Cold winter sunlight began to creep through the frosted window. In the kitchen, the coffee pot clicked on, the soft sound in the otherwise quiet apartment, finally made Steve open his eyes. Looking at the clock, he realized that it was already 7:30. The two soldiers had slept in for once; both being accustomed to rising before dawn many days.
But Steve was in no hurry to move just yet. There was a warm, heavy weight on his back as Bucky remained half sprawled, half coiled around him from behind, his metal arm draped across Steve’s waist. The feel of his body heat and soft breathing made Steve feel...content. A feeling he never thought he might actually experience, given all he was and had been through. But with Bucky...it was possible. It was real.
He moved one arm and brushed lightly over the limp metallic fingers, trying to gauge how deeply asleep his partner was. After a moment, he slowly, carefully, rolled over, allowing Bucky to slip from his back and shoulder onto the mattress again as Steve rolled to look at him, brushing the loose hair from his face.
“Love you” Steve mouthed, barely a whisper and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead and then his lips before slipping from the bed, fumbling on the floor to find his discarded pajama pants and tank top, pulling them on hastily, padding into the kitchen to start breakfast for the two of them. Steve glanced at the calendar next to the coffee pot and smiled at the circled date. February 14th; Valentine’s Day. A day Steve would normally have ignored, but now that Bucky was back in his life he was determined to celebrate in way that only this day and age would allow him. Back in the 40′s the sort of open affection he wanted to lavish on Bucky would have been grounds for arrest or worse, but now...now he didn’t have to hide any of the way he felt about Barnes.
On the island counter there was a plain white envelope with Bucky’s name scrawled neatly on it. It was thick, containing more than just a card, but several restored photographs and a few sketches Steve had done. A small gift to start the day off with but something he hoped Buck would enjoy. The pictures were a mix of old and new, just like them. Two people permanently standing between two worlds. One they could never go back to and one they were braving together. Steve hoped Buck would approve.
There was a low purr as the cat pressed her face against Steve’s legs and then jumped up onto the counter to get more direct contact.
He hated the cold. Almost as much as he was starting to hate New York. The city was fine and all, plenty to do, plenty to hustle. Plenty of places to get into trouble too.
And Gambit was good at trouble. Lord help him, was he ever. The damn track suit should have been a give away, but Remy hadn’t thought about it as anything other than bad taste.
Now, with a bullet in his shoulder, the Cajun was thinking very differently about how his “harmless grifting” had inadvertently put him on a hit list. Like the thief and mutant wasn’t on enough of those already...
Snow sloshed under his boots as he stumbled along, trying to run but losing energy with each yard he managed to drag himself. He was out of his cards, all but two aces (ironic) which were tucked up his sleeve (again ironic). His staff had been lost somewhere in the scuffle of things.
His thigh was heated and throbbing where they’d taken a knife to it, soaking his pant leg with blood. The light was going hazy and defused as he made into the long alley road, and he found his leg giving out. He made for the fire escape, used the last of his strength and jumped for the ladder, letting out a short yell of pain as he did.
He managed to haul himself up onto the floor, laying there panting, trying not to pass out. The snow that had crusted there bit at his neck and hands, making them red and numb. Almost as red as his eyes, and the blood that was starting to drip down into the slush below him. He needed to climb. Before the track-suit thug and his friends could trail him any further through the traffic and finish the job on the “mutie thief” they’d found.
Looking up, his auburn hair falling into his eyes, he noticed the window on the third floor of the building was open just a crack. He could pull himself in there and hide. At least for a few minutes.
With his remaining good arm and good leg, Gambit dragged his long, lanky figure up two more sets of ladders, only managing to reach the sill of the third floor when everything started to go black. slumping against the snow dusted window just as he caught sight of the man inside, staring at him.
“I can explain...” he started, just before he slid forward and everything went white, then dark.
Steve wasn’t sure how long they had been running. Only knowing they had to get back into safe territory as quick as possible; and leading 163 men...many who were in need of medical attention...out of enemy territory was no easy task.
But Steve’s mind was set solely on moving forward, on getting them all back to base. He refused to leave any man behind...especially one man.
