if there only were doors

by pdameron

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Two Years Later

It’s a wholly unremarkable day when Flint returns.

There’s no ominous lightning storm, no roiling sea crashing against the shores: just an ordinary, early summer’s day.

Silver sees Flint before Flint sees him. He’s easy to spot, as for some time now Silver’s been the only white man on the island, and Flint is even paler than him. It feels somehow poetic, that even all these years later Silver is still watching from a distance, afraid to get too close. Flint’s walking toward the center of camp, no doubt on his way to pay his respects to the Queen and Madi, as is only proper for a visitor to their shores. Silver doesn’t even notice the tall, sandy-haired man at Flint’s side - tunnel vision, Madi had once called it affectionately, in all matters Flint - until he leans over to whisper something in the captain’s ear.

So this is Thomas Hamilton, Silver thinks. For some reason, he’d never pictured Flint’s lord with a beard.

Whatever Hamilton says, it’s enough to make Flint stiffen considerably, to make his brow furrow and his lips thin. It takes less than a moment for Silver to understand what it is that’s upset Flint: within seconds, both Flint and Hamilton’s eyes are upon him, and Silver -

Silver turns tail and heads back into his hut, bracing himself against the wall and trying desperately to force air into his lungs.

He could have had a hundred years to prepare, and he still wouldn’t have been ready to feel Flint’s eyes on him again. Even from a distance, his gaze is still piercing, unyielding. Flint had once called himself transparent when it came to their relationship, but it is Silver who has always felt laid bare, felt undone by those eyes.

He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor and stares at Shoshana, tucked into bed for her afternoon nap. With any luck, she’ll doze for another hour at least. She sniffles a little in her sleep, blissfully unaware of the way her tiny universe is collapsing and shifting around her. Watching her, Silver has a sudden but not wholly unfamiliar urge to hide her away from the world. He wishes, fiercely, that he could keep her small and happy and safe and his forever.

It’s odd; Silver has spent years quietly yearning for Flint’s return, and now that the captain is actually here, all he feels is terror.

A knock stirs him from his reverie, and Silver realizes he has no idea how long he’s been sitting on the floor, staring at his baby. To be fair, though, he stares at her often. She’s perfect.

He gets up slowly, groaning slightly. It’s always harder to get up from the ground while using his peg, but he’s found that some days he simply needs both hands to keep up with his hyperactive little devil. Silver braces himself, takes a deep, steadying breath, then pulls his door open.

“I thought I’d have more time to - ” The words he’d hastily prepared to greet Flint with die on his tongue as he takes in the sight of Lord Thomas Hamilton on his doorstep. “ - Oh. It’s you.”

Hamilton smirks, raising a brow. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Of course it does. Flint spoke of you…” Not often, for the memories had been far too painful for the Captain to revisit with much frequency, but… “Fondly.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you. James hardly ever speaks of you at all, let alone with any sort of fondness.”

“I see.” Silver doesn’t know which is worse: the knowledge that Flint doesn’t want his beloved lord to know anything about his traitorous quartermaster; or the easy, natural way the name ‘James’ falls from Hamilton’s lips. Silver himself had only called Flint by his given name once, and that had been -

Well, he’d learned his lesson.

“So really, all I know of you is that you were once someone of great importance to James, and that this closeness ended with my husband in chains.” Hamilton’s eyes are sharp, judgmental.

All this time, Silver has been trying to cope with Flint’s hatred, far removed though it was. It had never occurred to him to account for Thomas Hamilton’s fury. He doesn’t give Hamilton’s anger much thought, though, because the word ‘husband’ has left him reeling. It’s as if Hamilton is tailoring his wording to purposefully chip away at Silver’s defenses.

His response is not as quick as it should be, but it does come in the end. “Forgive me, but I have a feeling I’ll be rehashing this with Flint. I’d just as soon not relive those days any more times than I have to.”

Hamilton snorts derisively. “Ah, yes. How difficult it must have been for you. No doubt you agonized over who to betray first: James, or your wife?”

The thing about being a cripple, Silver has found, is that he is almost always underestimated. Even people who have heard his legend, who know the stories, still discount him when they lay eyes on this short, one-legged man. So when Silver moves quickly into Hamilton’s space, drawing himself to his full height and giving him his most menacing glare, he takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the lord’s eyes widen, at the half-step he takes in retreat.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, my lord.”

To his credit, Hamilton recovers quickly, his eyes narrowing in challenge. “No, I suppose you’re right. I forgot; she’s not your wife anymore, is she?”

It takes all of Silver’s self control not to flinch.

“Indeed,” Hamilton continues, “I’m amazed she even let you stay here, after everything you’ve taken from her.”

Pity, Silver knows, was a major factor in that decision. He tries not to dwell on it too often.

“Madi’s reasons are her own,” he says evasively, because he sure as shit isn’t going to tell Thomas Hamilton about his daughter before he tells Flint.

“Until you decide they’re not good enough.” Hamilton snaps back.

“I let you wander off for five minutes, and already you gossip about me?” Madi links her arm with Hamilton’s companionably. It makes Silver ache, to see her touch this near-stranger with such ease, when the chasm between them at times still feels so wide.

If Madi notices the tension between the two men, she wisely doesn’t comment.

Silver, however, is not so wise. “Come now, Madi. Is it not the role of a lord to defend the princess from no-good rogues like myself?”

“And is it not the role of a husband to support his wife? The role of a quartermaster to stand by his captain?” Hamilton replies easily.

That actually isn’t a quartermaster’s role, but pointing it out would just seem childish and petty.

Madi, ever the much-needed level head, interrupts and reorients the discussion. “Where is Ana?”

Silver glances at Hamilton warily. “Napping. Honestly, I can’t believe she’s managed to sleep through all this chatter.”

Madi smiles, though he knows this particular expression is meant for Shoshana, not him. “Count your blessings, John. Let us not question your luck this time.”

Hamilton frowns, confused. “Who’s - ”

“Thomas! There you are.”

And then Flint is before them, looking between Thomas and Silver, and Silver feels the ground fall out from under him. He can’t think, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe -

He’s here, he’s looking at Silver, and he’s somehow exactly as Silver remembers him and nothing like what he used to be. His hair is longer than Silver’s ever seen it, his beard closely trimmed; but more importantly there is a heaviness that seems to have been lifted from his shoulders, be it because of his time with Hamilton or simply two years’ distance from the battlefield. But his eyes - the same eyes that blink up at Silver every morning - are the same: still sharp and fiery and bright and breathtaking.

“Jesus Christ, Madi, you were right,” Hamilton mutters, breaking the tense moment, and when Silver glances his way he’s looking between Flint and Silver with an oddly thoughtful look on his face.

“Right about what?” Flint asks, sounding much gruffer than he had before. Silver’s mere presence has taken the lightness from Flint’s voice. James the Husband is gone, and he’s been replaced with a defensive, resentful Captain Flint. At least, Silver thinks, he knows how to deal with the Captain.

“Oh, nothing,” Hamilton replies. He and Madi share a secretive sort of look, and Silver is immediately suspicious. Before he can start to investigate, however, a soft voice derails his train of thought.

“Papi?”

Silver told Madi once, when Ana had first started speaking, that he would never grow tired of hearing her ask for her Papi. The first ten or so times she’d called him that, he’d all but burst into tears for how achingly, overwhelmingly he loved her. Even now, something soft and warm spreads through his chest each morning, when the first person she looks for is her Papi curled up next to her in their shared bed.

This is the first (and probably the only) time Silver wishes she hadn’t called for him.

The four of them stand there, Silver and Madi trying to parse a way to salvage the situation while Flint and Hamilton no doubt try and understand why there is a child in Silver’s hut calling him Papi.

“I’m sorry, did that child just - ”

Silver doesn’t hear the rest of what Hamilton says, as he takes the coward’s approach and runs back inside.

Here, at least, is a McGraw that is always happy to see him.

“There she is!” he cries, walking over and scooping her up, peppering her face with kisses. “Did you have sweet dreams, darling?”

Shoshana giggles before yawning widely and rubbing the crust from her eyes.

“I was a seagull!” she declares, before letting out what he supposes is meant to be a seagull’s squawk. It mostly just sounds like a chicken, but he compliments her gift for bird calls nonetheless.

“My goodness! What a loud seagull you are. Did you fly awfully high?”

Before she can answer, Madi pokes her head in. “There are some extremely curious white men waiting out here, and I think you should be the one to explain this.”

Silver sighs. “Give me a moment to talk to her?”

Madi’s gone with a reassuring smile, leaving Silver and Ana alone to discuss the strange men at their door.

Silver sits down on their bed, pulling her into his lap. “ ’Shana, do you remember when you asked where you came from?”

Ana grins, before rucking up Silver’s shirt and patting his stomach. “I came from Papi’s belly!”

He chuckles, tugging his shirt down. “That’s right, very good. And do you remember those times when we talked about your - ” His throat tightens, and he has to take a moment to breathe through the emotions. Stupid fucking Flint. “Your Daddy? The one who helped put you in my belly?”

Ana’s eyes grow wide as saucers, as they always do in those few and far-between moments when Silver or Madi bring up her mysterious ‘Daddy.’ Most of Silver’s Flint-related stories aren’t appropriate for two year olds, and he finds it difficult to talk about his captain even with people who knew the man.

She nods, and he goes on. “Well, your Daddy has come to visit you.”

Ana lets out a squeal usually reserved for mangoes and cats. Flint should be honored.

Silver picks her up, walking slowly to the door. He stops, though, just before he takes her outside, and holds her close. He presses his nose into her hair and simply breathes her in, closing his eyes. This is the last time, he knows, that Ana will ever be his, and his alone.

As soon as they’re past the door, Ana grows suddenly shy, burrowing her face into his neck. He knew this would happen: she’s always skittish around new people; he can’t imagine how nervous she is at the thought of meeting her long-awaited Daddy. She probably can’t even understand what she’s feeling at the moment. In her defense, though, Silver hardly ever knows what he’s feeling when it comes to Flint, and he doesn’t even have the excuse of being two.

Hamilton continues to look baffled, while Flint seems to be in shock, trying to comprehend the sight of Silver - sharp-tongued, traitorous, emotionally-unstable Long John Silver - as a father. The penny hasn’t dropped for either of them.

