complaininginthedark:

 @flintsredhair :  James rescues Charles in s3 and Feels ensue. Also if they could somehow save Thomas that would be great.

HERE YOU GO. Not the most exciting piece but there is *tension* in there. 

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Freeing Charles was simpler in the end than he had expected. The guards were tired; overworked, with little to no sleep and rations that were starting to spoil. He took some of the stronger and more dependable men from his crew in the dead of night and stole Charles away right under the “governor’s” nose.

Charles spat on the floor where he had been chained before taking a sword, buckling it to his belt, and a pistol in hand. The dirt smeared on his cheeks and brow made him seem more animal than man – his hair was dirty and tangled where it hung over his shoulders, adding to the image.

“Seems our roles have reversed,” Charles grunted. There was appreciation in his voice, a dulled edge to his gaze as he stood before Flint.

“I’ve suffered the deaths of too many who mean something to me; I’ll suffer no more.”

The words were sincere. He thought at first that they would make him seem weak, but Charles lowered his eyes and shifted ever so slightly closer, held his hand out. His palm was hot, clammy with sweat, but solid and alive in Flint’s own hand. They held on a moment too long. It was only a moment, barely more than a breath, but James felt a sting in his heart as the feeling of calloused skin under his fingers took him back to Thomas’ bed.

As they left the streets, boarded the Walrus and headed out to open water, Flint let his breath come easier. The weight in his chest and shoulders lifted, his whole being finding a calmness in the moments after. They would stay out of sight for a few days, retreat away from Nassau to prevent fighting before returning to take the island back from the so-called “civilised hands” of the British Empire.

Or that was the plan.

Charles told him of news he had heard, a secret that hadn’t yet reached the ears of the governor, and James’ whole world crumbled and reassembled in moments.

“There’s a place,” Charles had said, “in Spanish Florida. Rich men’s shames are sent there to be hidden away; love children, slaves with too much in their heads, unwanted relatives… Kept out of the way in exchange for money and secrecy. Word is there’s a man there who you might have known, once.”

To say he kept his composure is a lie. James felt the sob in his throat only as it clawed its way out. Charles let him weep, only reached out to touch when the breath didn’t enter his lungs and his vision blurred and faded.

Charles asked quietly, a hand on the back of James’ neck like an anchor to keep him from drifting back into that black abyss of guilt and grief, “who is he?”

James shared his story then. Every moment of happiness, the sharp sting of loss, the blast of betrayal that finalised his form as a monster in the eyes of men. Charles listened, his expression sombre and troubled at the tale as each turn was revealed.

“You love him,” was the only thing Charles said.

“More than I can say. For ten years I’ve grieved, ten fucking years-”

A hand rested on his knee. The warmth made his chest flutter, his lips purse. Charles just touched him though; it was an act of comfort, of understanding, one that James felt linger for hours after.

They set sail for Florida as soon as the wind picks up. Charles stood by his side on the quarterdeck as the sailed towards the sun.