As they moved like a herd through the thick forest, Steve looked over his shoulder at Sargent Barnes, who was flanking him on the right. They were a little ways ahead of the rest of the forward group. Steve saw that Bucky was looking tired, and called for a short rest for them to regroup and get their bearings.
He moved towards his friend, clapping him lightly on the shoulder to stop his movements; “Take a breath,” he said, grinning because it was something Bucky used to say to him back home, when they had been out all day and Steve’s asthma started acting up after hours of wandering.
Steve found himself reluctant to release his grip on the other. Just seeing and touching Bucky seemed so...vital to him. After wondering and worrying if he hadn’t lost his most important person forever...all he wanted was confirmation that this was real. Bucky was here. Alive, if not a bit worse for wear. But most of them were.
Steve reached into his pack and unhooked his canteen, giving it to the other. There was so much he wanted to tell him about. About the experiment, about Dr. Erskien and all the amazing things he was able to do now. About being part of propaganda films and the chorus girls, about Agent Carter and...
There was so much. And all he wanted to do was wrap himself around Bucky and hug him tight. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” he said, lowering his eyes and finally letting go of his shoulder. Steve’s helmet tipped forward, shadowing his gaze for a moment before he was able to look out at the rest of the group; “If I had known sooner, maybe we could have saved more of them. And you wouldn’t have been...”
The flash of Bucky strapped down to that table flashed in his mind and made it hard to swallow. He hugged the man then, giving him a squeeze. “Glad you’re okay.”
Finding her again had been John’s sole obsession for weeks. And that was saying a lot, considering he had both broken out of Crown Point jail and robbed two banks in the subsequent weeks. He had to get back to Robin. Had to. His girl was waiting for him somewhere, and he was determined to pick up right where they had left off back in Florida.
In Johnnie’s mind that was just how it would be too, his thoughts rarely trailing to any possibilities that his love might have grown tired of waiting on an outlaw farm boy and found better prospects...
With the heat on the way it was, he couldn’t chance calling ahead, or giving her a heads up to his arrival. He sat in his car a long time, watching the window of the apartment as the winter wind blew thick flakes of snow around them in swirling gusts. The only benefit of the foul weather was that it would be harder for him to be seen or followed.
He caught a glimpse of her then in the window, turning on a lamp. John’s heart gave a hard tug...he couldn’t wait any longer. Braving the wind, snow and sleet, he made his way into the building, moving along the corridor until he stood at her door.
John took a heavy, almost shaky breath. Was John Dillinger--the man who had broken out of not one but two prisons, and robbed banks without hardly breaking a sweat--actually nervous? Of course he was. He was in love.
He knocked softly, listening for the sounds within the apartment; breathless until he could see her face again.
Sleep had not occurred to him as he walked the deck in the wee hours just before dawn. Just as his appetite and all other desires had fled him in the wake of the overwhelming pit that was growing inside him. The dark bitter thing that had crept into him and infected everything...consumed him whole.
His last conversation with Jack had been a tense but chillingly cool argument in regards to the coordinates and the treasure hidden away inside the strange cave.
“And what would you have me do, Jack?” he had muttered to the man the night before. “This crew be pushed their limits, and most of them are hard enough to keep in line when they aren’t without pay or proper shore leave in more than a month! The navy driving at our heels and making it impossible to make port! You owe them this Jack...this harebrained scheme of yers is all that’s keepin’ them from yer throat!”
Jack laughed him off lazily, tired and smelling heavily of rum tonight. More than usual. He had been drinking clearly, though not with Kili Hector realized. The younger man was busy elsewhere, helping Gibbs and the others below. “Come off it, Hector! I know well the crew is a bit out of sorts but what exactly is their alternative, eh? Besides, I’ve still got you and Kili on my side, as well as Gibbs and Marty and Cotton and the rest...and Bootstrap’s shown promising sway with the others these days.”
That made Hector bristle like a wet cat. “Aye...if ye can call a sniveling rat impressive. He’s kept awfully close to you of late, Jack. I don’t like it.”
Jack snorted; “And why is that? Bootstrap’s harmless.” he took another drink and shook his head. “Although I will say he doesn’t seem to care much for you. But then again, you’ve been a special breed of cantankerous.”