“Captain, Thomas, this is Ana,” Madi says, somehow clued in to Silver’s inability to speak. Either she just knows him that well, or she’s noticed how tightly he’s clutching at his daughter.

Ana peers over at the pair of them, still not fully emerged from the safety of her Papi’s neck, and Silver sees the moment Hamilton understands.

He gasps, grabbing Flint’s arm in surprise. “James - she - Good Lord, she has your eyes. James, she has your eyes exactly.”

The series of emotions that play out across Flint’s face would at any other time be comical. He goes from disbelief to shock to confusion to incredulity to hope to - well, Silver thinks he settles somewhere between anger and awe.

Finally, Silver speaks, though he inwardly curses how his voice quivers. “I know you have questions, and I know this is probably just one more thing for which you can resent me, but - she’s your daughter, and she’s meeting you for the first time. Perhaps, just this once, we can put your wrath to the side?”

Ana has yet to learn the meaning of words like wrath or resentment, and so Silver’s fairly sure she won’t understand that her Daddy might be cross with him.

Something in Flint’s face seems to crumple at that, though Silver can’t imagine why. Still, the anger seems to have left his face some, and that’s good enough for Silver.

He places a finger under Ana’s chin, tipping her gaze upwards until she meets his eyes. “Would you like to say hello?”

A nod, and he turns to Flint (and Hamilton, but mostly Flint). “Ana, this is your Daddy. Daddy, this is Shoshana. Ana.”

If his voice breaks some as he calls Flint “Daddy”, well, he’s only human, after all, and the only person paying him any real attention is Madi.

Flint looks - well, fragile, is the only word that comes to mind. His eyes are taking in every inch of Ana, no doubt noting all the ways she looks like Silver and the ways she takes after him. Silver thinks she’s about ninety-percent him, but the freckles and the eyes are entirely Flint.

“‘Daddy?’” Flint asks, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s face. Silver understands completely. If he had his way, he’d never stop looking at her either.

“I had to call you something.”

Flint looks at Silver, really looks at him, for the first time since Hamilton pointed out Ana’s eyes. “You told her about me?”

“Well, not all the time or anything. Just - you know - she asked why my eyes are blue and hers are green -”

“I got green eyes like Daddy!” Ana chimes in, before she remembers that she is currently being shy and huddles back against Silver. She does, however, continue to stare at Flint curiously.

“Exactly right, darling,” Silver agrees, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Or I’d mention that you liked the book we were reading, or that you taught me how to sail a boat if we happened to go out on the lake. Not all the time,” he repeats, feeling his ears turning red.

It seems blatantly obvious, in hindsight, that he’d been projecting his wish for Flint to be a part of their little family onto his daughter, telling her tales about a faraway Daddy who misses her very much. Flint doesn’t seem to realize how much of himself Silver has just bared, but if the thoughtful, slightly pitying (though still judgmental) look Hamilton is giving him means anything, he’d wager his husband does.

“Can I…” Flint asks hesitantly, and Silver glances down at Ana’s nervous face. Silver can tell she wants to go to Flint, but he honestly doesn’t know how she’ll react once she’s in his arms. Better to work their way up to it.

“Why don’t we all walk to dinner together, and you can hold Daddy’s hand? Sound good?”

Ana nods, then wriggles in his arms until he sets her down on the ground. She toddles over to Flint, reaching one tiny hand up insistently. Flint takes it, a soft smile slowly spreading over his face.

It’s doing funny things to Silver’s heart.

Ordinarily, dinner for the two of them consists of some combination of beans, rice, and plantains, mostly because they’re filling and hard to fuck up. Ana is probably looking forward to the change in menu almost as much as eating with her Daddy.

“Madi, would you mind terribly going ahead with James and our little friend? I’d like to finish the conversation I was having with Mister Silver. I’m sure he can show me the way.”

Madi and Flint send Hamilton questioning looks, but eventually Ana’s insistent tugging wins out over their suspicion.

“It seems James and I have missed quite a lot.”

Silver glances over at Hamilton. “You don’t seem overly surprised by the - uh - mechanics of this.”

“I knew you were capable of carrying a child, if that’s what you mean. I think James told me in an attempt to make me understand what a difficult life you’ve led,” Silver blinks, taken aback. He had been fairly certain Flint’s rage toward him was absolute; to hear that Flint had spoken of him with his beloved lord, even briefly, beyond merely cursing his wretched name is almost shocking. “Of course, at the time, he’d been convinced we’d never meet.”

Silver supposes he should be angry that Flint told Hamilton his greatest secret, but then again Flint has told Silver so very much about Hamilton: perhaps it’s only fair. Silver, after all, knows all about how terribly the Earl had treated little Thomas as a boy, and surely Hamilton wouldn’t be pleased to learn this.

“She’s what, two?” Hamilton asks, watching Flint, Madi, and Ana thoughtfully.

“Three in September.”

Hamilton nods, and Silver can practically see the calculations playing out in that famously large brain of his. “It seems I misjudged you, Mr. Silver.”

Silver blinks. That was an awfully quick turn around. “Oh?”

“After James told me what you’d done, how he found himself returned to me, I thought you a selfish, cowardly man. But now I realize there is more to you.”

There’s something about Hamilton’s tone that isn’t quite right. “It sounds like you weren’t far off the mark, initially.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. To keep James’s daughter from him, to hide her away and leave him in the dark? Why, John Silver, you may just be the cruelest man I’ve ever known.”

He walks away at that, leaving Silver alone on the path, trembling and teary-eyed.

 

 

*****

 

 

Madi elects to take Ana back to her quarters for the night. Silver, Flint, and Hamilton have much to discuss, after all, and they can’t say all that needs to be said whilst being mindful of a sleeping babe.

She’d fallen asleep in Flint’s lap sometime during the evening, and the look of soft wonder on the captain’s face had made something in Silver’s chest clench painfully. He’d avoided looking at Flint the rest of the night. This hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hamilton or Madi, he’s sure, but Flint himself had been too entranced by the child in his arms to pay Silver any mind.

They’d arrived at the hut, Silver leaning against the small fence and Flint and Hamilton facing him together on the lone bench, and sat in silence for nearly ten minutes. Silver wonders if Flint’s just as anxious as him about what to say, where to begin. Hamilton’s probably just waiting for Flint to do something before he makes any decisions.

Ten minutes slowly creeps toward twenty, and at last Flint speaks.

“You’re good with her,” Flint observes, giving Silver an odd sort of look.

“I’ve had a good two years practice,” Silver reasons.

Flint shakes his head, as if Silver has willfully misunderstood his simple statement. “No, I mean - it’s as if you have experience with children. Siblings?”

Silver shakes his head, glancing down at his peg.

“But...the orphanage. It was a fiction. You didn’t even try to convince me otherwise when I asked. You didn’t bother to deny the lie,” Flint sounds almost incredulous.

Silver shrugs. “Some it was true, some of it wasn’t. The best lies have a hint of truth to them.”

“What was true?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Flint says, and Silver has to look up at the distress in his voice, has to see his face. “Because I called you a liar, and you just let me.”

Why Flint is so upset, Silver doesn’t understand. Flint’s called him far worse than a liar before, and he’s never expressed any guilt over those insults.

“In your defense, I am a liar. It’s practically my trademark, next to the missing leg.”

“Silver,” Flint pleads, his eyes so very wide, and - well, Silver’s always had difficulty maintaining any sort of resolve when it comes to those eyes.

He sighs. “I spent a good amount of time in that orphanage, though it wasn’t some home for boys, as I said. I ran away when I was twelve, but by then I’d been there for six years,” he pauses, hesitating for the barest moment before pressing onward. Best to get it all out at once. “Solomon Little was real, in that it was the first name I ever chose for myself. I suppose I liked the idea of keeping that boy alive, even after I’d moved on from him.”

It’s not so hard to talk about it like this, just vague enough that it still feels far away. He doesn’t dwell on the anguish, the loneliness he’d felt in that cramped, dark place, but rather tries to focus on the way his chest had grown light as he’d climbed through the window that cold night in March.

“I’m sorry that I simply assumed it was all a lie. That I didn’t believe any of it.”

Silver stares at Flint for a moment, completely baffled. This is not at all how he’d imagined this discussion starting.

Hamilton swats Flint in the arm, scowling. “You should not be the one apologizing, James. What is one assumption compared to the wrongs this man has done you?”

That's a bit closer to what Silver had expected.

“He’s right,” Silver admits, trying his best to meet Flint’s eyes. “I… regret, the manner in which you were brought together. At the time, it seemed like the only option.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? After you betrayed James’s  - ”

Ordinarily, Silver would simply let Hamilton berate him. It’s not as if this anger is unreasonable, as if the harshness in Hamilton’s tone is undeserved. But today, Silver feels feels flayed open, like a fraying rope about to snap.

“There are a good many things I regret, but I am not sorry for taking Flint away from his war, or for ending it all together. Not when he is here, alive, and with you. Not when it means Madi is still breathing.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Flint speaks. “And Shoshana? Have you any regrets regarding her?”

Silver closes his eyes, trying not to think of the despair he’d felt, waiting for their child to come and knowing Flint didn’t - and would never - want him. “I’m truly sorry that you didn’t know until now. It was never my intention to keep her a secret from you. I had hoped, when Madi wrote you those years ago, that you might come, but - ”

“What, were you too afraid to write him yourself?” Hamilton interrupts. Silver understands, truly, that Hamilton is simply being protective and that he has every reason to be cross with Silver, but the man is truly grating on his last nerve.

“Can you honestly tell me that anything you would have received in my hand wouldn’t have simply been tossed in the fire?” There is a pregnant pause as Flint and Hamilton exchange guilty looks. “I thought not. And at any rate, it would have been too dangerous, telling you in a letter. All the letters Madi’s written you have passed through Nassau, through the hands of some dangerous, powerful people. Had anyone read that John Silver was with child and vulnerable, Ana would have been at risk.”

“And that has nothing to do with any concern for your reputation?” Hamilton asks pointedly, though he sounds less belligerent than he had a moment ago.

At this, Silver’s temper breaks some. “Not with the legend of Long John Silver, no. But I understand better than most the importance of perception. I have spent my entire life, Lord Hamilton, trying to convince the world of something I have always known is true.”

