They had been in and out of each other’s lives since that first night in the bar. It was truly something, the way they’d just ended up together so quickly and so well. Neither of them had put a name on it yet, whatever this thing was that they had, but Rogan had already become possessive. Rowan was his, and that’s all there was to it.
When they’d made plans for dinner, they’d picked somewhere neutral, an Italian place. He’d been early, scoped the place out, lest anyone be there for any unsavoury reason, but all looked well. Rowan showed up with sunglasses on. The sun had gone down hours ago. He leaned across the table and snatched them off his face, revealing the healing black eye. “Talk. Now.” There was a slight concern in his voice, just enough to bring out the underlying what happened to you? without having to actually say it.
It was midnight, the witching hour as superstitions would have it. The witch was out, Rogan lurked in the shadows, using dreams to travel across the city. He picked anyone’s that would get him to his destination, not particularly trying to disrupt anyone until...
Until he reached his mark.
Dreaming softly about some form of voyage on the seven seas, the Brit smiled: perfect. With a wave of his hand, he was in period-appropriate garb, hair long, beard unkempt, and a cutlass weighing heavy at his side. The mark, Tony, was the captain because of course he was, it was his dream. “Cap’n,” Rogan came to his side, like any proper first mate would. “Word is we’ve got a prisoner below deck. ‘Ow come I’ve never ‘eard that? Didn’t ya trust me?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “Don’t think a first mate should be informed so as t’keep people’s pryin’ eyes out an’ that?”
Tony’s nostrils flared. Rogan knew not to push too hard, his hands glowed slightly, easing his mind, calming him as he led him towards the information he was looking for: where they were keeping the Hearts prisoner. “Of course, lad, don’t know what I were thinkin’.”
When he received no response, Rogan pushed again, gently, “Well?”
“We found ‘er tryin’ t’steal secrets. Gonna figure out what t’do with her when we make port.”
“Ah huh. An’ where’s she now?” Under the guise of the layout of the ship, he knew he would get the answer. One of his hands wrapped around Tony’s arm as it glowed brighter, tendrils seeping into the unconscious mind, making him believe he was saying something else.
“Warehouse off seventy-fifth, of course.”
“We got men on th’door?”
“Two. Two inside an’ one right in there with ‘er.”
Rogan smiled. “’Course, good plan, Cap’n,” he withdrew his hand, “Need anythin’ else, sir?”
“That’ll be all, mate.”
Rogan pat-slapped him on the back, a glowing hand print lingering for a moment as it wiped Tony’s mind of this conversation. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”
His return journey was calm, though he stayed in a child’s dream who was looking for a protector from a wave of large wolves attacking. It was exhilirationg fighting them off, and before the child could thank him, he was gone, back to the waking world in time for him to dream. He made a quick text to Sixes and sat by the phone waiting for instructions. He could easily get her on his own, but he wouldn’t do so without orders. Until then, he dozed in his chair, a dreamless sleep.
