Chapter 1: Coming Ashore
Summary:
Updated as of November 13th, 2024 with minor edits
Chapter Text
October 1714
Primrose’s back was ablaze.
The scars that took up the expanse of her back had long since healed, but the skin was still sensitive enough that when Mr. Tennent’s nails dug in to undo her dress, it was as if she was being burned again.
She tried to elbow him away from her, kicked and screamed, but he just flipped her over, slamming her down onto the floor of the brig so that she was facing him. The wind was knocked out of her and she went limp. Without being able to hide her face, she was staring and an extremely angry man. Mr. Tennent’s face was screwed into a snarl, his hair a wet mop that draped along his cheeks.
“Be a good little whore and stay still,” he hissed, attempting to stuff a hand down the front of her dress. The other had found its place on her thigh, bunching up her skirt to try and get at the skin beneath.
Prim tried to catch her breath, tried to do anything to stop whatever was going to happen, but Mr. Tennent’s advantage of size had left her winded. She shut her eyes, hoping that what he planned to do would end quickly.
The sounds of shouting above on the Spartan’s deck broke through their scuffle. Mr. Tennent sat up on his haunches, still keeping most of his weight on her body so she couldn’t move. The shouts grew louder and there were sounds of ammunition fire above them. Prim flinched at the noise, making a feeble attempt to wiggle away from her captor.
Mr. Tennent refocused his attention back to her and grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head. Prim struggled against his grip as she got her wind back, her renewed struggle bolstered by the sounds of conflict on the upper deck.
“Don’t make this difficult,” he whispered, in a low pitched voice, “Take it and-”
The ship lurched sideways as the roar of cannonfire echoed through the brig. Prim felt Mr. Tennent’s full weight dropped on her and she lost her breath once more, her vision erupting with stars.
Prim was not going to die here. She needed to do something to get onto the deck.
The shouts above grew louder and she could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down into the brig. She took a sharp gulp of air to get her bearings. Prim tried to push Mr. Tennent’s body off of her, but he didn’t move at all. Her hands were tacky with blood and she could see that there was a large chunk of Mr. Tennent’s torso was missing from his body. His eyes were still open wide, glassy and unfocused. She could feel bile rise in her throat as the stench of blood hit her nose, but she choked it down.
A voice floated through the air, close to the entrance to the brig, deep and unfamiliar.
“-the last of them. Nothing in the schedule showed the crew were transporting prisoners. I doubt there’ll be anything down here that we haven’t already found, but-”
Prim could see someone pass by the doorway, struggling to make herself noticeable under the bleeding body.
“Please,” she whispered, trying to get her voice back. The figure in the hallway didn’t stop. She tried moving again, digging her nails into the wood of the floor hoping to drag herself out from under the body that had her pinned.
“H-help!” she cried, “Please!! Help me!!”
The man in the doorway paused and turned towards her. She raised her hands up and waved at him, hoping it was enough to get his attention.
“Dear god,” the man whispered, eyes bright and wide beneath his bushy eyebrows, “HAROLD! I NEED YOU HERE!”
Another man joined him in the doorway, a dark beard obscuring everything below his nose. The first man moved to quickly shove Mr. Tennent’s body off of her, allowing her to catch her breath.
The last thing she saw before she passed out was the burlap of one of the hammocks covering her face.
-------
Prim blinked awake to someone rubbing something on her back.
For a moment, she expected to hear the sound of humming. Tula would always try to soothe her whenever she was treating her scarred back, the tunes of lullabies dancing through the room. But the room didn’t look familiar and she could feel the steady rocking of being on a ship.
Prim jolted up and turned to fully face the person touching her. It was one of the men from the brig, looking a bit more sooty than the last time she saw him. His beard was beginning to gray, the rest of his hair a deep brown that was nearly black. He wore round glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose.
“I mean you no harm,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, “All I was doing was applying a balm to your back.”
Prim pressed up against the wall of the room, trying to put space between her and the man, feeling that the back of her dress was opened just to the small of her back. The front was still laced, preserving her modesty, and she could feel that her stockings and bloomers were still on. If anyone had touched her, she wouldn't have been awake for it. She tried to calm her hammering heart, clenching her fists into her skirt to try and maintain her focus.
Her stomach lurched as she saw how stained her dress was, blood nearly dyeing it a dark brown.
The man before her remained silent, his hands still up as though he was trying to placate a wild animal. She could see his hands had a viscous liquid coating them, so he was telling the truth about her back. Prim remembered that the other man in the brig had called him Harold.
Regardless of the kindness she was being shown, she couldn’t help but stay wary of Harold.
“Where am I?” she asked, looking around the room.
It wasn’t large enough to be a captain’s cabin. There were two small cots set along the wall across from her. She could see a small shelf with books tucked away in the far left corner. On the right, she saw a door that most likely led onto the upper or lower deck of the ship. She was on top of another cot and could see that next to the man was a small leather pouch with its contents spilling out onto a wooden chair. There were jars filled with golden oil and a small pair of scissors. The man’s lap held the jar of balm he’d been using, along with a small sewing kit.
“You’re on the Apple, in the physician's cabin. I brought you up here when the Captain found you below deck on the Spartan.”
“Is this a pirate ship?”
The man gave her a sheepish grin, wiping his palms on his trousers. “The Captain prefers ‘privateer’ to ‘pirate’, but when it boils down to it, that’s what we are.”
“What happened to the Spartan?” she asked.
“Most likely resting at the bottom of the sea by now,” Harold said.
“Did anyone else survive?”
Harold shook his head. “I don’t know if anyone jumped ship before we sank it, but we were able to retrieve the slaves and servants from the hold. I do know for certain that the captain was killed, along with the man that had been with you in the brig.”
Relief spread through Prim so suddenly that she nearly lost her breath. She swayed against the wall, an invisible weight lifting off of her as she moved her hands to the cot, trying to keep herself upright.
Harold moved slowly towards her to place a hand on her arm to hold her steady. “Easy does it, lass. Take a few breaths.”
Prim closed her eyes and took in a few shuddering breaths. The Spartan was gone. Mr. Tennent was gone.
She was finally free.
Tears streamed down her cheeks at the thought and she curled in on herself as Harold moved his other hand to her other arm. He held her at arms length as she let out breathless sobs until she couldn’t shed another tear.
When Prim finally lifted her head, Harold was still holding her steady, but didn’t make a single move to encroach into her space. She was grateful, unsure of how she should even begin to feel if he’d tried to hug her or pull her close. There were things still too ingrained within her to enjoy that closeness.
Harold’s voice was soft, keeping his gaze on her face. “You’ve been through hell and back haven’t you? Take your time to rest here; I promise no harm will come to you while you’re in my care.”
Prim nodded and Harold released his grip, allowing her to settle back down onto the cot.
“I’ll let you take some time for yourself. Rest if you can. I want to let the Captain know that you’re awake and discuss a few things with him. When I get back, we’ll talk about what’ll happen next.”
-------
April 1715
The crew of the Apple started preparing to dock as soon as Nassau’s beach was in sight.
The ship was quick to head towards the shore, the members of the crew not needed for bringing down the sails or preparing the longboats leaning on the railings and watching as the beach got larger and larger. The sun was high in the sky, the tang of salt in the air, and it seemed like the perfect day to make port after nearly half a year at sea.
Prim was just as giddy as the rest of the crew, heading to the ship’s bow to look out at New Providence Island. The beach looked crowded with people, tents erected no matter where you looked. She could see smoke coming from a few of them, imagining the smell of spices and cooking meat they’d bring. Looking past the beach, she could see the buildings of Nassau proper, brightly colored against the blue sky. In her view, she could see the famous fort of New Providence, the stone walls looming over the far corner of the island.
This place would be her new home. Prim couldn’t wait to make it to shore.
