not expecting the answer he had received. “Anyway, I - it’s not like that between Bart and me. Just in - in case, you know. You had the wrong idea.”

Jason’s smile could induce frostbite. “I don’t see why I should care.” He leaned closer, his breath heavy and demanding. “After all, you said it yourself. There’s nothing between us.” He spun around abruptly, avoiding Tim’s gaze. “When you’re ready, go find Dick. He’ll be needing help checking the tackle.”

“I - wait! Jason!” Tim reaches out again, but Jason’s already vanishing around the corner, the fabric of his coat rippling out of sight.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Tim muttered to himself. He makes his way to the deck, hauling himself up. A few crewmen eye him warily, but otherwise leave him alone as he looks for either Dick or Jason. Jason’s nowhere to be seen, but Dick is visible by the topsail, a tangled mass of ropes at his feet.

“Need help?” Tim calls. Dick glances down at him, then waves him up.

“You look disappointed to see me.” Dick breaks into a wry grin. “I’m guessing you were looking for Jason?”

“It’s not you.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s been a long week.” He picks up one of the heavier ropes, checking it for signs of wear and tear.

“Tell me about it. Wasn’t expecting having to sail off so quickly to Bridgetown. Lucky thing Roy ‘n I bought some provisions the other day. They’ll tide us over for now, but who knows? We’re not exactly welcome in most ports.” Dick shakes his head and gives one of the pulleys a sharp yank to test its sturdiness. “Don’t know how people live like this.”

Tim glances sideways at him. “You say it like you haven’t been sailing with him for a long time.”

“Compared to Roy and Kori? I haven’t.” 

“Thought you said you and Jason went way back?”

“Didn’t sail under his flag during his privateering days. Made quite a respectable name for himself in these waters back then.”

“ What ?” Tim nearly drops the rope. “I thought he hated privateers.”

“Did he say that?” Dick blinks.

Tim’s brow scrunches, trying to recall what Jason had said. “Not exactly, I think. But he seemed disdainful of them, at any rate.”

Dick sighs as he grabs another length of rope and unknots it with envious dexterity. “Well, he was one, even if he doesn’t like to talk about it. Not that it’s a secret, mind you, but I’m tired of stepping on eggshells every time my idiot brother is around. Back to the main point, he pissed off the wrong people, and the rest is history.”

Tim looks up, scrutinizing Dick’s features. He’s handsome, there’s no doubt about it, with olive skin and bright blue eyes, but…

“We don’t look alike, do we?” Dick laughs. “Used to get that all the time. People don’t believe I’m his older brother at first glance.” 

“No more than I could be considered family to either of you just for having black hair.”

“That’s what I keep telling people.” Dick huffs, coiling up his unknotted rope and tossing it to the side. “Well, even if it’s not by blood, we’re still family. He’s a pain in my neck, but hey - that’s what family is about, right? Gotta look out for each other. Hey, check the loading block on this one, see if it needs maintenance.”

Tim thinks about Drake Manor, all but forgotten and abandoned even as he accepts the proffered weight. “Yeah,” he said softly, rolling the weight around in his hand. “I guess so.”

Dick grunts, stooping down to parse through the mess of ropes at his feet. “Well, thanks for agreeing to help us out. The sooner we get Roy’s kid back, the better for all of us. Still, you really do have a knack for getting into trouble.”

“It’s not intentional most of the time.”

Dick’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think Steph hasn’t regaled us with your most embarrassing moments? Please.”

Tim’s face scrunches up. “They’re all embellished and she knows it.”

“Even the one where you tried to impress her by asking her to dance, and ended up falling flat on your face?”

“I’ve nothing to say about that.”

Dick laughs and digs an elbow into Tim’s side even as his fingers swiftly tease the knots out of the ropes. “Well, least you’ve found your sea legs already. Though when Jason will stop having to fish you out of the drink, I don’t know. How many times has it been now? First when you came aboard, then the storm, then Deathstroke-”

“Hold up, it was Roy that saved me that second time.”

“Huh?” Dick glances at him in confusion. “When you fell off the riggings? It was definitely Jason.”

“I - no, it was Roy,” argues Tim, the ropes forgotten in his hand. “I thanked him. Jason said-”

“Jason was the only one close enough who saw when you fell. Do you know how damn pissed I was when he just jumped right in without a second thought?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that idiot has always lost his cool when it comes to you. And if anything happens to him...you’ll have a lot of answering to do.” He gives Tim a sidelong look.

Tim shakes his head in disbelief. “It was dark back then. Maybe you saw wrong.”

“I know what I saw.”

Tim looks down at the ropes in his hands, the knots as tangled as his mind. “I don’t know who to believe anymore, to be honest.”

Dick’s expression softens. “It sounds like you need to have a talk with my idiot brother. Help me out with the rest of these ropes, and we can get more food, how about it?”

“Jason -”

“Isn’t going anywhere. You’re stuck with us until Bridgetown, but that means he’s stuck with you too.” Dick’s grin widens. “You’ve got a few days to find him for what sounds like a long overdue chat. What d’you say?”

“You know what?” Tim looks up towards the horizon where the sun is setting over the waves as he eases out the cricks in his neck. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dick grabs another piece of rope, wringing seawater out from its coils. “So, why don’t you tell me how Rose and Joey are doing? I haven’t seen them in ages .”

Chapter Text

Jason Todd is an absolute son of a bitch when he doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t flee when Tim approaches, but if the riggings don’t need checking, the shrouds need mending, or the tarpaulins need to be fastened down, or -

Tim doesn’t unleash a scream, but he comes dangerously close. To make matters worse, his attempts at trying to find time to talk to Jason privately haven’t gone unnoticed by the crew. In fact, they’re even placing bets .

“Two cigarettes that he’ll never get around to talking to the captain.” Harper shoots Tim a nasty grin. With his body carefully angled away from her, Tim keeps his gaze firmly affixed on the horizon. 

“Why are you even here?” He complains instead from his little hammock in the crew’s quarters. Tim had been essentially barred from Jason’s cabin, a fact he doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or frustrated by. “Your quarters are on the other side.” Though there were a few other men in the cabin, Harper’s presence didn’t seem surprising to them, or even unwanted.

“Men’s quarters get more light during this time of year, even if it’s more cramped.” Harper shrugs. “Besides, you’re the only one with your knickers in a twist about it, Drake. Hey, Bart! Whaddya think?”

The hammock adjacent to Tim’s rustles. Bart’s face pokes out before the rest of his body as he swings his legs over the sides to get up. Tim catches a glimpse of the bandages peeking out from below his collar before Bart crosses over to Harper with a surprising bounce in his step. Despite only leaving the makeshift infirmary a few days ago, Bart had found a niche for himself in Jason’s motley crew with enviable speed. 

“I’ll take that bet,” offers Bart. Although Tim is grateful for the vote of confidence, a few others in the cabin jeer.

“You gonna give me back that pendant? Didn’t take you for the sort that was into jewelry, if you don’t mind my saying.” Harper’s grin grows a little wider.

“Pendant?” Tim turns towards Bart, his interest piqued. 

A light flush dusts Bart’s cheeks. “I traded Harper a square of chocolate for this.” He fishes out the aforementioned pendant out of his pocket, dangling it towards Tim for him to take a closer look. “Thought it looked cool.”

“Huh.” Tim accepts the necklace and holds it up to the light. Even before the light refracts through the centerstone, he knows it’s a rarity. Albeit small, the necklace tines hold a burnt-orange oval with a beetle frozen midstep. “Didn’t know you liked insects.”

“I don’t,” admits Bart. He looks down, fingers twisting into knots in his lap. “But when I saw it, it made me think of Jaime. Seemed like something he’d like. Thought that I could give it to him. Eventually.”

Tim bites back the urge to apologize. “You will,” he offers, and Bart offers him a small smile. 

“I know.” Bart turns back towards Harper, and Tim is surprised by the resolve in his eyes. “Sure. I’ll bet the pendant.” Much to Harper’s delight, Bart grabs her hand in a vigorous shake.

“Whoo! That’s what I’m talking about! Who else, any takers?” Harper’s eyes alight on Stephanie and she hurries over, grabbing Stephanie by the arm and dragging her to where the three of them are clustered together. 

“Steph! You ought to get in on this. You’ve known this stick in the mud the longest. Two cigs say he doesn’t have the balls to talk to the captain before we reach Bridgetown. Whaddya think?”

“Hm.” Stephanie’s eyes rake Tim up and down. Tim meets her gaze levelly, daring her to say otherwise.

A roguish grin flits across her face. “Can’t say I’d bet against that, Harper. Sorry.”

“Traitor!” Tim calls as the cabin breaks into laughter. 

“Well then!” Harper hoots. “Can’t say Bart’s odds are looking good. I’ll give ya a chance to back out if ya want though.”

“Nah. We might’ve just met, but me ‘n Tim, we’re bosom buddies. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Bart slings a casual arm around Tim’s shoulder.  “He’s not gonna let me down. Right?”

“Right,” Tim says as the weight of expectation and Bart’s scrawny arm crash upon him. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll take you up on your bet, Steph.” Tim looks up as Dick ducks through the low entrance to the crew’s quarters.

“Oh? That’s bold of you.” Stephanie’s eyebrows waggle as Dick straightens up, his height easily surpassing the doorframe. “I know you’ve got that little stash of snuff that you never touch. I’d be happy to take that off your hands for you since you’re so keen on losing.”

Dick laughs. “You wish. And don’t you touch that snuff box, I’ve been saving that.”

“Then what’re you staking?”

A sly smile flits across Dick’s face. “A half crown.”

Stephanie bolts up as murmurs drift across the room. “Where the hell did you even get a half crown?” she demands. “Actually, how have you not had it taken off you yet?”

“Does it matter?” Dick shrugs, his little smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve got the coin. All you gotta do is accept the wager.”

Harper glances between Dick and Stephanie uneasily. “You sure about this, Grayson?”

“I think my odds are pretty decent.” Dick’s cheer remains unflagging. “Can you match my bet, Steph?”

“I…” Stephanie rummages in her pockets. Her hands turn up empty and she sighs. “I’ve got a rare sherry stashed away. Twenty-eight years old. If that’s not enough, I can throw in a deck of cards? They’re in good condition.”

Dick whistles. “I’ll pass on the cards if you take latrine duty for three days. Where did you even find the sherry?”

“I’ve got my ways.” Stephanie sizes him up. She hesitates, the indecision clear on her expression. Then her gaze flickers over to Tim, and he sees her resolve crystalize. She extends her hand. “So what makes you so confident?” she asks.

Dick grasps her hand and they shake on it. “You may know Tim the best here, Steph, but I’ve known Jason the longest.” He winks. “Tim’s stubbornness versus Jason’s. Who can say?”

“Ugh .” Harper calls. “You and your theatrics.”

“Say what you want, but we’ll see who has the last laugh,” Dick counters.

“When Jason doesn’t want to be found, you damn well know it’s next to impossible to find him,” scoffs Harper as she crosses her arms. “You’ll be making Steph a rich lady in the next few hours.”

“That’s what I’m betting on.” Dick locks eyes with Tim. “That Jason does want to be found.”

“Hold up, a few hours?” Tim interjects. 

“Didn’t you know? We’re making landfall soon.”

“Shit .” Tim scrambles up, his pulse quickening with urgency. “I thought we had until tomorrow!”

Rolling her eyes, Harper tosses her hair with a shake of her head. “In five hours it will be tomorrow.”

“You know what I meant!” Tim nearly overturns the hammock in his haste to extricate himself.

“We had favorable winds today, and the tide should be going in soon. We’re getting there earlier than expected.” Dick crosses his arms. “We’ll have to get ready before then, so you probably have...two hours, at best.”

“Damn .” Tim rakes a hand through his hair, trying to restore a semblance of order to it. “I should’ve known when Steph bet against me.”

“Would have done it even without your deadline, sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” he mutters. Steph doesn’t stifle her gleeful cackle.

“Do your best, but if you purposely throw the bet I’ll split the half crown with you!”

“You are all terrible.” Tim rushes past them. “Choke on those cigarettes, Row,” he calls as he rounds the corner. 

“You mean like how you choke on J-” Harper grunts when Dick’s elbow digs into her side. Tim heads for the deck first, taking the ladder two rungs at a time. He pushes the hatch open and the wind steals his breath, whipping his hair into a frenzy. The sun sinks over the horizon, casting a flickering red tinge across the tides. The Sheila Haywood cuts through the waves at a steady clip. Even the ship isn’t on his side, he thinks irritably. Getting to his feet, Tim spies the faint outline of land in the distance. His heart skips a beat.

A quick scan of the main deck shows no sign of Jason, so Tim makes his way to the quarterdeck. Hopefully he can corner Jason at the helm. Hearing the telltale creak of the ship’s wheel, Tim cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of whoever is manning the Sheila Haywood.

“Tim!” Roy waves at him from behind the helm. Tim waves back, but disappointment sinks through him. 

“Roy, have you seen Jason?”

“Hmm. Can’t say I have.” Roy’s weight shifts from one foot to another, but his hands remain steady on the wheel.  “He’s been pretty busy as of late.”

“Come off it.” Tim resists the urge to shake Roy by the shirt collar. “I know you’ve got money riding on this. Did you bet against me too?”

Roy has the decency to look embarrassed. “He really is busy, though. Been managing all the preparations for tomorrow.”

“Answer the question, Roy .” 

Roy coughs behind his hand. “I might have a few coppers staked. But it’s not personal, I swear!” He holds a hand up placatingly. “Look, things get dull when we’re out at sea all the time. The gambling livens things up a bit. Just a bit of fun.”

“That’s right.” Tim leans in and keeps his voice low. “It’s just a bit of fun. But don’t you think it’d be wiser to make a friend of the person you asked to help find your daughter?”

“If you’re threatening-”

“I don’t threaten people. But either you can tell me where Jason is, or I will search every nook and crawlspace for him. And I think my goodwill is more valuable towards you than a few coppers right now.” Tim pushes himself up with the railing so he’s closer to Roy’s eye level. “So help me, because I will find him, and I will talk to him, even if I have to tie him to the goddamn anchor to do it.”

“Jesus .”

“Tell me. Because this is a bet you won’t win either way.”

Roy shakes his head in disbelief, but a wry grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Last I saw him he was heading to the hold, though that was nearly an hour ago. Are we good?”

Tim exhales sharply as he releases his grip on the railing. “Yeah. We’re good. Thanks.” He strides away, chin held high.

Tim crosses the main deck in record time. He checks the galley as he passes by in case Jason is hiding there. Kori is the only one there, hands deftly peeling a large sack of potatoes. With her back turned to him, she hums the melody of an unfamiliar sea shanty. Tim moves on, not wanting to ruin her focus. Her voice drifts down the corridor, following him until he’s out of earshot.

The hold isn’t locked, reassuring Tim that Roy hadn’t sent him on a wild goose chase. The door creaks open with a low drawl when he pushes it open. Crossing the threshold, Tim looks around. The hold is better stocked since the last time he was inside, full of bags and crates of supplies. There are no children to be seen either, which meant Stephanie was right and Jason had dropped them off at Fort Liberte.

“Damn it, Roy, I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” Tim hones in on the irate voice.

Tim strides across the room. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not...Roy…” he trails off, caught off guard by the image waiting for him when he stands on tip toe to peek over the fort of crates.

Jason sprawls on his coat as a makeshift blanket, arms crossed behind his head. At the sight of Tim, Jason bolts halfway up then freezes.

“....What are you doing?”

Jason schools his surprised features into a scowl. “Nothing,” he mutters, turning his face away from Tim. He flops back down. 

About to make a rude comment regarding Jason’s supposed industriousness, Tim bites it down when he sees the dark circles beneath Jason’s eyes. While he’s still irritated at Jason’s thinly veiled excuses, he knows that Jason had been busy.

“I need to talk to you.”

“...Can it wait?”

“No. Jason, I -”

“Shh. Quiet down, I can’t hear.” Jason cocks his head, listening to something intently.

“Jason. If you think you can get out of this with some imaginary noise, you are not giving me enough credit-”

“Shh! Look, I’m not making shit up.” With a punctuated sigh, Jason pats the floor to the side of him. “C’mere.”

Tim casts a distrustful glance at Jason but obliges. He wiggles between the crates, sinking to his knees as Jason shifts to make room for him. Spreading his coat wider, Jason beckons Tim over.

Tim wedges himself between the crates and Jason, trying to keep as much of his body on Jason’s coat as possible. After making himself somewhat comfortable between the cargo and Jason’s solid build, Tim waits.

“I don’t hear anything,” he complains after a few seconds, but Jason shushes him again.

“Stay quiet and you will. They’re not far off.”

Tim wants to ask who they are, but he closes his eyes and does his best. At first, all he can hear is the ship settling into its usual rhythm. The wood creaks around him. The crates rattle with their contents as the lapping waves rock the ship towards its destination. Above him, Tim listens to the strain of the ropes and the riggings holding fast as the wind whips around them. If he strains his ears, he thinks he can listen to the idle chatter of crewmen drifting through the walls. Jason’s breath fans over Tim’s hair, pushing his bangs into his eyes but Tim keeps them closed, trying to search for whatever Jason thought was out there.

He thinks...he hears something out there. He licks his lips. Soft, echoing moans rise from the deep, barely audible over the Sheila Haywood . The noises fade out. He presses his ear to the floor, straining to catch the haunted cries once more.

“What is that?” he asks. A small shiver runs down his spine.

“Whales.” Jason draws his coat lapels around Tim’s frame. “I saw some of them earlier.”

Tim scrunches his eyes shut, ears straining to catch the eerie sounds. “I never knew whales sounded like that. How many are there?”

“Mother and a baby, I think,” Jason murmurs back. “Could have been more. The calf was curious about the Sheila, I think. They got pretty close.”

Tim doesn’t respond at first, allowing the strange whale song to seep through his bones as the haunting noises repeat once more. “You should have called me,” he whispers, then realizes how foolish he sounds.

Jason makes a noncommittal noise. For a moment, the two of them revel silently in the sounds as the mysterious cries resonate through the hull.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Tim whispers in a low voice, afraid of breaking the spell. “It sounds so sad.”

“I know. But I think...they’re happy.”

“Really? Why?”

Jason shrugs as best as he can with an arm loosely draped around Tim. “Because they’re free. No slave to another’s bidding. They can come and go as they please. And they have each other.”

Tim steals a glance at him. “Is that why you became a pirate? To be free?”

“Why else would anyone choose this life?”

Tim licks his lips. “But you didn’t choose this,” he whispers back, “did you?”

Jason’s arm tightens around Tim’s hip, and for a moment Tim fears he has overstepped his boundaries. 

“I didn’t.” Jason says, his hoarse voice barely louder than the whales’ cries.

Tim’s fingers curl into the fabric of Jason’s sleeve. His throat suddenly feels tight with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers.

“What?” Jason’s eyes shoot open and he looks at Tim for the first time that night, maybe looks at him for the first time. Tim trembles beneath the weight of Jason’s gaze, barely able to shoulder it. Tim’s mouth moves, but no further sounds pass his dry lips.

Jason breathes a shaky and confused laugh, but anticipation belies his tone. “ Why?”

“I remember you,” Tim croaks. “The fountain near Regent’s Park, by the church. You worked for Harvey Dent. You always knew who I was, didn’t you?”

Jason’s body stills. A shudder skitters down Tim’s spine as he waits for Jason’s answer with baited breath, fingers knotting into Jason’s coat.

“I did.”

Tim releases his breath in a quiet sigh.

“What has this been all about, Jason?” Tim rolls over to see Jason better, but Jason’s expression remains infuriatingly inscrutable. “I don’t understand you at all. If you’re still holding a grudge, you could have, um, done something about it by now. Or is toying with me part of that grudge?”

“I thought about it.” Jason forces out the words, voice gruff with confession. “The person responsible for my shitty old man getting fired from his post was the last thing I expected to find on that raid.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“What’s the point of taking it out on a prat who doesn’t remember what he did?” Jason laughs bitterly. “It was evident you didn’t remember me. And I could hardly expect you to.”

Tim’s fingers dig into the bare flesh of Jason’s arm. “Then all of that -”

“At first I just wanted to mess with you a bit. Figured it’d be fun watching you squirm on the short end of the stick for the first time in your life. Thought you were just another selfish, entitled prick. But then no matter what anyone said or did, you were earnest. Determined. Feisty, even.”

“I never realized you thought any of that about me.” Tim hesitantly laces his fingers between Jason’s, fearful of crossing a line that he shouldn’t.

Jason pulls away. “And you were never supposed to. Guess we both have a way of getting under each other’s skin.” 

“...Someone told me you were the one that pulled me out of the water during the storm. Was that why you got Roy to lie for you? You were scared of getting too deep?”

Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, turning his face away from Tim. To Tim’s silent satisfaction, the back of Jason’s ears pinken. “Dick needs to know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I didn’t even say it was Dick.”

“Everyone else is smart enough not to cross me, and we all know he’s got the biggest mouth.” 

“Fine, then it was.” Tim huffs. “But you’re avoiding the question. If you won’t answer then I’m going to assume I’m right.”

“...Do what you want.”

Tim ignores the scowl in Jason’s voice and scoots closer. Jason doesn’t move away, and Tim takes it as a sign of encouragement.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t forget, Jason. I tried to find you at the Dent estate, see if I could at least apologize. But you were long gone, and I didn’t even know your name. And how was I supposed to know it was you?” Tim nudges Jason in the side. “You were all skin and bones then, and now you’re much more, well-“

“Dashingly handsome?” A teasing smile flits across Jason’s face.

“I was about to say imposing, but I suppose that will do. That aside, I never forgot, Jason. I swear.”

With a deep sigh, Jason reaches out and hesitantly tangles his fingers with Tim’s. “When did you realize?”

“Only recently.” Tim swallows down his pride. “I dreamed of you.”

“What?” Jason stares at him. Slowly, a dry smile twists over his lips. “I suppose I should be honoured.”

“Shut up, Jason. But I suppose fate works in strange ways, bringing us together like this.”

“Fate had nothing to do with it.”

“But if your dad hadn’t been fired, maybe you…”

“I wouldn’t have turned to piracy?” Jason scoffs. “You give yourself too much credit. Dent would’ve fired my old man sooner or later with how often he was piss-ass drunk on the job. Miracle he lasted that long in hindsight, to be honest. He was always a shitty groundskeeper.”

“But you’re still angry about it, aren’t you?” Tim pushes himself up into a half sitting position. “I think I would still be, if I were in your shoes.”

“Being treated as some spoiled scion’s whipping boy? Of course I was pissed about it. But look.” Jason sits up. Much to Tim’s panic, Jason pulls his shirt over his head.

“Jason -”

“Shut up and take a good look.” Jason turns around, dropping the shirt into a pooled heap on the floor. A little gasp falls from Tim’s lips at the mess of scarred lashings on Jason’s back.

Torso twisting, Jason locks eyes with Tim, his posture defiant and unashamed. “After my old man finally kicked it, I fled England to seek my fortunes elsewhere. The first of these were from when the captain found out he had a stowaway. I had to earn my keep to avoid being dropped off at the nearest port, but he didn’t waste the chance to make an example out of me either.”

“These were all from that time?” The thought of a young Jason weathering the vivid lacerations makes Tim shudder. 

“That would’ve been nice, but no. Some captains think running a tight ship means punishing sailors that are even slightly out of line.” Jason shrugs, scar tissue pulling taut with the motion. “Had plenty of those over the years, as you can see.”

“You do seem like you’ve always had issues with authority.”

“You don’t say.” Jason cracks a dry smile, and Tim’s traitorous heart skips a beat. “What I’m trying to say is that the beating might have been undeserved, but Dent’s men can’t hit even half as hard as the cat o’nine. I’ve endured worse for less.” 

Tim hugs his knees to his chest, gaze cast downwards. “It doesn’t make it right though.”

“Right?” Jason gapes, then releases an incredulous laugh. “Right.” He presses his palm over his face. “You don’t even realize how strange you sound.”

“How is it strange? I wronged you back then. You deserve to be mad-”

“Is this a thing all rich kids do, go on and on about ‘deserving’ things and having the ‘right’ to something or another? I swear, sometimes you sound almost like Dick.” He jabs a finger into Tim’s sternum. “Listen. It happened. Life goes on. And hell, If anyone should be apologizing, it should be....” Jason trails off.