He looks to Flint. “Do you know what Israel Hands said, when he realized I was pregnant? He told me that a king with a cunt is no king at all.” Flint’s lip curls in indignation on Silver’s behalf, which is - surprising, but not unwelcome. “I slit his throat and cut off his cock before he could tell all of Nassau that I didn’t have one.”

Madi had found him, covered in blood and panting, and without a word pushed Hands’ body off that damn cliff with her foot. Together they’d watched as the morning tide carried the corpse out to sea.

It had been a bonding moment.

“Good,” Flint says vindictively, as Hamilton looks between the two of them with something like amused alarm. “And, for what it’s worth, if I had known, I would have come.”

Silver feels his breath catch, and, for what feels like the hundredth time today, a traitorous sting in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, too focused on trying not to weep in front of Flint. Not when the man still has so much to be angry for. Silver tries to remind himself that Flint would have come for Ana, not for him. It doesn’t do much to quell the hope rising in his chest.

“Silver,” Flint says, standing up and looking terribly, terribly sad. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

And for all that this is everything Silver’s wished to hear from Flint, he suddenly can’t bear to be here, standing with James McGraw and his truest love. Not when his own loves are so torturously out of reach.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, avoiding Flint’s question, “It’s been a long day.”

Silver goes into his hut and leans against the wall, breathing deeply. He goes to get ready for bed, but not before he hears Hamilton, his voice surprised and full of pity.

“Do you know, James, I don’t think he did realize.”

 

 

*****

 

 

Though his mind is restless and his heart aching, Silver sleeps like the dead. He’d been wrung out, from the first of what he’s sure will be many painful conversations, and unconscious almost as soon as his head hit his pillow. It helped that there wasn’t a squirmy toddler kicking him in his sleep, for once.

He wakes to the sound of a persistent knocking at his door. He groans, turning his face into his pillow for one brief, last moment before sitting up, scrubbing at his face and grabbing his crutch. He doesn’t bother to put on a shirt or trousers, knowing it’s probably just Madi returning Ana.

Of course, when he opens the door, it’s not Madi but Flint looking back at him.

For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, before Silver remembers he’s standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his breeches.

“I thought you were Madi,” Silver says, gesturing to his state of undress before turning back inside. He leaves the door open, though, a silent invitation. He hears rather than sees Flint close it behind him.

“You two are still…?”

“No, but it’s not as if it’s anything she hasn’t seen before,” Silver says with a shrug, sitting down to pull on a pair of trousers.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen either,” Flint replies, and when Silver glances up at him sharply, he grimaces. Not two minutes alone together, and he’s already put his foot in his mouth. Silver would have put money on himself saying something he regretted, rather than Flint. It’s good to know they’re both a bit off-kilter.

He gets up to pull a clean shirt out of his small wardrobe, and when he looks back at Flint - he can’t seem to stop himself, can hardly go a full minute without trying to read his expression - the other man is staring at the stretch marks on his stomach. He’s grateful, suddenly, that he’d stopped breastfeeding (or chestfeeding, as Madi had called it, terribly pleased with herself after coming up with the portmanteau) a year ago, that his chest is almost completely back to normal.

Silver had worked hard, after he’d had Ana, to rid himself of the remnants of his pregnancy. Not because he didn’t adore his little miracle, and not because he was ashamed of having carried her, but because he finally had a say again in how his body presented itself to the world.

He’d spent nine months feeling torn between amazement at the thought of a life growing inside him and an intense feeling of wrongness whenever he’d catch a glimpse of his reflection. After giving birth, he was grateful to have some control over his body once more; grateful that he could, with enough effort, return to a state in which he could walk freely and have no one give him a second glance. Chestfeeding especially had been difficult, for even as he’d cherished holding his baby close against his skin, he’d been painfully aware of the fact that he’d only ever seen women perform that act, that his pecs had swollen and looked not unlike the breasts he’d had removed nearly a decade before.

Silver’s almost glad now that Flint has only ever seen him the way he’s wanted to be seen. It seems he’s finally found a silver lining in having Flint so far from him during the pregnancy.

He pulls on his shirt, Flint doesn’t comment on the stretch marks, and the moment passes.

“What time is it?” Silver asks, mostly because he doesn’t want to talk about anything else when he’s only been awake for five minutes.

“Nearly eleven. Madi said something about you having a lie-in.”

Silver grins, buckling his belt. “Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I got up after seven. Why do children get up so early?”

Flint gives him a tight smile. It reminds him of when they’d first met, when Flint was determined to hate him but at times still found him reluctantly amusing.

“Did you spend the morning with Ana?” Flint nods. “How was she?”

They leave Silver’s hut, heading toward Madi’s. Flint slows his gait to keep pace with Silver, just as he always has. It’s so familiar, so easy, it makes Silver want to scream, a little.

“Good. Sweet,” Flint hesitates, before his face softens. “Perfect.”

Silver grins. “I know.”

 

*****

 

Ana squirms out of Madi’s arms as soon as she sees them approaching, racing toward Silver and latching onto around his leg (she knows, by now, that she can’t simply leap into his arms when he’s using his crutch).

“Papi! We ate porridge!” Ana shouts up at him, beaming from ear to ear. It’s always been so fascinating to Silver what she prioritizes: having porridge is apparently equally if not more interesting than who she ate said porridge with.

He bends down so he can scoop her up with one arm - a move he’s long since perfected - and kiss her rosy cheeks. “How exciting! Did you eat your porridge with Daddy?”

She nods, her smile unfading as she looks over at Flint. “ And Madi, and Mr. Thomas!”

Ana’s been struggling with a lisp as she learns new words, and so Thomas sounds more like “Thomath” in her mouth. Silver hopes Hamilton finds it as endearing as he does. She doesn’t wait for Silver to respond, chattering nonstop as small, excitable children are wont to do.

“Madi says we’re gonna go swimming! Can I, Papi?”

Silver could never deny his baby anything, but he’s been trying to teach her some manners, and so he sets her down and gives her a gentle nudge toward Flint and Hamilton. “Why don’t you ask Daddy and Mr. Thomas if they’d like to come swimming with us?”

She does ask, even remembers to say please, and in response Hamilton gives her a warm smile.

“We’d be delighted, Ana. But there’s one problem: we don’t know where to go!”

Without missing a beat, Ana grabs Hamilton’s hand and practically drags him toward the small pond in which Silver has been teaching her to swim.

Flint follows, chuckling at their daughter’s antics, leaving Silver and Madi to trail behind.

“Did the two - or I suppose three - of you discuss all that you needed to?”

“Like what?”

The look Madi gives him is decidedly unimpressed. “‘Like what?’ There are any number of things you need to tell Flint.”

Silver shrugs. “Well, he knows he has a child, so we’re off to a good start.”

“And the pregnancy itself? The fact that you knew about your daughter even on Skeleton Island? How terribly you missed him? How much you still love him?”

Silver shushes her frantically, glancing over at Flint to make sure he hadn’t heard her. “And what, exactly, would that accomplish? Shall we hope that if I make a grand, romantic confession, he’ll find me so pathetic his pity will finally outweigh his anger?”

“You don’t think he’d want to know? You’re not curious to see what might happen?”

Silver looks over at Flint, now, holding Ana’s other hand and listening intently as she tells him about each bird they pass along the path (“They know what I’m saying,” Ana says solemnly, and Flint makes an appropriately impressed noise).

The three of them almost look like a family; certainly more of a family than a melancholy cripple trailing after his wayward child. Silver hates it, a little, how right she looks between Flint and Hamilton.

“Nothing good would come of it. That I’m sure of.”

Madi sighs, linking her arm through his free one. “And I am sure that you are wrong.”

By the time they’ve reached the pond, Ana has already stripped down to her underthings, racing to splash her feet in the shallow water on the bank. Hamilton is quick to follow, leaving Flint standing off to the side holding two sets of clothes, looking vaguely bemused.

Madi takes the bundle with a smile, dropping them on what Ana once called the Dress Rock. She strips quickly too, until she’s in just a cotton shift. Silver does his best not to look at her bare legs - he misses being with her, yes, and she’s so, so , beautiful, but she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want him. She’s not taken off her clothes for Silver’s sake, and so he does his best to respect her boundaries.

Then Flint takes off his shirt, and Silver is less successful at averting his gaze. Flint’s grown softer around the middle since Silver last saw him, but he’s just as thick and sturdy and - Silver turns away before anyone can notice the hot flush spreading across his face.

There’s a sudden splash, and he looks up to see Hamilton and Madi tossing Ana back and forth, already waist deep in the water.

Flint comes up beside him, looking at the laughing trio fondly. “Do you - you’re not bringing the crutch into the water, are you?”

Flint offers his arm, and so Silver leans his crutch against the rock with the rest of their clothes and takes it. He lets Flint lead them out until he’s far enough into the water that he no longer needs help for balance.

“Papi, Papi, look! I’m a shark!” Ana cries, flapping her arms around wildly as Madi holds her around the middle.

“A shark, you say?” Silver says, sinking down until only his head is visible, slowly moving toward her. “But don’t you know, ‘Shana? Daddy and Papi eat sharks for breakfast!”

He pushes up out of the water, grabbing Ana under her armpits and lifting her until he can blow raspberries into her belly. She shrieks with laughter, and as the rest of their companions chuckle, Silver can pretend for just a moment that it could always be this way.

 

 

*****

 

 

They’re eating a lunch of mangoes and avocados on the bank, letting the sun dry their underthings, when Hamilton throws a wrench in.

“So, Mr. Silver - what made you choose the name Shoshana? I’m curious about your thought process, you see, as James himself had no input himself.”

He ignores the dig. “I just thought it was a pretty name.”

When Silver glances over at Flint, he sees that familiar disappointment; he knows Silver’s not being entirely truthful.

“I got the same name as Nonna, Mr. Thomas!” Ana pipes up, and Silver’s evasive lie crumbles into dust.

“Who the f - hell is Nonna?” Flint asks, just barely correcting his expletive.

Ana gives Flint a look not unlike the one she gives Silver when he’s forgotten to read her a bedtime story. “Nonna is Papi’s mommy.”

“Well, that’s just lovely. Don’t you think so, James?” Hamilton replies, turning to Flint expectantly.

Flint won’t stop staring at Silver.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “Yes, it is.”