“First time?” a gruff voice piped up behind her. Prim turned to see the Apple’s quartermaster, Mr. Groves, making his way to lean on the railing near her. She nodded excitedly, quickly reaching into her trouser pocket to pull out a notebook. She scrawled out a quick message and handed it to him.
“‘Never been out of the colonies, so yes. Have you come here often?’” Groves read from the paper, “Yep. Second time with the Apple, but I’ve been returning for nearly a decade with the other crews I’d been a part of over the years.”
He sighed, crossing his arms over the railing. “Strange to see just how much this place has changed in that many years. Just hope it’ll keep itself going for another ten.”
Prim gave him a questioning look. Groves made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “This is one of the few islands that isn’t controlled by England in the Bahamas. With the war going on with Spain, one has to wonder if troops will be on the beach to take it back someday.”
He was quiet afterward, seeming to be lost in thought, and Prim pondered on what to say. Moments like these made her wish she was able to speak, but her voice was too high to be anything but a woman’s. So, Harold had been the one to concoct the story that she was mute, which the rest of the crew seemed indifferent to question.
“So,” Groves said, “I hear you won’t be sailing with us again?”
Prim shook her head, then scrawled onto another page.
“‘I think I need to get my land legs back. Maybe stay long enough to make a place of my own here, ‘“ Groves said, nodding“Aye. Many a pirate and privateer have made their home here, so I’m sure you’ll find a place suitable for you.” He turned to face her, giving her a wide grin under his graying beard. “Hate to see a young man like yourself wasting away with the talent for patching people up.” His face turned somber.
“If Harold was still with us, I’m sure he’d tell you how proud he was of how far you’ve come.”
Harold had passed away the previous month. He’d taken a bullet for the Captain and was returned to the sea. Prim had never thought she’d be able to cry over someone she knew for a few months, but Harold had built up her nerve and her talents. He’d given her a purpose, had shown her that she could be a healer and help others. She was going to take advantage of those skills, regardless if she was at sea or land.
“Don’t be a stranger if we meet again, got it?” Groves said, interrupting her from her thoughts, holding out his hand.
Prim nodded and gave Groves a firm handshake. She liked him; he was a good man who told all sorts of stories about the places he’d visited while at sea. She had enjoyed listening to him during meals and he seemed more than happy that someone wasn’t interrupting his stories. He’d been the one to tell her about Nassau and what life was like on New Providence back when he’d first arrived there.
The entire crew of the Apple had been welcoming of her and she was sad that she’d never get to see them again in her male persona. They showed her that pirates weren’t always the cruel and bloodthirsty creatures that the newspapers of the colonies made them out to be. They were just men who were looking for a chance to make their own way in the world.
The life of a pirate or privateer wasn’t something that called to her. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to stay settled in one place, working to live for herself.
There was one place Prim had in mind for work. She hoped that Grove’s stories weren’t all tall tales about what Nassau had to offer.
Chapter 2: The Inn
Notes:
I’ve got some of these chapters nearly done, so I hope to get this updated quicker each week. Can’t provide an actual schedule, that’d be too easy :D
I’m working through another rewatch, just to make sure things are right in the timeline. We’re getting some canon characters starting now, so please be patient as I work up to the eventual romance!
Chapter content warning: mentions of past torture.
Chapter Text
The Apple docked a few hundred yards from the sand and Prim made sure she was on one of the first longboats to reach Nassau’s beach.
The place was akin to a city in itself. Everything from cargo to animals were being paraded along the coast. Prim smelled everything from excrement to spices to cooking meat as she helped to haul part of the Apple’s cargo onto the sand.
She was able to see the tents she witnessed from the Apple, some haphazardly set up as temporary structures with men arguing back and forth about when they were to set sail next. The more permanent tents held visible goods, ranging from leather to cotton shirts to dried vegetables. There was noise wherever she turned.
The wind whipped hard, nearly knocking Prim’s tricorn hat off her head, but she couldn’t stop grinning. This place was alive and open, ready to welcome newcomers who were able to stomach the stench and whatever else it brought. The vigor of being off ship and on solid land only emboldened her thoughts that she was making the right decision.
“PRICE!”
Prim turned to see the Captain standing next to the cart, one hand on his hip, the other beckoning her to come over to him. She approached with caution, giving him a firm nod to show she’d heard him. Price was the name that she’d been called on the ship, so it was only natural that she answered it even on land.
The Captain’s hair had grayed since she first saw it in the brig all those months ago, but his eyes were still as sharp and bright as they were when she was rescued. Whispers from the crew hinted that he’d announce his retirement soon, but he still stood tall as he looked down on her.
He took her hand, dropping a small coin purse into it. “Your wages. And a few extra coins from the crew; they wanted you to have some fun with your first time in Nassau.”
Prim nodded, giving him a wide grin. It felt strange to think that it would be the last time she’d see him as ‘Price’, but she was grateful that he had been the one to find her all those months ago on the Spartan. She was about to pocket her coin before he placed his hand over her own.
“You keep yourself safe now, lass,” he whispered, “Forge ahead.”
Prim wanted to reply, but there were too many crew members nearby. She settled for wrapping the Captain in a hug, squeezing as tightly as she could. He was the only other member of the crew who knew her true self and he’d kept her secret for half a year. She couldn’t think of a way to repay him for his kindness, but she hoped to get an opportunity if he found himself in Nassau when she had found her place.
She broke the hug and tried not to cry, afraid of what her tears would do to her disguise. The Captain gave her a swift pat on the back and turned to oversee the rest of the loading process. Without much fanfare, she walked up the beach towards Nassau proper, heading towards what would hopefully be her new place of work.
-----
The Inn wasn’t far from the beach, but it was nestled far enough into the center of town that people didn’t trail sand through the unpaved streets. She could see that there were two buildings that had a flow of people walking in and out of them. They were situated on opposite sides of the street with a wooden walkway constructed between their upper floors, acting as a bridge between the two buildings.
Prim didn’t have trouble finding it, the building an amber color that burned bright in the high sun. The other hint was the surplus of shirtless women leaning out of the building’s windows, beckoning to whoever walked past.
She entered the building to see that there were dozens of people already enjoying themselves. The Inn was a moniker, from what Groves told her, and its true purpose was a brothel. She could see a bar to her right, more than a few men without partners sitting at its counter, but there were far more men around her seated at tables, fondling or kissing half naked or fully naked women out in the open. Prim kept herself steeled as she walked further into the building.
“Hello, sailor,” a buxom blonde cooed at her, sidling up from her blind spot to caress her arm, “Looking for some fun after a long time at sea?”
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” another woman said, dark locs curled to accentuate her slender neck, “I promise we’ll give you a welcome you’ll never forget.”
Prim nodded, then grabbed a piece of paper she’d prepared beforehand. She handed her request to the women. The blonde woman looked down at the piece of paper, then back up at Prim, her come-hither look turning sour.
“Can’t read this. What do you want?”
Well, that should have been expected. Prim pointed to her throat and placed her hand on it, making it look like she was strangling herself. She opened her mouth, let out a low wheeze, then shook her head. The game of charades had worked with the crew of the Apple, she only hoped that it could work for the girls in the brothel.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, he’s a mute. Let me get the Madame then.” She looked behind Prim’s shoulder. “Hannah, bring this man to Max’s room to wait, please?”
Prim sighed with relief that things were going smoothly. Another girl, reed thin, but with a bosom that threatened to spill over her already plunging neckline, gestured to follow her up the steps.
She took in the building as she followed Hannah. The bottom floor that she was on contained the bar area, along with a large, open area lit by the sun. It was set with tile for easy cleaning and cluttered with dozens of tables and chairs haphazardly positioned around the floor. She looked up and could see that the building that she had assumed was built traditionally was open at its center, the sun coming from a square opening at the roof. The Inn was hollow at its center, but that didn’t mean there weren’t rooms to spare.