Slack jawed, Tim takes several seconds to remember how to speak. Jason scowls and looks away, embarrassed by Tim’s loss of composure.

“You’re going to let a fly in,” Jason grumbles at last.

“I never thought I’d hear you almost acknowledge it.”

“What the hell do you take me for? I know what I am. I admit I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I wouldn’t deny them either.” Jason covers his eyes with the back of his hand. “Forget it. If you think the worst of me, you’re better off that way. I kept you from getting your closure, after all.”

“About that…” Tim swallows thickly. He drags his knees towards his chest, leaning against the crates. Jason shifts to face him as if sensing the shift in the air. Though Jason says nothing, Tim feels something stir inside him, knowing that he’s the center of Jason’s attention. 

“You were wrong, Jason. I found my father. He was in Fort Liberte all along. Just what I wanted this whole time, right? But he was with another woman. I couldn’t even confront him.” Tim buries his head into his knees. “Rose was right. I am a coward. I couldn’t even speak to him. I couldn’t even ask him what happened to my mother. And I don’t know if I want to, either. I’m scared of what he’ll say. Maybe I was better off not knowing. I should’ve just stayed in London.”

“No.” Jason shoves himself up onto his knees, the floorboards protesting against his weight. The ship heaves with the waves and Jason re-angles himself, pressing a steady hand on Tim’s arm. “You came out here, all this way, with a purpose, to hell with whatever anyone told you otherwise. You found your goal. Where the hell did all your stubbornness go? You have a duty to see it through!”

Tim pulls back, startled by Jason’s outburst. “I, I-” he searches Jason’s face for any hint of deception. All he sees is his own uncertainty reflected in Jason’s piercing eyes.

“If you don’t see your old man, you’ll regret it. So what if he has a new woman on the side? So what if he forgot about you? So what if he never gave two shits about you? It’s your chance to stick it to him, to remind him what he left behind.”

“I...What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then you tell him you didn’t cross the Atlantic and get kidnapped by a bastard pirate to be turned away like that.”

A choked laugh slips from Tim’s mouth. A pleased smile lights up Jason’s face. “See? Surely saying that can’t be difficult after all the shit I’ve put you through.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle as he discreetly wipes the moisture from his eyes. “That was...surprisingly good advice. Where’d you pick it up from?”

Jason’s smile fades. He turns his gaze upwards with a sigh. “Take it from someone who did the exact same thing as you. I sailed to Ethiopia to look for my birth mother. And I did find her. Except that things didn’t go so well as I’d hoped.”

Tim’s heart squeezes  in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was something I had to do. Just like how it is for you, right now.” Jason heaves out a gruff breath.

Tim remains quiet for a moment, watching the crates shift with the roll of the ship within their confines. “What if the worst happens?”

“Tim.” Jason squeezes his arm to steady him. “If it’s the case, then at least you’ll know.” Jason pauses. “At the very least, your old man probably won’t leave you to die at the hands of a madman."

“Huh?”

 Jason grimaces. “I’m just saying. Regardless, your friends there wouldn’t let that happen to you. And, well, if you really had nowhere to go, I guess we could use a new navigator.”

Tim gapes. “...Did you just ask me to join your crew?”

“I’m just saying the position is unofficially open, okay?” Jason scratches the back of his neck, his scowl doing nothing to hide his reddening ears. “Kori’s been doing a good job of it, but it’s cutting into her actual boatswain duties.”

Tim swallows, absurdly touched. “I...I can’t.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

Jason’s silence spans eternity and a mile. “I know.”

“Drake Industries employs thousands of people. That’s thousands of livelihoods and families relying on me. I’ve already neglected them for too long.” He glances sideways at Jason. “I know I said I’d be yours, but I don’t intend on leaving my people to fend for themselves forever either.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “You’re more ambitious than you let on, you know that?”

“It’s in the blood.” Tim chances a wry smile. “I’ll get what I want sooner or later. I’m wagering you’ll get sick of me at some point and unload me at the nearest port.”

Jason snorts, but his eyes shine with amusement. “We’ll see.” They slip into a quiet sort of camaraderie, at ease with the roll of the ship and the groan of the crates. 

Jason pulls his shirt back over his head, and Tim sneaks another sideways glance before the loose cotton slips over Jason’s rough musculature. Settling against the wall, Jason slings his arm over his knee as he sits adjacent to Tim. Jason’s mind seems to be wandering elsewhere, his eyes focusing somewhere behind Tim, perhaps beyond the ship and across the seas. 

Tim wonders what he would look like, sailing under Jason’s colours. The thought comes easier than he would like. He thinks about what it’d be like to travel under the never ending expanse of horizon not as Jason’s prisoner but as a companion. They would share both hardships and good fortunes alike. Tim would no longer be burdened by the looming shadow of his family. Ironically he would be freed by someone whom he should still consider his foe.

He voices none of those thoughts.

“I forgive you, you know,” Tim says instead. Jason stiffens, clearly unsettled by the non-sequitur.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m still pissed. But I’m also tired of trying to stay angry with you all the time.” Tim twists to face him properly, and this time it’s Tim’s own steady gaze reflected in Jason’s bewildered blues. “And I forgive you. The kidnapping, the taunting, the harassment, all of it.”

“You should save your forgiveness for someone who actually deserves it,” Jason retorts, a brittle edge hardening his voice. “I don’t need it nor want it.”

“That’s for me to decide, not you.”

“You don’t get it,” Jason all but snarls, his gaze stormy and frantic. 

“Then help me get it.” Tim touches Jason’s bare wrist; Jason rips his arm away as if he’s been burned. “It’s my choice. Perhaps it’s a foreign concept to you, but I’m not someone who can hold grudges for this long. Regardless, it’s not something for you to decide.”

“Christ.” Jason twists away. “Guess your stubborn streak’s back.”

“You have yourself to thank for that.”

Jason just shakes his head in silent dismay, his tongue uncharacteristically still. When he finally summons the effort to speak, his voice is rough and strained. “I know what I’ve done to you doesn’t warrant forgiving. But I’m trying to make things right in my own way.” He exhales deeply, breath fanning across Tim’s hand. “So...hold off on that forgiveness, is what I’m trying to say.”

“What’ll you offer for me to do that?”

Jason scoffs disbelievingly. “Ever the businessman, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, I may have picked up a few things from you.”

The corners of Jason’s eyes crinkle, as if relieved by the return of their banter. “Then...what if I promise you many more whales coming this way?”

“An audacious promise. Consider it done.”

Jason’s smile grows even warmer as he and Tim fall silent again. Tim dares to shift a little closer until their shoulders are just touching. Jason doesn’t pull away. They strain their ears for the telltale cries of the whales. The whale calls had drifted in and out during the length of Tim and Jason’s conversation, but past the creaks and strains of the Sheila Haywood gliding towards her destination, Tim can still faintly make them out. His heart seems lighter than it has since the start of his journey, like a weight around his throat had loosened just enough for him to breathe.

Tim feels himself drifting. The tension in his muscles slackens as the waves rock him in time to the ship settling into its usual rhythm. The whales sound closer to the ship now, their calls mingling together as his eyes begin to close. 

He hadn’t realized he’d been...this….tired… 

Tim tries to crack his eyes open. He sees Jason’s faint outline moving to get up, dimly hears the irregular creak of the wood groaning under Jason’s weight.

“I got you,” Jason murmurs, and the words sound as if Jason is miles away. Something warm and heavy is draped over Tim, comforting in its heft. Then he’s picked up as if he weighs nothing.

Jason moves. Tim lets his head drop against Jason’s shoulder, too bleary to rouse himself fully. 

“Jason, is that you? I need - oh!”

“Shh, you’ll wake him. Help me out with the doors Kori, he’s gotten heavier.”

“Sorry.” A hand brushes over Tim’s hair. He grumbles in complaint, turning his face into the crook of Jason’s neck. “Shouldn’t we wake him? We need to get ready.”

“Let him rest. He’ll need it.”

Jason carries Tim throughout the ship, and eventually deposits him on a bed. Tim curls up against the soft sheets, but remains unwilling to let go of the fabric covering him. Jason attempts to extricate it from his hands, then gives up with an exasperated sigh.

“He’s drooling on your coat, you know. It’s rather cute.”

A sigh. “I’ll take care of it later. Round up the others, tell them to get ready.” 

“Of course. Take care of him.” Kori’s footsteps fade away. Jason attempts to pull away, then stops when his sleeve is tugged.

“Don’t go,” Tim mumbles, his fingers curling into the cotton. He has so many questions left to ask, but his eyes just won’t open .

He senses Jason considering his plea. Jason’s calloused hands brush Tim’s fingers as he extricates himself with a gentleness that makes Tim’s chest hurt.

Tim whines plaintively as Jason’s hand brushes through his hair. The same hand dips lower to cup Tim’s cheek. A thumb swipes away the bit of drool collecting at the corner of Tim’s mouth, and Tim is all but helpless to lean into the warm palm.

“Stay,” Tim whispers again, his voice rough with sleep.

Jason’s thumb lingers against his bottom lip. Tim’s lips remain parted, but all too soon Jason pulls away.

“Good night, love.”

Chapter Text

“Sleepyhead! Wake up!” A rough hand shakes Tim awake. “Look alive, ya little shrimp!”

Tim jerks up, scanning his surroundings in alarm. He realizes that he’s in Jason’s quarters, still wrapped in the crimson coat. A part of him relaxes. Harper stands with arms akimbo, looking none too pleased to be in the same vicinity as him.

“Guess you did have some spine in you after all.” Harper clicks her tongue. “Seems like your little chat went well. Pity.”

“Better than well. We’re planning a honeymoon,” grunts Tim. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches out the cricks in his neck. “Hope you didn’t need those cigarettes, Harper.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me, Steph traded me her pack since she doesn’t smoke.” Harper snorts. “Can’t believe I drew the short straw in waking you up, I’m not your damn nanny. Wake yourself up next time!”

“If it’s any consolation, you’d make a terrible nanny.” Tim wipes his mouth, self conscious of the drool lingering on the corner of his mouth. “How long was I asleep?”

“Hell if I know, we were working our asses off after you left the men’s quarters. We’ve already dropped anchor near Bridgetown.”

“What about the Spoiler?”

“Docking in port. Roy managed to fix up the ol’ Jack flag for her so she can lay low. I forget how good he is with a needle sometimes. Get to the mess hall and find some food for your stomach, pretty sure Bart’s gonna eat everyone’s share.”

“Bold of you to assume he hasn’t already,” Tim says mildly. He hurries out of bed, doing his best to flatten his hair where he can feel it sticking out in odd directions. Feeling generous, he folds Jason’s coat and leaves it on the bed for Jason to find later.  “And Harper? Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Turns out I did need someone to goad me into talking to Jason. So thanks for being that person, I guess.”

“Tch! Think I liked it better when you were a stick in the mud.” Harper waves him off. “Hearing you thank me is creepy.”

“I’ll be sure never to do it again.” Tim shakes his head as he hurries above decks. He pushes the hatch open and the sunrise immediately blinds him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Tim hauls himself upright and lets his eyes adjust. The wind ruffles his hair as he looks out towards the beckoning green of Barbados that lingers just a short swim away. It’s beautiful.

He finds the water barrel and splashes his face, shocking the last vestiges of sleep from his skin. Rivulets stream over his cheekbones and drip down the angle of his chin. The deck around him bustles with activity, sailors making last minute preparations to disembark. A few sneak covert glances at Tim as they pass, but he pays them no mind. So what if they saw him leaving Jason’s quarters? That would teach them to bet against him. Drying his face with the fabric of his shirt, he hurries to the mess hall.

He gets another unappetizing bowl of gruel with wafers, but he doesn’t complain. As he forces himself to swallow, someone slides into the seat across from him.

“I take it your little chat went well?” Dick grins at him. “Stephanie’s cleaning latrines right now, if you’re wondering where she is.”

“It never ceases to amaze me how fast word gets around on a ship.”

“Only thing faster is a fire,” hums Dick. “But one look at your face and anyone would know. Not Jason’s, though,” he adds as an afterthought. “He actually looked grumpier. What did the two of you talk about?”

Tim pauses, forcing himself to swallow the bland gruel. “It was a good talk. He was...weirdly encouraging? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“About what?”

“Well...about everything.” Tim leans in conspiratorially, keeping his voice low. “He asked me to join his crew.”

Dick doesn’t blink. “And how did you respond?”

“I turned him down.” Tim fidgets with the rock hard wafer as he waits for it to dissolve in the gruel. “It’s funny, I didn’t want to be his prisoner, and I didn’t like it when he called me loot, either. Yet being crew...it scares me. Like that’s something I can’t come back from. It’s silly, isn’t it?”

“I know what you mean.” Dick steeples his hands. “I had the same chance as you, you know. To become a crewmate.”

“You’re classified as loot, right? I heard about that.” Tim looks up. “Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Dick sighs. “I had my own reasons, but for the most part they’re the same as yours.” His gaze redirects to the ceiling. “I don’t intend on staying on this ship forever. I owe Jason a lot and I worry about him, but I don’t intend to be a criminal forever.”

“Do you plan on serving under a different captain?”

Dick barks out a laugh. “Definitely not. I just want to go home. I’m no stranger to travelling, but the land is where I belong. Being at sea for the rest of my life won’t be in the cards if I can help it.”

“Home, huh?” Tim considers that for a moment. “By any chance, would that be Ethiopia?”

The color leaves Dick’s face, his knuckles whitening. He leans across the table. “How on earth did you get that idea?”

“Jason mentioned he went looking for his birth mom there, I just assumed…” Tim raises his hands up apologetically. 

“He told you about Ethiopia?” Dick has never looked so flabbergasted before. “Voluntarily?”

“I—Yes, he did. What of it?”

Dick twists in his seat, scanning the room. The people around them continue eating, no one paying the two of them any attention. Dick ducks his head down, leaning towards Tim. “All right, first things first. Did he mention at all why he was so fixated with you? No offense.”

“No.” Tim can’t help the tinge of red permeating his cheeks. “Look, I feel like maybe he just...actually does want me around? I know it sounds stupid when I put it that way, but that was the impression I got yesterday.”

“Ok, alright.” Dick pinches his nose. “That’s fine, he’s a tough nut to crack even on his good days.”

A flare of irritation surges through Tim. “Maybe not everything he does has to have an ulterior motive, Dick. I thought you said you were his brother.”

Dick raises his arms placatingly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to paint Jason in a bad light, or to say that you’re not wanted around, I just...I’m worried for the two of you.”

“It’s fine.” Tim finishes off the last of the gruel and sets the bowl aside. “Given everything that’s happened, I suppose I can’t blame you. What were you going to say?”

Dick sneaks another furtive glance around their surroundings. “Let’s just say I’ve never known him to bring up Ethiopia of his own volition. What exactly did he tell you?”

“That was it, really. Mentioned looking for his mother there and that it didn’t go well. He’s never been particularly forthcoming on details with me.”

Dick shakes his head. “This isn’t the place to discuss this. Come with me.” He pushes himself up from the table. Leaving the empty bowl behind, Tim follows him.

They head for the ship’s galley, and Tim notes how surprisingly empty it is, though the odors of cooking oil persist in the stale air. Dick pushes the door shut behind them.

“Do we have time for this?” Tim nudges a sack of carrots to the side with his foot. “I thought we were on a tight schedule.”

“Just have to make time, is all.” Dick shakes his head. “So, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he’s essentially told you nothing about himself because he’s an asshole. Is that about right?”

“Correct on all counts.”

“Everything I tell you about Ethiopia is to never leave this room, you understand? Even I wasn’t privy to the full details of what happened. As far as I know, Roy ‘n I are the only ones who know about that period of Jason’s life, and possibly Kori.”

“Got it.”

“Ok.” Dick rubs the bridge of his nose. “Where do I even start? For you to understand the full picture, I have to go back to when we were kids. I told you the two of us are adoptive brothers, right? Well, if you think it’s a rocky relationship now, it was even rockier at the start. I hadn’t expected nor wanted a little brother when he first showed up on our doorstep. To put it bluntly, we butted heads a lot. Looking back on it now, I should’ve made him feel more welcome, acted like the older brother I was supposed to be. But I suppose that’s the curse of hindsight, isn’t it? Wisdom and regret go hand in hand.

“Things got better as we became older, but that rift would come to define our relationship more than either of us ever expected it to.” Dick shakes his head. “Our adoptive father had significant influence in politics in our community, and I was intending to succeed him. Jason wasn’t exactly interested in going that route, but as the second adoptive son, he felt as though we were pushing him out, so to speak. That he wasn’t wanted. Our father and I didn’t realize he felt that way. Still, he found a way to succeed in his own right.”

The pieces click into place for Tim. “He became a privateer.”

“That’s right.” Dick folds his arms. “He already had some seafaring experience, so to him it seemed like a good fit. We tried to dissuade him, saying that there were other less dangerous paths he could take, but the more we protested the more determined he became. And when he was old enough to strike out on his own, he put together a ship and crew and left the second he received his letters of marque. And he met, no, exceeded all expectations.

“He enjoyed a lot of success as his reputation built up, but all good things come to an end one way or another. And one day, he set out to find his birth mother.”

“Ethiopia.”

“Indeed. But that wasn’t the only thing that brought him to that side of the world.” Dick sighs and nudges an innocent burnt pot to the side. “How much do you know about the Joker?”

A chill runs down Tim’s spine, and suddenly he thinks he knows how the story will end. Who hadn’t heard of the Joker? He was a figure that was almost more myth than history, an old wives’ tale for mothers to put the fear of god into their children. But Tim knew he was very much real. “My company lost a lot of good ships and good men to that pirate. He always sacked the most critical routes no matter how many escorts we sent. But one day, he just...disappeared. I never thought to ask why.”

“Right.” Dick folds his arms. His weary expression deepens the exhaustion rimming his eyes. “Jason was hunting the Joker, under orders from the Crown. He pursued the Joker ‘round the Horn of Africa and all the way to the Bab al-Mandab strait.

“This is where the story gets murky. I don’t know exactly what happened there, but from what I pieced together Jason disembarked abruptly. I assumed it was to pursue the Joker after sinking his ship in a skirmish. Regardless of his reasons, Jason made his way across Djibouti and into Ethiopia. He then headed to a little village called Magdala, and reunited with his birth mother who was working there as a missionary.”

“In the middle of his pursuit?” Tim fidgets. Dread churns his stomach.

“Like I said, I’m not sure of the specifics. This was long before I cast my lot with him. In any case, it was a trap. Sheila—his mother—betrayed him.” Dick’s knuckles clench with fury. “Left him for the Joker to inflict whatever pain he so pleased.”

At the very least, your old man probably won’t leave you to die at the hands of a madman.

Bile rises in Tim’s throat. “So then what happened? Obviously Jason survived, so did he kill the Joker?”

“The Joker gave him the slip after leaving him for dead, but this didn’t deter Jason. Eventually, he caught up with the Joker off the Cape of Good Hope. At this point the Joker was now aboard a different vessel. The Joker taunted him, and I shudder to imagine the things he said. But Jason sacked the ship a second time. Jason burned it into the sea and clapped the bastard in irons, then he hauled the Joker home to stand trial for his crimes.”

Tim’s shoulders sag with relief, the tension releasing from his frame. “I suppose I ought to thank him for preventing my family from falling into bankruptcy, then. That’s incredible.”

“Not so fast. Jason returned home, expecting a hero’s welcome. He threw the bastard at our father’s feet, expecting him to hang the man. Instead...” Dick rubs his eyes, his mouth a grim line. “Jason was accused of treason.”

“What?”

“The Joker had been issued a pardon. I don’t know how he got it, or where, or whether it was even real. But what was definitely real was that the sloop the Joker was on was an English vessel. And so Jason had defied his letters of marque by attacking one of Her Majesty’s ships.”

“Oh my god.”

“As you might imagine, our father wasn’t what you could call a neutral party. His advisors told him to stay out of it, as interfering would only complicate matters, and that Jason would have a better chance at clemency if it was an impartial trial. And so...he stood to the side, trusting that the law would be enough to save Jason. But it wasn’t. Shortly afterwards, a written statement from Jason was released.”

“Jason confessed in order to protect his crew from his crimes.”

“And the rest is history.” Dick’s raw voice shakes with palpable grief. “You know what the worst part was? I should have done more for Jason. I couldn’t protect him when it counted. And that’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.”

“But what happened to the Joker?”

“Our father didn’t sleep or eat for weeks on end, obsessing over the pardon that the Joker claimed he had received, but he couldn’t find fault with it. He had no choice but to let the Joker go.”

“That’s madness!”

“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of that bastard since then. Maybe he’s off on some forgotten island enjoying whatever plunder he stole over the years. Maybe someone else slit his throat. Maybe he’s wreaking havoc in a different part of the world. Or maybe he sank into the depths, never to be seen again. Whatever the case, I just hope he’s dead,” said Dick miserably. “So that no one ever, ever gets hurt by that pirate again.”

Tim’s heart twists into knots. “I never realized.” He looks down at his shoes, the puzzle complete at long last. “I knew he had a difficult past, but that’s...that’s awful.”

“Swear to me you’ll repeat none of this to anyone.” Dick grips his shoulder. “All of what I told you today, swear you’ll never tell a soul. And especially not Jason.”

“I swear.”

Dick exhales sharply, the stress evaporating from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I had one last question. You said you couldn’t protect Jason, so how did you end up on this ship?”

Dick gestures around them. “Can you really call this protecting him? Back then, all I did was the bare minimum. Before Jason was about to be executed, I gave him the keys to his cell. But years later someone put two and two together, and then it was my turn to be investigated. I suppose it stands to reason that I was their prime suspect. So I fled, and here we are now.”

Tim struggles to come to grips with the extraordinary tale Dick had just told him. His head throbs. “I cannot believe I wound up on such a complicated ship.”

Dick cracks a small smile. “That makes the two of us.” He pushes away from the wall to redistribute his weight with the roll of the waves. “You head out first, Jason’s likely looking for you. If anyone asks, you were helping me put away the food.”

Tim nods, turning towards the door. His hands wrap around the door handle, the metal cool to the touch. He looks back. “Dick? Thank you for trusting me with the truth.”

“Just...don’t hurt him, Tim. At least, no more than he deserves.” 

Tim swallows and hurries out. The galley door swings shut behind him, and Tim makes his way towards the quarterdeck at a brisk pace.

“Tim!” Roy waves at him from the deck. “Where the heck were you? I need you to try these on!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim takes the stairs two at a time. Reaching Roy at the landing, Tim sees him shaking out a set of clothes that are heavily creased. “What are those?”

“Your clothes have seen better days, I’m afraid.” Roy tosses him a set of breeches and a clean shirt. “Try them out, though they may be a bit big.”

“Whose are these?” Tim strips quickly, tugging the shirt on as it billows out in the wind. “Pretty sure these aren’t Bart’s.” The cotton is soft on his skin, and Tim tugs the collar outwards to arrange it properly. He stuffs the hem of his shirt into the breeches. The shirt fits well enough, but the breeches are a touch too long and loose.

“Used to be mine.” Jason’s voice drifts towards them from behind. Turning around, Tim swallows as Jason stalks up the stairs towards them. “Looks like you’ve got a few more years before you start filling out my old clothes. Luckily we didn’t use them as rags.”

Roy fusses over the breeches with an expert eye. “We don’t have time to alter right now. You can stuff the bottom hem into your boots, but we’ll have to get a belt for you.”

“No need. I’ve got one.” Jason waves Tim over.

Tim walks over, Jason waiting two rungs below deck level. Tim’s pulse spikes when he sees what Jason is carrying. The belt he had lost to Jason in their first game of poker glints in the sunlight, the polished leather shining even in Jason’s loose grip.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see that thing again,” Tim admits, his mouth dry as he stops before Jason. He moves to take the belt from Jason, but Jason’s hands pull back.

“Neither did I.” The belt wraps around Tim’s waist from behind. Jason gently tugs, drawing Tim almost flush to him. All protests die in Tim’s throat under Jason’s heady gaze. Two rungs higher than him, Tim stands eye to eye with Jason for the first time. Tim’s breath catches in his throat as Jason slides the leather through the trouser loops with a care that makes Tim’s knees weak.

“...I don’t want it.”