Silver’s not upset with Ana, for she’d only repeated something he himself had told her, but he’s instead cross with himself for being caught out so easily. Flint’s eyes don’t leave him for the rest of their meal. Silver can’t bring himself to look at him, but he can feel them boring into the side of his face nonetheless. Flint’s gaze has always been a heavy one.

It’s Hamilton who finally breaks the tension, or rather calls attention to it.

“Ana, dear, didn’t you say you were quite good at climbing trees?”

Ana perks up tremendously at this. “Papi says I’m the goodest!”

“Well, why don’t you come show Madi and I your climbing skills? I think there’s something Daddy wants to talk with Papi about.”

Silver glares at Hamilton from over his daughter’s head as she scrambles to her feet. All he gets in response is a smug smirk.

Then it’s just Flint and Silver and this terrible, stifling silence.

“Out with it, then,” Silver says, still avoiding Flint’s eyes. “You clearly have something to say, and there’s only so long a tree can keep a two year old interested.”

When Flint finally speaks, it’s slow and measured. “I have heard variations on your childhood many times. Not just in the lies you told me, but the ones I overheard you tell the men, or even Madi. There were countless inconsistencies, but one detail remained the same: you never knew your mother. That, at the very least, I assumed was true.”

Silver glances over at him, expecting to see betrayal or even perhaps anger on Flint’s face. Instead, the Captain looks almost lost.

He wants to say something noncommittal and indifferent, but then he remembers how very much Madi wanted him to try. Perhaps there are some truths he can give Flint, even if they’re not the ones she wanted

“This might be difficult for you to understand,” he starts, raising a hand when Flint makes a protesting noise. “Not because I think you incapable, but rather because we are so very different. You spent ten years fighting for Thomas, defining who you were, your every action, in his memory. But when I - when she - it hurt so much, hurts so much, and all I wanted to do was forget. I buried that loss long ago, afraid that it would overwhelm me. If I didn’t think about her, if I never knew her, then it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

He laughs, a pitiful, self-deprecating thing.

“It was the coward’s way out, I know. It did the trick, though.”

Silver startles at the feel of Flint’s hand covering his own. “It’s not cowardly,” is all he says. “Not cowardly at all.”

Sitting there, with Flint holding his hand, offering his silent support, Silver lets more truths spill out of him. “I can’t call Ana by her full name, most days. I hear ‘Shoshana’, and all I can think of is my Nonna calling for my mother.”

“It’s not so bad a thing, to be reminded of the people we loved,” Flint says, looking over at Thomas, who’s since foisted Ana onto his shoulders. “Thomas and I struggled, at first, to talk about Miranda. Now I find I’m just grateful to have someone to share her memory with.”

Hamilton turns back toward them, a smile on his face, and Flint quickly takes back his hand, shifting away from Silver.

The moment is lost, and Silver’s left with the echo of warmth in his hand and an all-too familiar longing in his chest.

 

 

*****

 

 

There’s one morning, less than a week after Flint and Hamilton arrive, that Silver is, for reasons unknown to him, left alone with Hamilton.

Well, Ieft is perhaps the wrong word. Hamilton seeks him out, which is if anything even more baffling to Silver.

The Queen wished to speak with Flint over some tactical matter - she’d always liked him more than Silver, that bastard - concerning the defenses of the future home for the Maroons. Julius has been overseeing construction of the new camp for the past ten months, and Madi, Silver knows, wants to start readying her people for the move as soon as possible. She too has joined the meeting.

Ana is across the camp, playing with Tamara’s son Henri, and so Silver for once had expected to have the morning to himself.

No such luck, as Hamilton knocks on his door not ten minutes after he returns from dropping Ana off.

“May I join you?” He asks, gesturing to Silver’s table.

Silver shrugs in response, and so Hamilton takes that as a blessing, wandering in and taking the seat opposite him, usually reserved for Madi. Ana’s own chair sits in the corner, too high to be used for anyone older than four.

They’re silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, Hamilton flipping through the introduction of a book he’s brought with him as Silver goes about mending a tear in one of Ana’s two nighties. How she managed to make a tear as big as his fist in a nightgown of all things completely mystifies him. Most things she does mystify him, though that’s because he simply can’t believe she’s real sometimes.

He doesn’t understand why Hamilton came here, if all he was going to do was read. Silver wants to say something, anything, and the book seems like a fair enough place to start. Though upon closer inspection, Silver realizes he’s reading The Prince, and well, he’s not going to touch that with a ten foot lance.

Still, the silence becomes too much for Silver to take.

“You - uh - you’ve shaved your beard,” he says at long last.

Hamilton thankfully doesn’t seem to mind his idiotic choice of a conversation starter. He puts down his reading, giving him his full attention, and Silver realizes belatedly that the other man had been waiting for him to break, making him uncomfortable on purpose. Even the choice of book was probably intentional.

Fucker.

“I have, haven’t I? I rather hate the feel of facial hair on my skin - we weren’t allowed razors on the plantation, you see - but I’m afraid I have no talent when it comes to shaving aboard a moving ship. I figured it would be best to wait until I was on solid land before taking care of it, for fear of injuring myself. I didn’t want to meet the famous Madi Scott with some self-inflicted gash on my face.”

“It suits you. Being clean shaven.”

Hamilton tilts his head, the barest smirk on his face. “Was that a compliment, Mr. Silver?”

Silver rolls his eyes, turning back to the nightshirt. “I only meant - shit, I don’t know what I meant. Just… I suppose you look more like I pictured you, now.”

“You pictured me?” Hamilton sounds intrigued, but Silver stares resolutely at his stitching.

“Of course I did. Flint described you to me. I had a vague idea of what you looked like. The beard threw me, when you first arrived.”

“Yes, well, we were rather thrown by the presence of James’s daughter when we first arrived.”

Silver grimaces at that, tying off the final knot and pulling it taught with his teeth.

“Can I ask you something?” Silver asks suddenly, breaking the awkward silence as the words fall unbidden from his mouth.

Hamilton nods.

“Is he happy?” It comes out in a rush. He doesn’t want to show his hand here, but - he has to know. “In Massachusetts, with you. Is he happy?”

“I wouldn’t think his happiness was your particular aim,” Hamilton replies. He seems genuinely surprised by Silver’s question.

“I admit, my priority at the time was to first and foremost keep him breathing. Sending him away accomplished that much. Sending him to you , I hoped, would…” Silver sighs, reaching for a knife to trim the dangling threads on the nightgown, mostly to have something to do . If he’s not looking at Hamilton, then Hamilton can’t see how much it hurts. “I hoped would give him some measure of peace. Since I had stolen his war from him.”

Hamilton is silent for a long moment, just observing Silver. “I think he is happier than he ever thought himself capable of being again.”

It’s as if someone has cut Silver’s strings, and he, a loose marionette, slumps against his seat, helplessly relieved.

“Some days are better than others, of course,” Hamilton continues, “And there is still that same rage, same grief inside him, but - I like to think that my presence gives him some comfort.”

“Of course you give him ‘some comfort.’ He loves you.” Silver tries not to sound too bitter. It’s strange: he doesn’t resent Thomas Hamilton for being with Flint while Silver is not, but rather he resents the fact that Flint loves Hamilton, while he never loved Silver a whit. Not even when he thought his lord was dead.

Another lengthy pause. “And I love him. I suppose I have you to thank for our happiness, angry though I still am for how he came to me.” Hamilton pulls out a pocket watch. “James should be done by now - he and Madi promised they’d show me around the island properly. Would you care to join us?”

Silver shakes his head. “No, but I’m sure Ana would love to go, if you’d like. Just tell Madi she’s with Tamara and Henri.”

Hamilton nods, giving Silver a polite smile as he starts to leave.

“And - Mr. Hamilton? Thank you. For - for easing my doubts.”

“You know, considering you’re the father of my husband’s daughter, I rather think you ought to call me Thomas.”

 

 

*****

 

 

Flint and Thomas haven’t really seen much of the less-fun side of fatherhood.

Flint had a glimpse, on their fourth day: Ana had tripped, and scuffed her elbow, and the horror-stricken look on her Daddy’s face had only made the ensuing tears more dramatic. Silver had distracted her by pointing out a nearby chicken, and the scrape was soon forgotten as she pondered what to name her new feathered friend.

Really, it was only a matter of time before she had a little meltdown in Flint and Thomas’s presence.

The problem is, Silver knows, that her schedule has been thrown completely off kilter with their arrival. Her bedtime has been far from fixed, as Silver had been reluctant to simply steal her away and start their evening routine every night at seven. He’d been worried Flint would think he was trying to keep her all to himself.

But on this particular evening, two weeks into Flint and Thomas’s stay, he’s decided to put his foot down. She hadn’t had a nap that afternoon, too keyed-up from a morning spent fishing with her fathers and Thomas, and as they approach seven-thirty, he can see her energy waning.

He’s loathe to take her from where she’s perched on Flint’s lap - they make such a sweet picture, it makes Silver want to die a little - but even though he’s been a rather lax father these past few weeks, he knows what his baby needs.

“Alright, ‘Shana darling, it’s time you and I get ready for bed.”

Ana pouts. “But I don’t wanna!”

“I know, my love, but you have to,” he says reasonably. She screws her face, up, and - oh, shit. Silver can see a tantrum coming a mile off.

“NO!” She screams, startling Flint with her sudden outburst.

“Yes, Shoshana,” he says calmly, because the last thing he wants is to yell back and frighten her.

“No! I wanna stay with Daddy and Thomas!” She shouts, kicking her feet, eyes welling up with overly tired, sullen tears.

And that - Silver knows she doesn’t mean it, not in the way it sounds, she just doesn’t want to go to bed, but….fuck, it hurts.

It takes a few moments for Silver to manage a response, so gutted at her words, and in those precious sixty or so seconds Ana has worked herself up into near-hysterics.

“Shoshana McGraw, that is enough. It’s time for bed.” He goes to pick her up, and she shrinks away from him, crying even harder as she clings to Flint.

“Daddy, Daddy, no,” she blubbers, and Silver’s sure his heartbreak is written all over his face. Flint stares up at him, half-remorseful and half-baffled as he pats Ana's back gently.

“John,” Thomas says quietly, “Why don’t James and I come with you for the bedtime routine? Just for tonight?”

Silver takes a moment to just look at Ana, curled up against her Daddy and hiding her face from her mean, overbearing Papi.

“Fine.”