“I think ye under estimate the man. I’ve seen the way he is with you these days, so has Kili. He bends yer ear when not much else can...and that’s power. Power someone like Bootstrap Bill shouldn’t have. Have ye ever considered he’s after more than yer good graces?”
Jack side-stepped the question utterly. “The treasure was a bad idea...they’ll soon forget about it.”
“Men don’t forget when they don’t get paid, Jack.”
“I have every intention of making good on my word. But not there. Not that place.” he looked wary indeed.
Hector’s lip curled. “Is that fear I hear in the infamous Jack Sparrow’s voice?” he sneered. “Ye coward...was it Bootstrap what told you that little ghost story? About the blood curse?”
Jack gave him a dark warning look. “I believe him, mate. You and I have both seen enough in the world to know not to take this lightly. Bootstrap’s merely looking out for the lot of us.”
“Is he now? And what does Kili say on the matter?” the older pirate asked. “Or did you even ask for his vote?” there was more cut to his words, something that suggested Jack held a little too much influence over the other. And even if it were partly true, it was hardly fair.
“Kili is sensible. He trusts me.” Jack said tightly. Kili was so close and dear to his heart, the man had never waivered in his faith of him before, why should now be any different?
‘Is that what ye call fuckin’ the wits out of him until he can’t say no?”
Jack stepped toward him and shoved him back. “Don’t you dare...” He warned with a look that told Barbossa they would come to blows if it were pushed further.
Barbossa merely walked away, still sour as ever. “Ye expect me to clean up yer messes Jack, but ye won’t even listen to me anymore! And ye just assumed Kili will agree with ye without even considering the alternative? We’ve fought and worked and bled to keep you and this damn ship going! And ye won’t even try this, when it could very well offer the relief we need? All on Bootstrap’s word?!” He looked at his lover pleadingly, reaching out one last time to make the connection that seemed to have been lost between them. “At the very damn least you can give me the coordinates...I’ll take a boat and inspect the matter myself, see if it’s as treacherous as it’s claimed.”
Jack looked at him, unsure. A strange expression on Jack Sparrow. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip...and then shook his head. “No.”
It had been that moment; that one small word, that allowed the dark thing in Hector to finally creep fully into his heart and turn it cold.
“What?”
There was something broken in his question. A crack deep inside that was suddenly opened into a fissure. And if Jack had been paying any attention he might have seen how he had wounded the man fatally with that one small word that held so much. So much distrust. So much dismissal.
“You have your answer, Barbossa.” Jack growled. It hurt him to see the anger in Hector’s face, to see the man’s disappointment...but Hector didn’t understand. Jack trusted his own gut...and it was telling him that the Isle de Meurta would be a bad end for all of them. And he could not risk what he loved most...surely Hector and Kili would both see it his way in time. “Now I’d be much obliged if you went below and looked in our lad. See how he and the others are fairing.” His eyes flicked towards Hector’s again. “And don’t mention this to him. He doesn’t need to be in the middle of every squabble we have. Im not arguing over who’s sleeping on the bench tonight.”
Barbossa was dragged from his thoughts by the sounds of boot falls behind him. It was Mr. Twigg, carrying the lantern. It’s yellow light cutting the blue-grey darkness that saturated the ship.
“The men are ready,” the scraggly sailor spoke. He held a pike in his other hand, shifting it as if eager to use it. “Your orders, sir?”
Barbossa didn’t answer him at once; looking back at the cabin. “Make no move just yet. Secure Bootstrap...I won’t risk him interfering. I will see to Kili.”
Twigg nodded, pressing a key into his hand. One lifted from Gibb’s belt earlier that day. The key to the cells in the brig.
“And should the Captain make himself known?” there was a look of blood lust in the man’s eye that Hector had seen in battle and hated all the same.
Hector shook his head. “You leave him to me. Stick to the plan...or you may find yourself on that island with him, Mr. Twigg.”
Hector turned and excused himself, moving below to the gun deck where Kili was currently resting after a long night of tending the canons. He approached him as if nothing was amiss, offering him a rare and warm (if not slightly sad) smile and offered him his flask.
“You look flat out. How about a chance to stretch yer legs and steal a bit of bacon from the kitchen?” he asked, ghosting a kiss along the man’s cheek as he pulled him up. It was not often the pair had a moment to themselves...but soon that would change.