“No?” Jason glances up, meeting Tim’s gaze with a frightening calmness even as his fingers find the trouser loops with clever dexterity. “Thought you’d be happy about getting your personal effects back.”

“You won it,” Tim keeps his gaze affixed to the horizon, horribly self conscious as Jason slides the leather through the tongue buckle. “The belt’s still yours, Jason.”

Jason’s hands pause for the briefest moment. Suddenly the leather cinches tight; Tim jerks underneath Jason’s warm fingers. “It was a rigged game. Keep it,” Jason murmurs. After securing the belt, Jason steps back to admire his handiwork.

A pointed cough interrupts them, reminding them that Roy is still there. “No disrespect, but can you guys woo each other after we find Lian?” Roy brandishes a map at them.

“Shut up Roy, we’re all working on it.” Jason climbs the rest of the stairs to see what Roy is pointing to, as if he hadn’t just made Tim forget how to breathe. When Tim finally regains his composure, he stumbles down the stairs in a daze. He almost misses the last step when Jade waylays him, her gaze grim with determination. Her demeanor sobers him as he straightens up to greet her.

“Tim,” Jade offers without delay. She doesn’t wait for a response. “You’ll go with Dick first to scout the docks, understood? Check if the Capricorn is still in the harbor. Kori and Harper will do a first sweep of the auction sites and warehouses, and Stephanie and Roy will look for clues on how they’re transporting the kids. If you see anything unusual, make sure you head for the Spoiler. 

“I understand. What about you?”

“I’ll be watching the garrison from here. It’s risky for me to move before nightfall; it’s possible Lian’s captors may already be expecting me. You all have two hours, then rendezvous at the church. Be discreet. If the garrison gets suspicious about why the Sheila isn’t docked in port, we may need to fly the yellow jack.”

“Which one’s that?”

“Quarantine flag. I’d prefer if we didn't have to, though. It’d get the authorities too worked up if they think they’ve got a pox ship just offshore.

“If we find your daughter, do we still rendezvous at the church?”

“No. Take her back here. The rest will leave via the Spoiler.” Jade looks over the gunwale, eyes trained on Bridgetown’s docks. “But I doubt it will be so easy.”

“You’re right.” Tim follows her gaze, admiring the gorgeous landscape of Bridgetown. Palm trees dot the skyline, their fronds beckoning in the wind over the pure white sands. It’s beautiful.

“She’s here. I just know it.”

“What does she look like? On the off chance we find her.”

Jade’s expression softens, her wild hair curling in the wind. “Lian takes after me. Black hair, black eyes. But her nose, her smile and her willfulness? That’s all Roy’s.”

Tim shifts, rolling up his sleeves as they billow in the wind. “Then if she’s in Bridgetown, she should be easy enough to recognize if we spot her.”

“I hope so.” Jade readjusts the straps of her knives. “I really do.”

The sound of the ladders dropping pulls Tim’s attention away from Harper. He turns back; Dick waves at him from the ratlines where he’s finished furling in the headsail. After tying the halyard, Dick scales down with enviable speed, leaping down the last few feet with grace. He straightens up and approaches them. 

“Tim, you ready? We’re going down first; the rest need to finish the prepwork. We’ll draw unnecessary attention if we move as a pack.”

“Yeah.” Tim steels himself. “Lead the way.” Dick guides him towards the port side where a rowboat already awaits them. Tim swings himself in first, and Dick follows shortly after. Once it stabilizes, Kori and Bart lower Dick and Tim’s rowboat into the water with practiced efficiency, despite only knowing each other for a week. 

Dick’s elbow nudges into Tim’s side. “He’s staring.”

“Who?” Tim looks up, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes. When Tim sweeps the strands back, Jason’s watchful eyes greets them from the quarterdeck, his face as predictably inscrutable as ever. When their eyes meet, Jason twists away. He turns to Roy, presumably to discuss the finer points of their strategy.

“Maybe I got Jason wrong after all.”

“Pardon?” Tim says distractedly. The boat splashes into the water; Dick unhooks the ropes and takes the oars. 

“I assumed the worst, I’ll admit.” Dick shakes his head as he starts to row, cutting through the waves like they’re butter. “But whatever the case, he does care, although he’s got a terrible way of showing it.”

“Tell me about it.” Tim watches Jason and Roy become specks on the Sheila Haywood as Dick rows towards Barbados, the hot sun beating down on them all. When the rowboat crunches against sand, Dick swings out, feet hitting the wet sand with soft squelches. Helping Dick drag the rowboat ashore, Tim grimaces as the stifling heat leaves him sweating with the exertion. They cover the boat with driftwood and seaweed after overturning the boat on the shore. Dick kicks sand over their foot trails before turning to Tim. 

“Shall we?” Dick offers with a wry smile, and he gestures towards the town. Tim nods and falls into step with him. Bridgetown and Lian await them.

It seems like no time at all passes for them to reach Bridgetown’s main square. The roads are well trodden, horses and carriages passing them by without notice. In the distance Tim sees fields of sugarcane and other crops away from the town center. It has a different feel to Fort Liberte, one that Tim has a difficult time putting words to. It feels almost more akin to home when he hears English being spoken on the streets, rather than the mix of various dialects that he had grown accustomed to in Fort Liberte. The signage is in English, and Tim feels a wave of relief as he studies the first sign they come to. The streets have familiar names, and a soft wave of homesickness ripples through Tim.

“The Careenage?” he reads aloud the sign that seems to point towards the harbor.

“The waterfront,” Dick fills in. “You probably saw it on Kori’s map. Careening’s when you overturn the ship on its side for repairs or cleaning. A popular spot to do it, I would imagine.”

Dick and Tim make their way to the docks by way of the unpaved roads. A few people mill about, their numbers slowly growing the closer they get to the sea. The trickle of people becomes a stream, and then the mass of merchants and sailors and townsfolk sweep Dick and Tim up in the currents of their daily life.

They smell the Careenage first before they see it. The wind changes direction; the most offensive and putrid odor Tim has ever smelled engulfs his nostrils. He gags, almost folding over his knees to retch. Dick weathers it better, but his face scrunches in identical disgust.

“What is that?”

Dick grimaces, shoving his nose into the crook of his elbow to block the worst of the smell. “ That is the smell of many ship hulls being cleaned. Pretty much anything that’s in seawater for an extended amount of time is going to smell like that eventually. Which reminds me that we’re also overdue for a careening.”

The Careenage thrums with life, and Tim admires the many flags and sails dotting the skyline while holding his nose. He does his best to stay close to Dick, but the crowd nearly sweeps him away multiple times. Breathing through his mouth, Tim takes in the sights like a man parched for water. Traders and locals alike swarm around them, and Tim wishes they had more time to explore the island.

“This is incredible,” shouts Tim over the throng. He falls a step behind Dick, who cuts a path through the crowd for the two of them. “There was nothing like this in Fort Liberte.”

“Stay close!” calls Dick. “We don’t want to get separated.” He finally pulls Tim to the side beneath a restaurant’s overhang to catch their breath. The dock pulses with an infectious undercurrent of excitement around them.

“Why did we stop? Did you see the Capricorn?” 

“No,” Dick said grimly. “Maybe we can steal the logbook from the harbor master. But we have a bigger worry on our hands. Look at that ship.” He points seawards. 

Tim squints at a ship that’s tethered to the docks a few meters away. A man that’s presumably the harbormaster hails one of the crew members onboard, the two of them engaged in a lively discussion too far away to hear.

“What of it?”

“I’d know that ship anywhere. It’s the Terminator . Deathstroke’s ship. Looks like Rose gave him the slip.”

“Shit.” Tim edges closer to Dick, as if being in proximity to him would ward off Deathstroke from appearing. “Do you think he knows we’re here?”

“Safer to assume he does.” Dick’s fingers clench. “But there’s no good reason to target us, unless he’s after Jason’s bounty. That being said, he’s had every opportunity to do so, and passed on every one. Not sure why anything would have changed.”

Tim shivers. “I don’t know, he seemed pretty vengeful in Tortuga.”

“He’s got a vindictive streak, I’ll grant you that. But I’ve met my fair share of vengeance seekers, and I wouldn’t consider him one.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Deathstroke’s a hireling, he doesn’t do things that he considers unprofitable. And for whatever reason, we’ve been more beneficial to him alive than dead.”

“We were only useful to track Rose,” Tim points out. “I doubt he’d try that a second time.”

“We’re still not worth the hassle unless we provoke him.” Dick sighs and straightens up.  “I guess we’ll find out sooner rather than later. First, the logbook. Then we can deal with Deathstroke. He’ll be less inclined to start an incident here, too many onlookers.”

Tim considers it. “Leave the logbook to me. I’ll speak to the harbormaster, I doubt we need to steal it.”

Dick regards him skeptically. “You think he’s just going to hand it over to you to peek at?”

Tim slicks his hair back as best he can and straightens the creases in his clothes. “Why wouldn’t he?” He pushes his way through the crowd without waiting for a response. He cuts his own swathe through the crowd this time without Dick’s assistance, forcing a path towards the harbormaster. When Tim reaches the man, his labored pants aren’t contrived.

“Excuse me sir! Sir!” Tim puffs his chest out as the man’s attention shifts to him. He rakes an impatient gaze over the man, his tone impertinent and decisive. “I have a matter of importance to discuss with you.” He regards the harbormaster with a coolness Janet would have been proud of. “It’s regarding my ship. I was told there was an issue with the Capricorn leaving two days ago? I can’t have the shipments delayed by even an hour. If there’s even a whiff of trouble my master will have my hide for it.” 

“Ahh, the Capricorn? Let me check.” The harbormaster takes the logbook, beckoning Tim over. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Jackson.” Tim drums his fingers impatiently on his crossed arms. “I hope to go back to my master with good news.”

The harbormaster opens the logbook down its spine, peering through its contents. Tim’s eyes follow the harbormaster’s finger while reading upside down. 

“Seems that it left yesterday. You said there was an issue? Who’s your master?”

“My master is employed by the East India Company. As for the problem, I was told something about fees?” Tim taps his feet with an exaggerated sigh. “Apologies for the rush, it’s been hectic today. Could you verify for me whether the balances are accounted for?”

The harbor master runs a tanned finger down the page. “Let’s see…says the Capricorn has already paid the appropriate harbor fees.” He fixes Tim with a stern eye. “I also have it written down here that the Capricorn is under the charter of a different company.”

“Look, I’m just the middleman,” lies Tim with a silver tongue. “I don’t know what the bosses get up to in the legal weeds. All I know is that on occasion we subcontract from other companies who can spare the cargo space.”

“I see.” The harbormaster hides an annoyed yawn behind his hand, looking suitably bored to tears. “Well, all I can tell you is that everything seems to be in order.”

“Much obliged. Perhaps there was a miscommunication then. My apologies for taking up your time.” Tim tosses a shilling towards him. The coin glints then vanishes into the harbormaster’s palm.

“Not at all, young man. I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you.”

Satisfied, Tim pushes his way back to Dick who’s still waiting underneath the overhang. Dick greets him with a raised brow. 

“That didn’t take long at all.”

“Didn’t need to ask much. The Capricorn left just yesterday morning. First ship out of the bay, I saw it in the logbook. Think the book said the Capricorn belongs to a...Roland Macaulay? Leland Macaulay? McCauley? That guy’s handwriting is terrible.”

“Damn.” Dick huffs. “Then we probably passed the Capricorn when we entered Carlisle Bay.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tim clicks his tongue. “They’re just intermediaries. Once the slaves are sold it’s none of their business. As long as they get paid, what do they care?”

Dick throws him a sideways glance. “I know you said Drake Industries wasn’t a part of the slave trade, but you do seem to know a fair amount.”

“Not the industry specifics.” Tim rakes a hand through his hair. “But business is business. Things have to make sense from the broader picture. And...well, let’s just say the lack of slave labor has always been a point of contention for Drake Industries. Likely always will be.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve lost out on a lot of potential investors due to our business practices. They claim we’re inefficient. Wasteful. That we’re illiquid because of our profit model.” Tim shrugs. “Drake Industries may never grow as big as the East India Company, but we still give them a run for their money as a global contender. We protect our own.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Dick admits. “To me, companies are all the same, just with different labeling. But that means you were coordinating that ever since you were young then. Wasn’t it hard?”

Tim swallows. He looks back towards the glittering sea, the wind tugging at his clothes. “It was. But it was also worth it. And that’s all the more reason I have to go home. Everyone probably thinks I’m dead, Dick. If I die, my stake in the company will be divided between the investors. Everything I’ve worked for until now...it’ll have been for nothing.”

“...I didn’t realize you were carrying so much baggage.” Dick heaves an enormous sigh and turns to face him. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t be.” Tim shields his eyes and looks back towards the sea, the sun beating down on them as it creeps over the awning. “I still have a chance to make things right. My father’s alive. If I get the chance to explain things to him, when he knows what’s at stake, maybe...”

“He’ll return to save Drake Industries?” Dick arches a dubious brow.

“I have to try, if nothing else. I promised Jason I’d be his. But that company is my family’s legacy. I’m not letting it go without a fight.”

“How sweet.” A well-dressed old man emerges from the building. Tim turns in surprise, taking in the sight of the newcomer. The wind tugs at the stranger’s grey ponytail as the man leers at them.

Dick jerks back, teeth bared in a snarl. “Slade.”

“Grayson.” 

“Who?” Tim glances between the two of them.

“Don’t recognize me, boy?” Slade’s single eye swivels its razor-sharp gaze onto Tim.

Tim squints. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t met any well-dressed older gentlemen in the last few months. Yet the man’s striking build, the guns and the sword at his hip, the guttural voice…. “Deathstroke?”

Slade smirks. “Took you long enough.”

“I...I somehow thought you would be younger under the mask.” Tim edges away from him.

Slade snorts. “I’ll take that as a compliment, boy.”

“Why’re you here, Slade?” Dick pulls Tim behind him, putting himself between him and Deathstroke. “Rose and Joey give you the slip again?”

Deathstroke’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “None of your business. Move along, I don’t have a quarrel with either of you. Yet.”

“You’re overdue for a reckoning, Slade.” Dick steps into his space, chest to chest with him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did all those years ago. I know you were the one that sent in the tip claiming I was the one who helped Jason escape back then. Funny how an investigation that was closed for years reopens the day after you step foot on shore, don’t you think?”

“Curious indeed,” drawls Slade. “Unfortunately, you have no proof. But I have a bit of news for you, from when I was last there. That redhead fiance of yours, I heard she was about to be engaged to someone else soon. My condolences.”

Dick looks as if Slade had punched the air from his stomach. “ Babs? I...she wouldn’t...”

“Tough luck, Grayson. It gets better, take it from someone who’s been around longer than you.”

Fearing that Dick might launch himself at Slade, Tim grabs Dick’s upper arm. “So what, you just showed up in Bridgetown to taunt him?” 

“Hardly. I have business in these parts. Although, one would wonder what would happen if I told the authorities you were here...” Slade’s head tilts towards the harbormaster as if considering. “It’s a good thing I like you, Grayson.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual. You took away everything I loved.”

“Should have covered your tracks better. Could’ve been much worse. At least your brother didn’t hate you enough to not go back for you in your eleventh hour.” Slade shrugs carelessly. “It wasn’t personal, if that’s any comfort.”

“No.” Dick’s blue eyes ignite with poorly suppressed rage. “It never is with you, is it? It’s always about the coin. What did my indictment buy you, Slade? Who wanted me off the board?”

“I don’t talk about clients, new or old. It’s unprofessional. You knew you’d get caught in the crossfire if you followed in your father’s footsteps, considering he’s had a political target on his back for years now. It’s not becoming when you ask stupid questions even with a face like yours. Now, if you don’t mind, I have places to be. Don’t get in my way, and we’ll get along just fine, hm?” Slade’s good eye bores into them.

“Don’t get in ours either, Slade,” Dick growls, the cords in his neck growing visibly taut. “You’re long overdue for an ass kicking.” Tim pulls on Dick’s arm to rein him back.

“Dick!” he hissed. “Low profile, remember?” Tim tries to ignore how Slade’s canines gleam when his mouth curves into a hunter’s smile.

“A pleasure, gentlemen.” Slade nods his head towards them in faux civility. He steps into the bustling Careenage. The crowd whisks Slade away in its undercurrents, leaving no trace of him behind.

Dick’s jaw tightens. “I’m going to kill that asshole.”

“Leave it,” Tim pleads. “We need to let the rest of the crew know that he’s here. Let’s head to the church first.”

For a moment Tim thinks that Dick will ignore him, but Dick’s fists slowly unclench as he takes several steadying breaths through his nose.

“You’re right,” Dick says at last. Relieved, Tim loosens his grip on Dick’s arm. Together, they weave their way through the crowd towards the telltale steeples of the church. 

Stephanie and Roy are already waiting by the well-kept church when Dick and Tim push their way out of the Careenage, their blond and fiery red hair visible a full block away. Roy waves as they approach, but his nerves are visible in his agitated pacing. 

“Find anything?” Dick calls when they’re within earshot. 

Stephanie shakes her head. “No sign. Nothing out of the ordinary that we noticed. You’d think a slave ship full of unusual kids would draw more attention. How ‘bout you guys, did you find anything?”

“No good news, I’m afraid. The Capricorn left the harbor yesterday, and Deathstroke’s in town. To top it all off, he knows we’re here too.” Tim watches as Stephanie and Roy’s expressions fall.

“Shit.” Roy stops mid-pace. “You don’t think Lian’s still on board, do you? Maybe Bridgetown was just the Capricorn’s first port of call. Should we send the Spoiler to pursue?”

Tim considers the notion. “We could, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up when Deathstroke knows we’re here. Let’s wait and see if Harper and Kori found anything first. Jade said Deathstroke’s a potential lead. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Drake’s right, as much as I hate to admit it.” Harper’s voice sounds behind him. Turning around, Tim’s glad to see Kori and Harper flanking Jason. “We found something alright. Good chance that your little girl’s still on the island somewhere, Roy.”

“Thank god.” Roy sighs in relief, the tremor in his fingers fading. “I was afraid the trail was growing cold.”

“Don’t give up yet. Kori and I saw that Deathstroke asshole enter a warehouse. We couldn’t get close because it was guarded, but we overheard some of the guards talking among themselves. Buncha fresh young slaves were moved last night in the wee hours. Apparently they were acting strange.” Harper spits on the ground. “You’d think someone would actually stop and ask what’s up, ya know?”

Jason shrugs. “They’re not paid to think, Harper, that’s the beauty of it. Or the ugliness of it, depending on your point of view.”

“Well, Drake’s here to think.” Harper crosses her arms. “There’s a good chance the kids are here, but we still don’t know their location. Short of interrogating the guards, we’re still at a dead end. Time to use that head of yours if you’re not already.”

“The guards won’t know anything substantial.” Tim worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “At least, nothing worth the risk of alerting the garrison that we’re here.” He glances up. “No chance of knowing what Deathstroke was doing in that warehouse, I’m guessing?”

“We couldn’t tell.” Kori runs a frustrated hand through her wild curls. “But whatever was in that warehouse is important. None of the other warehouses had that much security.”

“Strange.” Tim scratches his chin, his expression perplexed. 

“Why?” Dick crosses his arms. “He did say he had business here, although I don’t think he’d ordinarily be interested in cargo.”

“He wasn’t dressed to fight,” Tim mutters. “He was practically dressed to the nines, like he’s going to be attending a show. Someone give me a map.”

Kori shakes out her map and offers it to him. Unfolding it, Tim scans over the inked sketch of Bridgetown. “Let’s see...Careenage is out, the warehouses...still a slim possibility.” Tim bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. Deathstroke has something important going on in Bridgetown, if his bespoke suit is any indication. Yet what could possibly require the attendance of an ex-naval officer? What sort of environment or demand could divert Deathstroke from his pursuit of the Ravager? 

Or perhaps...it hadn’t. The more Tim ruminates on it, the more likely the hypothesis seems. After scouring the map, Tim decisively rolls the parchment up.

“I think I have an idea. Jason, how much loot do you have back on the ship that you’re willing to part with?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need one of you to go back to the ship and get as much of it as you can carry. Then pawn it all. You won’t get a good deal, but it’s the best we can do on short notice. Just try not to attract too much attention.”

“Why the hell do we need the money—”

“When you’re done doing that, rent a horse-drawn carriage. A nice one.” Tim shrugs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I think that two people should keep an eye on the warehouse Slade came from. See if you can find out who or what they’re keeping in there.”

“You think Lian is in that warehouse?” Dick crosses his arms dubiously. 

“No. But I’d be willing to bet decent money there’s an incapacitated Ravager in there.” Tim hands the map back to Kori. “If I’m right, they might relocate her too. Follow them if that’s the case. I’ve got a hunch Lian’s probably on one of the plantation estates on the edge of town.”

“But there are so many of those!” Kori protests. “I fear we cannot check them all.”

“Stephanie and I might be able to handle that.” Tim beckons Stephanie over, but her eyes narrow.

“How exactly do you plan on the two of us ‘handling’ it?” 

Tim can’t hide his grin. “You and I are going shopping. And Jason?”

“I’m going to hate what you’re going to say, aren’t I?”

“You’re going to be our valet.”

Chapter Text

“Remind me again why I’m going along with your crazy schemes again?” Stephanie groans as she links hands with Tim. Jason walks a few paces behind them per Tim’s request, but his indignant scowl could curdle milk.

“I’m happy to listen if you have any other ideas.” Tim offers her his most saccharine smile, and Stephanie digs her bony elbow into his ribs for the trouble. “Ow.”

“Stop smirking like that, it’s disgusting. You look like a snake oil peddler.” She tosses her hair. “Which shop are we going to?”

“Ideally? The fanciest one we can find.”

“Wasn’t that the one down the main street?”

“We might have to settle.” He looks over her attire critically, eyes landing on her loose pantaloons. “That shop is probably not going to let us in while you’re wearing those.” 

Stephanie’s elbow stabs him in the liver and he nearly doubles over. “I’ll have you know I look fantastic . But point taken.” 

“I didn’t say you looked bad,” Tim grunts as he clutches his side. He wonders if Stephanie’s elbow was sharp enough to carve glass.

“It was implied. But maybe we can barter up! Aren’t you a businessman? Make some magic, won’t ya?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Harper.” Tim rolls his eyes. “Fine, let’s try your way. Jason?”

“What?” Jason’s irritable growl causes an elderly woman across the street to stop and stare at them. Tim winces. 

“Look, I asked you to do this for a reason. But if you’re going to be grouchy all day then it’s not going to work.”

“Cut the chit chat, Tim.” Stephanie points to another storefront further down the road, its elaborate sign well kept and freshly painted. A carriage outside empties out several well-dressed women who enter the store. “That one looks promising, no?”

“Um, I don’t know—”

“Come off it, don’t be shy!” Before Tim knows it Stephanie drags him forward. “Remember what you told me once? Confidence is what opens doors!”

“I mean, yes, but also—” Tim yelps as Stephanie steers him down the road. “It really helps when you’re not obviously dressed like an outsider!” As the shop comes into view Tim analyzes the two window mannequins with a critical eye. Finely needlepointed lace trim accentuates the first mannequin’s rose pink dress. The other mannequin’s waistcoat complements the dress with polished cuffs and buttons. “This might be even more elaborate than the last one!” he hisses in Stephanie’s ear.

“We’ll wing it, isn’t that what I do best?” Stephanie grins with the force of a thousand suns and Tim remembers how he first fell in love with her all over again. With an exaggerated sigh, Tim relents and allows Stephanie to pull him into the store. Jason follows behind with a pinched expression; Tim doesn’t have the heart to mention that Jason’s already failed step one of being a valet—to open the doors for them.

The inside of the store matches the outside—it’s clean, elegant and tasteful. It’s a good look, and it’s one Tim intends to borrow and improve upon if he makes it back to Drake Industries. Lucius had suggested strengthening the company’s grip on the textiles industry, after all. Fabric bolts line the walls, all dyed a variety of colours. Tim spies some alcoves in the back presumably for tailoring and measuring. 

“You’re right, this place is way too fancy for us,” mutters Stephanie. As if on cue, the shopkeeper pokes his head from one of the alcoves.

“Please wait a minute, I’ll be right there with you! Just getting these women sorted first.”