He leaves without another word, heading down the wooden stairs and across the camp to his and Ana’s hut. Flint and Thomas know where to go.

He’s already got her nightie spread out, grabbed a cloth diaper (they’ve graduated to nappies only at night, rather than all the time, thank fuck), and her hairbrush by the time the rest arrive.

Flint carries a still sniffling Anna over while Thomas takes a seat at the table.

“You’re mad,” Ana mumbles into Flint’s neck, and Silver sighs.

“I’m not mad, ‘Shana. I promise,” he leans over, nudging his nose against hers. “Can Daddy and I get you ready for bed now?”

She nods, and so Flint sets her down on the bed and Silver goes about tugging off her day clothes and putting on the diaper. Once the nightgown is on, he lets Flint entertain Ana while he attempts to brush out her mess of curls. She grumbles every time the brush catches on a knot, and though Silver can sympathize, he knows if he doesn’t do it now her hair will be a disaster in the morning.

By the time he’s finished, she’s already started to yawn, the ritual in itself making her sleepy.

“Papi, can Daddy read?” She asks, and again, Silver feels like she’s stabbed him through the heart. Still, he gives her a strained smile, and reaches over to grab the Tales of Mother Goose from their bedside table.

“We’re on ‘Cinderella’,” he says to Flint, and then dutifully moves to join Thomas at the table.

He can’t help but be amused as Ana situates Flint in the appropriate bedtime reading position: namely, leaning against the wall with her between his legs, so she can both see the pictures and hear him clearly.

Flint clears his throat, and begins: “Once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the proudest and most haughty woman that was ever seen. She had, by a former husband, two daughters of her own, who were, indeed, exactly like her in all things. He had likewise, by another wife, a young daughter, but of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper….”

It’s far too easy to just let himself listen, wrapped up in the warmth and cadence of Flint’s voice, smiling softly as he puts on silly voices for each character as they speak. He glances over at Thomas, and, upon seeing the absolutely besotted grin on the other man’s face, quickly tries to make his own expression less lovesick.

He hopes that Thomas hadn’t looked over before he’d thought to collect himself.

Ana’s eyes have begun to droop, though she fights hard to keep them open as Flint finishes the story.

“She was taken to the young prince, dressed as she was. He thought she was more charming than before, and, a few days after, married her,” Flint looks down at Ana, brushing some hair out of her face. “Did you like that story, Ana?”

Flint’s left out the bit about Cinderella forgiving her cruel step-sisters, probably because he doesn’t think they deserve forgiveness. Funnily enough, Silver does the same thing.

“I like every story, Daddy.” Ana responds sleepily, and Flint chuckles.

“Just like your father, then.”

He gets up and lies her down on her side, but she lifts her head blearily, looking for Silver.

“Papi, are you gonna sing?”

His heart swells: his baby does want him, after all. He and Flint quickly trade places, and he moves until he’s lying mostly on his back, slightly propped up, with Ana lying on her stomach across his torso. She likes to press her head to his chest, feel the vibrations.

This is perhaps the most indulgent thing Silver does as a father: surely he doesn’t need to lie with her and sing sweet nothings until she falls asleep, but he knows that soon enough she’ll be too big to curl up against his chest, to scoop up like this.

Silver tries not to feel too embarrassed as he realizes Flint and Thomas are going to just sit at the table and watch him sing to Shoshana.

She reaches up and pats his chin, urging him on, and so he begins.

“Lavender’s green dilly, dilly, Lavender’s blue…You must love me, dilly, dilly, ‘cause I love you. Who told you so, dilly dilly, Who told you so? 'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, That told me so…”

On and on, every single verse and then once more, until he feels Ana sag completely against him, dead asleep. He shifts, sliding out from under her and then tucking her in carefully, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

When he glances over at Flint and Thomas, they look as though their hearts have just melted. He understands completely: the sight of Ana, bundled up under her blanket and sucking her thumb even in her sleep, is enough to make any man crumble.

It’s only after they’ve crept quietly out of the hut, closing the door carefully behind them, that Thomas speaks.

“Shit.”

Flint turns to him, looking slightly manic. “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

Thomas shakes his head, burying his face in his hands. Perhaps he’s been overcome by how unspeakably adorable Flint and Silver’s daughter is.

“I’ll explain some other time, Silver,” Flint replies, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, where do you keep your liquor?”

 

 

*****

 

 

It’s still so strange, to see Flint play with Ana, to hear their laughter mingled together in the early afternoon. He’s never seen Flint smile so often and so freely as he does with their daughter.

This particular afternoon, Silver’s brought them to perhaps his favorite spot on the island: a small clearing amongst the trees covered in wildflowers, more often than not bathed in sunlight. There’s a stream not far from the clearing, in which Ana loves to splash around with her shoes off if the weather permits.

Silver’s sitting on the ground, leaning against a large ficus and watching as Flint attempts to teach Ana how to weave a crown of flowers. He hadn’t been aware his captain possessed such talents, but then again Flint seems to thrive off surprising him. Ana, on her part, seems torn between staring mesmerized at Flint’s hands and piling petals on top of her Daddy’s head.

Thomas is just a few feet away, leaning against a neighboring tree as he thumbs through whatever book he’s stolen from Madi today.

Silver’s brought with him his most recent attempt at whittling, if only to keep his hands busy. This particular chunk of wood is intended to be a boat for Ana to play with, but at the moment it just looks like a particularly thick crescent moon. Or maybe a block of cheese. At any rate, it doesn’t look like a boat.

It’s just as he’s returning to his carving that Thomas speaks.

“Shoshana. What does that mean?”

“Lily,” Silver responds without thinking, focusing intently on what he hopes will become a sail. What’s frustrating is that he knows if he just asked Flint to help him, it would look incredible. But he won’t, because he still has some pride.

“That’s pretty,” Thomas remarks, and if Silver were paying him more attention he’d be suspicious of the overtly calm manner in which he’s speaking.

Silver hums absentmindedly in agreement.

“It’s Hebrew, isn’t it?” Thomas asks, his tone carefully neutral, and Silver nearly slices through his thumb.

He looks up at Thomas, slightly alarmed. “I - ”

“You needn’t be so frightened, John. If anything, you being Jewish explains quite a bit.”

Silver flinches at the casual way Thomas just says it. He knows they’re alone, and yet he still glances around furtively; the habits that come from years of hiding do not fade so easily. He can’t remember the last time someone called him a Jew out loud. He doesn’t know if he’s ever called himself a Jew out loud.

“Do you think you’ll raise her in the faith?” Thomas is either unaware of Silver’s inner turmoil, or purposefully trying to push Silver out of his comfort zone. He’s not sure which option would be worse.

It’s tempting to simply snap at Thomas, to lash out and be done with it, but he’s been trying, both for Flint’s sake and his own, to build a relationship with this man.

“I - no. For one thing, I don’t really believe anymore, but - if we were to leave the island, and she were to slip up one day, make some innocent comment… I don’t want her to go through that.”

“‘That’ being what you’ve lived through?”

Silver shrugs. There’s no way Thomas is getting that particular story out of him.

“I suppose that’s understandable, though I do feel it’s a shame to keep this part of yourself from her,” Thomas says, because in many ways he still sees the world in hypothetical ideals, rather than harsh realities. Silver imagines it’s part of why Flint loves him so much. Silver himself mostly just finds it irritating.

“I’m not keeping it from her, like it’s some shameful secret. I’m just - putting it aside, until she’s old enough to understand.”

Thomas falls silent at that; he seems to finally realize how treacherous the ground is, discussing Silver’s history like this. He glances back over at Flint and Ana, now rolling around in the grass. “Does James know?”

Silver smiles, a tad wistful as he watches them. “Probably. He’s so damnably perceptive.”

When he finally tears his eyes from the giggling pair, Thomas has that thoughtful, almost sad look on his face. Silver sees it far too often for his liking.

“What?” He asks, his shoulders hunched defensively as he goes back to his whittling.

“You’re so terribly in love with him, aren’t you?” Thomas asks, and Silver nearly drops his carving completely. He can’t bear to look at Thomas, doesn’t want to see the pity that’s surely writ all over his face. How pathetic Thomas must think him, to spend these years pining after someone who’s already found their ‘truest love.’

Before he can even begin to formulate a response, think of a proper lie to divert Thomas’s attention, Flint and Ana are heading back in their direction.

“What’s got you looking so morose?” Flint asks.

Silver glances up, and his self-pity is temporarily forgotten as he sees them. Flint has made both Ana and himself crowns of aster, and he can’t help but smile at the sight of his fearsome Captain with purple flowers in his hair.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a cuddle from my ‘Shana,” he says, laughing as Ana launches herself into his lap in response.

“Papi, I’m a flower princess!” She fairly shouts in his ear, and all three men chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“I think you look rather like a fairy, actually, come to help the flowers grow and shower us in petals.”

She pauses, a look of consternation on her face that almost alarmingly resembles the expression Flint makes when he’s planning battle maneuvers. Finally she comes to a decision.

“A flower fairy princess?”

 

 

*****

 

 

“James was terrified to come here, you know.”

It’s just Thomas and Silver at the moment, leaning against the rail outside Flint and Thomas’s room. Madi’s with her mother, and they’d all agreed that Flint deserved an evening alone with his daughter.

Silver glances over at him, brow furrowed.

“He never said as much, of course, but it was clear to me.”

“What did he have to be afraid of?” Silver asks, baffled.

“I think he was afraid he’d make the journey and find himself just as in love with you as he ever was.” Thomas frowns when Silver barks out a bitter laugh in response. He looks rather put out, actually. “I don’t understand what’s amusing about this.”

Silver just shakes his head, staring out over the camp. “Flint was never in love with me.”

“I do believe there’s a small child somewhere on this island whose existence proves otherwise.”

“I don’t know what, if anything, Flint has told you about that particular day, but it was not the romantic coming together you seem to think it was.”

Or that Silver had thought it was, before Flint had given him a painful reminder of the reality of their situation.

“Are you quite certain about this?”

Silver can feel his shoulders begin to hunch defensively, and he actively fights the instinct. He’s only spoken about this once, with Madi, immediately after the fact.

“Maybe it was, for me, but - Flint made it clear, after, where we stood.” When he notices how tightly he’s gripped the railing in front of them, how white his knuckles are, he lets go completely, leaning forward onto his elbows. “When I realized I’d read too much into his... fuck, the things I’d said, while we were...I’ve never been so humiliated.”

He sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing at his face for a moment before straightening back up and giving Thomas what he hopes is a charming, carefree smile.

“Still, it was my own fault, for making assumptions. I know better now.”

Thomas still looks completely lost. “So he - ”

“I’d rather not talk about it. I’m sure it’s a less painful memory for Flint - why don’t you ask him?”

There’s silence for a time, as Thomas just looks at Silver, seemingly lost in thought. Silver, meanwhile, is trying very hard to ignore the memories creeping up on him.

“He well and truly broke your heart, didn’t he?” Thomas eventually asks, quietly.

Silver shrugs. “I’ve done worse things to Flint than break his heart, as you like to remind me.”

“No,” says Thomas, still studying Silver with those intense, blue eyes of his. “No, I believe that’s the worst thing you ever did.”

 

 

*****

 

 

The thing about children, Silver has learned, is that they are a practical breeding ground for sickness.

He tries not to dwell on the panic he feels every time Shoshana is anything less than completely healthy: children are so small, so fragile, it would be so easy for her little cold to morph into something deadly.

Instead he complains about her sneezing all over his chest and resigns himself to wiping her nose every three seconds.The problem is that when one shares a bed with a sniffling, snotty child, it’s inevitable that one finds themselves sniffling as well.

Upon discovering Silver hacking up what felt like a lung when they’d come to collect him and Ana for the day, Flint and Thomas had elected to let him rest and take her off his hands. Silver had been asleep again before the door had closed behind them.

Now, awake but with a pounding headache, Silver is trying to work up the energy to get out of bed and clean up the mess Ana had made the day before. Looking at the pile of clothes (one of Silver’s shirts had been made into a cape, and his crutch a sword) and toys, however, makes him want to curl up into a ball and sleep for another three days.

It’s around attempt number three at getting up that Flint comes in again, this time without Ana and Thomas and carrying a pitcher of water.

“Just wanted to see if you were still among the living.”

“Barely.”

Flint just chuckles, indifferent to what is surely Silver’s impending death. He sets the pitcher on the table, pouring out two glasses. “Were you planning on getting up at all today? Eating anything?”

Silver groans, pulling his blanket over his head petulantly. “Fuck, don’t mention food.”

He feels a weight on the bed next to him, and when he peeks out, Flint is sitting there, smiling down at Silver in amusement.  

“You ought to at least drink something,” he says, offering Silver a cup. It takes a moment or two, but Silver eventually manages to sit up and take it, sipping gingerly.

They sit in silence for what feels far too long. Part of him wants to just let it go on, try and relive that comfort and ease they once had, when it was just he and Flint against the world and nothing could stand in their way. Silver could hardly take on the world right now. He can’t even take on a pile of clothes on the floor.

“I was going to clean up a bit, but…” Silver says at last, if only to have something to fill this silence. He gestures to the mess of clothes and toys on the floor. Flint, without a word, immediately goes to his knees and starts picking things up, and Silver immediately protests. “Oh, I didn’t - ”

He cuts himself off at the pointed look Flint gives him.

“Where does this go?” Flint asks, arms full, gesturing to the wardrobe with his elbow.

“Toys in the bottom drawer, Ana’s clothes above that, then mine.”

Flint follows his instructions easily, making quick work of a task that probably would have taken Silver at least an hour, given the state he’s in.

“What goes in the top drawer?” Flint asks, curious, and Silver waves his hand dismissively.

“This and that. Whatever doesn’t go in the others.”

Flint opens the drawer, and Silver, tired as he is, doesn’t realize why that should be a cause for concern. The first thing pulls out is an old charcoal sketch of Ana, one that Tamara had done for Silver after he’d lamented how quickly she seemed to be growing.  Flint spends several minutes looking at the picture, a wistful sort of smile on his face.

“It was a gift on her first birthday,” Silver explains. “There’s one of Madi in there somewhere, too.”

“She’s so small,” Flint murmurs, and not for the first time Silver feels a sharp pang of guilt over just how much he allowed Flint to miss. Flint puts it back in its place, looking through the junk drawer. He chuckles at the messy scribbles of Ana’s ‘artwork’ which Silver was too sentimental to toss out and holds up a random black spot Silver himself had scribbled, quizzical.

“For Billy. Just in case,” Silver explains. He’s still got quite a lot of resentment built up towards Billy fucking Bones. He almost hopes the fucker managed to survive.

Flint nods, smirking, and turns back to the drawer. Silver can’t imagine there’s much more, though part of him is curious as to what’s left. He’s tossed so many things in there, it’s hard to keep track.

“Honestly Silver, you might want to consider cleaning this out every once in a - Oh.”

“Oh?” Silver asks, craning his neck to see. Flint, after a long moment, shows him what he’s found, and Silver can feel his chest constrict.

Every letter Flint has ever sent to Madi, or at least the parts of them Silver deemed relevant, are in Flint’s hands now. Every time Madi would receive a letter from Flint, Silver would sneak into her rooms and flip through the pages in search of some promise that he’d return. He’s stolen his fair share of pages from Madi’s desk, pathetic and lovesick, and had kept them hidden away, shoved in the back of a drawer where only he ever looked. Until now, he supposes.

The silence is deafening as Flint looks through the scattered, disjointed pages, unquestionably noting the commonality between them.

Flint’s still looking at the letters when he speaks, his voice a careful mask. Once, Silver could have easily peeked through it, parsed Flint’s true thoughts, but he’s still out of practice.

“When you asked Madi to send for me,” Flint begins, “what did you imagine would happen?”

Fuck.

“I’m not sure. I just thought you had a right to know. If I were you, I would have wanted to know. I couldn’t say what I thought your reaction would have been, given how angry you were with me at the time, and the way you acted when we - well, after.”

Flint is silent for a time, his thumbs running careful lines along the worn parchment. It’s obvious, so obvious, that Silver has read them many, many times. Still, he does not look at Silver. “What did you want to happen?”

That gives Silver pause. “Beg pardon?”

“Don’t do that. I hate it when you do that.”

Flint is one of the few people who has ever really noticed this old habit of Silver’s; feigning confusion often gives him a few more seconds to find a way to divert attention, to think of some new lie. Not today, though, it would seem.

He wishes he had a better view of Flint’s face, that he could see his eyes. Flint’s eyes are always a dead giveaway to what he’s feeling.

“I suppose I wanted us to be a family. You, me, Shoshana, Madi, even Thomas, if he was willing. I wanted you to know her, and love her, as I already did.”

“And that’s all?” Flint asks, finally looking up at him. That’s all, he says, as if it were a given.

“What else is there?” Silver responds evasively, glancing down at his the cup in his hands. Funny, that not a minute ago he’d wished to see Flint’s face, and now he can’t even maintain eye contact.

“John,” Flint admonishes, and it fucking hurts, to hear Flint call him that, when Silver’s every attempt at intimacy had been brushed aside that day on the cliffs. Still, it doesn’t sound wrong, coming from his mouth. Silver has no right to call Flint ‘James’; he never has. But ‘John’ has belonged to Flint for far longer than Silver would care to admit.

“It doesn’t matter,” Silver says, and for once it’s not entirely a deflection. What he wants here truly doesn’t matter, because it will never come to fruition. Whatever hopes he’d had, pregnant with nothing but his imagination to keep him company most days, had never once been based in reality. They’d been daydreams, fantasies: Flint wrapping his arms around Silver’s growing middle with a smile; Flint pressing kisses to their little bump; Flint holding his hand when walking became even more difficult than usual, huge as he was. He’d been disgusted with himself even as he’d taken comfort in the images floating in his head. In truth, he’s still a bit disgusted with himself for being so needy, so desperate for affection.

“Must you always avoid the truth of things?” Flint asks, somewhat exasperated, and Silver’s knuckles turn white with how tightly he’s gripping his cup. It’s an odd thing, to feel both indignant and guilty all at once.

“The truth of things,” Silver says lowly, “is that I was a thief far longer than I was king. It is in my nature, to covet what isn’t mine to have.”

It’s the best Flint will get from him. He’ll keep those hopes, those dreams, to himself, so that he might never hear Flint dash them out loud. He’s always known that Flint’s smiles and kisses and hands were meant for Thomas.

“John…” Flint repeats, his voice soft and knowing, and Silver - he can’t -

“I think you should go,” he says, as firmly as he’s able. He will not look at Flint. He cannot.

Flint leaves without another word, and Silver buries his face in his hands, cursing his aching, greedy heart.

 

 

*****

 

 

Flint’s next attempt to discuss serious matters with Silver comes at a rather unfortunate time.

As has become his habit, Flint doesn’t bother to knock, no doubt assuming Silver’s simply playing with Ana in the hour between dinner and their bedtime routine.

“Silver, there’s something I need to - ” The stern look slips from Flint’s face as he stops dead in his tracks, taking in the sight of his former quartermaster, hair piled atop his head and toddler splashing between his legs in a rather cramped wooden tub.

“Uh….” Silver starts to say, but Ana, chipper as always, saves him from having to explain.

“Daddy! We’re scrub-a-dubbing!” She calls out, waving her arms about to show him how very sudsy she is. She gets soap bubbles all over Silver’s face in the process, but she is as ever oblivious in her excitement.

“I can see that,” Flint says, eyes still wide. Why he’s so caught off guard by this, Silver doesn’t quite understand. Still, he takes the distraction as a way to start working his hands, lathered with lavender soap (a gift from Madi), through her wild hair.

Thomas comes in through the still-open door, looking nearly as solemn as Flint had. “James, I told you I wanted to be here when you - oh, Jesus Christ.”

Thomas’s face is turning a light shade of pink, and so Silver looks down quickly to make sure his vagina isn’t on display.

It’s not.

He shrugs, and returns to carefully rinsing out Ana’s hair, covering her eyes with his free hand in order to avoid tears. Ana shakes her hair like a dog coming out of the rain, splattering Silver yet again all across his face. He can’t help but laugh, and when he glances back up at Flint and Thomas, they both look as though they’ve been struck a blow to the head.

“What?”

It’s Flint who responds, his voice rather strangled sounding. “Nothing.”

“Thomas!” Ana interrupts. “Do you wanna hear Papi’s bathtime song?”

“Bathtime song?” Thomas echoes, his voice oddly high. He turns to Flint. “James, there’s a bathtime song.”