There were rooms on the first floor she could see as she made her way up the only staircase that led to the upper floors. They were tucked into the back, almost hidden away from the rest of the floor with nothing but curtains barring their occupants. Prim watched as one couple headed towards one of the rooms; as they drew the curtains open, the sound of moans and pants of pleasure reached her ears.
The stairway itself kept to the right side of the building, but still gave whoever was on it a clear view of what was happening on the lower floor. There were plants and vines that weaved through the spaces beneath the bannister and Prim felt the need to watch herself in case she flattened one of the plants.
Hannah led Prim to the second floor, a walkway that wrapped around the center of the building, leading to a dozen or so doorways. The one right to the left of the stairwell was large, two dozen glass panes set in a white door. Hannah opened it for her, letting her inside.
“Hope to see you soon!” she whispered, giving Prim a saucy wink before shutting the door.
The room she entered was a pale green, the sunlight that poured in from the windows and a small balcony enough to light the room. There was a large bed settled against the right wall, sheets unmade. To her left, there was a table with a few chairs.
In one of those chairs sat a woman. Prim had never had an inclination towards the same sex, but when the woman turned her eyes on her, she couldn’t help but blush. The woman’s state of dress may have also contributed, only clad in a thin silk robe. Her skin was unblemished, a tanned color that didn’t come from working out in the sun.
This was Max, if she heard right. Prim tried to stand up straighter, relying on the training she went through to pass as a man. She moved closer to Max, trying not to seem imposing, but enough to keep up the ruse.
Max looked her up and down for a moment. “I must say, your disguise is one of the better ones I’ve seen.”
Prim tried not to act suprised, but the woman’s eyes and smile were soft. Max’s accent sounded foreign, closer to some of the French immigrants that Prim had traveled with years ago.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Max continued, “but I would prefer if you speak as yourself.”
“So you say,” Prim said, keeping her voice low. No need to reveal herself right away. “I heard that this was the place to get a job?”
The woman tilted her head in consideration, getting up from her seat. “It is, if there is something you can offer that we already do not have. And, although you make a very convincing man, you’re a bit too scrawny to be of any use as an enforcer.” She circled Prim, appraising her. “I assume that you’d be able to fill out a bit more, with the right diet, but still, you’re not very imposing.” She settled back into her seat, still studying Prim.
The door to the room opened and an older woman entered, shutting the door behind her with a huff. “Can’t believe the nerve of him. The things I do for this place…”
She turned to face Prim, looking back and forth between her and Max. “Did you have a client I didn’t know about?”
The older woman looked like a Madame of a brothel, her face powdered, fan in hand that was quick to move this way and that to mask her expression. She wore a fancy and form-fitting dress, the design intricate and likely worth a large amount of money. Her hair was definitely a wig, decorated with small ornaments and feathers.
“She wants to work,” Max said.
Prim could sense a conversation passing between the two women, even though they weren’t actually speaking aloud. Max was tilting her head, one manicured eyebrow raised in a question. The Madame looked quizzical, then her eyebrows lifted up. Her fan covered her face, shielding it from Prim’s view.
Prim awkwardly stood there, looking between the two women then gazing down at her feet, waiting for someone to acknowledge her.
The Madame closed her fan with a quick snap, causing Prim to jolt and look up. She gestured towards one of the chairs next to the table. “Sit, please. Let’s discuss a few things. And you can take off that disguise, I want to see what we’re working with here.”
Prim moved to a chair and settled herself with Max following suit. She took a deep breath and removed a handkerchief from her trouser pocket. She wiped it along her face, removing the dark wax that kept her small beard and mustache in place. She took off her tricorn, letting her dark brown hair spill down to her shoulders, curled and a bit unruly from being stuffed underneath something for days.
Prim knew she could move the wrap that bound her breasts down, but figured there’d be a better time and place for that than in the Madame’s presence.
“I’d remove my padding,” Prim said, gesturing towards her trousers, “but I don’t want to be too rude during a meeting with a potential employer.” It felt nice to be able to talk again and with her own voice. Regardless of what happened in the next moments, she at least had that to look forward to.
The Madame leaned forward, looking down at Prim’s lap with raised eyebrows. “I see. It’s not everyday where you see a disguise that’s more…intricate than cutting one’s hair short or attempting to grow a beard.” She stood back up, back straight and looking like some sort of imposing exotic bird. “Why do you wish to work here? I’m sure, if you’ve been on a ship before and kept up this disguise, you could find a crew to sail with.”
Prim shook her head. “I’ve had enough of the sea for a time, ma’am.”
The Madame snapped her fan again, but this time Prim didn’t flinch.
“Say I were to take you on,” she began, “Are there any stipulations you’d have? I’d like to think my girls are free to choose who they want to service, but there’s always a negotiation to be had.”
Prim was ready with that answer. “I’d have to take any clients at night, or in a shadowed room.”
“A preference?”
Prim sighed, unsure if giving a full explanation would help her cause. There wasn’t much more she had to lose at this point.
“My back is scarred. I don’t know if that’s something a client would be comfortable seeing it.”
“Show me.”
Prim stood up and removed her shirt. She unwrapped the binding along her breasts, unable to stop the flush of shame she felt to expose herself to people she didn’t know. The Madame moved behind her quickly, taking it all in.
If Prim had been given proper treatment after she was burned, her scars would not look as horrible as they did. Even with Harold’s balm, there wasn’t much that could be done. Her back was a canvas of purple and red, the skin pinched and puckered in places that still ached if she moved the wrong way. She’d read from Harold’s books that burnt skin shrunk, so she was sure that she looked a mess.
The older woman made no exclamations or comments. She moved around Prim and it felt as though her eyes were staring straight into Prim’s very mind and soul.
Max was also staring at her from where she sat, her posture relaxed, but her eyes focused on Prim’s face. Prim attempted to breath and stood up a little straighter under the scrutiny.
The Madame paused at Prim’s left shoulder.
“Is there someone looking for you?” the Madame asked and Prim flinched away when she settled a finger on the brand that rested above the scarred flesh of her back. It was the one thing she wished had burned away with the skin of her back, but Mr. Tennent wanted to make sure she was aware of who owned her. The encircled ‘T’ was hard to miss if she had her shoulders bare.
“Not anymore,” Prim breathed.
“Good. The last thing I need is a group of slave traders on the island.” As she passed in front of Prim, a thoughtful look crossed her face. “Though, I doubt you’d have any problems with them. One of the owners doesn’t take too kindly to them.”
Prim watched Max roll her eyes and gestured to have her get her shirt back on. Prim redressed, keeping her binding off, and settled back down in her seat. The Madame still stood, her fan fully open and flapping around her face. Max was looking at the Madame with an expression Prim couldn’t read.
“I doubt any of our present clientele would be interested if we were to take you on. Those that would aren’t the sort we cater to here and I would prefer to keep all of my girls feeling safe and secure.” The Madame gave her another once over, then looked to Max. Her lips curled into a frown at the other woman’s expression. “And I’m assuming that you’re going to tell me to keep this one, aren’t you?”
“She intrigues me,” Max said, simply, “With the new owners, we may be able to find a way to keep her without servicing clients. There’s more to her than we can see, and I’d think it’d be folly to let her leave.”
It was the Madame’s turn to roll her eyes. “You and your intrigues. Tell me, girl, what can you do?”
“I can read and write,” Prim said, “I can sing too.”
“All of our girls can sing,” the Madame said, “but I don’t think it’d be remiss to have someone to help the girls learn their letters.” She fanned her face, a more annoyed expression darkening it. “Rackham keeps pestering me about it; if I don’t have to hear another word out of his mouth about the topic, I’ll be a happy woman.”