“We could go,” Stephanie suggests weakly. “Leave while he’s occupied.”

“Nope. We’re doing this.” Tim squeezes her arm. “Don’t forget the story we’re sticking with.”

“I hate you,” she mouths. As they wait, the shopkeeper’s conversation with the girls who had entered first filters into the main room. Tim tries to listen in as best as he can, but he only hears filtered snatches of conversation.

“It’s going to be a delight—”

“The bodice could be a touch higher—”

“—So lucky to get an invitation—”

“—Could you hem the sleeve—”

“—Thank you for accommodating us!”

Stephanie nudges Tim. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispers.

Tim nods. Stephanie links their fingers together as the shopkeeper hurries from the alcove and towards them. 

“How might I help you today?”

Tim’s sugar-sweet smile slips on as if it had never left. “I know it’s terribly short notice, but my fiance is in need of a dress tonight. I’ll need a waistcoat to match it, of course. It’s quite urgent.”

The shopkeeper’s pleasant expression slips. He gives Stephanie a once-over, eyes lingering on her pantaloons which are a touch too long. “It’s unfortunate, but we’re quite booked. I’m not sure we have anything on such short notice.”

“Money isn’t an issue.” Tim slips an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders, making sure the Drake ring on his finger is on prominent display. Stephanie giggles and leans against him. “You’ll have to excuse our current attire. Our ship was delayed so we only arrived in Bridgetown a few hours ago, and I’m afraid we have an important engagement tonight.”

“Yes, yes, the Gardevian Estate—we’ve been booked months in advance because of them.” The shopkeeper pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can do. Have your manservant wait outside.” He dismisses Jason with a harried wave of his hand.

“Please do.” Tim watches the shopkeeper enter the back of the store. Stephanie shakes herself out from under his arm. Without looking back, Tim hears the telltale bang of Jason slamming the door shut behind him.

“What are you doing? We’re supposed to be madly in love with each other,” Tim mutters under his breath to Stephanie.

“Right now there’s no one to pretend in front of. I’ll have you know I’ve got a special someone on my mind, Timmy Drake.” She pinches his underarm.

“Really?” He blinks in surprise and turns to face her. “Who is it? You never breathed a word.”

“I’m not obligated to disclose my multiple lovers to you, now am I?” she crosses her arms and blows a stray hair from her face. “I’ll have you know I’m a very hot commodity.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tim rolls his eyes, but curiosity nips at the heels of his better judgement. “Does he treat you well? I don’t have to beat someone up, do I?”

“As much as I appreciate you suddenly being very interested in protecting my honor, you lost that opportunity years ago.” Stephanie flips her hair out of her face, but the dry smile she offers him wipes the sting from her words. “Also, they would totally beat you in a fight.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, you bet against me all the time. Is it someone on the Sheila? It’s gotta be.” Tim twists around. “Oh my god, please tell me it’s not Dick. Is it Dick? Roy—no, it can’t be. Harper’s brother? ”

“Keep it down!” Stephanie hisses as the shopkeeper reenters. Tim and Stephanie straighten up like two children caught squabbling over a trivial matter. Luckily, the shopkeeper seems too harried to notice.

“Come right in. I’ll have my head seamstress assist you.” The shopkeeper invites them in with a short bow and a wave of his hand.

Tim twists around to chance a glance out the window. Jason’s back is turned to them, muscles visibly taut with irritation through the thin fabric of his shirt. A pang of sympathy washes through Tim. “Have someone assist my valet. I need him outfitted as well.” 

“Very good. I’ll have someone attend to him in a moment. So, you said you just landed? Which port did you sail from?”

“London. The weather was most disagreeable on the way here, so we’re very glad to have made it,” Tim responds as they follow the shopkeeper. Stephanie affects a false laugh and squeezes Tim’s upper arm as he leads her through. 

“We get a lot of folk from there,” responds the shopkeep. “Never been myself, but I daresay I’ll choose Bridgetown over it any day. Never been very fond of the rain and the cold. I suppose I’d like to visit it one day, though.”

“Could you tell us about the Gardevian Estate?” Stephanie tosses her golden hair over her shoulder. “We received an invitation, though we’ve yet to meet our hosts.”

“Oh? That’s quite unusual.” The shopkeeper waves his hand, and a seamstress rushes to assist them. “Those invites are quite difficult to come by. Referral only, as I understand.” 

“Sounds like they’re quite distinguished here,” Tim pries. “I should have expected as much.”

“Oh, yes. Even though it’s only a first generation plantation, it’s one of the largest on the island. I’ve never been myself, but it’s quite a sight even from afar.” He turns to the seamstress. “Take their measurements. We ought to have some attire in the back for them.” He nods at Tim and exits quickly. 

The next several minutes consist of a flurry of seamstresses escorting Tim to a separate partition to take his measurements in private. As they fuss over him, Tim allows his mind to wander. There’s so much of England around him, from the style of the seamstresses’ clothes to the manner of their speech. For the briefest of moments, he pretends that he’s not thousands of kilometers away from home. In the background the seamstresses escort Jason to a different partition, and the remaining seamstresses fuss over Stephanie.

“What color were you thinking?” the head seamstress asks him.

“Purple!” calls Stephanie over the partition. 

Tim hides his wince. “My lady likes to jest,” he says, loud enough for Stephanie to hear. “I was thinking something red? And something matching for me, of course.”

“Of course.” Another seamstress appears with the requested clothes, and Tim vanishes into a flurry of proffered fabric for another solid hour. He keeps an ear out for Stephanie and Jason, worrying that someone would know who they were. 

“You two look so lovely together!” one girl says. “How long have you been courting?”

“We’ve known each other since we were children.” Tim grins, an indignant sputter emanating from Stephanie’s partition. “Our parents gave our blessing long ago, but we just wanted to take it slow.”

“That’s so romantic!” Another person gushes. “How did you propose?”

Tim racks his brain. How did people propose? He doesn’t recall the finer points of how Jack and Janet had entered a marital union, but he suspects the initial agreement had been borne more from practicality than feelings. Stephanie fills in the blanks for him. “He professed his undying love for me when I was fourteen, you know. He gave me a pile of acorns and told me he’d protect me with his life.”

“My word!” The seamstresses giggle harder when Tim’s blush reaches his ears. Was this Stephanie’s revenge for the latrine duty Dick foisted upon her? Ducking his head, Tim tries on a pair of shoes someone offers him. They pinch too much in the toes and he finds the buckles too gaudy for his tastes, but he’s grateful for the distraction.

“You were twelve ,” Tim interjects as he takes the shoes off. “You’re also conveniently omitting that I asked for your father’s permission to propose to you just last year.”

“Oh, yes,” simpers Stephanie with an ominous giggle. “You were so nervous. It was adorable.” Fabric rustles behind Stephanie’s partition. “Sweetie, should I choose taffeta or velvet?”

“I think taffeta would look nice,” Tim grits out through a tight smile.

“I think I shall try the velvet instead.”

“You wound me, my love.” Something loud clatters to the floor in Jason’s corner. Tim twists his head to look, but he can’t see through the partition. 

“Ah, but you’ll always adore me,” Stephanie calls over. The seamstresses titter. Despite Tim and Stephanie’s ribbing, Stephanie’s voice can’t hide her excitement as she’s shown a variety of dresses and hair ornaments. Yet when Jason speaks to the seamstresses, his voice remains snappish, retaining only the minimum amount of decorum. Tim finds himself searching for the appropriate excuses on Jason’s behalf.

“Don’t mind his behaviour,” Tim says when a seamstress scurries away from Jason’s partition in alarm. “He’s had a rough trip. Seasickness, you understand. I beg your pardon if he knocked something over.”

“I was not seasick.”

Tim offers an apologetic smile to the poor girl as she rushes past. By the time the three of them are complete with preparations, the sun hangs low in the sky. Yet their purchases are worth their time and money. Stephanie twirls in the mirror, her hair combed and pinned as she admires her profile.

“I love it,” she announces. She looks stunning in the rich velvet, embroidered flowers adorning the bodice and sleeves. Tim offers her his hand, pulling her towards him as he slips an arm around her shoulders.

“The two of you are gorgeous,” gushes one of the seamstresses. “We get a lot of couples, but the two of you have been a delight to work with.”

“ Quite ,” Jason steps out, voice clipped with bitter self-restraint. His clothes are markedly more dressed down than Tim and Stephanie’s. Jason looks almost the same as before, save for the plain waistcoat Tim had selected for him. Jason fills the waistcoat well, broad shoulders pulling the fabric taut across his back. Despite Jason’s common clothes, he still manages to draw Tim’s eye. Tim forces himself to pay Jason no mind, dismissing him to pay the shopkeeper as he and Stephanie step out the door.

Roy is already waiting outside the shop with a new carriage and horses, and he whistles the moment he sets eyes on them. Tim’s fingers slip away from Stephanie’s as they greet him. 

“Looking good!” Roy calls, surveying their new attire. “The two of you are a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you.”

“Please.” Stephanie blows a stray hair from her eyes in mock disgust. “This cheapskate wouldn’t even let me get the color I wanted.”

Tim blanches. “I thought you were going to give me a heart attack! Indigo products are pricey, you know that. Even if they sold to us at cost we’d end up paying in installments. Besides, that would draw too much attention to us.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you know I’d upstage you.”

“That goes without saying,” Tim allows. “Roy, how did pawning go?”

“We bought the carriage and horses after a little haggling. Got us a bit of a stink eye for our troubles, but I think we came out on top. Whaddya think?” Roy gestures towards their new purchase with an exaggerated wave. Tim scrutinizes the open air carriage. It’s clean and well designed, pulled by two bay chestnut geldings who look lively enough for their purposes. 

“Passable. I was expecting something with a roof and curtains, but it’ll do.”

 Roy sweeps into a sardonic bow. “Surprisingly difficult to cater to your tastes, young master.”

“Don’t call me th—you know what, that’s better than ‘rich kid’ when it comes from you. I’ll take it. Jason’s settling with the shopkeeper. You got any money left over? I doubt he’ll have enough to cover everything.”

“Yeah, we sold almost everything.” Roy tosses him a coin purse, the contents jingling with promise. “Go settle the bill while I load these up.”

Reentering the store, Tim winces when he spots the shopkeeper speaking with the visibly sour Jason. The shopkeeper’s lip curls in distaste as Jason speaks, further fueling Tim’s worries. “Jason,” Tim calls. “Stephanie requires your attention outside. I’ll handle the rest from here.”

Jason glares before stomping out, not even sparing Tim a nod as he shoves past. A wave of indignation breaks over Tim—he hadn’t even tried to escape today, and yet there was no pleasing Jason. 

The shopkeeper watches Jason leave. “Seasickness, you said?” he asks warily.

“He’s more irate than usual, I’ll admit.” Tim flicks him an extra coin for the trouble. 

The shopkeeper just shakes his head and leans towards Tim, keeping his voice low. “You seem like a nice young man, so allow me to be frank and give you a bit of advice. Keep your girl under watch. I know the kind of look he has. That’s jealousy, it is—he’s the sort that’ll always covet another man’s property and ‘ll stop at nothing to take it.”

Tim twists around to gaze at Jason through the windows, his back turned to them as he speaks to Roy. “You think so?”

“If you were smart, you’d dismiss him, sir. Nothing but trouble. I see it in his eyes. They’re God’s windows to the soul; they don’t lie.”

“I’ll mind my business, and you’ll mind yours, sir.”

“So be it.” The shopkeeper pockets the coin with an embellished sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tim nods icily and exits. As Jason loads the carriage with their purchases, Roy pulls Tim to the side.

“Did something happen?” Roy glances between Jason’s retreating back and them. “He wasn’t this moody when we split up.”

“I’ve no idea,” Tim mutters. “Stephanie, can you get directions to the Gardevian estate?”

“Already on it.” Stephanie arranges her skirts as she inspects the map. “What are we going to do about the invitation? We can’t get one on short notice.”

“Maybe if you two hadn’t been busy making moon eyes at each other you wouldn’t be wondering.” Jason brandishes a creamy gold-gilded envelope at them. “Clearly I’m the only one who can get things done around here.”

“Wait, how did you get that?” Stephanie squints in the dying light at the embossed G stamped into the cardstock. 

“Nicked it off one of those girls earlier. We need to head to the estate before anyone starts asking questions.” Jason heaves himself into the carriage’s dashboard and takes the reins; the frame groans under his sudden weight but holds. “This better not be a wild goose chase. Roy, any news from the rest?”

“Not sure. Kori said they didn’t see any movement at the warehouse, but that was before I went to find you guys. What’s the Gardevian estate?”

“No idea, but that’s what we’re going to find out.” Jason shrugs as Roy helps him into the carriage. “Let the rest of the crew know where we’re headed to. Maybe Kori might know something about the estate.”

“What about the warehouse? If Ravager’s in there, shouldn’t we—”

“Don’t draw attention unless necessary, that’s still our first priority. Ravager can take care of herself, assuming your hunch was right.” Jason cracks the reins. The horses break into a brisk canter and the carriage rolls into motion. “Meet us there. Keep Harper and Kori on the lookout for other clues, we shouldn’t put all our eggs into one basket. And stay out of sight.”

“You got it. Stay safe, you three. Look out for each other.” Roy steps back as the carriage picks up speed and pulls out of the main road.

As the carriage peels away from the main square, Tim leans in towards Stephanie’s ear. He keeps his voice low over the creak of the wheels and the rhythmic tread of the horses’ hooves.

“It’s Harper’s brother, isn’t it? I totally knew it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes. “You’re completely off the mark, Cullen’s not interested in me. Can’t believe you still don’t know his name after all this time. Maybe that’s why Harper doesn’t like you. Bet she thinks you’re being standoffish to him.”

“C’mon, we’ve barely spoken to each other.” Tim relaxes into the plush seats, watching the buildings slide by. “...Is it Harper you fancy?” 

“It’s not someone on the ship. But...you’re getting warmer.”

“...Really?” Tim considers it, baffled at the connotations that entails. Yet the answer comes to him in a flash. “Cassandra. I’m an idiot.”

Stephanie nods, her lips thin with worry. “And I lost her since Tortuga when trying to spring you. So, thanks for that.” She leans in, breath warm against his ear so Jason can’t hear them. “What happened back then, Tim? The two of you disappeared, but then you didn’t come back with her. Jason dropped the kids off at Fort Liberte with a contact I knew, but I didn’t find her there either.”

“Someone intercepted us.” Tim struggles to recall the details. “I think he claimed to be her father, and then they fought. I’m sorry. I should have done more for her.”

“Her dad?” Stephanie gnaws her lip, gazing distantly into the sunset. “She’s never spoken about her past. What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was too dark. But...it seemed like he knew about you. Or at least you were affiliated with Cass.”

“Shit.” Stephanie’s hands fist into the fabric of her dress. “But...Cass wouldn’t lose. She’s the strongest person I know. She’s probably trying to catch up to us, I know it.”

“Who did you get mixed up with exactly?” Tim glances sideways at her. “Cass seems like she has a lot of enemies.”

“Like you’re one to talk. At least she can handle herself.” 

“I’m worried for you, Steph. As a friend, nothing more. I swear.” Tim fiddles with the hem of his waistcoat. “Damn it. When did everything get so complicated?”

“It always was, Tim. We were just too young to know it.”

“Don’t you miss it? When we were kids?”

“I don’t.” Stephanie sits straighter and looks at him. “For you, pheasant poaching was a game, Tim. It was fun, don’t misunderstand me. But for me and Kon? The stakes were higher. It was the difference between having a hot meal or going hungry that day. Kon’s family at least had the farm, but me? I had nothing. 

“I don’t miss wondering when my next meal will be. I don’t miss knowing I was going to come home to my parents screaming at each other. I don’t miss wondering if my old man was going to come home drunk and slap me around. And now? I’m strong enough to hit back.”

“Jesus.”

Stephanie looks away, but Tim doesn’t miss how her fingers tremble into her skirts. “You told me once we couldn’t be seen in public together, Tim. Do you know how...how degrading and insulting that was? Look at me now, Tim. Am I something shameful? Something to be pitied?”

“You never were. I was a fool.” Tim lowers his head, ashamed at his own stupidity. The Barbados landscape rolls past, paved roads drying into dirt paths leading to the plantations.

“You still are.” A sad smile plays along her lips. “Cass treats me better than anyone else ever has.”

“I…” A sharp blush rises to Tim’s cheeks as he pictures the two of them together. “I think I missed the memo about you liking women when we were younger.”

“I only realized myself after I met Cass.” Stephanie twirls a lock of her hair around her finger, surprising Tim with her sudden shyness. “I thought our meeting was purely by chance, but looking back on it now, I think it was always meant to be. We only teamed up initially because we were both chasing the Cluemaster, but one day...I realized I wanted something more.”

“How did you realize that? Weren’t you afraid?”

Stephanie’s gaze redirects skywards, the moon illuminating their path. “It wasn’t a bolt from the blue like you make it out to be. I was just...comfortable around her in a way I never was with others. Like I could tell her anything in the world. And of course I was scared.

“The world is a horrible, awful place. But if you listen to what everyone else has to say, you’ll never experience all the wonderful things it has to offer.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, and Tim thinks she’s never been as beautiful as she is at that moment. “You have to do things for yourself, Tim. So what if the world judges you? Let it burn. If you only obsess over the judgement of others, you’ll only regret it in the end.”

The horses whinny, pulling them through fields of sugarcane as Tim and Stephanie settle in for the rest of their journey. The rising dusk plunges them into a gentle twilight as Jason steers the carriage towards a looming estate, austere and grand in its sprawling acreage and pure white walls.

“It looks as big as Drake Manor,” whispers Stephanie. “Nicer decor, though.”

“No, it’s definitely bigger.” Tim gazes in awe. Even at a distance, he can see carriages lined up to enter the well-lit estate. “How many candles do you think they go through in a single night?” 

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Stephanie mutters. She taps Jason on the shoulder. “Captain, after we get a bit closer let’s pull into one of the fields, see if we can keep watch on the entrance while we wait for the others to join us. I wanna see how tight security is.”

Jason nods, tugging on the reins. The horses slow into a trot, and Tim releases a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at the invitation clasped in his hand.

“For a Mr. and Mrs. Davies,” he reads off, the full moon and the twinkling lights from the Gardevian Estate offering just enough illumination. “You are cordially invited to attend our eleventh annual ball. Sounds innocuous enough.” He slides the cardstock back into the envelope.

“We’ll see.” Jason turns the corner, steering them into a field of sugarcane. When the carriage stops, Jason hops out and scuffs over the carriage tracks with his feet.

“You’ll ruin your shoes,” Tim calls. “We only just bought them.”

“Bite me.” Jason takes a spyglass out of his pocket. Shaking out its length, he peers towards the estate. “Looks normal. Bunch of rich pricks rubbing elbows with each other. They’re definitely checking invitations, though.”

“Lemme see.” Stephanie waves at Jason. Taking the proffered spyglass, she too gazes upon the building’s splendor. Her spyglass sweeps over the building in a wide arc, and Tim pinpoints the exact moment she pales in the moonlight.

When she lowers the spyglass, her hands shake minutely. “I can’t go in. That’s my dad checking invitations.”

Jason whips around. “Why the hell is a privateer checking invitations at a plantation ball? I thought you said you marooned him.”

“I’d like to know that too,” Stephanie seethes. Her knuckles whiten around the spyglass, and Tim fears she may snap it in two.

“Well, that’s perfect,” mutters Jason. He pops the top button of his shirt and tugs the starched collar open. “Are we going to be compromised the moment we set foot in the door?”

“Didn’t you have a grudge against him?” Tim squints into the distance. He can only make out blurry colorful shapes from his vantage point. “Will he recognize you too, Jason?”

“Yes, and maybe?” Jason strokes the mane of the left horse; it snorts and nuzzles into his palm. “I doubt it though. He was pretty far into the bottle when we crossed paths. Technically he owes me money after a round of cards, but that was always going to be a lost cause. He wouldn’t expect me to be here.”

Stephanie’s face twists. “You’ve played cards with my dad ?”

“And he was rotten at it, too.” Jason shrugs. “He was an easy mark, don’t judge me for it. Unfortunately he wasn’t a mark who could pay his bets.”

“The day he can is the day the devil spots him,” snorts Stephanie. “But if he’s here...we’re on the right track.”

“The invitation calls for two. Do we have time to switch you out with someone?”

“Kori’s not going to fit into this, and Jade will attract too much attention.” Stephanie plucks at the threads of her dress. “You think Tim and Harper would blow their cover the moment they get through those doors trying to act like they’re together?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why are you two talking like I’m not here?”

“Like the two of you haven’t been doing that the entire time I’ve been driving,” grouses Jason. He takes a steadying breath and releases it. “I’m going to case the area. Stephanie, you’ll need to look for another way in.” He stalks away.

Stephanie digs her elbow into Tim’s ribs. “Go after him, idiot.”

“Steph.” Tim says, aggrieved. “What am I even supposed to say to him? He’s been sour ever since we made landfall.”

“Figure it out, you’re supposed to be smart.” Stephanie pushes him forward. “Did you already forget what I just said? You gotta do things because you want to, Tim. Not just because someone told you to.” Her eyes soften. “You don’t know the way he looks at you when your back is turned, you know.”

“I thought you didn’t trust him.”

“I don’t. But I have eyes, too.” Steph smiles and steps away from him. “You have to go see for yourself to make your own judgement. I can’t do that for you.”

“I’ll do my best.” Tim musters his courage, gathering it around him like armor. Stephanie tugs out the box containing her regular clothing. 

“I’ll keep an eye out, maybe my dad’ll take turns with someone else and I can slip in. Worst case, I’ll watch the carriage in case someone starts wondering why we’re hiding in the sugarcane.”

Tim nods, already wading into the long stalks of sugarcane. The night is pleasantly warm, a brisk breeze tugging at the stalks of sugarcane. Tim’s stomach twists into knots as he seeks out Jason through the unfamiliar fields.

He finds Jason peering through the leaves a several rows ahead towards the lavish estate. Dead leaves already cling to his waistcoat, and Tim brushes them off as he takes his place by Jason’s side.

“You’re not like yourself,” Tim says. He squeezes Jason’s shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “We’ll find Lian, even if we have to tear through every estate.”

Jason snorts, his eyes studiously averted. “Naturally.” His gaze rove over the building.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to act as my manservant if I knew you were going to hate it so much.” Tim scratches the back of his head. 

“What?” Jason spins around, finally offering Tim his full attention. Good. Maybe Tim’s on the right track to diffusing the awkward atmosphere. 

“I get it. Harvey Dent didn’t have a great reputation for how he treated his servants.” Tim shifts from one leg to another. “I’m sorry if I pulled up any bad memories. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Yeah,” Jason grits through his teeth. His shoulders hunch over. “No problem.”

Sensing Jason’s mood blackening, Tim quickly backtracks. “Wasn’t that why you’ve been so moody today? If it’s not, you need to tell me. Your crew’s worried about you.”

“It’s nothing.” Jason tears away from Tim’s touch. “It’s my own problem.”

Tim’s heart constricts as Jason moves away from him under the pretext of surveying the Gardevian estate. Swallowing his reluctance, Tim reflects on the day’s events. 

There’s really only one conclusion, isn’t there? With the answer so plain as day, Tim capitulates. Tim catches up to Jason with the wind at his back, gripping Jason’s shoulder to force him to meet his gaze. Jason’s pupils are almost black underneath the moonlight without a trace of its usual blue.

“You’re so dumb,” Tim says, because he’s still pissed that he’s had to make excuses for Jason’s juvenile behaviour the entire day. “You know Steph and I aren’t courting, much less engaged.”

“Do I, though?” Jason sets upon him, crowding into Tim’s space. Tim stands his ground, nose to nose with him.  “You’ve said as much yourself. But it doesn’t make watching you two lovebirds any easier.”

“It was an act.”

“I know! Look. I said it’s my problem. I’ll handle it.” Jason heaves a pained sigh that dissipates into the night. “I..I was jealous , ok?” Jason blanches, evidently regretting his words.

Tim startles, the admission unexpected. “Steph doesn’t see me like that. We were pretending this afternoon.”

“So what? How could I not be jealous when there’s so many people that can protect you better than I can? I’m not just talking about Steph, but that jacked friend of yours at the fort,” Jason growls, his voice harsh against the breeze. “I told you last night that I’m trying to fix things, but what’s the point when you claim we’re nothing to each other?”