“Yes, I heard,” Flint replies faintly. He clears his throat, seems to collects himself, and grabs Thomas by the arm. “Come on, let’s leave Ana and Silver to their bath.”

He fairly drags Thomas from the room, yet Silver can still hear the taller man: “But James, the bathtime song!”

“Could we have a bath with Thomas and Daddy?” Ana’s taken to just rubbing the entire bar of soap into his beard. How she even got her hands on it, he’s not sure.

“Maybe next time, darling,” Silver replies diplomatically, mind still on Flint and Thomas. What had all that been about?”

 

 

*****

 

 

“What do you think Ana would like for her birthday?” Thomas asks one day, while the child in question takes her afternoon nap.

Silver’s been trying to avoid thinking about what happens after Thomas and Flint return to the colonies, about what sort of role they’d play in Ana’s life, if they even wanted to play one. Apparently, Thomas has not shared this apprehension.

“Madi’s already picked out some books for her, if that’s the route you were thinking.”

“I suppose September is a long while away. We certainly have time to think of something, don’t we, James?”

Flint nods, though it seems as though his mind is far from birthday gifts. Thomas, too, seems to notice this.

“James, darling?”

“When we last saw each other,” Flint says, addressing Silver, “you would have been over two months along.”

Silver tenses; he knows what’s coming next, and he’s not looking forward to it. He’s surprised it hasn’t come up before now.

“Did you know? On the island, did you know you were pregnant?”

“Well, Captain, I’ve only ever known you on islands, when you think about it. First Nassau, then here - ”

“John.” Flint cuts him off, stern.

Silver sighs, bracing himself for the inevitable shouting match that will soon follow. “Yes. Yes, I knew.”

Flint inhales sharply, and when Silver dares to glance at him he sees the tell-tale twitch in his cheek, a sure sign of the captain trying to suppress some intense emotion. Flint gets up and walks away from the small table outside the hut without a backwards glance. His reaction is fairly restrained compared to the violent, angry outburst Silver had expected.

He’s left Silver and Thomas to sit in an awkward, tense silence.

As always, it’s Thomas who speaks first.

“I think he was too caught up in the shock of having a child to really do the math. I realized fairly quickly that you must have hidden it from him in those last days but… well, Ana is a rather delightful distraction.”

Silver pulls his good leg up, wrapping his arms around his knee. “I thought I was doing what was best for him.”

The look Thomas gives him is nothing short of incredulous. “You thought lying to him about his child was best for him?”

“He would have had to choose,” Silver says defensively. “The man he loves, or - or me. He would have loved her, as soon as he knew about her, but - for him to stay with me for her, when he could be with you?” He shakes his head. “He loves her, yes, but he’s never loved me. So no, I didn’t tell him.”

Now Thomas just seems melancholy. Silver’s not sure he wouldn’t prefer him angry.

“James did mention you had a rather narrow mindset when it came to love.”

Silver frowns. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Thomas suggests, nodding toward the treeline, where Flint has reemerged.

“Come with me,” Flint says, already heading toward the room he and Thomas had been given upon their arrival.

“But - Ana,” Silver starts to say, gesturing half-heartedly behind him, where their baby sleeps on. Thomas doesn’t give him that easy out, however.

“I think I can handle waking her up at three o’clock, John. It’s not exactly advanced mathematics.”

“But - ”

“John Silver,” Thomas interrupts, exasperated, “I swear I have aged twenty years waiting for the two of you to get your heads out of your asses. Go with James and tell him what you told me, plus whatever you didn’t.”

There’s not much Silver can say to that, and so he grabs his crutch and follows Flint. He’s always trailing behind the man, it feels, like some lost duckling.

Flint, when Silver finally makes his way into the small bedroom, is pacing rather aggressively. He stops, though, when he realizes Silver has arrived, and instead turns to face him, hands clenched at his sides.

“You - ” He starts, but cuts himself off, going back to pacing. He stops again.

“How could - ” Again, Flint can’t seem to get the words out, and returns to prowling the room.

Eventually, Flint simply sits on the bed, still wound tight as a drum. “Explain.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How long had you known?”

Silver sighs, sitting on the lone table in the room across from Flint. “I realized not long after we left Nassau. When we thought Madi was…”

“Jesus Christ, John. That long? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“What difference does it make? You know now, don’t you?”

He can see Flint’s indignant anger grow with each word he says, but to speak the truth of it, out loud to the captain, would be humiliating. He’s putting it off as long as he can.

“It would have made a hell of a difference at the time!” Flint fairly shouts.

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Silver replies quietly, and at that Flint freezes.

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest with yourself, Flint. If you had known about the baby, would it have changed anything for you?”

“It would have changed everything!” Flint insists, moving to stand before Silver. “I never would have brought you to Skeleton Island, I never would have put you or the baby at risk like that - ”

Silver closes his eyes at that, at this confirmation of what he’s always expected. “But the war would have gone on. You would have kept on fighting, and fighting, no matter what was waiting for you.” He reaches out, grasping Flint by the shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “But Thomas? Getting you to him, I knew would be enough. To stop the fighting, the rage, give you some peace. Maybe even happiness.”

Flint looks stricken, as though Silver’s said something particularly hurtful. He doesn’t understand why, really: it’s the truth, after all, and Silver himself had come to terms with it long ago.

“You would never have given up your war for me. But for Thomas... you would do anything.”

“Silver, John, that’s not true. That’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Silver says, wistful and resigned all at once. “You love him.”

“But I love - ”

“And yes, I know you love Ana, that you would have loved her the moment you knew of her existence,” Silver interrupts, “I don’t think you so unfeeling as that. But she is an irrevocable part of me, you see. You might have wanted her, yes, but I unfortunately would have to come along.”

He hears a familiar giggle not far off, and turns just in time to catch Ana as she barrels into him, a perfect escape from this discussion. He bends down to scoop her up from where she’s latched onto his good leg, pasting on a smile he doesn’t quite feel.

“Hello, lovely. Did Thomas wake you?”

“WE’RE GONNA RIDE A HORSE!”

Silver winces as Ana bellows into his face, her excitement outweighing her volume control. Even Flint, who not a moment ago had been distraught, chuckles a bit, delighted as ever by his daughter.

“We are?”

“Yup, yup, yup!” Ana chirps, swinging her legs mid-air. “I wanna ride Opie!”

….Opie?

“Who’s Opie, ‘Shana?”

“Madi’s pony,” Thomas supplies helpfully.

Ah. Ophelia.

“Well, so long as someone rides with you, that should be alright,” Silver concedes, shifting her into his free arm as he grabs his crutch.

“But I wanna ride all by myself!” Ana protests, and Silver tuts at her.

“You’re too small, my love,” he reasons with her, and their little debate continues all the way out of the room and down the stairs to the ground.

He’s so caught up in their bickering, silently reveling in how adorable her little pout is, that he completely misses the frantic whispering of the two men following them.

 

*****

 

 

Madi is meeting with her mother and Julius on this particular evening, discussing when and how they should start moving the maroons to the new camp. Julius and his men, after months of work, had finally made enough progress in construction to warrant the transition. Enough structures to house thirty people, he’d said, and ten of his men were still at the new site working. Madi has been in touch with Max, asking if a captain called Black Caesar, a former slave who had recently made berth in Nassau, would be willing to provide transportation. If not, Silver’s sure they’ll be seeing Rackham and Bonny any day now.

(Julius had been extremely displeased to see Flint and Thomas - though Silver has a great deal of respect for him, their relationship is a tepid truce at best - but he warmed slightly when he learned that the captain had no intention of staying with the camp.)

The four of them were left to have a quiet dinner on their own in Flint and Thomas’s room. Now he, Thomas, and Flint are all sitting around the small table, swapping stories as Ana lies on the floor and draws what she claims is a chicken with some charcoal and some spare parchment.

“And do you know what he said? ‘Perhaps my lack of education is showing.’” Thomas says, chuckling. Silver laughs, eager as ever to hear more stories of Flint before he’d known him. “God, I was halfway in love already, and he’d barely spoken three sentences to me.”

“I wasn’t. That wig was horrific,” Flint replies, and Silver cackles at the insulted look on Thomas’s face.

“As much as I’d love to hear you berate Thomas’s fashion choices, I’m afraid nature calls,” Silver interjects, standing up. He leaves them arguing over whether or not Thomas had a say in whether he could or could not wear wigs in public, and makes his way down the stairs to the privy. He’s grateful, going back up, that he’d elected to use his crutch today, as walking up any steps on his stump is painful, even now.

He pauses outside the door, however, as he hears Flint and Thomas speaking in suspiciously low voices. He has to strain, but he can just make out what they’re saying.

“ - could have her own room, even. She can’t share a bed with Silver forever,” Thomas is saying.

“Don’t let Silver hear you say that,” Flint laughs.

“And can you imagine, when winter comes? What fun we’d have, playing with Ana in the snow. You’d finally have someone else to knit things for, love.”

Silver feels his breath catch, betrayal slicing through his ribs. Thomas is talking about their home in the colonies. He wants to take Ana with them, when they leave, and what’s worse is Flint seems to agree. It sounds like they’ve talked about it before, like their plans are already in motion and they’re merely ruminating on what their future will be like: just Flint, Thomas, and Ana. What a fool Silver’s been. Here he’d been hoping they could exchange letters at least, maybe visit every other year or so, and all the while the two of them have been preparing to steal his baby away from him.

He lets his crutch land heavily as he heads into the room, announcing his presence just before opening the door. Flint and Thomas fall silent.

“John? Is something the matter?” Thomas asks, and Silver curses himself for not taking a moment to school his expression before entering.

“I hadn’t realized how late it was, is all. I ought to get Ana to bed.”

Sure enough, Ana’s eyes have begun to droop, and she’s more or less given up on completing her picture. A perfect little accomplice, his daughter. She didn’t even have to try.

He scoops her up with little difficulty, trying not to grimace as she sleepily hands Thomas her artwork. Thomas smiles as though he’s been gifted an original Botticelli, and Silver fights the urge to throttle him. It’s so clear to him now, that Thomas and Flint had been endearing themselves to Ana, ensuring that when she was eventually separated from Silver she would not be so sorry after all, instead pleased to be with her Daddy and his husband.

Well, Silver will not give them the satisfaction.