“I could teach them,” Prim said, eager to sway the older woman. Another idea hit her quickly as she continued. “If you’re in need of someone who can help with the cuts and bruises the ladies get, I can do that too. I was the assistant to the Apple’s doctor for six months at sea. I’m handy with a needle and thread too, so I can help with repairs to dresses and skin.”
Max gave her a nod and looked up at the Madame. “I told you there was more to her.”
The Madame clicked her fan closed and sighed. “I suppose we can take you on. But if I see that you’re not providing the duties you’ve promised, you will be let go. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Prim said, sitting up a little straighter. She fought to keep a wide smile off her face.
She’d done it; this was truly the start of her new life.
“We’ll work up a contract for you in the morning. For now, I’ll leave you in Max’s capable hands and she’ll see to it that you have a room for the evening.” With one last flick of her fan, the Madame headed out of the room.
Max reached over from her chair and took Prim’s hands in her own with a small grin. “I think you will make a fine addition here. Would you like to bathe first before you are shown to your room?”
Chapter 3: To Start Anew
Summary:
As of May 6th, this chapter has been edited and updated!
Notes:
Ah!! The longest fanfic I’ve published so far! Allow me to bask…........
Basking done, let’s get some other canon characters up in here!
My dears, I’ve been taking notes with my rewatch! I’ve updated a few things in the first chapters to coincide with the timeline and I’ve stuck where in the show this story starts (the timeline of the show is a tad bit weird, but imma stick to it as much as I can)
I really want to do this series justice and not just include a character to be a ‘solve all problems’ person. And this is really helping me get back into writing for fun, so yay~
Also, this show is nuanced as all heck. If there are peeps out there that are English Majors like me who haven’t seen it, they’re gonna have a good time getting to the nitty gritty of character motivations and the like.
Chapter content warning: swearing
Chapter Text
Prim had slept in a hammock for months, so when Max led her to a room on the second floor with a mattress filled with feathers, she thought she was going to cry.
The room also had a large tub, which was being filled with hot water by two topless women. Prim thanked them profusely and she let herself sink into the warm water, feeling the months of dirt and grime lift off her skin. Her back felt better than it had in months, the warm water soothing her aches.
She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a proper bath. The Apple allowed for buckets of seawater, parboiled, to be dumped on crew members so they didn’t stink up the place, but nothing that included freshwater.
There was a small bar of soap she was able to use, scrubbing herself nearly raw to get everything off of her. She marveled at how emulsified it was compared to the concoction of fat that the Apple had, a poor excuse for finery that a few of the men fought over.
Maybe she could learn to create soaps of her own to sell or use her apothecary knowledge to make scented oils. The Inn would be able to provide her with money and access to sailors and pirates that had things in their cargo she could use for poultices and balms. She could expand her knowledge and provide things that Nassau could use. If there was something in demand, maybe she could be the supplier. There was so much more she imagined doing, now that she was going to have a place here.
Max returned with a plate of food just as Prim was getting out of the nearly cold tub. She felt embarrassed to be exposing herself, but Max didn’t pay attention to her nakedness and set the plate on the bedside table. There were bits of fruit, bread, and a small bit of cheese. Prim didn’t realize how hungry she was until the scent of the food hit her.
“I’ve already begun to write up your contract,” Max said, speaking as though she was commenting about the weather, “The owners will be signing off on it in the morning. I’ve made sure to include that your only clients will be the girls that you teach and those that need medical assistance.”
“I would have thought the Madame would be the one to dictate what I do?” Prim asked, sliding on a cotton robe laid out for her on the bed. It wasn’t anything close to the finery that Max was wearing, but it felt wonderful against her skin compared to some of the burlap the Apple had provided her.
“Mrs. Mapleton would rather not busy herself with things of this nature,” Max said, turning to her with a closed lip smile, “That is one of my duties.”
Prim nodded. “Would I be able to see the contract before the owners do? I-”
She stopped herself, unsure as to how to explain herself. She’d been in servitude for a decade. If it had taught her anything, it was to look at whatever she was offered with a discerning eye. Was she trading one life of servitude for another?
“I don’t want to be surprised,” she finally said, hoping it was satisfactory.
Max reached for her arm, gently touching the exposed skin of her wrist. “I would never allow for someone to be taken advantage of here. I will provide you with the contract before the owners receive it, if that would put your mind at ease.”
Prim relaxed at that. “I thank you,” she said, “It truly would.”
Max’s smile grew and looked much more genuine.
“We’ll get your clothing washed before the end of tomorrow,” she said, “The nights are warm here, so the robe may be enough for you. I’ll see to it that someone finds you something to wear before morning.” She bowed her head. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’m sure you’ll need it, after such an exciting day.”
Prim nodded back as Max took her leave from the room. As soon as the door shut, Prim flopped onto the mattress belly first, amazed at how nice it felt. Her growling stomach quickly took precedence and she sat on the side of the bed, eating from her plate with gusto.
The room had a mirror on the opposite wall from the bed. After she finished eating, she approached it with careful steps. It felt like years since Prim had last laid eyes on her reflection. She wondered if she’d even recognize herself anymore. She hesitated before the mirror, closing her eyes first before coming into full view of it, leaving her a reflection a surprise until the very last moment.
Her skin was darker now, her time at sea turning her pale skin tan. With the work she’d been doing on the Apple , there was a bit more muscle than fat on her thighs and arms. The rations that the Apple had provided were filling enough, but she could see her ribs and the jut of her hips.
After a few minutes of satisfied scrutiny, she turned around, dropping the robe from her person, using the mirror to expose what her back looked like.
Prim shut her eyes at the sight, at the puckered, dark skin that she saw there, crumpling to the floor in tears.
She still couldn’t face it. She knew what her back felt like, but to see it bare was too much. She couldn’t heal herself, couldn’t stop what occurred from scarring her; even with her new life, the scars would be a harsh reminder of where she had been before Nassau.
Prim took a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, rucking it back up so that it covered her entirely. The Captain had told her to forge ahead. She wasn’t going to let this keep her from what she wanted. Nassau was her new start and it would be her home. She needed to focus on that and the opportunities awaiting her with this new beginning.
She got up from the floor and headed back into bed. The sunset was beginning to filter through the windows of the room, but Prim turned to avoid the light that would disturb her efforts to sleep.
Between one breath and the next, she fell asleep.
----
There was a dress folded neatly outside of her door when Prim awoke the next morning. Beneath it was a few pages of paper, the contract Max had promised, along with a quill and inkwell.
She read it before she dressed. The terms were fair and the language was clear. To start, she would provide half of any profits gained from her physician work to the owners at the end of each week. There was a schedule that she was to adhere to in regards to lessons for the other women. The contract defined that the lessons would center on teaching the girls to read and write, not exceeding an hour each day. She’d be provided with supplies for her lessons, such as parchment, quills, ink, and graphite sticks. The owners would also provide her with supplies for her physician business, such as bandages and alcohol, but she could use her own coin to purchase things that would be reimbursed, if necessary. She would be able to practice her craft outside of The Inn, but only with the permission of the owners or the Madame.
If Prim decided to leave the brothel, she’d need to pay a small fee to cover a percent of what would be spent to feed and clothe her, but the contract provided the exact amount. If she was let go by The Inn, she would be given a small severance for her services, one that depended on the length of her service.
Prim didn’t have any notes to make, everything seemed fair and straightforward, so she wrote down her thanks on a spare piece of paper.
After she finished, Prim could hear her stomach grumbling. The food she had the night before was already gone, but Max hadn’t told her who she would need to go to to request a meal. Were there cooks in the brothel, or would she need to make her way across the street to the tavern for food?
“Might as well ask my questions to someone here,” she said to herself, “I’ll need to begin introductions sometime; why not start now?”