Tim winces, remembering his brash denials on Bart’s first day on the Sheila Haywood. Jason continues, the words spilling like a ruptured dam. “Tell me it’s an act all you want, but you’re impossible. What am I supposed to do, when I know you want to flee, and the more you claim that ‘you’re mine’ the more I want to let you go? You lie just as much as me, Tim Drake, and that’s saying something.”

Tim staggers back. The pair gape at each other, both shocked into utter silence. The sugarcane stalks obscure the moon above them, casting their frames into shadow. Neither of them move.

“Kon’s just a friend,” Tim says weakly. “He...we don’t see each other that way.”

“And how would I know that otherwise?” Jason exhales sharply, his anger slowly receding to weariness. “Sometimes I wonder what really goes on in that little head of yours, you know.”

“...Then no more secrets,” Tim says at last. “After we get Lian back. No more lies. Just...the truth, and nothing else.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I thought we managed it well enough in the hold last night.”

“No. There’s something you ought to know. I didn’t tell you everything that I should have.” Jason grips Tim’s arm urgently, and the undisguised worry in Jason’s gaze sends Tim’s stomach curling into foreboding knots. 

“It’s okay,” Tim breathes, pushing the uneasiness back down. “After tonight, when we get back to the ship. Only the truth. Right now, we’ve got a job to do. But swear it to me. Only the truth.”

Jason snorts, his own self-disgust written bone-deep. “My word isn’t even worth a shilling.”

“Then swear on your crew,” Tim prods. Jason’s expression shifts, churning with a myriad of complex emotions. It’s enrapturing.

“I swear,” Jason vows hoarsely; he permits Tim to tangle their fingers together, his warmth bleeding into Tim’s palms.

“I have something to tell you too,” Tim whispers into Jason’s chest, but the breeze steals his voice and scatters it into the stalks. Jason shows no sign of having heard Tim as he turns towards the carriage.

“Let’s go,” Jason says, his voice rough and low. “Lian’s waiting for us.”

Chapter Text

“As a valet, you need to stick to the sides,” Tim coaches as they ascend the stairs of the Gardevian Estate’s main door. A small gaggle of other servants disperse around them, and Tim ignores their curious gazes. “Try not to interact with anyone else.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not your average hick.” Jason scoffs. “You forget I worked in Dent’s estate. I might not have been his valet, but I can handle myself.”

“You didn’t open the door for Steph back at the shop, so I’m just reminding you.” Tim straightens his shirt collar and checks for more stray leaves stuck to Jason’s waistcoat. “I know it seems minor, but we don’t want to attract unnecessary attention.”

“I know, I know.” Jason scrapes dirt from the side of his shoes. “Fine, anything else I should know about?”

“Pray that things are the same here as in London, and maybe the night will be uneventful.” Tim straightens up as he ascends the stairs leading to the mansion. There’s a small line in front of him as Arthur Brown rifles through invitations. Having never seen Stephanie’s father before, Tim takes the opportunity to observe. Even from afar it’s evident who Stephanie got her golden tresses from. He’s tall and broad, and Tim would even suggest conventionally attractive , if the idea of the man striking Stephanie didn’t make his blood boil.

“He doesn’t really look like a drunk,” Tim mutters in Jason’s ear. “I thought he’d be more—”

“Don’t be fooled by the suit.” Jason fishes out the invitations as they wait a respectful distance away. “It’s always the ones you least expect.”

Arthur steps to the side and lets the first couple through. He flashes a charming smile at the lady, who giggles as her companion guides her down the main hall. Arthur slowly works his way through the line until it’s finally Tim’s turn. Tim offers the stolen invitation; the man scans it briefly and looks him up and down.

“Mr. Davies, is it? Where’s your wife?”

“She took ill suddenly, I’m afraid. She’ll be along later if the physician finds nothing wrong with her humours. She wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Arthur passes back the invitation. “Have your valet come ‘round the back. Enjoy the party.”

Tim nods with the barest tilt of his head and sweeps into the Gardevian Estate, blood pounding in his ears. He steals a glance behind him; Jason locks eyes with him. 

“Go,” Jason mouths. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

What a foolish man, Tim thinks. Jason had tipped his hand so easily. Tim could alert the hosts, have all the pirates rounded up and arrested in under an hour. He’s among polite company now. His peers. They’re people Tim will always have far more in common with than Jason’s motley crew.

But he knows you won’t, the voice in his head persists. He’s chosen to trust you. And you’re tired of running, anyway. Jason’s crew has gambled it all on Tim, and he’s not one to crumple under the weight of foreboding expectations. So he trudges onwards.

Janet Drake was a woman who favored utility, and Drake Manor reflected that. That was one aspect of her personality that Tim had appreciated. Jack had amassed a large collection of odd keepsakes and artifacts over the course of his travels, but one could always pick out which ones Janet had selected. An ornamental mask versus a rare inkwell. A set of rare silverware versus an exotic decorative set of wind chimes. In the weeks following the funeral, Tim had been thankful for Janet's preferences when deciding which mementos to keep or discard. 

Janet had favored dark trim, believing less was often more when it came to interior decorating. The Gardevian Estate would have flown in the face of all she considered tasteful. By anyone’s standards, the architecture is a textbook case in lavish opulence. 

The foyer leads into a cavernous ballroom, ornate oil lamps casting golden shadows over its stunning pillars. Guests mingle in small groups, partaking in the drinks and food as they socialize. Tim counts about twelve in the immediate vicinity. Evidently, only a small, elite group had been granted invitations. This was unusual in Tim’s experience, considering larger events meant more opportunities to rub shoulders with the appropriate families.

He recalls that the clothes merchant had claimed to be booked long in advance, so perhaps it was multiple small events like this one, spanning the course of several months? Tim eyes the conservative neckline and neutral tones of a passing guest’s attire, regretting the bolder red he had selected for his evening wear. The guests reek of old money, yet why would they fraternize with an upstart first generation estate? Perhaps things were different here in Bridgetown than in London, but Tim remains suspicious. After all, the people here were likely made from similar stock as the gentry back home. Wrong sartorial decisions were not to be tolerated. Still, the situation isn’t unsalvageable just yet.

He takes in the rest of the ballroom, impressed with the architecture in spite of himself. The room opens up into the second floor, an indoor balcony lining the perimeter. A wave of relief seizes Tim when he spies Jason emerging behind the second floor banisters. Jason scans the room with a calculating gaze, locking eyes with Tim for the briefest of moments. Then he jerks his head to the left, and Tim tracks the moment.

His heart sinks as Slade materializes from a side alcove, engaged in deep conversation with a portly man who barely comes up to Slade’s chest. A tail of cigar smoke follows them as Tim makes himself as inconspicuous as possible by the food trays. Tim nibbles a pastry; it’s passable, but clearly the food isn’t the star of tonight’s event. Regardless, Tim takes another. After all, nothing could surpass the nightmare known as the Sheila Haywood’s hardtack. 

“Now, this is a face I haven’t seen before.” 

Masking his surprise, Tim chokes the rest of the pastry down as he turns to face his first encounter of the night. 

“You’re correct, sir.” Tim says, offering his hand. And you are…?”

“Rupert Thorne.” The man’s thick fingers envelop Tim’s in a businessman’s grip. “I see you represent Drake Industries?” 

Tim inwardly curses; he’d forgotten to remove the ring from his hand as part of his persona as the supposed Mr. Davies. He smiles and nods all the same, letting his hand drop when it’s finally released. 

“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Thorne. I’ve travelled quite a long way to come here.”

“Please, just Rupert.” The man smiles disarmingly, sending goosebumps running down Tim’s spine. “I’m simply surprised to see Drake Industries represented at tonight’s event.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one.” A waiter passes them with flutes of champagne. Accepting a glass, Tim swirls its contents and watches the bubbles rise. “Times are changing, that's all.”

“You’re quite right.” Satisfied with his measure of Tim, Thorne clinks their glasses together. The crystal reverberates down Tim’s arm and into his frayed nerves. “I’ve heard things were quite a mess after the young scion was lost at sea. I suppose it makes sense why Drake Industries would need merchandise such as the ones provided tonight; a merchant can’t have enough armed escorts on the seas these days.”

What? “I see the rumors have reached even this corner of the world, Mr. Thorne. But I can assure you that it’s merely that—rumors.”

“Is that so?” Thorne appraises Tim with a pointed stare, but doesn’t pursue the subject. “Well, seeing as you’re new, allow me to introduce you to my fellow compatriots.” His eyes brighten, spotting someone over Tim’s shoulder. “Slade! It’s been far too long. How have your travels been?”

Tim considers running for it, but then a calloused hand grips Rupert’s hand in a firm handshake. “Well enough, Rupert.” Slade’s gravelly voice pins Tim where he stands.

“Allow me to introduce our newest—”

“I’m acquainted with Timothy Drake already.” Slade smiles thinly as he offers his hand. Tim offers him the blandest smile in his playbook. Surprisingly, the handshake is cordial enough, though Slade could probably crush every bone in Tim’s arm with minimal effort.

“Timothy Drake!” Surprise flashes across Thorne’s face before he can smooth his expression over. “I suppose I ought to have known that, given your youth. You play your cards close to your chest, Mr. Drake. I fear that I’m the one at a disadvantage now.”

“You have my apologies, Mr. Thorne, though it wasn’t my intention. I’m afraid it’s a habit I’ve picked up in recent days.” Tim laughs. “You were certainly right that Drake Industries has come into needing more...armed escorts, as you put it.” It’s a risky move to bring that up in front of Slade, but given that Slade seems unlikely to cause a fuss in such a gathering, Tim figures it doesn’t hurt to pry for where the mercenary really stands.

“You know, if you’re looking for a naval escort, Slade here has made the Atlantic crossing multiple times protecting cargo. You’ll be hard put to find someone with half as much experience as him.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But let’s just say that after such an arduous voyage, I’m very interested in the merchandise provided here tonight.” Behind Slade’s back, a blur of red darts past the window. Is it Roy? Kori? Tim can only hope.

You’ll have to tell me more about your journey; the rumor was that you had drowned some time ago, you know,” Rupert says reproachfully.

“That’s only half correct.” Tim swirls his champagne, idly entertaining the notion of launching the glass at Slade’s face. “In fact, Slade might be able to tell you all about that, being responsible for it and all.”

Slade’s smile curves into a borderline grin. “If I wanted to drown you, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Thorne explodes into hearty laughter. “I see you two are quite close! I must excuse myself, but you two seem like you have a lot to catch up on. I think I saw my wife over on the balcony.” Flagging down a waiter, Thorne neatly extricates himself from the conversation to mingle with the other guests.

“What’s your angle, Slade?” Tim peers at him over the rim of his drink, tedious pleasantries vanishing like champagne foam.

“Why you think I need one, Mr. Davies ?” Slade’s polite smile doesn’t wane. 

“I think you do, considering you’ve got the guest list memorized.” Tim takes a lemon tart from the food table. “But if you’re considering escorting me out, let me first say that we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“By all means,” Slade says dryly. He gestures for Tim to continue. 

“Bear with me here, but the reason you haven’t said anything is because I’m not directly interfering with anything,” Tim says, nibbling a piece of the tart. “In fact, you might even stand to gain from it. Is that reasonable to assume?”

“Perhaps.”

“Which means you’ve already gotten what you wanted from Rose. Or at least are close enough to getting it that it’s a non-issue.” Tim gestures amicably with the lemon tart. “There’s something I want as well, and to be frank I’m not interested in your little family feud. So, I think we might be able to assist each other.”

“What do you possibly have that I could be interested in?” drawls Slade, more amused than intrigued. Tim withholds a sigh, wishing he could call Slade out with his non-answers. Regardless, Tim’s no stranger to the game.

“I just think it would be quite a shame if this party was interrupted by a band of misfit pirates that was barking up the wrong tree,” Tim suggests politely. “I would think it’s to your great advantage if this event took place without a hitch. You are naturally aware that I’m not alone. And that if you were to escort me out, there would be some...commotion. All hypotheticals, of course.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, kid.”

“Of course not. But why handle it when you can avoid it altogether?”

Slade smirks. “So what’re you after?”

“What any businessman wants.” Tim spreads his arms invitingly. “I’m interested in making a deal. I want to meet your handlers. Your employers, whatever they call themselves.”

“You’re playing with things you don’t understand, kid.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tim says grimly. “But does that seem fair?”

“What sort of deal are you aiming for?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m interested in tonight’s merchandise. I’m just after an audience. And then I’ll be out of your hair, regardless of its outcome. Besides...” Tim deliberately sizes Slade up. “You might be talking to a potential employer of yours right now.”

Slade doesn’t restrain his scoff. “Really, kid?”

Tim finishes the rest of the lemon tart, the Drake ring glinting when he raises his hand to his mouth. “Drake Industries always needs vessel escorts; that’s hardly a secret. And unless I heard wrong, Mr. Thorne himself just gave you a glowing review. I’ve also seen first hand that your crew is well trained. So give it some thought, Mr. Wilson. We pay quite well, and it’s stable enough employment. Who knows, it could be the start of being on better terms with the rest of your family if you end up on the straight and narrow.” Tim digs his heels in harder. “Opening fire on your daughter in a seedy little bar didn’t seem like the best way to go about it, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Slade doesn’t rise to Tim’s obvious bait, but amusement flashes through his single eye. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you back on Tortuga, Drake.” He takes a champagne glass from a nearby waiter. “If nothing else, you make for excellent entertainment.”

“I’ll drink to that, Mr. Wilson.” He gestures to a waiter who brings Slade a champagne flute, and Tim clinks his glass against Slade’s. Finishing the rest of his drink, Tim asks, “Do we have an accord?”

“Sure, kid.” Slade drains his glass and sets his empty flute on another passing waiter’s tray. “I’ll make an introduction. But first…” His eye swivels above Tim’s head and towards the balcony. “Tell your...manservant to stand down.”

Tim looks over his shoulder. Jason glares from his vantage point above them, expression full of worry. As comforting as it is  to know that he’s got someone at his back, a ruined party is not what Tim needs right now. He shakes his head twice, watching Jason’s grim face darken. I’ll be fine, Tim mouths. Jason only looks more worried, and Tim can hardly blame him. Still, Tim remains their best shot at achieving their goal, and he’s determined not to walk away empty handed. He shakes his head firmly one last time and returns his attention towards Slade.

“Let’s go.”

Slade nods and turns to walk, clearly expecting Tim to follow. After taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Tim does. They thread through the small throng of party guests, unsettling Tim when it’s clear a handful of the guests are on a first name basis with Slade. Guiding Tim through another set of elaborate doors, Slade takes him into a lavish drawing room. Tim looks around, once again staggered at the sheer display of wealth. Slade closes the doors behind him, muting the cocktail conversations taking place behind the heavy ornate wood.

“You really want to do this, kid?”

“Give me a clear reason why I shouldn’t, and I won’t.” Tim glances around for anything he could use as a weapon if he needs to defend himself. There’s an antique clock on the mantelpiece and a poker, but he reckons it would be a lost cause if Slade really wants him out of the picture.

Slade looks him over. “So, what makes you think I want to be on better terms with my kids?”

“Was I wrong? It seems like a natural enough thing to want,” Tim responds, deciding to ignore the delightful example of Arthur Brown. “I would imagine if you wanted Rose dead, you wouldn’t have had your crew aim for the rafters in the bar.”

“Caught on quickly, did you? Turned it around on me right after.”

“It was risky what you did. And stupid, unless you took the right precautions. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it didn't make sense for you to shoot recklessly into the bar if you really wanted her alive.”

Slade snorts. “You shortened my timeline when you tried to warn her. You’re right though, it was a careless move. But she would have survived anyway.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Slade guides Tim deeper into the estate, stopping in front of the door at the opposite end of the room.

“Where are we going?”

“To see the lady of the house.”

“What’s she like?”

“Do you ever shut up, boy?” Slade glares before opening the door to reveal someone loading up the dumbwaiter with trays of crockery. “Maid,” Slade snaps. She rushes to assist him, and Tim’s heart backflips when he realizes it’s Stephanie, her hair pinned neatly in a new, plain hairstyle. She doesn’t make eye contact with either of them, her head bobbing in a quick curtsy.

“Where’s David?” Slade asks.

“I don’t know, sir,” she says quickly, eyes still lowered to the ground. 

Slade clicks his tongue. “Find him and tell him to rotate Arthur out; that man is useless. I’m taking this one to see Mother.”

Stephanie nods, curtsying once again and stepping aside to allow them through. The second she’s no longer in Slade’s field of vision, she flicks her hand to the side as if swatting something away from her face. Tim blinks, caught off guard. She repeats the motion again; this time he recognizes it as the signal they had rehearsed years ago as kids trying to lure away the exasperated gamekeepers. Stall him.

When it’s Tim’s turn to pass her, she presses something into his palm before she continues to load the dumbwaiter. When she moves the crockery, Tim catches a glimpse of what distinctly looks like the hilt of a dagger and a coil of rope. He opens the scrap of parchment with his thumb, hiding it in the curve of his hand from Slade’s view.

Kids underground. 

Tim glances at Slade’s back, wary that he would likely have to consent to a search before his audience with this so-called ‘Mother’ would be granted. He looks around for a way to dispose of the paper, but he has no choice. Eating the paper, he forces it down his throat with a grimace. Slade thankfully doesn’t turn back, guiding Tim through the estate with worrying ease. Tim is definitely on Slade’s home turf.

“How long have you worked with this ‘Mother’?” Tim asks, trying to remember the way back to the party. 

“Long enough. No more small talk.” Slade stops in front of what Tim assumes is the drawing room. “Last chance to back out, kid.”

“You know I won’t.” 

“You’ll likely wish you did. Wait here.” Slade raps in a brisk triplet rhythm. He waits two beats and enters. Tim glances around the hallway, ill at ease as he looks for any possible escape points. Does he dare launch himself from the second story of this house if he needs to beat a hasty retreat? He can imagine Jason attempting such a brash maneuver, but Tim doubts he himself would make it that far out anyway. Walking to the nearest window, he glances down to the courtyard. He may have climbed higher in the ship riggings, but the idea still makes him feel nauseous. He can still see the vague outline of Arthur Brown surveying the terrace, so that’s already a nonstarter. Yet before he can undo the latch, Slade returns.

“Arms out, legs apart. I need to search you.”

Tim acquiesces, stepping a half pace to the right and spreading his arms out. Slade’s calloused hands pat him down. 

“Well, well. A concealed weapon, hm?” Slade smirks when his hand squeezes around the circumference of Tim’s right boot. He pulls out the knife, his amused expression fading when he examines it.

“Joey gave it to me.” Tim shrugs as best as he can. 

“It’s a fine piece.” Slade draws it from the hilt for closer inspection. “Still looks as new as the day I bought it. How is he, by the way?” 

“I would’ve thought you knew, seeing as you have Rose.”  

“You’ve got an awful lot of assumptions, boy.”

“You didn’t say my assumptions were wrong either,” Tim challenges. 

“And sometimes, assumptions get you killed. Especially if you’re right.” Tiring of Tim’s twenty questions, Slade pushes the door open. The blade vanishes in Slade’s hands. Tim suspects he’ll never see it again.

This final room was clearly not meant to entertain guests. The translucent curtains offer a more homely feel, yet Tim feels a chill slip over his shoulders despite the natural climate of Barbados. He wonders if there’s a draft, but the lace curtains remain still, drawn shut over the night view. The room is furnished by only two plain chairs and a low table. Compared to the rest of the mansion, this room feels...threadbare. There are no more pretenses.

An old woman sits with her back facing Slade and Tim. She gazes through the thin fabric of the curtains, transfixed by something beyond the pale beaches of Bridgetown. 

“This is Timothy Drake,” Slade introduces without preamble. “He’s been very eager to meet you.”

“You must be Mother,” Tim steps forward, heart leaping into his throat. The lemon tart threatens to come back up. “I was sorry not to have met you at the party when I arrived.”

“Not at all.” Tim startles at the unexpected Scouse accent dripping from her lips. The woman rises from her chair, turning to appraise him with a discerning eye. The room may have been bare, but the jewels adorning her neck caught the lace-filtered moonlight. They were sapphires fit for a contessa. “It’s rare for me to receive a guest like yourself. You’ve travelled far to attend tonight’s event, Timothy Drake.”

“It was a pleasure, and I have yet to be disappointed,” Tim lies. The woman stretches out her hand, and it takes Tim a breath too long to realize what she wants.

He strides forward. Slade remains still, a silent sentry guarding Mother as Tim steps into her space. Her hand is wizened with age, blue veins etching rivers over her wrinkled skin as he kisses the back of her hand, a dry brush of his lips just below the curve of her wrist. He steps back. Her expression does not change, but Tim knows he has already passed the first test. He straightens up as she speaks again.

“I hope the party was to your liking? I heard you made landfall just today.”

Had Slade made that determination for himself and informed her? Discomfort curls within Tim’s gut. “I wouldn’t have missed tonight for the world, God willing.”

“It’s been some time since a man of your youth has flattered me.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” Tim himself has heard many ballads urging young fortune seekers to wed new widows; if a man hadn’t offered Mother his calling card in some time, it was likely because she had sequestered herself away. She’s testing him. “A woman like yourself draws men like moths to the flame.”

Her teeth glint in the dim light. “A bold comparison. Is that what drew you here, across the Atlantic? I can surmise that you did not journey here tonight for mere refreshments. Sit, and speak.”

“I came to make your acquaintance.” Tim slides into the chair across from her. “If I may err on the side of sincere, I’ve heard a lot of things about the Gardevian Estate. Enough to catch my attention, if I may. And when I find something of interest, I suppose it’s a habit of mine to wish to see it with my own eyes.”

“Continue.”

“I’ve come here to say tonight anything you’ve heard about Drake Industries is irretrievably wrong, and to prove to you as such.” Tim spreads his arms wide. “And that I hoped to see for myself whether the quality of your stock is as good as they say.”

“And if it is?” She challenges. Despite her age, an uncanny light dances in her eyes, something that toed the line between madness and sanity. 

“I rather hoped you would be open to making a deal.”

“My darlings are not for the average bidder, Timothy Drake.”

“I am aware.” Tim clasps his hands together. “But if the rumors are true, they would greatly aid my cause.”

“Which is?”

“Prosperity.” Tim stretches out his hands in a gesture almost reminiscent of supplication. “Hear me out. I believe an accord between us could be mutually beneficial, enough for you to never want for money. Although from what I have seen, it seems you are already well taken care of in that regard.”

“It is never enough, Timothy Drake.” She smiles, the curve of her lips terrible and daunting. “For people like us, it is never enough.”

“You are correct.” Tim acknowledges, inclining his head. “You yourself are a businessperson, and a shrewd one at that. To grow your business as you have within the span of a single generation is no small feat. And as you know, business cannot be done alone.”

Mother turns to Slade. “Would you be so kind as to pour a bottle from the cabinet there? The Chateau Margaux, if you would. My hands aren’t quite as steady as they once were.” 

To Tim’s private surprise, Slade obeys her with a tilt of his head. As he rummages in the cabinet, Mother redirects her attention towards Tim. “Take my advice, young man. Don’t get old.” She chuckles at her own joke. She stoops forward, reaching beneath the table. When she rises, Tim is surprised to see an unmistakable chess set in her hands.

“I will do my best,” Tim responds wryly. Behind, the cabinet door shuts and Tim assumes Slade has procured the suggested vintage. He watches as Mother begins to set up the chess board. She had not invited him to play, but here she was, already arranging the board with wizened fingers.

“White, or black?” Her eyes bore into him. The game is afoot.

“White.”

“Very good. Tell me something, Timothy.” With her back to the window, Mother runs her fingers over the sapphires once more. The darkness obscures her expression. “Your background is not unknown to me. Under your leadership, Drake Industries’ practices led me to believe you were something of a radical. What changed?”

What indeed. “Radical is such an ugly word. I prefer the term maverick. But to answer your question, Drake Industries needs to catch up with its contemporaries.” Tim spreads his hands out wide. “The business practices we use were implemented by my father. When he passed away, I wanted to respect his wishes at the time.”

“But now?”