 

 

*****

 

 

Silver doesn’t bother to acknowledge Flint and Thomas when they enter his hut; he simply continues to throw clothes and toys haphazardly into the satchel.

“I knew it. Running away, are we?” Flint asks, his voice tight with anger. Well, fuck him. What right does he have to be angry?

“Can you blame me?” Silver snaps back, taking care to fold one of Ana’s nicer dresses. He’s never folded anything so aggressively in his life.

“John, what brought this on?” Thomas asks, and Silver can only laugh, hollow and mean.

“What indeed,” he retorts, dropping his work to glare. He moves until he’s directly in front of Thomas, staring him down. He can hardly stand to look at the man, but he has to say his piece. “Haven’t I given you enough? I gave him to you, ripped out my heart and sent it to Savannah on a fucking platter, and still you’re not satisfied?”

Silver’s voice has gone thick with emotion, but for once he doesn’t care: he’s too upset to be self-conscious.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Flint interjects, and Silver crowds into his pace, clinging to his rage for fear of drowning in his despair.

“You can’t take her from me. I won’t let you.”

“Take her - ?”

“I heard you. Talking about how she’ll love the snow, how happy she’ll be, to have her own bed - tell me, were you going to let me say goodbye at all, or were you just going to spirit her away in secret?”

Thomas looks absolutely stricken, no doubt dismayed that Silver has discovered their plot.

“Oh, John,” he says, seemingly at a loss, but Silver ignores him.

“I know I’m not - that I wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice for a father, but I love her. She’s all I have left, and - and she needs me,” He insists, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks furiously.

Flint, too, looks distraught, though as always he expresses his feelings in a rather aggressive manner.

“You fucking idiot, Silver,” he says, and Silver in response stiffens, rage burning through him.

“What James is trying to say,” Thomas intercedes, voice placating, before Silver can lash out. “Is that we would never dream of separating you from your daughter.”

Silver feels himself deflate slightly, the relief making him nearly lightheaded, but still he’s not fully convinced. Still, he’s on edge.

“But - I heard you.”

At this, Thomas seems almost chagrined. “Yes, perhaps we’d gotten ahead of ourselves a bit.” He looks to Flint, who gestures for him to continue. “This isn’t how we’d planned on asking, but James and I had hoped that you and Shoshana might come with us when we return to Massachusetts in August.”

Silver gapes at the pair of them, eyes wide, his anger completely forgotten

“Wha - both of us?”

Thomas nods, and to Silver’s complete shock, so does Flint.

“But why would you….?”

Thomas rolls his eyes, suddenly exasperated. “Right. I’ve had enough of this.”

He marches over to where Ana has somehow slept through their tiff, and picks her up. She’s tired enough that she only blinks blearily at him before simply going along with it and pressing her face to his neck.

Thomas, toddler on his hip and a determined expression on his face, walks up to Flint. “Fix this.”

He turns to Silver, and kisses him on the cheek, which - Silver doesn’t know how to begin to interpret that. “We’ll see you both in the morning,” is all he says as he takes his leave.

Silver, absolutely baffled by this turn of events, looks to Flint for answers.

“Did you really think we’d just take her from you?” Flint sounds gutted at the thought.

“In retrospect I probably reacted a bit dramatically,” Silver admits. He peers at Flint, still baffled. “I don’t understand why you’d want me to be a part of your life with Thomas. Shoshana, at least, makes sense.”

“Of course I would want you there. I do want you there.”

“But why?” He knows he sounds childish, sounds nearly petulant, but he just - he can’t wrap his head around any of this.

Flint looks almost exasperated. “Why do you think, Silver?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked!”

Flint moves closer, until there’s less than a foot between them. There’s an unfamiliar sort of hesitancy on his face. It’s gone in a blink, though, replaced with the expression Flint normally wears when he’s about to walk into battle.

“What - ” Silver starts to say, but he’s cut off as Flint kisses him.

Flint kisses him.

Silver responds without thinking, clutching at Flint’s shirt and sighing against his mouth. He’s wanted - fuck, he’s wanted this for so long, he’s wanted it every day since he last had it; the feel of Flint’s lips pressed into his, Flint’s hands on his cheek, at his waist. To think, that Thomas has this everyday -

The thought of Thomas brings reality crashing back around Silver, and he pulls away abruptly. His hands, though, remain on Flint’s chest.

“We can’t. You don’t really - you have Thomas.” 

“Does the love you have for Madi lessen what you feel for me?” Flint asks, holding Silver’s upper arms gently. Silver tries to look away, embarrassed to hear Flint speak of this love he’s tried to stifle so plainly, but Flint reaches up and cups his cheek. “Why should it be any different when it comes to Thomas and I?”

Silver feels adrift, like someone’s pushed him out to sea and he’s become untethered. It can’t possibly be this simple, this easy. There’s a catch, something he’s missing.

“And Thomas is just - fine with this?” Madi had been more than understanding about Silver’s feelings for Flint - she’d recognized them for what they were long before he himself had. But Madi is not Thomas. “He barely likes me.”

Flint chuckles at that, moving until his hands are covering Silver’s, still resting on his chest. “Now that is patently untrue. Thomas got over his anger some time ago. He’s rather taken with you, in all honesty.”

“What?”

“I’d wager anyone who sees you with Ana would very soon after find themselves half in love with you.”

Silver feels his cheeks redden. He’s countless times stared at Flint like a lovesick fool, never more than when he’s being particularly sweet with their daughter. He hadn’t realized anyone might feel the same when they look at him.

Flint squeezes Silver's hands. "I was frightened, that day on the cliffs. I couldn't stand the thought of loving someone so completely, only to lose them yet again. I pushed you away, I know, but please believe me when I say all I wanted was to hold you close to me."

Silver kisses Flint again, because he can, because Flint wants him to. Flint responds without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Silver’s waist and pulling him close.

“Come with me,” Flint breathes, pressing feather light kisses to Silver’s cheeks, his closed eyes, his nose. “Come with us.”

Silver nods, overwhelmed, and presses their foreheads together.

“Alright,” he whispers, “Alright.”

 

 

*****

 

 

It’s only hours later when, in a fit of panic, Silver realizes he can’t go with Flint and Thomas after all.

He sits up, shaking Flint awake. Flint groans, propping himself onto his elbows.

“Silver, it’s not even light out. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I can’t go with you. I want to but - I can’t.”

Flint sits up fully. “Why not? What happened?”

“If I leave, Madi will have every reason not to see me again. She still hasn’t told me where the new camp is going to be, you know? I go with you, and that’s it. I’ll never see her again, I know it.”

Flint’s reaction is - underwhelming at best. He groans, and lies back down. “Jesus, Silver, I thought it was something serious.”

“This is serious, Captain! She hates me!”

“She does not. Go to sleep, talk to her in the morning.”

“But Captain - ”

“Shut up, Silver.”

 

 

*****

 

 

Telling Madi is significantly easier than Silver had thought it would be, mostly because she already knows. He’d asked for a moment alone, letting Thomas and Flint entertain Ana just outside, only to have Madi turn to him and ask if the pair of them had finally gotten their act together and asked.

“You know?” Silver demands. “How could you know? I didn’t know until last night!”

“Thomas mentioned their intentions two weeks into their stay.”

Silver realizes, with a sudden clarity, what this means. “You want me to go.”

It’s what she’s wanted for a long time, Silver knows. For all that she loves Ana and to some extent still loves him, she is still so angry.

Madi, as always, can tell immediately what he’s feeling. She cups his face in her hands, stroking her thumbs across his cheeks. “I know what you are thinking, and you are wrong. I do not wish to banish you from my side as some sort of punishment. You love Flint. You could very easily love Thomas, too. There is such love in you, John Silver. And that love has led you here.”

“But I love you. I don’t want to leave you.”

She smiles. “It will not be forever. Once the new camp is settled, I will be able to see you.”

“Will you want to, though?” Silver pleads, reaching up and clasping one of her hands in his own, holding it in his place. “It’s been two years, and I know you still haven’t forgiven me.”

“I’ve told you before. My anger does not preclude my loving you. Perhaps while you are away from me, I will better remember all the reasons why I love you, without being reminded of that anger. Perhaps if I can miss you, I can learn to forgive you.”

She kisses him, and for a moment Silver is frozen in shock. It’s been so long since he’s felt her so close, since he’s held her like this, and the fact that she’s granting him this affection once more is almost too much for him to handle. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her perhaps too tightly.

Fuck, but he’s missed this, missed her.

Madi pulls back, presses their foreheads together, and Silver opens his eyes to stare at the way her lashes fan across her cheeks.

“Papi?”

He and Madi break apart, turning to face the doorway, where Flint, Thomas, and Ana are all standing.

“Sorry,” Thomas says, not looking very apologetic at all. “Ana was just so curious about how this was all going.”

“Yes, I’m sure Ana was simply dying to know,” Silver replies with a roll of his eyes. When was it, he wonders, that his jibes towards Thomas became so affectionate? And how is it that he never noticed?

“Madi? Are you my mommy now?”

Silver closes his eyes, pained. He knows that Madi’s role in her life confuses Ana, especially when she sees the parents of other children, men and women together in a way that Silver and Madi haven’t been in a long time. Seeing the two of them like this will only confuse her more, and Silver doesn’t know how to explain it.

Madi walks over to Ana, kneeling and taking her into her arms. She brushes a stray curl out of her face.

“Your father and I have a very complicated relationship. I love him, and he loves me. And we both love you. If it is something you would like, I would be very glad to be your mother.”

Ana giggles, clapping her hands together and throwing her arms around Madi’s neck. Silver looks at the two of them, his princess and his queen, and then at Flint and Thomas, smiling over at him.

There is so such love in you, John Silver. That’s what Madi had said.

But it seems to Silver that all the love is around him: it’s Flint and Thomas brushing their fingers together; Flint brushing a kiss against Madi’s forehead; Thomas reading to Ana, curled up on a chair; Ana tucking a plucked flower behind Flint’s ear; Madi brushing Ana’s hair.

If he is so full of love, it is only because they have given it to him.

His family.

Notes:

is "daddy" anachronistic? probably. do i care? not really.

Notes:

thank you for reading! comments are appreciated but not demanded.

title as always from a musical, this time a lyric from into the woods

my black sails tumblr is @slverjohn if you wanna say hi!