Prim laid out the dress on the bed, marveling at the deep color it had been dyed and the soft texture of the fabric. It’d been years since she felt something so fine, the way it felt against her fingers reminiscent of the Easter dresses her mother would buy for her when she was young. She almost felt guilty putting it on. Before the Apple , her clothing had been nearly threadbare from the multitude of washes. This dress looked nearly new and Prim admired herself in the mirror.
The dress was a deep maroon, a color that she couldn’t remember ever wearing. She had put it on carefully, making sure that she didn’t stretch any of the stitching or tear anything. The shoulders of the dress covered up her brand completely. The fabric was soft against her back, not irritating her scars. She turned around in front of the mirror, satisfied with what she saw in her reflection. The young woman in the mirror looked eager, ready to begin her day.
She exited the room, surprised to hear chattering from below. There were already guests in the brothel, men that had women draped across their shoulders or their laps, preening under their attention in a way that urged more coin from their pockets.
Prim made sure to slip the contract under Max’s door before descending the stairs, hoping the other woman would see it when she woke.
She could feel eyes on her as she moved down to the first floor, but none of them lingered for too long. To the guests and to the women servicing them, she was just a new face. There was a part of her that expected one of the men to pounce on her once she made it to the bottom of the stairs, but they didn’t. Prim was just another woman in The Inn beginning her day and she again felt freer than she’d ever been before.
Today marked the start of something new, a breath of fresh air after months of holding her breath. This was going to work out. Prim needed to believe that.
She made her way towards the entrance to the building, near the bar. A man stood behind it, pouring a mugful of something that smelled divine. He wore a kerchief around his neck in a calico pattern, something she hadn’t seen since her time in the colonies. His black hair was longer, styled upward in a way that nearly mimicked what a cockatiel’s crest looked like. His clothing looked haphazardly put together, looking as though he’d picked out a shirt and pants with his eyes closed but his coat was well worn and the bright yellow complemented the colors he’d chosen. Around his neck was a calico kerchief, tied loosely to hand down past his collarbone.
Prim didn’t realize how close she’d gotten to him until he looked at her pointedly, eyebrow quirked in question.
“I usually don’t have observers during my breakfast. Can I help you in any way, young lady?”
“Apologies,” she said, “This is my first day here, so I wasn’t sure if there would be food served or if I’d have to search for my own.”
His eyebrows furrowed, then jumped up to his hairline. “Oh, you’re the recruit,” he said, moving down the bar to hold out a hand. “Mrs. Mapleton, the Madame of this fine establishment, had mentioned you arrived last night. Jack Rackam. Lovely to meet you in person.”
He seemed charming enough and Prim couldn’t help but wonder if he was the man Mrs. Mapleton was so exasperated with when they first met. She shook his hand, gripping it firmly.
“Let me get a good look at you,” he said, letting go of her hand and looking her up and down, “Didn’t think you’d be so young. I trust you had a good night’s sleep? All ready for the day ahead?”
“As ready as I can be,” Prim said, “I again apologize, but breakfast?”
“Oh! I let myself get carried away.” Jack hoisted himself over the bar counter and made a swift beeline for an open door opposite it. “Ella, can we get some porridge out here for-” he stopped, then looked back at Prim. “I apologize, what is your name?”
“Primrose,” she said, “but you can call me Prim.”
Jack gave her a wide grin and turned back to the door. “Porridge for Prim, please!”
There was a positive response from behind the door and Jack turned back to Prim, motioning her to sit at one of the tables a few steps away from the bar. Prim did, garnering glances of interest from the clients and whores alike. Jack made small talk with her, his questions ranging from how she was enjoying the weather to how long of a voyage she had before landing in Nassau. She was about to interject when a fair haired woman emerged from the room Jack had yelled into with two bowls of piping hot porridge.
The porridge wasn’t anything special, but it smelled wonderful. Compared to the rations she’d gotten out at sea, it tasted finer than she believed she could afford. Prim ate it quickly, trying to be as dainty as she could with how hungry she was. Jack’s own questions ceased with the arrival of food, so it gave her time to think about what the rest of the morning would bring.
She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her fingers, trying to make sure she didn’t look like a fool in front of her new companion.
“I don’t suppose,” she began, “if you know if any owners are around? Mrs. Mapleton’s explanation of my duties and the contract I’d looked over mentioned them as the ones to reach out to for supplies, among other things.”
Jack gave her a smile over his spoon. “Well, the ownership is split between three people, one of whom is myself. So, you’ve met one of the owners already.”
Prim’s back went rigid and she began to sputter out apologies. “I was- I should have known- oh, I’m sorry if I was so forward, I didn’t-”
Jack held up a hand and she snapped her mouth shut. “Please, calm yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’ve been nothing but polite. I’m glad to have someone with your demeanor wanting to work here.”
He cleared his throat as he set his bowl aside. “It’s very rare that The Inn employs anyone with talents outside of a normal whore. I apologize if that offends you in any way, but it’s surprising that out of all the professions the Madame could have hired, a physician was not one I assumed she’d bother with.”
“Max wouldn't've vouched for her if there wasn’t something more,” a scratchy voice interrupted. Prim turned to look and saw a figure lurking behind Jack Rackham, seated at the table next to them.
She identified the figure as a woman from the curves of her body. The way she held herself and the clothing that she wore made it obvious that this woman didn’t want to be seen as one. She held a whetstone in one hand, the sound of scraping from an already sharp knife breaking up the conversation she and Jack had been having.
He turned to the woman. “This is Anne Bonny, my partner.”
Prim gave Anne a small smile, but the woman didn’t look up from where she was sharpening her knife. There was more than a hint of danger about the woman and when Anne did lift her head to look at her, she felt like she was under the scrutiny of a predator. Anne let out a soft snort, then tilted her head down to focus on her sharpening.
“Don’t be offended,” Jack stage-whispered, cracking a lopsided grin, “She’s like this to everyone.”
Anne lifted the hand holding the whetstone and flipped Jack off.
“I love you, darling,” he called behind him, making Anne flip him off again. Prim wanted to laugh at how he didn’t need to turn around to know what she was doing, but figured Anne wouldn’t enjoy that.
Jack sighed then gave Prim a smile. “Now, let me show you where you’ll be for your tenure here.”
And so began the tour, Jack providing a steady stream of chatter as he showed her what Prim would be working with. The room she was to be assigned to was settled on the bottom floor of The Inn, tucked to the left of the entrance (“Easier to get whoever in and out, don’t want them bleeding all over the steps.”). It was not the largest room (“I haven’t even begun to start thinking of renovations to expand, so it will have to do for now.”), but there was already a table and a cot set up, along with a few sets of shelves (“Some of my collection is mixed in there, so I’ll make sure those are removed to be replaced with your own texts and supplies, if you have any.”) There was a smaller mattress in the corner of the room (“That’ll be yours and I’ll see to it if we can’t get some sort of bedpost or frame so it’s off the ground.”), still a hundred times more comfortable looking than the hammocks she was used to (“Maybe there’s a few spare sheets lying around? I’ll try to remember to ask one of the girls later.”).
Jack seemed to have something to say about every little thing. Prim just nodded along as she looked around the room. It was better than a physician’s cabin on a ship, giving her enough room to have her own space while caring for others. There wasn’t much else to be found in terms of furniture, but it would suit her needs as a foundation for what she’d need as her duties expanded.
Max entered the room, the contract in her hand. “Good, I had hoped to find you all here.” She turned to Jack. “Am I to assume that Anne will be the only other to sign the contract in place of your…other partner in ownership?”
“Quite right,” Jack said, his expression turning sour. Prim assumed that the third owner was not favored by Jack. “Mrs. Mapleton knows the ins and outs of it, yes? We don’t need her around to bear witness or provide her own seal to make this legally binding?”
“ Non ,” Max said, “She’s left this task to me, so I will witness it.” She looked to Prim. “I’m glad that you deemed the contract sound. I would ask that Mr. Rackham understand that if there are to be any changes to it, he’d make sure to discuss them with you before updating your terms.”