Most sailors will tell you that to see or hear the song of a siren while at sea is a sure omen of doom. That the songs lured otherwise sane men down into watery graves, under their spell. Other times, it wasn’t merely a few unlucky men pulled to their deaths; it was the whole ship. Dragged down by storms conjured by the same creatures.
Jack was careful to stay well out of sight as above him the sea churned and rolled. To be seen now while lightning flashed and illuminated the foamy green water above him would mean danger. Danger that he might be crushed by the roll of the ship...or speared by the angry, fearful humans above it. Assuming he was the cause.
Some would have said--if he had any sense--that he would have swum away, and let well enough alone. Let the sea decide the fate of these men. But Jack couldn’t leave it alone...
He’d been following the vessel for days, ever since it appeared in his territory. It was a massive galleon, and he knew the type to be heavy with treasure. The merman was a bit of a magpie; attracted to the gold and treasures found within the ship. And even more than that...the human’s themselves. Pirates in particular. These appeared the like; they wore no uniforms, nor seemed to fly any particular colors.
At night, Sparrow would surface, staying close as he dared at watching the nightly activities; hearing their music and songs and chatter. He craved to bring one down into the waves with him, to see what they tasted like. His kind hungered to mate with humans...mostly the female of the species, who would seduce and lure them into sea, have their way with them...then often kill them. Luckily for the men aboard the ship, Jack was not the kind that could devour them. The male of his species was rare, and had no need to snare humans. His desires were purely self indulgent, and far less malicious.
There was one dark haired male in particular who had caught his fancy. Sparrow particularly liked to watch him, especially when he came near the rails or was up among the rigging. A handsome creature indeed. Sparrow had taken a shine to him, and felt the hunger of his curiosity grow the longer he followed the ship. He wanted to be seen by the man...though doing so was risky indeed. He had tired to offer glimpses of himself here and there...testing the reaction. He had planned to show himself fully that very night.. until the storm had come.
Now the merman watched in muted fear as the ship above him was battered by the sea, being thrown mercilessly against the rocky expanses that cut along the straight where it sailed. There was a horrifying crunch as the rocks cut the hull, splinters of wood plummeting towards the merman and making him swim away hurriedly for safety.
Bodies began to fall in the water then, men sinking and then swimming back to the surface. Most anyway...Jack saw a few simply sink, trails of dark blood billowing up after them.
All his instincts told him to swim away and hide, that if the ship sank he’d be in danger of being crushed in this shallow pass, surrounded by too much rock. He nearly did...
Until a familiar figure hit the water, struggling to swim.
Sparrow’s eyes widened at the realization that it was the dark haired man that had so captured his fancy. Immediately leaving his temporary shelter among the reef, he darted like a shot towards the drowning man, catching him around the middle and surging towards the surface with him.
“Dont’ struggle! Swim if you can!” he instructed, trying to keep the man afloat, though the sailor’s strength seemed to be failing, growing heavier in his grasp. “I’ve got you!”
He had no idea if the man saw him, or knew what he was. But right now he was all that was standing between the sailor and a watery grave. Jack tucked him close and made for the nearest bit of shore. There was a cave near by they could shelter if they could just reach it in time.
Whitechaple was more shades of grey than Abberline cared to count that dreary morning. The color about the place at all seemed to be what was spattered on the cobblestones in front of him. Another day; another murder.
Not an ordinary one though it seemed. Abberline had seen more than his fair share of deaths and cruelties here, but they were usually from simpler causes. But this one...it had been one of his visions from the night before. The woman at his feet was what they called “an unfortunate”. Though this was just a poliet way of saying prostitute. And this was not the remarkable thing about her; whores were always getting killed in Whitechaple. No...the poor thing wasn’t just murdered. She had been bloody well disemboweled. Her throat slashed and then her guts strew across the street. It was an awful sight. A much too terrible one for some. One of his officers was vomiting in the corner; the mess splattering his shoes, while his partner clapped him on the back and chided him to pull it together.