“I understand now that I was being shortsighted. The best way I can preserve my father’s legacy is to allow it to succeed . What better way to honor his memory than to have Drake Industries grow beyond the limits we placed on it? We have sabotaged ourselves in pursuit of our mission, I am embarrassed to say.”

“Well said. It’s not everyday a man can admit to his mistakes. I respect that, Timothy Drake. Now, play.”

Tim considers the board, contemplating opening with an usual move, but why deviate from what he’s comfortable with? The game is just a distraction, another way for Mother to gauge him. He opens with a pawn to E4. Take control of the center, and the rest would follow. Slade reappears again with two wine glasses; he offers one to each of them. Accepting the proffered glass, Tim notices Slade doesn’t partake.

“To new opportunities,” said Mother. She moves her pawn to C5. Standard enough, Tim supposes. He wonders how often she plays.

“To new ventures.” They clink their glasses. Tim swirls the contents of his glass before he takes a sip; it’s tart and sweet with a hint of cherries. He slides into the seat across from Mother. “If I may be bold, you’re from Liverpool, correct? Did you grow up there?”

Mother clasps her fingers together, visibly pleased. “You’re correct. I moved to Bridgetown as a young woman.”

“I knew from the moment you spoke. I’ve visited Liverpool a handful of times. The Waterfront is lovely.”

She brightens, taking a sip of her wine. She allows him to develop his pieces aggressively, and he wonders just what she has in store for him. He can’t allow her to distract him from the real prize. “It had such an energy even in my time. I loved watching the horse races when I was growing up. We lived far out enough that the tracks were visible from my home.”

“Incredible. Perhaps I shall have to visit them the next time I’m back. Since you came to Bridgetown, have you ever returned to Liverpool?”

“I’m afraid not.” Her eyes grow wistful. “No, Bridgetown is my home now. I’m too old to make the journey back now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It seems you have a lot of fond memories of it.”

“Some. Not many, but I suppose the years strip everything but the nostalgia away.” Mother chuckles. “You know, I didn’t expect to see much of myself in you, Timothy Drake.” She draws first blood, taking his pawn, and they go through the predictable motions. His knight takes her pawn in retaliation, and then both his knights are in play as her bishop advances. 

“I’m flattered, though I’m not sure what makes you say that.”

“When you spoke about legacy.” Setting aside her glass, Mother steeples her fingers. “I was fortunate, you know. I came from nothing, but I was lucky enough to wed a young man with some money to his name. He came here to grow his fortune and I accompanied him. A few years after we started the plantation, he caught ill and passed away shortly thereafter.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be, it was many decades ago. Oh, I grieved for a long time. But as they say, God works in mysterious ways. I couldn’t have known it then, but it was the greatest gift He could have given me. Don’t misunderstand; my husband was a hard worker, but he had a strong taste for dice and a wandering eye, and I suppose he never quite understood just how much went towards funding his vices when he left much of the bookkeeping to me. And with his passing, I found myself in control of his property and therefore my future. What I’m saying is that both you and I came to a crossroads on how to shape a legacy we inherited.”

“I see.” Tim gazes down into his glass, suddenly troubled. The wine’s surface reflects his own uncertainty. His pawns still control the center, but suddenly he realizes just how tenuous his position is.

“Don’t look so down.” Mother chuckles. “I’ve bored you with talk of the past it seems.”

“Not at all. I’m simply astonished you are able to supervise this plantation on your own. Do your children assist you?” 

“No children,” Mother responds, ostensibly used to men prying into her life. She waves a dismissive hand. “But as for handling the day to day affairs, that’s what the attorneys and the overseers are for.”

“Surely running such a large enterprise leaves very little time in the day for leisure. Is it not difficult?”

“I like to keep busy. Keeps the mind sharp.” Mother taps her temple with a sly curl of her lips before advancing her knight to threaten his pawns. “I suspect you and I are much alike in that. If it weren’t for the business I would have gone quite mad a long time ago.”

“Very much so.” Tim takes another short sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. “It’s quite remarkable how you’re running more than one enterprise so splendidly. Exports, sugarcane...am I missing any?” 

“We’ll get to that in time. You don’t seem that astonished, for all your words.”

Tim forces a small smile, acutely aware that Slade is watching every flicker in his expression. The soft buzz of alcohol slowly creeps upon the edges of his mind, and he wishes he hadn’t finished the first glass of champagne. But if there were anything in the room that could loosen up the conversation, it would most certainly be the Margaux. “My own mother was very capable. The business may not have been in her name, but I owe her much of my tutelage. Drake Industries wouldn’t be where it is today without her. She had an enterprising mind and the backbone to put her ideas into action, perhaps even more so than my father.”

“The brains of the operation, is it? A more common story than one would think. It makes me wish I had met your mother, the way you speak of her.”

“I suspect the two of you would have gotten along famously.” Tim imagines the two of them circling each other like two bitter rivals, each searching for a chink in the other’s armor. The smile that worms its way onto his face this time no longer feels forced. 

“And what would she say about this new direction you want to take Drake Industries in, Timothy?” Mother leans forward intently, signaling that the pleasantries are finally over. “It’s evident that you greatly valued her opinion.”

“It’s one she had spoken of for years,” admits Tim. “So if she were here today, I think she’d be quite vexed that I’m only taking her advice now.” 

“Hah!” Mother’s fingers graze over her necklace once more. “Better late than never, I suppose. So Slade here tells me you would be interested in purchasing slaves from me to protect cargo, is that it?”

“You know the seas are treacherous. It’s not just pirates we have to contend with, but competing businesses and foreign interests all complicate the trade routes. Armed vessel escorts are well and good, but there’s a limit to how reliable they are, and we bleed gold because of them. Men like Mr. Wilson here, well, your services understandably don’t come cheap. With slaves that can and are able to fight...well, it has the potential to be a game changer. Which is where you come in.”

“I see.” Mother’s eyes gleam as she drains the rest of her wine glass. “And how many are you looking to purchase?”

“Four score able-bodied men.” Tim sets his glass on the table across from Mother, ignoring her look of astonishment. He takes the opportunity to snap up her exposed bishop. It’s a move she could have easily responded to, but she misses her chance when she focuses her attention on the opposite side of the board. “I believe that should be sufficient to see the merits of such slaves.”

“Eighty men? Do you intend to have a ship crewed by all?”

“Of course not. A ship needs more than just fighters. But I intend to expand Drake Industries’ reach across the globe, and we have many vessels coming and going. I am thinking fifteen to twenty slaves per ship. Even if they are excellent fighters, a seasoned captain should find it easy enough to keep them in check. Supplemented by the usual escorts, naturally.”

Mother drums her fingers across the table. She has Timothy’s queen pinned, and Tim considers moving his bishop out to lure away her knight. “Your plan seems reasonable enough, though overwhelmingly ambitious.”

“As we must be. I am contending with foreign interests like the VOC, and you yourself are a direct competitor to the RAC.” Tim adjusts the collar of his waistcoat. “You spoke of inheriting legacies earlier. Well, I intend to forge my own.”

“And how will you do that?” The light in Mother’s eyes gleam with a vicious approval that sends a chill down Tim’s spine.

“What better way than to crush these companies underfoot at their own game?” Tim affects a sneer. “They have the backing of their respective governments and more resources than most can accumulate in one lifetime. Wouldn’t you enjoy watching their backers being knocked down a few pegs? We play the game just as well as they do, if not better. They never expect the underdog.”

Mother says nothing for some time, her eyes piercing as they search for any lie in his words. Tim bides his time, draining the remainder of his glass. The alcohol warms him pleasantly, but he remains in control of his mental faculties. It wouldn’t be advisable, but he thinks he can drink another glass before he would need to retire. If nothing else, being at sea had improved his alcohol tolerance. At long last, she speaks again. 

“You wear your ambition well, Timothy Drake.” Mother gestures to Slade, who pours her another glass. “However, I regret to say that there are a number of issues at hand. The number of slaves you have requested would be difficult to procure on short notice. It takes time to raise and to train them. Furthermore, the current stock in our possession has already been sold to various buyers.”

“How much?” Tim lounges in his seat, playing the role of an arrogant nouveau rich. 

“Excuse me?”

“How much did you sell them for? I’ll pay double.” Tim tilts his head haughtily. “Come now, you can’t surely expect me to make the crossing a second time simply to purchase livestock.”

“Although the offer is tempting, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Mother says, aggrieved. Their chess pieces remain still, forgotten in the wake of their discussion. “My apologies. We have a special client who bought out the rest. Furthermore, the current stock is perhaps...a touch too young for your purposes.”

“Oh?” Tim leans forward in interest. “If they’re trained, shouldn’t that be all that matters? For a man to buy out your entire selection, I would assume they are the cream of your crop, in a manner of speaking.”

Mother exchanges a sharp glance with Slade. Something indecipherable passes between them, but Mother seems to have made up her mind. “Training is only a fraction of it. In the end, there is no greater teacher than adversity.” She motions to Slade. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

“I would be grateful.” Tim sits up straighter, interest and dread warring in his stomach. “Perhaps we can finish our game later, then? I believe I shall have to consider a suitable response to the way you are holding my queen down.”

“Very well.” Her lip curls as she rises from her chair. “Come.” Mother slides her arm in Slade’s for support. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“We can’t have the demonstration here?” Tim glances around the barren room, Stephanie’s request to distract Slade lingering in his mind. “Surely the space here ought to be sufficient.”

“I’m afraid not.” She doesn’t wait for him to follow, exiting the room with an ease that belies her age. Tim hesitates, but trails after them. 

They ascend two flights of stairs, Mother guiding them into the deeper half of the mansion. Tim had been expecting a cellar of sorts, but nothing could have prepared him for the shallow cave system lurking beneath the estate’s structure.

“Just when I think I can no longer be surprised, you continue subverting my every expectation.” Tim admires the natural limestone walls of the cavern. He stops to run a hand over the rough-hewn walls, fighting for every second he can stall them for. “Did you build the estate here knowing this was beneath?”

“I did.” Mother gestures to Slade once more, who grabs a torch to illuminate the way. “Though at the time it was poorly excavated. My husband and I didn’t realize just how deep it went until one year we had to renovate the cellar due to flooding.”

“Fascinating. Have you explored all of it?”

“We have. There’s only one level, though the path can get somewhat steep. But if these old bones of mine can do it, surely you can too. Just watch your step. I can’t have you getting hurt in my estate while I’m giving you a rare tour.”

 To Tim’s silent relief, they don’t go much further. He keeps an ear out for any sort of commotion, but the place seems quiet enough. Had Jason’s crew already sprung the children? Mother rounds the corner before they come to a closed door that she unlocks. 

“Come. Take a look.” She beckons him forward.

He steps inside, and his heart sinks. Inside is a makeshift cell divided into two partitions, two slaves huddled inside within but kept separate from each other.

“These two are not for sale, but they ought to be suitable for a brief demonstration.” Mother enters the room after him, gazing upon the two wretched figures in the room.

“Assholes!” One of them growls.

“You’ll have to excuse her mouth.” Mother responds with an icy calm that freezes the blood in Tim’s veins. “I’ll explain shortly. So, how much do you know about mirakuru ?”

“Pardon?” Tim blurts out, his composure forgotten as Rose Wilson snarls at them from her tiny prison. “Ma’am—”

“Mother.”

“With all due respect,” Tim protests, trying to stall for time. “These are women . I know this is merely a demonstration, but I can’t have women onboard a ship. It’s bad luck. My crews can’t—no, they won’t have it.”

“Mirakuru,” Mother continues over Tim’s anger as if she hadn’t heard him. “Is a substance I discovered purely by chance, and has greatly contributed to my success. As a matter of fact, Slade has been indispensable to procuring it. He’s recently brought back an entire shipment of it, which will be needed to treat the next batch of slaves. 

“The substance causes men and women alike to develop strength far beyond your comprehension. It empowers them to fight to the best of their capabilities, but with the appropriate dosage the slaves can remain obedient. I said the current stock is too young for your needs, but let me show you what two adult females can do after mirakuru has been administered.”

She nods towards Slade. Slade pulls a lever. The bars separating the two prisoners begin to crank apart, showcasing an impressive use of machinery that worries Tim even more.

The second figure begins to stir. Tim’s heart nearly stops. Cass . If Mother had been looking at him, she would have seen his unconcealed shock.

“The reason why stock is in limited supply is because not everyone can tolerate the affects of mirakuru,” Mother explains, her gaze riveted on Cass and Rose. “Everyone reacts differently, and not everyone survives it. The one that just spoke—pardon her French—has suffered adverse effects from it in the past, as you can see from her hair. It’s one of the more common side effects, and it’s one you can see on Slade here. The other one has taken to it quite nicely.”

“How long have they been given mirakuru?”

“We restarted the white-haired one on the treatment recently. The eastern girl, we’ve had her for longer. The effects, as you will soon see, are incomparable.” Mother’s pearly whites flash. 

With an ear-splitting creak, the wall slats split wide enough for a person to slip through. Cass strikes. 

Tim misses her move, but Cass crosses the cell in a split second. She lands a heavy hit, left fist cracking across Rose’s arm. Yet Rose doesn’t even flinch, her teeth bared in a snarl as she tackles Cass. They skid across the floor, Rose just barely holding Cass down with her weight. 

“Not how I imagined our rematch going, but let’s go ,” she growls. Yet Cass’s legs lock around her waist, flipping her over as they grapple for the upper hand. Tim winces when Cass’s fist smashes into Rose’s nose, breaking it with a distinct snap . Rose growls, throwing Cass off her like a ragdoll. Yet after breaking her own fall, Cass staggers up, her movements unnatural as she lunges at Rose again.

“You’re just letting them go at it?” Tim turns towards Mother. “You’re letting the merchandise damage each other.”

“They’re not for sale,” she reminds him. “But one of the unmistakable benefits of mirakuru is faster healing. No matter how much they bleed, they’ll recover much faster than the average person.”

“Fascinating.” Horrifying, is what Tim really wants to say. He glances towards Slade, about to lay into him. How could Slade watch his daughter being treated like a rooster forced into the cockfight pits? As if reading Tim’s thoughts, Slade meets his gaze without flinching. Without Mother noticing, Slade shakes his head once. Hard .

Tim snaps his mouth shut. What on earth was Slade playing at? How could any father drag his daughter into...whatever this farce was? Had he really chased her across the Caribbean for this?

Slade had returned to Bridgetown to rejoin Mother’s side. He had ended the chase by bringing back Ravager—or had he? Tim had gotten the warehouse wrong—Rose hadn’t been stashed there because the mirakuru was the true payload that Slade had procured. Which meant…

He wanted Tim to save Rose.

“Enough!” Tim barks out. “I’ve seen enough.”

Mother raises her hand, and Slade moves to obey, his expression carefully blank. The level is pulled, invisible gears slowly churning as the bars slowly move to bisect the space. Just as Tim thinks it’s impossible to separate the two, Rose bodily hurls Cass across the cell with a roar. Cass barely clears the closing bars before they slam shut with an ominous clang, rolling across the cavern floor until she hits the opposing wall. She doesn’t get up, worrying Tim further.

“What do you think, Timothy?”

“Remarkable. How much for them?”

Mother’s mouth flattens. “I’ve already said they’re not for sale.”

“Come now, what has the other person offered? I’ll pay double.” Tim chances another peek at Slade. Is this why he had granted Tim an audience with Mother instead of alerting the estate to Jason’s presence?

“I’m afraid that—”

“Has the would-be purchaser even already examined them?” Tim waves his arm dismissively. “Whatever they were paying you would already be generous, considering their state.”

Mother’s eyes narrow. “These are prime candidates—”

“You spoke of advanced healing, but one of them doesn’t even have an eye .” Rose glares at Tim, but thankfully holds her tongue. Slade says nothing, watching the exchange unfold.

“Mirakuru only heals injuries that are inflicted after initial ingestion—”

“Then you can’t tell me those two haven’t fled before while under your care.” Tim’s teeth flash in the torchlight. “The lack of whip marks may hide the personality of a recalcitrant slave, but if your original buyer discovers the ruse, you won’t receive whatever price you thought you could fetch. Evidently she’s not all that docile. Really, I’m doing you a favor.”

Mother hesitates, the first sign of a weakness Tim knows how to exploit. “To me, the eastern girl’s value is priceless. I would not sell her for anything. But the other one…”

Tim latches on. “I won’t be so discourteous as to question as to what work the original buyer would have put this one to, but think of it as a matter of fit , for would-be returning purchasers.” He plasters on his most winning smile.

“Go on.”

“Given your rather... covert operations, I think I can imagine what work most of your stock would be put to. They would be wasted as farm hands or in-house help. No, what people want them for is for combat purposes.” Tim leans forward. “Forgive me, but I must presume that for a woman arranging such a business endeavor, gaining the notice of a sovereign nation would be...devastating, so to speak.”

Mother doesn’t flinch, but Tim sees a spark of resolve crystallize in her gaze. “You can do anything with the right coin. What would they care where their purchases come from?”

“And yet you have yet to expand this part of your trade,” counters Tim. “You fund it from the profits of your sugarcane, but that has its limits, no? By the time you’ve gotten your harvest through the mill and refined the sugar, it’s already time to plant once more. It’s impossible for you to divest from the estate, even assuming you wanted to. You see an opportunity with mirakuru, yes, but you are unable to scale it to its full potential. Yet if you could...” Tim leans forward. “Royalty would kneel to you. You would be someone who could raise armies.”

Mother’s smile disappears, and Tim knows he has her in the palm of his hand. The oddly manic gleam in her eyes returns. The depths of her ambition would put Janet’s to shame. 

“Then tell me, Timothy Drake. Though you’re inexperienced, you have demonstrated an impressive intellect belying your age. Impress me, and the two will be yours.”

“You need someone who can handle the business affairs. I don’t mean just the books. But simply having your attorneys speak on your behalf is limiting, as I’m sure you’ve found over the years. You must be seen to be heard. And when you are seen, new opportunities will follow. You would be taken seriously. You could have the ear of monarchs. I would be happy to invest in this venture to see this through...for a fifty percent share of the company.”

“Unacceptable.”

“No?” Timothy conjures up his own terrifying smile. “I may not have seen the account books, but you’re bleeding cash clear as day because you can’t suitably scale your operations. If your records say otherwise I would be happy to retract my statements. But as far as I can tell, the production of mirakuru is unrefined. You prime slaves but the process is so inconsistent that you lose just as many as you sell.

“Your estate only has equipment for refining sugar, not producing mirakuru. You have two streams of income but can barely keep up with the necessary investments to keep from going bankrupt. Forgive my rudeness, but even if you were to offer up the eastern one as collateral, no bank would offer you a loan, given your marital status and age. And the notion of you collateralizing the estate? Unthinkable. Or, as you say….unacceptable.”

Mother stares back at him, her expression stony. Tim expects her to order Slade to throw him out for his impudence, but the directive never comes. 

“Why invest?” Mother responds, her voice carefully neutral. “If I’m truly bleeding money as you imply, why divert resources and time to seek me out, an aging widow seemingly unable to manage the affairs of her estate?”

“Two reasons. First, I think you have a vision that’s grand yet achievable if you have the appropriate backer advocating on your behalf. The second...you said it yourself. You and I, we’re not so unalike. I was in your shoes not all that long ago. Legacies are a fragile thing, aren’t they? And yet...they are what make us strong.” Tim keeps his arms loose, watching Slade for any sign of a threat. Yet Slade’s body language remains calm, as if he has little intention of taking out Tim. Mother hums thoughtfully as she digests his words.

“Your parents educated you well,” she says at last. “But I can do no better than a five percent stake.”

“You insult me, madame. Forty percent. What shareholder could apply for a loan on your behalf with anything less? You need capital, and I am your ticket to getting it, short of you remarrying. And full ownership of your assets would immediately transfer to the lucky groom.”

“...Ten percent, and the two slaves are yours.”

“Make it twenty percent with the two here, as well as a future discount on any purchases I might make. Then we shall have a deal.”

“I warn you, they will not be cooperative.” Mother wavers, glancing between Rose and Cass. “Especially the albino. The eastern one is more complacent, but you would do well not to underestimate her either.”

“I understand.”

“Very well.” Mother’s relieved exhale deflates her bony frame. “Then I will retire and have one of my attorneys prepare a contract. Remember—not a word of what has transpired today.”

“I would do nothing of the sort. But I would like to have the two of them now, please.”

“What happens to you after their transfer is none of my concern. But please take the relevant precautions. As I’ve said before, they are not ready for sale.”

“I’ll take my chances. Slade, if you would…?” 

Slade steps forward, keys already in his hand. He unlocks the cell, snapping his fingers. Rose steps forward, surprisingly quiet for the time being. He supposes that for now, they have a common goal. Cass staggers up, giving Tim a clear view of her face this time. 

Her horribly blank stare gives him chills. Tim doubts Stephanie will ever forgive him.

The door behind them slams open. Tim startles, caught off guard as a new person strides in.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for the two of you.” The new person scowls blackly. Tim cannot place his accent.

“David, we have a guest here. Is something the matter?” Mother inflicts a reproving stare on the intruder, but he remains unfazed.

“Thought I saw signs of a forced entry in the study, so I wanted to make sure the two of you were accounted for. We need to fire Arthur; he can’t even stand guard for an hour without fucking off into his cups. And who’s this?” he narrows his eyes at Tim. “And why the hell’re those two out of their cell?

“My name is Timothy Drake,” Tim steps into his space, trying to block David’s view of both Cass and Rose. “I came to meet with Mother tonight, as you can see. We’ve had much to discuss.”

“Timothy has just purchased those two, as a matter of fact.”

“Well now, isn’t that interesting.” Studying Tim, David kicks the door shut with his foot and cuts off Tim’s route of escape. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“That so?” David circles Tim like a shark smelling blood. “Have a good look at me, boy, you’ve got the proper light this time. Not like Tortuga now, hm?”

Tim flinches and damns himself.

“Cass,” David says. “Get ‘im, girl.”

She lunges.

Chapter Text

Cass lunges. Tim squeezes his eyes shut even as he twists to confront her, preparing for the inevitable impact. 

It never comes. Rose decks Cass with a right cross, grabbing Tim and hauling him with her.

“Keep your eyes open, dumbass!” She pushes him back as David launches towards them. Tim stumbles into the wall. Catching himself, he ducks as David’s fists smashes centimeters away from his head into the stone. In the chaos, Slade has put himself between him and Mother despite her protests, crowding her against the cell bars. He makes no move to intervene.

Tim crosses the room in two steps, throwing the door open as he shouts for Rose. “We gotta go!”

“Not so fast, boy!” David hurls something metallic at him. Tim dodges and the knife bounces off the stone, clattering to the floor. Across from Tim, Cass locks Rose in a grappling hold, sending them both skidding across the door’s threshold.

Tim ducks another swing from David, dropping to the floor. Grabbing the knife, he rolls away from a well-aimed kick that grazes his ribs.

“I’m sorry!” Grabbing the knife, Tim slams the hilt against the back of Cass’s head. He winces at the sickening crack of metal on skull. Cass goes slack, head lolling to the side.

“Nice job!” Rose peels off the floor, throwing Cass over her shoulder as she skids past the threshold. “Let’s bust this place!”

“Not so fast!” snarls David. He lunges again, but Tim slams the door in his face before racing after Rose.

“How the hell did ya find me?” Rose shrugs Cass into a better position, carrying her like she weighs nothing. “Got jumped by these sickos not long after we parted ways!”

“I’ll explain later!” Taking the lead, Tim races back the way he had come from. They reach the steps up to the estate. He jiggles the handle, hands trembling in desperation.

“David locked it!” Tim slams his shoulder against the door in frustration. “Must’ve done it when he came down!” Hearing David’s footsteps racing towards them, Tim turns to face him with his heart thudding out of his chest.

“You have a lot of nerve, boy.” Rounding the corner, David slows to a stop as he watches them struggle over the door. “In all my years here, no one’s ever tried to break into this estate. You’re really something, to pull the wool over Mother’s eyes like that. But that all ends now.”

Rose shoulders Tim out of the way, putting herself between him and David as David pulls out a revolver and clicks off the safety. 

“What are you doing—”

“Shut up and get the door open.” Rose snarls as she hefts Cass onto her back. “I heal fast, remember?”

“I don’t care what Mother said, no one recovers taking bullets from this short a range!” Tim rattles the door and kicks it.