Jack nodded, settling into one of the chairs near the table and scanning through the document. He paused at one point, looking from Prim to Max.
“I’d like to think that you’ll be interacting with the girls when they’re injured, but we’ve had more than a few incidents already that could require you to treat clients or men off the street. Will that be an issue?”
Prim shook her head. “I’m guessing as long as they have the coin for it, they’ll be fine to service?”
Jack grinned toothily, looking to Max. “I like her already.”
“I can assure you all that I’ve seen my fair share of injuries and illnesses,” Prim said, trying to state her case, “Being on a ship gave me firsthand experience with some of the larger wounds inflicted on a man before their bodies shut down. Before sailing, I worked with both men and women, assisting with their aches and pains with homemade balms and tinctures.” She gave the group a smile. “Trust that I will make sure that everyone who comes to me will receive proper care.”
Max gave her a smile. “That is all we ask. Now, just sign below on this line, along with Mr. Rackham and Miss Bonny.”
Prim signed her name, giving a little flourish at the end just because she could.
-------
“We can assist with purchasing some of the supplies you’d need for day to day tasks,” Jack told her after Max had sealed up the contract in wax, “but if you are looking for something specific, your best bet is to head out towards the shops along the street or the warehouses near the beach and see if they have what you need.”
“Can I give you a list right now?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Prim worked out a list of a few things, noting how Jack’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline as he followed her handwriting. She handed the list to him, smiling. “I think this is mostly what I’ll need for day to day.”
He looked over the list quickly. “Why did Mrs. Mapleton refuse to tell me that you can write?”
“I’m sure she was preoccupied with other things.”
Jack gave her a grin. “I’ll get you whatever you need. If you run low on supplies, let me or Anne know and we’ll be sure that you’re stocked.”
“I appreciate that,” Prim said, “Mrs. Mapleton had also said I could assist the girls with learning to read and write. If I were to find books to use for practice, is there a specific place I’d look?”
Jack’s lips thinned out into a grimace. “Books aren’t things that many carry inland. I can’t even begin to tell you the last time I got a new book that wasn’t from a prize ship that threw them onto the beach like trash.” He grabbed another piece of paper and scribbled on it. “I know there’s at least one bookseller on the street who carries anything that he can find from the beach or buys them up from the crews. I’m sure he’s got a few that might pique your interest.”
------
The street was narrow and unpaved, dirt being kicked up by people and animals alike. Still, the people moved about with ease, weaving too and fro with baskets in their arms or bags on their hips. Prim couldn’t help but marvel at her new environment, giddy to experience more of it as time went on. For now, she had a task she needed to fulfill.
The bookseller was right where Jack had indicated. He leaned up against a house’s railing. He looked to be close to sixty, one eye completely scarred over while the other scrutinized her as soon as she got close. In front of him was a large burlap blanket that had books piled in stacks of three or four.
“Hello there,” Prim said, trying to put on a friendly face, “I was told you had books for sale.”
The man didn’t answer her, but still held her gaze.
“May I?” she asked, gesturing to one of the larger stacks close to his left foot. There was a pause and he nodded. Prim felt comfortable to go and sort through what he had.
She sifted through some ship ledgers, making sure to place the piles back as she’d found them. The man’s gaze was on her the entire time and she knew it would take her a few more trips around the street for him to see her as a legitimate customer and not someone who would attempt to steal his wares.
Prim found a book of psalms that she could pick short phrases from for writing practice. There wasn’t much else to be found, but as she scanned over the stacks near the edge of the blanket, a familiar, weathered spine caught her eye.
When she’d been on the Apple , part of her duty, outside of assisting with the regular upkeep of the ship, Harold had been able to conscript her into helping him with the sick and injured. Harold had been a butcher before joining the Captain’s crew as their surgeon, but he’d been taught to read. Regardless of the size of the prize the Apple took, he’d try to search for any books or pamphlets on medicine or surgery that he could find.
There was one book that he held most dear, one that he’d shown Prim dozens of times while trying to diagnose an illness or get information on how best to treat an infection. That book now rested in her hands and she grinned, flipping through the pages of the book to see familiar handwriting in the margins. Someone on the Apple must have sold it for a few coins.
She looked through the familiar diagrams of the human body, Harold’s chicken scratch telling her the places she’d need to amputate or stuff with a cloth if someone was bleeding out. If she was able to buy it, it would be the biggest help to her new venture. She’d be able to learn what Harold hadn’t been able to teach her before he passed.
“Not right for a pretty girl like you to be looking at things like that,” the man said, squinting his one eye at her with a scowl, “Not right at all.”
Prim ignored him, closing the book and checking the spines of a few others. There wasn’t much else in his collection that would assist with her lessons, many of the other books being money ledgers or scheduled. Another few minutes of searching ended with her finding two poetry books and what seemed to be a short story collection.
“How much for the two I have and the three at the end of the stack?”
“Cost you thirty pounds for the lot of them.”
She tried to not let her good mood falter at that. “Sir, the poetry books are no wider than the width of my pinky. And I’m sure you want to keep a book with such grotesque illustrations out of your inventory.”
The man tilted his head up, looking down his nose at Prim. “I don’t bargain. You either pay for the lot or you leave without them.”
“But thirty seems extensive,” she said. Thirty pounds was akin to buying a fine dress dyed indigo. The price of the five books couldn’t have exceeded twenty.
“Then it seems you don’t have the coin for them. Set them down and leave if you’re not going to pay.”
She frowned, trying to think of another way to appeal to him, but she couldn’t leave Harold’s book behind. She let out an exaggerated sigh and nodded, taking the coin from her purse and putting it in the man’s outstretched hand. His eye went from the coin and back to her.
“Thank you for your patronage,” he said, voice lilting in a mockery of her own accent. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking perturbed as she tucked her purchases under her sleeve and headed back to the brothel.
Prim had work to do.
Chapter 4: Lessons
Summary:
As of May 7th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who checked this out and left kudos! I appreciate it and it makes me happy that people are reading this! I’ve been going through each chapter bit by bit, so you might see a bunch of them being posted over the next couple of days. Don’t ask for a schedule, it’ll be a surprise both for you and for me :D
Let’s meet some of the ladies in the brothel~ I know only a few were named in the show, so I took the liberty of naming a few others! And of course, the faves will be in here and I hope I can do them justice without them being too OOC.
Chapter content warnings - depictions of the aftermath of abuse, bit of eye trauma, blood mention, injury mention
Chapter Text
Prim had been under the impression that the ladies of The Inn would somehow resent her for the terms of her contract. The stipulations of her employment were far from what they’d agreed to on their own contracts with the brothel. Some of the women may have thought that she was lying about her skills in order to have a place to stay. Her introductions to Max, Jack, and Anne had been enough to convince them she was true to her word, but she hadn’t been able to have such casual introductions with the rest of the ladies.
Max had been the one to gather them all together and introduce Prim as the brothel’s physician, but also as their teacher. Max had been the one to suggest the time that Prim would host the hour lessons in her room, mindful of when the line of clients was shorter. From there, Prim could teach as she wished, so long as her lessons didn’t interfere with the ladies’s work.
A few of the women outright refused her, giving her a wide berth and refusing to attend her first day of lessons no matter how hard she tried to bring them in. Talk around The Inn deemed it a useless endeavor, especially when the brothel was filled with women who weren’t expected to recite poetry or know what large words meant.
And yet, there were more than a few who were not bothered by Prim’s requests.
Idelle was one of them. She had been in the brothel nearly as long as Max had, the two seen speaking to each other in hushed tones whenever there was some information to be passed along. She seemed to keep an ear to the ground about movement that would affect business. Idelle was also one of the most read of the group, able to read and write without issue, but she still attended the lessons Prim held to make sure that the other girls were improving on their literacy.