Frederick regarded it with composure and grave severity, as he did all his victims. He bent beside her form and touched her greying skin gently. Cold of course...but only just. This startled him. He slid his hand under her neck and shoulder as his friend and companion Sargent Godley appeared next to him.
“What have you noticed?” the large, broad man asked as he towered over the shorter, leaner Inspector.
“She’s dry. And only barely cold. Dead for an hour or less...which means this murder was recently committed. The blood suggests she was dragged from there.” He pointed farther down the alley towards a dark tunnel. It was the stuff of penny-dreadfuls and ghost stories.
Abberline was up, cleaning his hand and glanced at the crowd gathering behind them to gawk. His officers were not doing the best job at keeping them at bay. He sighed heavily, and made his way towards the tunnel. It was too dark to see, so he produced a match from his pocket and looked about, Godley trailing warily behind them. The tunnel was not particularly long; perhaps a few yards and emptied out onto another side road. The smell of blood, waste and damp was thick within. It was likely often used as shelter for the homeless and had seen much traffic. They could find blood spattered here and there...but no clear evidence. Abberline followed it through to the other side, where a second crowd was gathering. There was blood here on the wall...and more entrails. Along side the woman’s bag and few small possessions.
“Move aside please; don’t touch that.” He called to the group. Among them was a man with dark curls, and dark eyes. His face somewhat ashen as he looked at the sight below him on the cobblestones. Abberline stepped beside him, playing a hand lightly on his elbow. “Pardon sir, please step aside.” he said, trying to catch the others gaze with some concern. “Please, this is no place for civilians.” he added, worried by the man’s expression.
He saw it appear in the distance. A pale shape slowly gaining refinement on the horizon. The pirate fortress; the secret floating city known as Ship Wreck Cove appeared on the horizon, back lit by the late afternoon soon.
Jack could see it more of it through his telescope and felt himself smiling, even though he took a shaky inhale and exhale of breath. A breath the vampire didn’t require. There were so many churning emotions upon seeing his old home...and the ultimate vampire nest. At least for sea-faring pirates who had been turned. In the paling sky above them, nearly lost in the soft dusky powder-blue atmosphere he spotted the pale face the moon beginning to rise. Now it was a pale ghost but soon...soon it would shiny rusty red with blood.
He knew what would happen then. The reason for the return to the nest. The reason for the revelries that would come tonight. The Blood Moon was rare and sacred occurrence to vampire’s. A night when they were at the height of their power. He was compelled to return home, to join the others like him in their festivities. Weeks had gone into the planning of this...his father; Captain Teague would have been part of the preparations. He should have been exciting for a night of decadence, debauchery and reveling in blood.
But there was one thing that held him back. The man beside him, who was watching the horizon as surely as he was. Kili had been his prisoner; yes. But the hunter was more than that now. Jack bonded with him. Not just through blood and their frequent couplings either. The hunter was more...he was a companion. He was...a reminder of the humanity he had lost. And he wanted to protect him. He held that duty, as his master, to care for the man in his charge. Tonight worried him and excited him all at once.
There were such delights and such pleasures to be had tonight. Pirate society--especially for those who had been turned--was full of things that mere mortals dare not experience. He wanted to share those things with Kili...it was what came after; the madness...
But Jack had been working on a plan to protect his lover. And himself. From being utterly lost. He could only pray it would work.
He turned to Kili, lowering the eye glass and stroked softly along the back of his neck and down his back. “You’re about to experience a rare treat...not many humans have been awarded the honor what you’re about to see. Only promise me...” he turned so he could see Kili’s eyes. “That you’ll stay close. And heed any warning I give.” He looked at the other sincerely and then kissed him softly. “Promise me that. And I will keep you safe.”
Below them; the crew was teaming and anxious. Many gathered to watching the growing island in the distance. They sang and some danced. It seemed a merry occasion indeed and certainly it was. It was release from hunger and the fear of being hunted. To feel their full strength if only for a night. Unfortunately that strength could be monstrous when left unchecked.
Jack pulled Kili too him and nuzzled softly at the claim marks, which were closed and clean. He’d not tasted him in more than a week. He needed the man strong for tonight. While the bond between them was new, it was growing stronger; more secure. “I’ve treats in store for you. They’re inside the cabin. I had Gibbs lay them out.”