Rose grits her teeth and stares down the barrel. David’s face pulls into a satisfied smile.

Bang!

Tim opens his eyes, his knuckles white on the door handle. Slowly, he turns around, not daring to breathe. He peeks over Rose’s shoulder. David’s prone form lies face down on the cave floor. Harper stands over him, the butt of her pistol raised in the air.

“Harper,” Tim breathes. “I’ve never been so happy to see you.”

“Ya know what, shrimp? Me too. Cap’n would’ve had my head if I let anything happen to you.” She scowls, examining her pistol. “Damn, that fucked up the grip.” Tucking the damaged pistol into her belt, Harper bends down to swipe David’s revolver.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Rose steps over David’s body to join her. “Definitely a sight for a sore eye, though.”

“C’mon, forget that door. There’s another path outside if you go deeper. They use it to cart the slaves in unnoticed. “Who’s that on your shoulder, by the way?” She gestures towards Cass as the trio break into a quick jog, venturing deeper into the cave.

“Long story, but did you guys find Lian?” 

“Hell yeah, but keep your voice low. You did good. Heard some of what was happening ‘cause all the sounds echo down here. We were able to get every single last person out while you distracted them.”

“Thank god. Then let’s get outta here!” Rose speeds up as Harper guides down down the shallow cave system. Tim’s heart skips a beat as a foreign breeze beckons them, cool air winding its way through the estate’s lowest floor.

They burst out of the ground through the cellar, clambering through hastily. Tim helps Rose pull Cass’s prone form out as Harper holds the cellar doors open.

“Keep an eye out, if she wakes up this isn’t gonna be pretty,” Rose warns. Clambering out of the cellar, she pulls Cass onto her back once more. Harper presses her fingers to her mouth and emits two sharp, piercing whistles that resound in the air. Two responding whistles greet them, and she races around the corner, Tim and Rose hot on her trail.

The carriage Roy had purchased for them stands in front of the estate, the two horses pawing the ground nervously. 

“Get in!” Harper swings into the coachman’s seat. Rose flings Cass into the back and settles in with Tim. “Giddyup!” Harper cracks the whip, and the horses break into a sharp gallop.

“Where are the kids?”

Harper twists around to offer Tim a wicked smile. “Had quite a nice selection of carriages to pick from back there. If they really need to, the guests can just walk on home!”

Sure enough, two carriages peel away from the estate, joining Harper as they race down the road and through the gate.

“Just how many carriages did you all take?” Rose calls over the wind.

“Hell if I know! They can’t chase all of us!” Harper shouts gleefully. Sure enough, one carriage pulls alongside them as they barrel down the path. In the dark, Tim can just barely make out Roy seated behind the dashboard.

“Harper!” Roy calls. “Meet up with the captain on the south side and rendezvous with the rest of us on the Spoiler! He drew the watchmen out, so be careful!”

The carriage curtain pulls open and a pale little hand waves at Tim. Nonplussed, Tim waves back.

“Uncle Jay-Jay?” A little girl’s face pops up from the semi-darkness, squinting at Tim and Rose. “Is that you?”

Jade appears in the window, tugging the little girl further back into the depths of the carriage. “Lian, that’s Timothy. He’s been a great help. Say hello.”

“Hello!”

Before Tim can respond, Roy cracks the reins. His carriage pulls ahead of Harper’s, then veers to the right when they approach a fork. The other carriage behind them—Tim spies Dick clutching the reins—races to the left. 

“Hold on,” Harper lashes the whip once more. “It’s gonna be bumpy!”

Tim yelps, gripping the sides for dear life as Harper urges the horses faster. Rose tightens her grip on Cass as they speed closer to the Careenage.

“Is she doing okay?” Tim peers at Cass, worrying his lip. 

“Nothing she can’t handle. You should be worrying about us in the event she wakes up.” Rose glances behind them to check for pursuers. “I knew you had a silver tongue, but I’ll be fucking damned. How do you store all that bullshit in that pretty head of yours?”

“Never mind that. It wasn’t Slade that brought you here, was it?” Tim’s teeth rattle when the carriage wheel hits a pothole. “Seemed like he wanted me to spring you back there.”

“Pretty much.” Rose spits over the carriage side. “Turned out my shitty old man was actually trying to scare me out of the Caribbean before David Cain got his grubby little hands on me. Too bad his meddling ended up leading Cain to me anyway.”

“What about Joey?”

“No idea. But wherever he is, it’s better than being trapped in that fucking estate.” Rotating her wrist experimentally, Rose winces then abandons the movement. 

“Guys, we have a problem.” Harper calls. Tim follows the point of her finger. Fresh carriage tracks veer sharply off the road and disappear into the underbrush. “Looks like Jason had to go off the path. Keep your wits about you. The trees get thicker here.” The carriage slows as she guides the horses into the thicket. 

“Lemme help.” Rose clambers over and seats herself behind the dashboard, ignoring Harper’s protests. “I can see the tracks better than either of you.” 

Tim arranges Cass so she’s lying more comfortably in the back of the carriage. He glances about him nervously, only the coach lantern guiding their way forward.

“Rose—”

“Shush.” Rose leans forward, listening intently. Then, “To the left. I hear people. A lot of them.” 

“Tim.” Harper twists around and hands him her additional gun. “Hopefully you won’t need to use it, but I reckon we’d all feel better if you have the means to protect yourself.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Swallowing, he turns the metal over in his hands. 

“Off the carriage. The horses will make too much noise. We get Jason and head to the Spoiler, quick and clean. “Tim, stay in the back and look after that girl. Looks like she’s had a rough time.”

With Rose leading the way, they creep forward in the dark. Tim brings up the rear, carrying Cass as best as he can. He’s struck by how thin she is, her face gaunt and weary. Her weight makes it difficult to avoid snapping branches and leaves underfoot, but Rose and Harper clear the path forward.

The wind shifts downwind. Tim detects the faintest whiff of smoke. Rose and Harper exchange worried glances. A flicker of light beckons them as they push forward. The dim light filters through the trees until it becomes a beacon in the darkness.

“Shit,” Harper mutters as they approach. “It’s Jason’s carriage.” She grabs the torchlight from the coachman’s seat and sweeps it in a large arc. 

The carriage remains standing up, propped against the tree it had crashed into. The horses are nowhere to be seen. Bent out of place, the splintered left wheel had unaligned from its axle and rendered the carriage unusable.

Rose kneels, hands pressing to the ground. “He fled on foot, as did his pursuers. The trees get too thick to use the carriages.” They stumble past the wreckage, but not before Rose grabs the carriage whip as a makeshift weapon.

The scent of smoke seems distant, reassuring Tim that Jason was alright. They continue for a few more minutes when Rose stops in her tracks. She draws the whip.

“Harper, we gotta go!” Rose hisses. Harper cocks her gun and they disappear into the brush.

Tim hurries forward though he’s hampered by Cass. He hears the thundering sound of large guns in the distance. As he gets closer, he sees two torchlights swinging wildly. Shouts and cries echo through the air. He spies a blur of red. Jason. The man is a force to behold as he hurls one of his assailants into the thicket. Several men lie crumpled at Jason’s feet, beaten and bloodied under his potent wrath. Wrestling another opponent to the ground, Jason lands a hard right cross straight across the man’s face.

Rose and Harper alight upon Jason’s remaining pursuers with twin war cries. Tim hears the crack of Rose’s whip and Harper’s fists pummeling her hapless target. When Tim stumbles forward, it’s the glint of metal in the thicket that catches his eye.

One man just a few paces from the brawl fumbles his gun as he reloads. The man hasn’t noticed Tim yet, focused entirely on the brawl. His gun wavers, then his sights settle on Harper. 

No.

Tim surges forward, Cass slipping from his shoulders as he dashes to the man. Hearing Tim approach, the man swings around and pulls the trigger. Tim’s momentum carries him as he brings the pistol down hard against the man’s skull. The man crumples, hitting the ground at the same time as his gun.

“Tim!” Harper whips around, felling their last assailant with a well aimed right hook. “I told you to stay back! You would’ve been mincemeat if his gun hadn’t jammed!”

“And if I had, you both might be dead!” snaps Tim. He pats himself down for injuries before making his way back to Cass. 

“Captain,” Kicking one of the downed men, Harper spits on him. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jason staggers forward, the new clothes they had just purchased already in disarray. In the poor light, Tim can’t make out any injuries. “Good to see you all. Who’s that?” he jerks his head towards Cass. 

“An ally.”

“Good enough for me. Good work getting everyone out, Harper.”

“C’mon. We left the carriage back there. We gotta get to the Spoiler.”

“I left the Sheila with a minimal crew.” Jason grimaces. “Kori flew a pox flag earlier because the navy was sniffing around. I need one more person with me to sail her.”

“I’ll go with you.” Harper starts forward, then stumbles. Rose catches her.

“ Shit . You’re bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the only crewmate here anyway.” Harper bares her teeth, pressing a hand to her side.

“You need medical attention.” Tim hesitates, then steps forward. “I can go with Jason. I’m the only one that’s uninjured. You three should take the carriage back to the Spoiler.”

“Dammit.” Jason shakes his head. “Fine. Look after each other. That’s an order.” He pushes past them, subtly favoring his left leg. Relieving Cass’s weight from Tim, Rose shrugs her onto her shoulders.

“Godspeed.” Rose says. “Wish I'd made you crew back on Tortuga.”

“Thanks, but I’m glad you didn’t. I hope you find Joey though.”

Harper punches Tim lightly on the shoulder as he passes her. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Can’t say that’s very limiting.” He offers her an awkward wave before he chases Jason through the thicket. Catching up to Jason, Tim asks, “You’re not injured anywhere else, are you?”

“I’m well enough.” Jason shakes his head. “Jade’s got Lian, right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god. At least we got what we came for, then. Follow me.” Ignoring his injured leg, Jason speeds along the edge of the thicket, keeping to the fringes of the main road. They race until the edge of the shoreline, their chests heaving with exertion.

“Jason,” chokes out Tim. “The smoke—it’s smelling stronger.”

“I know.” Jason grimaces. They pick up the pace, a terrible feeling of dread overtaking the two of them. They race to the beaches, their boots sinking into the pure white sand. A thick black plume of smoke wafts into the night.

“ No .” Jason wades into the water, his voice taut with disbelief. “ Kori .”

Bile rises in Tim’s throat. At the water’s edge, he watches helplessly. 

The Sheila Haywood is burning.

The trembling waves reflect the burning wreck. The Sheila bobs helplessly, moored to her grave. Flames devour the sails and rigging, red tongues licking hungrily at the deck. In the dark, Tim can just make out the sails of a second ship in the distance, her cannons out and trained on the Sheila. 

Tim wades in after Jason, the sandy bottom hampering his movements. He grips Jason’s hand, clutching Jason for dear life as they watch the horror befalling them.

Another round of cannon fire goes off, their sparks lighting up the darkness. Tim can’t believe he hadn’t heard them earlier—the party, the negotiations with Mother, then the pursuit—the cumulative effects of these events had given him tunnel vision. The unknown ship pumps the Sheila with a mix of chain shot and other artillery. 

With a creaking groan, the Sheila trembles under the onslaught. Jason’s face turns ashen. The Sheila’s main mast trembles. With an ear rending tear, the mast splinters from the deck, toppling into the sea with a final, dramatic splash.

“Jason.” Tim squeezes his hand tightly. “Please. It’s not too late. We can still—”

“I should have been aboard,” Jason’s voice cracks with rage and shock. “I should have gone down with her.”

Grabbing Jason, Tim drags him back to the shore. Jason doesn’t resist. The sandy bottom bogs their feet down, but Tim forges onwards until the tides only lap at their heels. Torches filter towards them from the treeline, hoof beats growing louder every second. 

“Jason.” Tim shakes him by the collar. “It’s probably the navy.” He pushes Harper’s gun into Jason’s hands. “They won’t know what’s happening. If they recognize you, use me as a hostage.”

That seems to snap Jason out of his shock. “No,” he spits. “I’m done with that. Forever.”

“This isn’t the time to grow a conscience, Jason!” Tim gestures frantically towards the treeline.

“I…” Jason falters. “That ship isn’t navy.” 

“Then what is it?” Tim scans the bay, but the night and the smoke obscure the mysterious ship’s hoisted colours. 

Jason shakes his head. “It’s...it’s okay, Tim.” Taking a shuddering breath, Jason pulls himself together.  His expressions tightens, fury and shock compressing into forced calm as he takes stock of the situation. “I’ve been living on borrowed time. My luck would’ve run out eventually.”

“Don’t talk like—”

“It’s too late for that.” On horseback, David Cain plunges from the treeline. The firelight casts a grim shadow over his furious expression. Several riders flank him, fanning out as they ride towards the beach. Jason limps forward to meet them, slipping from Tim’s leadened fingers. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

Dropping the gun, Jason reaches for the sky.

Chapter Text

Forgive me, Janet. Tim stretches out, resting in the very cells that had imprisoned Rose and Cass just an hour before. I’m just glad you can’t see your son behind bars like a common criminal now.

He rattles his shackled wrists experimentally. What would happen to him and Jason now? Tim looks over Jason’s prone form with worry.

“Stupid boy!” David had roared, dismounting from his horse in a fluid motion. His boots hit the sand with barely a sound, heels sinking into the soft ground. Stalking up to Tim, he stabbed a bony finger against Tim’s sternum. “Do you have any bloody idea what you’ve done?!” 

“Get your hands off him!” Jason snarled. He took a step forward, but the riders’ guns cocked in unison, barrels trained on him. He freezes.

“I ought to flay the two of you!” David pressed the barrel of his gun against Tim’s temple. “Where are the goods?!”

Tim clamped his lips shut, his arms outstretched in surrender. So this was where he was going to die. 

Jason bared his teeth. “Kids are fucking gone.” He jerked his head to the burning wreckage of the beloved Sheila. “You’re welcome to take a look.”

David paled, taking in the fiery wreck. “That’s impossible, you wouldn’t have had the time to—“

“You think I wanted this to happen?” Jason growled. “I just wanted a nice score. But you know what? This works out just fine too. If I can’t have them, no one else can.”

David backhanded Tim and sent him sprawling. Tim’s jaw erupted in pain as his face snapped to the side. Unwanted tears stung the corner of his eyes as his vision blurred. His ears rang. He struggled to breathe but the sting of humiliation drowned out all the pain. Jason’s outraged cry was trampled by the thud of more hoofbeats galloping across the beach. The newcomers slowed to a trot, stopping two horse lengths from David.

“Slade,” David snapped, his attention diverted from Tim. “Why the hell are you here? You should be with Mother!”

“Left her with Arthur.” 

“You know that man can’t be trusted! It’s his damn fault this happened!”

“She’ll be fine. Where are the slaves?”

“Supposedly there!” David pointed towards the Sheila’s smoking husk. “What are we going to tell Mother?” 

Instead of following David’s finger, Slade’s eye focused on Tim’s prone form. Tim shook his head minutely, sucking in huge lungfuls of air as he tried to recover. 

“My men and I will take a look.” Slade wheeled his horse around. “If you’re worried about Mother, go back to the estate. I’ll take it from here.” 

“But—“

“Come if you want, but you ought to get that head injury of yours looked at.” Slade rode past him. “Have you alerted the authorities yet?” 

“Who the hell needs to? By daylight we’ll be the talk of the island! We’re ruined!” 

“We’ll see. The night’s not over yet.” 

“You’re right. We only need one of them to squeal.” David’s eyes drifted between Tim and Jason, promising a world of agony.

“Do as you please, but take them back to the estate first. Mother will want words with them.”

“You’re right.” David shook his head as if to clear it. “Tie them up!” he barked at his men. The riders formed a tight circle around Jason and Tim, weapons trained on them. One fished out two coils of rope, long and thickly corded. Tim permitted his wrists to be bound, but Jason struggled, only acquiescing when a rider shoved his musket muzzle directly under his chin. After they were bound, the ends of the ropes were passed to David, who surveyed Jason and Tim with a fearsome grin.

“I hope you’re both up for a brisk run,” he sneered, eyeing Jason’s wounded leg. David spurred his gelding into a sharp canter, forcing Jason and Tim into a run. Jason stumbled, hissing as pain lanced through his wounded leg. The horse dragged Jason forward several feet before he found his footing once more.

“Jason---are you---,” Tim gasped for breath, barely able to keep pace. If Jason’s leg gave out…The mental image of David dragging Jason’s limp body through the dirt made Tim shudder with unexpected rage.

“I’ll be fine,” Jason hissed through gritted teeth. He shouldered Tim away, determined to make the march on his own. “Worry about yourself first.”

Yet Tim was huddled in this miserable cell, casting an anxious gaze over Jason’s prone form. Jason had barely made it to the manor on foot, and the moment the cell door had slammed shut Jason had slipped into unconsciousness.

“Jason.” Tim reaches through the bars separating them, but Jason remains just out of reach. “ Please , wake up.” In the darkness Tim can barely make out the outline of Jason’s ribs rising and falling with each shallow breath. At least they were alive. Tim takes some cold comfort in that fact.

Jason’s crew would come for their captain, wouldn’t they? They came for him once. Surely they would again. Yet Tim has a difficult time picturing it. The Crown had a tight grip on Bridgetown—it was a miracle that they had even made landfall unnoticed. Unexpected grief surges through Tim, and he quietly mourns for Jason’s loss. The Sheila Haywood may have been Tim’s prison—but for Jason, it had been his home.

The authorities would be on high alert. The crew’s priority would be getting the slaves to safety. In his heart, Tim already knows that. Despite his predicament, Tim feels a bone-deep satisfaction at the thought. They had accomplished what they had set out to do.

Jason stirs, interrupting Tim’s thoughts.

“Jason?” Tim rattles the bars. “Talk to me.” He peers through the darkness, praying for an answer.

“...'m fine.” Jason mumbles at long last. Relief floods through Tim. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour. How’s your leg?”

Jason flexes his leg experimentally and bites back a pained hiss. “Not good. That bastard’s got a real chip in his shoulder.” 

Tim hears fabric tear. He closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of Jason’s irate curses as he bandages his leg. “What’ll happen to us?”

“...It’s best not to think about that.” Jason shuffles closer until they’re seated back to back with only the bars dividing them. “I shouldn’t have taken you with me.”

“Better me than Harper, I think. I don’t know if she could have handled that run with her injury.”

“She knew the risks. You—”

“Please don’t take me for a fool; I knew agreeing to help meant getting my hands dirty.” Tim inspects his bound wrists. “You don’t need to assuage my conscience.”

“Do you really understand?” Jason snaps. “The sentence for---”

“Stealing a man’s property is, at best, prison. At worst, hanging. The sentence for aiding a pirate? Hanging and gibbeting. I didn’t do this because I thought it was fun , Jason.” He adds as an afterthought: “I’d like to think I’ve matured since I stopped poaching, at least.”

Jason snorts, bringing a small smile to Tim’s face. “Could’ve fooled me.”

They sit in companionable silence for some time. The darkness wraps around them, thick and heavy and suffocating. David had taken the torch with him, and only a faint sliver of torchlight from the outside corridor illuminates their cell.

“Why’d you agree to help us?” Jason asks quietly. “I know you said it was for the ring, but surely that can’t be it.”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” Tim closes his eyes, the ring a sudden, heavy weight on his mind. “I wish I could say it had some sentimental value to me, but that would be a lie. That ring is all I have to prove who I am out here. Without it? I might as well be dead.”

“A stupid rich people thing, then.”

“Yes. A wretched thing that would do far more harm than good in the wrong hands.”

“And I suppose you believe your hands are the ‘right’ hands?”

“I hope they are. Although I’ve come to question that recently.” Tim sighs into the dark, racking his brain for a different topic. “Do you think Kori made it out?”

“I...I don’t know.” Jason’s voice breaks. “I left her in charge to look after the remainder of the crew.”

“Who else was onboard?” Tim mentally flicks through the list of people in his head. He bolts upright. His heart nearly stops. “Oh, no. Bart .”

“He’s fine.” Jason’s words lighten Tim’s heart instantly before he continues. “Kori told me she relocated him to the Spoiler since we were drawing too much attention. But...Cullen was onboard, and a few others. They were waiting for me. I don’t know if they got out in time. I shouldn’t have been the diversion.” Jason spits to the side. “It’s all my fault.”

“I heard you had the most stagecoach experience.” Tim twists around, reaching through the bars to squeeze Jason’s shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort him. “You made the best decision you could have at the time. We couldn’t have expected this outcome.”

“And it turned into the worst situation, all over again.” Jason slams the bars. The iron rattles, startling Tim.

Tim waits until his heartbeat steadies before he responds. “I’m sorry, Jason. Not just for your crew, but for the Sheila, too. I know she was important to you.”

Though the words on his tongue taste thick and misshapen, Jason forces himself to speak. “She was a relic from the past. Far beyond her prime. It was probably time I let go of her.”

“What do you mean?”

Jason remains so quiet that for a moment Tim thinks he fell unconscious again. Then: “Her namesake wasn’t a good person. The real Sheila was engaged in...similar activities to this estate. Some might’ve considered it bad luck, or at least bad taste, to christen a ship after her.”

“Then why?”

“We can’t pick who we care for.” Jason sags against the bars. “But if it weren’t for her, I don’t think I’d be here today.”

“Mother is your...mother?”

Though Tim’s back is turned, he can hear the confusion in Jason’s voice. “Huh?”

“This estate’s owner calls herself Mother. I assumed it was a pseudonym. And then you said you didn’t think you’d be here today without her, so…” 

Jason huffs a laugh drier than a desert. “I see. No, they couldn’t possibly be the same person. But you...weren’t entirely off the mark either.”

Tim settles back against the bars, struggling to get comfortable. “Tell me about her. The real Sheila.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Jason exhales, a sharp, broken thing that pierces the gloom. “There was a time when I thought I needed her in my life. Even never really knowing her, I felt her absence more than anything in this world.”

“You loved her enough to name your ship after her.”

Jason snorts, his voice rough and embittered. “I did, didn’t I? For the longest time I told myself it was the least I could do for her in memoriam.”

Tim’s heart breaks for him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I told you I was living on borrowed time.” Jason swallows audibly. “She was compromised. Perhaps...like you are now. She was working with the pirate I was hunting. And after he had no more use for her, he left us both to die.

“Do you know what it’s like being buried alive? Being so helpless you can’t do anything while some lunatic is piling dirt ‘round your ears? I should have died that day. But somehow, I clawed us out of that fucking grave. I’ve never been much for faith, but I guess my mother had enough for one last miracle. And yet after all that...she bled out tending to my wounds first. Did she do it out of guilt? Out of love? I guess I’ll never really know.” 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” Tim’s helplessness threatens to swallow him whole.

“I don’t fear the gallows. It’s a slow death, but I reckon it’s a cakewalk compared to suffocating under the dirt after getting beaten with a pry bar. But you...you don’t deserve that sort of fate.”

 “Jason.” Tim gropes for something of Jason’s he can latch onto through the bars. Jason meets him halfway, their fingers finding each other even in the dark. He holds Jason’s cold hand for dear life, a terrible fear settling deep into his gut. “We’ll get out of this.”

“We will.” Jason squeezes his hand in reassurance. They pretend that his voice doesn’t falter.

Tim searches for a different topic. “Where’s a place you’ve never been to that you’d like to visit?”

Jason considers it for a moment. “I’ve...always wanted to visit Crete.”

“Greece?”

“Yeah. Always wanted to see if the classics got it right about a wine dark sea.”

“You’ve read the classics?”

“Bits and pieces.” A note of hopefulness brightens Jason’s voice. “I reckoned it was more figurative, but I always wanted to see for myself.”

“I thought the description was more in a literal sense. Don’t you think the ocean looks sort of wine-dark at sunset?”

“Wait, what color do you think of when you hear ‘wine-dark’?”

“Like a red wine? Or even purple. If the sky is sort of overcast.” Tim shrugs. “What’s the weirdest color you’ve seen the ocean?”

“Would you believe me if I said gold?”

“Really?”

“There’s a corner of the ocean captains avoid, due to superstitions and the like. But along that stretch, there’s golden-brown seaweed as far as the eye can see. And sometimes, if the sun hits the surface just right---you’d think you were sailing in an ocean of gold.” 

“No way.”

“I’m not lying.” 