Hannah had been thrilled when Prim revealed herself as the man that had entered The Inn and that she’d lead her to Max’s room. Prim explained a bit of her situation, how she’d had to disguise herself in order to survive the months she’d spent at sea and was very surprised that Hannah hung on every word, even seemed excited to have someone with such an experience telling her about it. Hannah kept that enthusiasm with her education, a proper pupil that reminded Prim of herself when she was young. Hannah could read simple phrases well enough, but complicated words and books were a bane to her. Prim didn’t expect her to be reading Shakespeare, but hoped that the other woman’s tastes would branch out as time went on.
Charlotte, the woman that Prim had given her note to the day she entered The Inn, had a clear goal in mind. The first day of her scheduled lesson, she admitted that she couldn’t read or write, but wanted to learn so that she could send letters to her lover to read when he was out at sea. Prim liked the thought of giving each woman a goal to reach, letting them dictate what they wished to learn.
Prim held her lessons daily in her room for slightly over an hour during the afternoon, usually around when lunch was served. With only a few girls attending, however, the brothel was able to function without them for that minimal amount of time. There were days that had only one or two women sit at her table, the rest busy with patrons or potential clients. It was not her place to scold them for delinquency, since she was also an employee of the brothel and could only request so much out of the other employees.
There were days that Prim had to postpone her lessons to later in the day or cancel them entirely if she had someone who came to her room for medical assistance. For the first few days, the only injuries she had to treat were minor cuts and bruises. A part of her hoped that the
------
“Hannah’s late,” Prim muttered, moving around the chairs she set up in her room for the girls. The two in attendance were bent over the poetry books she’d purchased, copying lines down to practice their penmanship. “Did she have a scheduled appointment with anyone?”
Idelle shrugged her shoulders, her focus on the notebook on her lap. “Can’t help it if someone comes along to ask for her. It’s how we make money.”
She took a breath, reigning in her frustration. “I know. A bit off topic, but what sort of books would you like me to look for as a part of next week’s lessons?”
“Romance!!” Charlotte called out, nearly spilling her inkwell in her enthusiasm, “This poetry isn’t very…inspiring. I’d love to read something with more passion in it!”
Prim smiled and hovered over her shoulder to check her progress.
“Oh, you’re really coming along, Charlotte,” Prim said, happy to see the other woman’s lettering become straighter and more legible, “Did you take lessons before?”
Charlotte smiled. “Logan’s been reading me poems, showing me what they look like when he reads them.” Her eyes went wide and her face turned pale. “Is that cheating? Should I learn a different way?”
“No, that’s wonderful,” Prim gushed, unable to hide her own smile, “It’s just another way that you learn. Some people learn by listening, some learn through sight, it all depends on what suits you.”
Charlotte nodded, turning back to her notebook. “I really want to write him a whole letter one day. He tells me how well I can draw and I want him to tell me how well I can write.” She closed her eyes, smiling. “I want him to carry that page with him wherever he sails, knowing that a piece of me is always with him.”
Prim saw Idelle roll her eyes, but said nothing. Charlotte was truly a romantic at heart and it seemed to get on the nerves of some of the other girls. She’d take clients like everyone else, but tended not to do anything too intimate with them, as if she was saving herself for Logan whenever he came into port. Idelle, on the other hand, would shift her attention to whoever gave her enough coin for servicing.
Hannah had been a good liaison, explaining the dynamics and workings of The Inn, but Prim still felt as though she was an outsider looking in.
A sharp screech had everyone in the room turn towards the door, the sounds of shouting and footsteps loud outside. Prim ran to the door, opening it wide to see what was going on.
The other customers on the first floor seemed preoccupied with their servicing, but Prim could see there was a disruption in the brothel’s usual crowd. Rebecca, one of the whores who had rolled her eyes when Prim began her lessons, was bent over Hannah, who was sitting near the bar, holding a lacey handkerchief to her face.
“What happened?” Prim asked, quickly moving closer to Hannah.
“Never you mind, it’s just business,” Rebecca retorted, positioning herself in front of the other girl. Prim could hear Hannah whimpering.
“It’s my fucking business when someone’s hurt,” she growled, emboldened when Rebecca shrunk away. “Now, what happened?”
“One of the Ranger’ s crew,” another woman piped up, “They get rough, sometimes.”
Rebecca looked like she could kill with her gaze as the other prostitute moved away from the scene. “They weren’t as bad as they could have been,” she said, as if trying to convince herself that nothing was wrong, “And Hannah’s used to this, right?”
Prim turned to Hannah, now able to see the full extent of her injury. The left side of her face was swollen, her left eyelid puckered around her eye to the point where the white couldn’t be seen. When Hannah blinked, a drop of blood trailed down the corner of her eye to drip down the curve of her nose.
“My God,” Prim whispered, dropping down and snatching the handkerchief from Rebecca, “Hannah, love, close your eye for me, please.”
She did as she was told, another bulbous drop of blood dripping from her eye to travel down the side of her nose. Prim wiped it away gently, unsure of how far the bruising went and afraid to press any harder than necessary. Hannah was breathing fine, no obstruction from where Prim could hear, so her nose wasn’t broken. Her remaining eye was trained on Prim, beginning to well up with unshed tears.
“It hurts,” she croaked, lips quivering.
“I know,” Prim whispered, “I’m going to take you to my room to have a better look at it, alright? And I think you might need a good lie down for the rest of the day to get you back into sorts, does that sound good?”
Hannah nodded and stood with Prim, allowing herself to be led to the doorway to Prim’s room. She got Hannah settled onto her mattress, making sure that Hannah was laying her face on her uninjured side. The older woman looked close to tears again and Prim would only offer words of rest.
“I’ll be back in to treat you properly,” she said softly. Prim set her shoulders and headed back out to the lower floor. The entire space was quiet, even the customers that had been dallying with other girls stopping to see what would happen. All the while, Prim could feel how Rebecca’s glare bored into her.
“You can’t just tell one of us to stop working,” Rebecca hissed, “I don’t care what privileges you have, you can’t decide that.”
“If she was hit any harder, she could have lost her eye,” Prim snapped back, “I know I haven’t been here long, but I’d think that if the rest of the girls knew that this had happened and that they were expected to work through it without treatment, they’d think twice about accepting customers.”
Rebecca was silent, but gave Prim one last sneer before heading towards the stairs.
“This is why I was fucking hired!” she shouted, Rebecca not stopping in her ascent. She was most likely on her way to say something about Prim’s behavior to Mrs. Mapleton. Or Jack. Or Anne. But Prim was doing her job; would she be reprimanded for it?
She decided to put the rest of her energy into taking care of Hannah. She went back to her room and shut the doors, leaving her and her patient alone.
“W-would I have r-really lost my-y eye?” Hannah whispered, wiping at her nose with the bloody handkerchief. She hadn’t moved from where Prim had laid her down and Prim could already see the beginnings of a bruise starting just beneath her left eye.
“I’m going to place a compress on it and have you shut it, if that’s alright?” Prim said, deflecting, already moving to rummage through her supplies, “Just so we can get the bleeding stopped. We’ll see how it is after a few minutes, okay?”
Hannah started to sob in earnest and Prim moved to hold close, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
There was a large difference between treating men and treating women, as far as she was concerned. The men would hem and haw about their injuries, not caring if there were scars or rot that’d have them lose a limb. The women were different, clear with their distinctions of pain, and more than willing to take her advice. What Hannah was going through was not an injury to be taken lightly and it needed to be addressed or she’d come to even more harm.
Prim got to work, using a cloth and a pail of fresh water she kept in her room at all times to dab in and around Hannah’s eye. The bleeding was beginning to subside and she could see that it wasn’t Hannah’s eye that was bleeding, but the duct that usually produced tears. She relaxed at that; most likely a blood vessel had popped and was causing the bleed. Hannah needed to reduce any eye strain for a few days and to keep it covered so that it could heal.