“I’d like to see it someday.”

“Didn’t I just tell you that sailors avoid that spot?” Jason clicks his tongue. 

“But you’ve been.”

“Yeah, and we got stuck because there was no wind in our sails,” Jason snorts. “By the time we found our way out, half the crew was scared witless that we’d get tangled up in the seaweed and the other half was convinced some monster would drag us into the deep. First time I watched a crew come close to mutinying.”

“...Which half were you on?”

“...Sea monsters. I think it was my second or third crossing. Haven’t seen an in the flesh yet like the legends describe, but who knows? Plenty of strange phenomena out there in the deep when you’ve sailed long enough. Lights where there shouldn’t be, dancing along the masts, voices in the wind…oh, there’s also a body of water called the Drake Passage, though the Spaniards call it Mar de Hoces —bet you’d like that one.”

“Really? What is it like?” Tim leans forward, his interest piqued.

“Cold, rough, and nothing like you. Uncharted territory. No one with half a brain would go there willingly. The waves there dwarf galleons, from what I hear.”

“We can skip the Drake Passage.” Tim shivers imagining it. “But I’d like to see that golden sea you mentioned someday.”

“Why don’t you pick a destination that actually has food ?”

Tim gnaws his lip. Now that Jason has broached the subject, he’s suddenly very aware that the last thing he ate was the lemon tart at the party. “I’ve always wanted to see Marrakesh,” he confides.

Jason hums. “I’ve never been there either. Too far inland to risk. The Moroccan coastline is gorgeous, though.”

“My parents visited, once. My mother said the food disagreed with her, but my father loved it. He was talking about it for months.”

“Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll be able to go. Marrakesh, then Crete.”

“You’re forgetting the golden sea.”

“Fine, you little wretch. We can go, but you’ll have to find us a galley and the manpower for it. I’m not getting trapped in the doldrums again on your account.”

“Promise?” 

He squeezes Tim’s hand. “Promise.”

The cells are hot . Tim shudders knowing that Cass and Rose had endured the very hell he and Jason were experiencing. It must be afternoon by now, the scorching heat reaching unseasonable heights within the cave. Tim has no other reasonable explanation for how sweltering the shallow cave system has grown.

“Why is it so hot?” Tim tosses in his corner on the floor, seeking refuge against the stone. Even the floor feels like an oven as he grovels in the dirt, the sweltering heat baking him as he presses his face against the stone. Even talking is difficult. Every fiber of his body cries out for water. The thought could drive him mad, knowing the ocean lingered just out of their reach.

Jason offers no response. He stirs fitfully against the bars, a light sheen of sweat covering what little skin Tim can see.

No one has come, but throughout the night there had been shouts. Footsteps stomping past their chamber did not pause to check on them. Tim’s stomach has quieted for the time being, if only because his urgent need for water overrode any other thought.

Another set of heavyset but purposeful footsteps tread by. Tim fully expects the person to pass them on, but they stop in front of their door. The lock turns. Relief and dread surge through Tim’s exhausted form. Was it David? The door creaks open to reveal Slade. 

“Well, aren’t you both a sight to see.” Slade’s voice remains carefully dispassionate.

“Water,” croaks Tim. He pulls himself into a sitting position. 

Slade clicks his tongue. “A servant should be arriving soon with some. I have to thank you, boy. Rose made it out safe and sound with the rest of your crew. The entire island has been turned upside down. I’m rather impressed with the results, given your ship went up in flames last night.”

“Fuck off.” Jason drags himself upright, leaning against the bars for support. “We didn’t do it for you. You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

“Watch your tongue. I’ve turned a blind eye to your bounty out of respect for Grayson, but don’t test my patience.” 

“What’s going to happen to us?” Tim staggers up. His mouth tastes like sawdust. He’s not above begging for something to quench his thirst.

“I don’t know. David wanted to use you as substitutes, but Mother is under the impression that you aren’t a good candidate for mirakuru. This one, on the other hand…” Slade trails off, gaze lingering on Jason for a touch too long. “He’s got enough fire to pull through the aftereffects.”

“Don’t touch him,” Tim grits out, fear flaring in his gut once more. “He...he’s not yours.”

“It’s not my decision to make. I warned you not to get involved.” Slade’s arms fold across his chest. “You’re full of surprises, kid. You’re sticking up for him, even after all this time.”

“He’s...he’s a better man than all of you.” Tim sways where he stands, dizziness threatening to overwhelm him.

That drags a surprised laugh from Slade. “So he never told you then? Or rather, you never figured it out?”

“I...what?” Tim’s head throbs. He doesn’t like the calculating gleam in Slade’s gaze.

“After I made port, I heard some interesting rumours.” Slade’s attention lands firmly on Jason. “Whispers of a ruse. A presumed dead scion. And more than one person who was interested in taking his slice of the pie.”

“Shut up. ” Jason slams the cell door with his arm. The violent sounds reverberate through the room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Slade redirects his attention to Jason, but he gestures towards Tim. “You don’t feel sorry for him? He’s risking it all for you, the one person who truly never had his best interests at heart. You’ve ruined his life for a chance to reclaim yours, and you couldn’t even do that right.”

“It’s none of your business!”

“Slade.” Tim’s voice trembles. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Slade surveys the two of them, battered and desperate beneath him. Gripping the bars for support, Tim shivers under the weight of Slade’s unsmiling expression. Slade derives neither pleasure nor gain from taunting them---so why was he here? Out of some misguided idea that he owes Tim at least that much for aiding Rose?

“The Demon’s Head made landfall last night.” Slade crosses his arms. Tim jerks, breath catching in his throat, yet Jason doesn’t visibly react. “As you can imagine, he’s not pleased with you, Captain Todd.”

The Demon’s Head? “Jason. How do you know Ra’s al Ghul?” The very name saps the strength from his limbs. Sinking to the floor, Tim all but collapses against the bars as he turns to Jason for answers.

Jason’s eyes, usually so firm and resolute, remain affixed to the floor. He says nothing. Doubt sinks its teeth further into Tim’s shoulders. 

“Jason.” Tim hates how his voice sounds, weak and teetering towards the cusp of begging. “I want to hear it from you. Not him.”

“The Demon’s Head had something I wanted.” Jason responds. His voice flattens, wringing any trace of emotion from his speech. Jason turns to face Tim, his expression deadened and cold and unfamiliar. “He had information regarding the Joker’s last known whereabouts. But the cost of that information was…you.”

“And after all the effort you went to, you couldn’t even hold up your end of the bargain.” Slade shakes his head. “A stupid move on your part.”

“Ra’s just wanted him out of the way; anything more than that was none of my business.” Jason glares at Slade before schooling his expression once more. “But I’ll be damned before I hand over anyone to that piece of shit.”

“That’s not the story I heard.”

“Would you shut up ?!” Jason whips around to lash Slade with a blinding scowl. “I—”

“Shut up, both of you. Please.” Tim’s head throbs. His chest constricts, throat tight with the sour tang of betrayal. When he looks at Jason, he’s struck with the urge to vomit.

Slade surveys them, then shakes his head. Without another word, he turns and leaves, the door clanging shut behind him.

“Tim.” Jason shifts closer until he’s pressed against the bars separating them.

“Go away.” Tim turns away, curling into a wretched heap against the baking floor. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Was that what you wanted to tell me earlier? That you sold me out for a cheap shot at revenge?”

“Tim—”

“I’m not daft.” Tim’s voice turns brittle. “It must’ve been an easy decision for you. A second chance to hunt your target in exchange for the spoiled rich kid you held a grudge against all these years? Priceless. So, what were you going to do when you caught the Joker? Turn him over to the authorities and hope they didn’t gibbet you along with him? Would that have fixed your entire fucked up life? Did your crew know? Tell me!” 

“They didn’t know.” 

“Bullshit!” Tim snarls, but his ire is hampered by his raging need for water. “Tell me the truth, Jason!”

“They didn’t know, because I never told them.” Jason snaps, a flicker of his usual fire licking at his edges. “I never told them because it was a fucking insane plan, and I knew it too! The Demon’s Head hates my guts, but he thought you were an obstacle in whatever stupid schemes he had. Enough of a nuisance that he was willing to use me to achieve his own ends.” Jason sucks in a great inhale before releasing it to abate his frustration.

“You told me once that you had a duty for the people who work under you. I have a duty to my crew, too. And at the time, the cost of securing their futures was...you. And it…” Jason’s mouth twists. “You were right. It was an easy decision. The foolish ones always are.”

“You can’t trust Ra’s. He’ll talk circles around you. Every word out of his mouth is a lie, even if it’s true on a technicality. What, did he offer you a pardon on top of the Joker?” Tim sneered. “He doesn’t have that kind of power.”

“He has influence in other circles.” Jason spits, nearing the end of his patience. Sensing Jason unraveling, Tim claws at the last shreds of Jason’s damningly cool facade. He needs to see Jason snap, to find any sign that Jason wasn’t as calculating and heartless as he had led Tim to believe.

“So he offered to take you to the Spanish or the French so you can keep sacking British ships? Or perhaps you’ll go begging for work from the Dutch to escort their ships? I expected better of you.”

“I will do,” Jason seethes, “ whatever it takes to protect my crew.”

“And look how well that turned out,” sneers Tim. “I don’t know what you expected after making a deal with someone called the Demon’s Head. I should have turned you in the moment I stepped foot in this stupid estate. What the hell was I thinking?” 

“...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give me that rubbish,” snarls Tim. “It’s far too late for any of that now. What the hell has Ra’s done, now that I’ve been gone for months? For all I know he’s already snapped up the remaining stock of the company.” Outburst leeching his remaining energy, Tim cradles his head in his arms. Jason makes an aborted movement to move closer to him, then stops midway as if thinking better of it. The remainder of the day stretches on, silence spanning the widening chasm between them.

No one arrives with water. Day stretches into what must surely be night. Sometime during Tim's weakened daze, a small pail of water appears. Jason has enough discipline not to drink the entire thing, only taking what he needs before passing it through the bars. Tim drains the pail then splashes some onto his face to cool off, daring Jason to say anything about wasting their precious allotment. Then remembering Jason’s wounded leg, he regrets his childish behavior.

“I’m sorry,” Tim mutters. There’s not much left, but he passes the nearly empty pail back. 

“You drink it.” Jason pushes the pail away. “I reckon I won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Your damn gallows humor isn’t helping us any..” Tim shoves it towards him. 

“But—”

“If you don’t drink it, I’m going to throw it on you.” Tim can already imagine Jason’s biting response to his threat. Yet to his surprise and worry, Jason silently accepts the proffered pail, gulping down the last remnants. Tim’s gaze returns to the door.

How long can they hold out?

Tim timidly peered through the crack in the door. It had been a difficult birth, evident from screams that had rang out for the last few hours. He paled at the smell of poultices and the ghastly amount of blood, but the midwife remained unfazed. She tossed several blood soaked rags into a bucket, rearranging the bedside table into an orderly fashion. To Tim’s relief, a ratty blanket covered Stephanie from the waist down as she clutched her wailing newborn.

“I brought more ice chips,” Tim mumbled. They were a luxury his mother would have surely disapproved of him doling out to her, but all fear of incurring his mother’s wrath disappeared when Stephanie’s sweat-soaked brow trembled with exertion.

“Thank you.” Stephanie’s eyes fluttered shut. The baby let out a death-defying wail. “Shh, little one,” she murmured. She kissed the boy’s wrinkled forehead. “It must be a shock, isn’t it, to be born to a wretched life like this. Poor fool!”

“Don’t say that.”

Stephanie’s red-rimmed eyes fixated on Tim. “Go on,” she says. “Hold him.”

Tim clutched the swaddled babe to his chest. The child was so light that Tim feared dropping him. The babe’s eyes were tightly shut. He let loose a ghastly scream as if cursing the room’s occupants.

“What will you name him?” Tim rocked the fussing babe, but the new life in his arms refused to be soothed.

“Does it matter what I name a bastard child?” Stephanie’s breath slipped out as a wintry sigh. “If only one could choose their own parents. If only he were born to a family like yours.”

The protest rose to Tim’s lips and faded. He couldn’t find the words to explain how terrible Stephanie’s proposal truly was.

“Still, it’s bad luck to leave a child unnamed like that.”

“I suppose.” Stephanie watched the wailing child in Tim’s arms as if she was eons away. “What about Jason? It’s a heroic, strong name.”

“What? But why?”

“You used to tell me all those stories of the Argonauts. Why ever not?” Already warming to the name, Stephanie smiled fondly at the child.

“Jason deserted his lover in the end,” Tim reluctantly reminded her, offering her back the squirming newborn. Already he cannot recall the face of the cowardly fop who had deflowered Stephanie and ran. Tim had contemplated tracking the man down, but Stephanie had put a stop to it. What would have been the use? A ruined maidenhead was enough destruction as it were.

“He won’t be his namesake.” Stephanie confidently strokes the newborn’s forehead. “No, you’ll grow up and do impossible, great things, won’t you?”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Nobody ever does. But at least…” Stephanie trailed off as the midwife tugged the child from Stephanie’s arms and whisked him into the unknown. “They won’t ever know he’s a bastard.”

Tim stirs awake to Jason scratching a sixth line into the wall. How Jason tallies the passing days without sunlight or even the set routine of mealtimes, Tim will never know, but he’s silently grateful for Jason’s diligence even in the face of death by starvation.

“You up?” Jason rasps. “You were moaning in your sleep again.” 

Tim grunts in assent. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes. What was the use, when the night was eternal in this accursed cellar?

Sometimes he dreams. Once he woke up with his mother’s name on his lips after being shaken awake by a worried Jason. They’re normally little cobwebs of memories and wishes that drift out of reach upon awakening, but this one…

“Nevermind that.” Tim leans against the bars for relief against the heat. “Last night you were calling for your father as well,” he murmurs instead.

“I wasn’t.”

“For a Bruce.”

Jason’s scratching halts. “I see.”

“Who is that?”

The scratching resumes as Jason struggles to score the cellar wall. “I became his ward after I left London,” Jason says eventually. “That’s all.”

Tim’s rage at Jason’s betrayal had dissipated in the face of extreme hunger and thirst. Now, it was all he could do to stay upright. Memories resurface of a terrible winter over a decade ago. Tim had passed it largely without incident, ensconced within the comforts of Drake Manor. Cold and dreary the manor had been, it had kept the worst of the frost at bay.

Kon’s retelling of his version of events had been far grimmer. The Kent’s farm had been snowed in, to the point that a section of the barn roof had caved from the sheer weight of snow. They lost some of their livestock that year and the precious hay and grain they had stored. The Kents got through that winter by the skin of their teeth, but their neighbors hadn’t been so lucky. Their neighbors several acres down had starved, forced to ration even the vermin they caught.

In his entire life, Tim doesn’t recall going through an entire day without a single meal. He’s since learned he can go for three, so long as he doesn’t move. It’s an ordeal he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. 

“Why are they keeping us here? They could have called the authorities on us long ago.” Tim licks his dry lips. “Do you think your crew will come for us?”

“...If they could have, they would have done that already,” Jason hesitates. “They probably think we’re dead. If they were smart, they fled the island before the authorities shut down the port.”

“Shit.” Tim desperately racks his head. “We’ve got to escape somehow. Can’t you pick the lock?”

“Why can’t you ?” snaps Jason. “If every low-born knew their way around a lock, we wouldn’t have much use for jails now, would we?”

“...Sorry.” Tim curls in on himself. “But surely they don’t mean to keep us here forever.”

“Well, they’ve been feeding us, so if nothing else we’re meant to be kept alive. For now, at least.”

Despite Jason’s reassurances, death seems far closer now than when Tim was a prisoner aboard the Sheila Haywood. He can all but envision his final rasp when his body finally has no more nutrients to offer. Of all the ways he might have died on this voyage, starvation hadn’t seemed likely.

The squeal of iron scraping across the flagstones interrupts his thoughts. Lantern light arcs towards them as heavy footsteps announce the arrival of two guards. Tim winces when the light illuminates Jason’s leg. Though the wound hadn’t festered, it still looks painful. Coupled with their starvation, he guiltily wonders how much of Jason’s pain had been masked for Tim’s benefit.

Jason heaves himself with a pained grunt, careful to avoid putting pressure on his bad leg. “About damn time we had a meal.” When his eyes adjust to the new brightness, his relief fades. The guards aren’t carrying food or water.

“Get up.” The key squeals indignantly within the lock as the mechanisms turn. When Jason isn’t quick enough, they shove him to his feet.

“‘Where are you—”

“No talking.” The second guard drags Tim out of the cell. The two guards march them up the steps. 

Jason spares Tim one last unreadable glance. Then straightening up, Jason takes the stairs as though he were uninjured, leaving Tim to grit his teeth and follow suit.

In truth, the walk does Tim good. Every muscle creaks in protest. Dizziness pervades Tim’s dehydrated mind, but he trudges on through the narrow hallway. More so, the sweet breath of fresh, untainted air could drive Tim to tears.

The guards manhandle them through the manor by ways of the servant corridors. Plain, whitewashed walls survey them silently. A younger Tim may have bristled at the offense. Now, anything is better than the accursed cellars.

The guards stop in front of an ornate door. Tim recalls that it leads to the anteroom. Tim smells him before he sees him—the door swings open to reveal Arthur Brown. A fresh suit of clothes does nothing to conceal the cloying liquor on his breath.

“Thiss’im?”

“Yeah, yeah. Good god, clean yourself up. It’s a wonder you’re still employed here when you smell like a dried up keg.” The guards shoulder past Arthur, all but knocking him to the ground.

Tim twists around. “Steph deserves better than you,” he calls. His guard boxes his ear for it, but Tim feels better for saying it aloud. Tim half expects an equally stinging sally from Jason, yet Jason remains uncharacteristically quiet.

The door slams shut behind them. Tim knows to expect it after Slade’s warning, but even so—

“Oh, Timothy .” Wizened, ice-cold hands cup his face, forcing Tim to meet the virid eyes of Ra’s al Ghul. “What have they done to you?”

The words stick in Tim’s throat. Faced with the man who had been a persistent thorn in his company’s side from the moment he had laid his parents’ empty caskets to rest, Tim stares at him in genuine disbelief. How did it come to this? 

Ra’s hasn’t seemed to have aged a day over fifty, yet Tim knows the man has assembled an empire that could make the Dutch Republic weep if it so chose. He remembers his mother pulling him close during an extended formal dinner, her perfume gently grazing his nose as she bent to his ear. “ Be careful of that one ,” she had said, chin jutting out to gesture towards the man in emerald green.

“The question you should be asking is what has he done?” Mother’s voice rings out somewhere from Tim’s right and snaps him back to the present. “Aiding and abetting a pirate, breaking and entering, theft of private property—he’s due for the hangman’s noose.”

“Nonsense!” Ra’s drops Tim’s face and whirls about to face Mother. “Timothy Drake is an upstanding citizen of the Crown.”

“Once, perhaps.” Mother clicks her tongue. “But unfortunately, the merchandise you had requested is no longer available because of his interference. I have no excuse to offer you except that my men are tracking the stolen goods down as we speak.”

“No matter.” Ra’s waves her off. “I trust you will find them in due time. Timothy, it is a…pleasure to see you! Your estate thought you dead and lost at sea—I’m gladdened to see this is not the case.”

“Ra’s,” Timothy starts, but Ra’s plows over him as if nothing he says matters.

“You’ve grown so much since I last saw you—I am not sure if you recall me but—”

“My parents’ funeral.” The memory dredges up a deep well of anger Tim had forgotten about. The funeral had passed by in a hazy blur for Tim, but an image of Ra’s resurfaces. A proprietary hand resting against his shoulder had promised the world to him—only to turn around days later and strike him with a panoply of litigation that had nearly sent Drake Industries under. The first one hadn’t even waited for the wake to conclude.

“Yes, it was a shame what happened to them. They deserved better than an empty casket. However, that is all in the past. It’s good that you remember me, even after being through so much .” Ra’s affects a small noise of distress. 

Tim can barely keep up his end of the conversation. All he can think about is the ever-present thirst on his parched tongue and the way his stomach has been empty for days. Why was Ra’s acting like this? Why was Mother— he catches sight of Mother’s disdainful expression, but he spies a glimpse of relief in her calculating eyes. 

“You have nothing more to fear, Timothy. I understand you were coerced, that you had no say in the matter.” Ra’s gestures. A guard steps forward. To Tim’s horror, the man raises his fist and delivers a brutal punch against Jason’s jaw. It sends Jason sprawling to the ground, skidding to a stop at the edge of the carpet. 

“Stop it!” Tim launches to his feet, but the guard surveying him tightens his grip and pushes him against the floor. He struggles, the proverbial fish caught in a predator’s jaw. “He—it wasn’t his idea—“

“Timothy, you’re safe now. Can’t you see that?” Ra’s pets his hair with unnerving familiarity. “Captain Todd cannot do anything to you now.”

“You’re hurting him!” 

Ra’s exchanges glances with Mother, and in that moment Tim realizes he has irreparably misspoken.

“I swear to you, the Timothy I knew would not dishonor himself by protecting a buccaneer.” Ra’s looks towards Mother in a charade of dismay. 

“It doesn’t absolve him of his crimes,” Mother drones, an understudy already bored by her script. “He must meet the noose.”

“No! He is sickened in the mind—“

“I am not sick!”

“—That pirate has twisted his mind, perhaps through torture or witchcraft I cannot say, but I must insist on leniency on Timothy’s behalf. Please, madam, the boy lost his parents at an impressionable age.”

“He has defamed me—”

“Worry not.” Ra’s folds his arms into his long sleeves. “I trust you will find the slaves in good time. We have had a good business relationship so far, no? I know Timothy has wronged you, but I hope you can overlook it. I knew his parents; it would be remiss of me to not take the boy under my wing. He is not in his right mind.”

“Very well.” Mother relents, but her lip still curls in distaste. “And the pirate?”

“I care not. But surely the reward on his head will be a balm to your troubles. After all, the authorities are still trying to find the source of all the commotion of late.”

Tim’s head spins. Taken under Ra’s’s wing? The thought was preposterous. It couldn’t possibly happen. Yet he looks to Ra’s’s thinly veiled smile, and sees the bright spark of victory in his cruel eyes. Those bright green eyes mirror the relief in Mother’s, secure in knowing that her reputation is  salvageable, that her client will buy her more time in exchange for him.

He has never felt more humiliated, knowing that his value boiled down to little more than the bargaining chip of his surname.

“Captain Jason Todd,” Ra’s begins, gazing down in faux disgust. “Save your excuses for the hangman. You’ve terrorized the Caribbean for long enough. It’s time you suffer for your crimes. Your days of pillaging God-abiding citizens are at an end.”

“I’m not afraid to hang.” Jason grins a terrible, bloody smile. “But you’ll never recover what you’re looking for. They’re long gone.” 

“Oh, but you’ll talk.” Ra’s laces his hands behind his back as the grin bleeds from Jason’s face. “Boys like you always do, when given the right…encouragement.” He nods to the guards. “Take him away.”

Fear lances through Tim like a lightning strike. “Jason doesn’t know anything!” he shouts, the palpable terror in his voice stunning even himself.

Ra’s’s pitying gaze belies the victory in his smile. “I will see to it that the pirate surrenders his secrets—you are not the only one whose merchandise has been stolen in the course of time—but in the meantime, do take care of Timothy? I fear he’s overcome by hysteria—an unusual case for a man, no doubt, but I suppose Captain Todd has had him in his thrall for much too long. Perhaps some time by himself in his previous accommodation will help him regain his wits.”

“I’m not crazy!” Tim screams as the guards hoist him away, but his words are lost to Ra’s’s pantomime. No one meets his gaze, not even Jason, as the guards clap them in irons and drag them apart. As Tim struggles against the hands pulling him back in the direction of the cellars, Jason’s guards drag him towards the estate’s atrium.

They can’t be separated, not like this. Not after the universe had so completely intertwined their lives against both their wills. Jason’s guards drag him over the estate’s threshold, disregarding his wounded knee. Tim catches one last glimpse of Jason’s stunned expression before the guards obscure Jason from view. The oaken door slams shut with a fatal thud and Tim sags against his captors’ grips.

“My dear Timothy, I promise you,” Ra’s purrs, reveling in the results of his conquest, “that this hurts me far more than it does you.”