Jack opened her door just as she was applying a makeshift eye patch onto Hannah’s face. “A word, if you please?”
Prim looked at Hannah and patted her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
She headed out the door and shut it behind her. Jack motioned for her to move towards the bar, away from the tables that the clients were settled in. Once they were properly settled, Jack’s face screwed into a scowl.
“This position,” he said, enunciating his words carefully, “allows you far more freedom than some of the other women we have under our employ. That does not mean you have the right to dictate that someone should not work for the rest of the day, even though the rest of their faculties are in order.”
Prim was tight lipped, letting Jack continue to speak. She could tell just from his agitation that he wasn’t finished talking to her.
“I understand that you want to make sure these girls are well, but if it comes at the cost of losing one of our higher earners, I can’t say I agree with your judgment. Especially since we are currently in need of our high earners to go out and get as much coin as they can.”
She sighed. “Did Rebecca even tell you what happened?”
“She told me enough.”
“‘Enough’ isn’t a whole story.”
“It is when she’s been here longer than you have.”
“Then why not have Hannah tell her side?” Prim gestured towards her room, “Let her tell you exactly what happened and then you can make your judgement.”
Prim walked back into her room, hearing Jack following behind her, glad that he was taking her word instead of assuming she was lying. She needed him to understand what she was doing for the girls and what an untreated injury could lead to.
Hannah had moved to sitting up on the cot, dabbing at her uncovered eye with the handkerchief. Prim headed to her supplies near the bookshelf at the far end of the room and held out a clean cloth for Hannah to use instead.
“Are you alright?” she asked first, keeping her voice soft.
Hannah nodded. “Took me by surprise. I never bled like this before.”
“Jack’s here with me. Can you tell us exactly what happened?”
Hannah sniffed loudly, dabbing at her nostrils with the cloth. “Joseph from the Ranger , he wanted servicing that he didn’t pay for. I said no, he told me I didn’t get to say that, and then he hit me.” She paused. “I didn’t mean to make so much noise, I think that’s what made him run.”
Prim looked to Jack. “Does The Inn pride itself on allowing their highest earners to continue working after someone gets rough with them?” She knew she was toeing the line of being too bold, but the anger she felt was encompassing the darker thoughts she had regarding the situation.
“Mrs. Mapleton’s made it clear that so long as the customer pays-”
Prim raised her eyebrows. “I would have thought the owner would be the one making those types of decisions. The former owner, Mr. Noonan, if I remember, did he also allow this type of behavior and injuries to occur, even when there wasn’t a physician present?”
There was a flush starting on Jack’s face, but he kept his composure, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he seemed to try to find the words.
“Hannah,” she asked, turning back to the cot, “Can you take off your patch and open your eye for me, please?”
The other woman nodded, removing her patch and the bandage and opening her eye. There wasn’t much difference in how bloody it looked, the skin around it starting to properly bruise with the time that had passed. It was still a sight and she could see Hannah wincing when she blinked, bits of bloodied tears emerging from her injured eye. They’d fade with time, along with the bruises, but at this point, it looked absolutely vile.
“Thank you,” Prim said, “You can put it back on and lie back down.” She turned to face Jack who, to her surprise, looked a bit green. His eyes were trained on Hannah as she laid back down on the cot.
“Mr. Rackham,” she said, his eyes shifting back to her, “From what I’ve heard from my pupils, Mr. Noonan was not truly invested in their care if there was money to be made. I understand that you are trying to run a business and that the ladies are at risk. But also know that I will be taking my new position seriously and will not shirk to recommend that my patients take their time to heal if they are hurt. I want to make sure that you understand this as well.”
Jack let out a huff of air through his nose, worrying his lip again for a few moments before he nodded. “Fine,” he muttered, “I believe I owe you an apology.”
“And I thank you for that, Mr. Rackham. I appreciate your trust in me.”
-----
The night grew stormy, rain pelting down hard onto New Providence. Still, that didn’t dampen the mood of its inhabitants.
Prim hadn’t been privy to the changes that Jack wanted for the brothel as an owner, but there seemed to be a certain shift that led her to believe that he was trying to improve the conditions compared to his predecessor. From what the girls had told her, Mr. Noonan’s only contribution while he owned the brothel was telling them off if they complained about clients or firing someone if they weren’t pulling in enough money.
That night, Jack had announced that The Inn would begin to hold ‘theme nights’ to entice new business into the building. As soon as the sun set, any of the girls that were working came out of the upper rooms, decked out in all manner of beautiful jewelry and in their finest dresses. Even with the rain hammering down on the rooftop and soaking any of the guests that happened to wander too close to the open center of the building, the brothel was busy with clients who were settling in with the girls or just taking seats at the bar to drink the night away.
Prim had wanted to keep to herself for the rest of the day, intending to make sure Hannah’s injury wasn’t getting any worse. The other woman had left an hour ago to go back to her own room, but she’d thanked Prim profusely for helping her. Prim didn’t get any clients once the rain began, but she found herself busy nonetheless. Since her room was close to the entrance of the brothel, and not too far from the open part of the roof, water was beginning to seep underneath the doors and she was attempting to push it back with an ineffective mop.
She was attempting to shove water under her doorway when Idelle pushed the doors open, nearly knocking the younger girl off her feet.
“‘Evenings in Paris’,” Idelle muttered, wringing out her hair, “I doubt Rackham ever visited.” She sighed and took a seat at Prim’s table. She was wearing a short chemise that clung to her like a second skin with how much it was waterlogged. “I imagine you’ll get a few people with colds coming in, if the rain doesn’t let up into the morning.”
“One of which may be you if you don’t change,” Prim said. At Idelle’s eye roll, she tried to compromise. “Then maybe a blanket?”
When Idelle didn’t answer, Prim tried not to shake her head. She went back to her attempts to keep her floor dry, letting the only sounds between them be the wet movements of her mop and the pounding rain from both the roof and the small window in her room.
“Can’t imagine what it’s like out at sea in weather like this,” Idelle mused, fiddling with a few bejeweled rings on her fingers, “How do you keep warm? Do you just let yourself be chilled and hope the next day brings sun?”
“Sometimes,” Prim said, watching Idelle turn to her with a questioning look, “I was aboard a ship during storm season. Sometimes, you need to just pray that the weather will be kind for at least a day for things to dry off. And by the time that sunny day is done, you’d wish for rain to cool you down.”
A lusty couple ran by her entryway, splashing her with the puddle of water she’d attempted to push further out of her room. Prim sputtered and she heard Idelle let out a small giggle.
“...this is useless, isn’t it?”
“Tomorrow will bring the sun and everything will dry up right quick,” Idelle said, giving Prim’s damp shoulder a pat as she got up from her chair, “Try not to get too chilled, won’t you?”
Prim nodded. It wasn’t often that Idelle visited her outside of her lessons. When she did, there was usually news to deliver or some sort of gossip to share, but nothing more than that. Tonight not only seemed to mark a change for the brothel’s business, but also a change in Idelle’s routine. For the first time, Prim felt she was being welcomed.
Idelle hesitated at the doorway, the sounds of squabbling making their way over the sounds of the rain. Prim settled her useless mop against the door and tried to see what was going on without being too obvious.
“Are Jack and Mrs. Mapleton are fighting?” she asked, unsure of what to make of one of the owners and the Madame seated at a nearby table. She recognized Mrs. Mapleton’s voice rising in anger, but Jack didn’t move or show any fear.
“Oh, I knew I wanted to tell you something,” Idelle said, crossing her arms as she leaned in the doorway, “Dunno if it was your talk about Mr. Noonan that had him thinking about things, but Mrs. Mapleton’s getting sacked.”
Max approached the table, sitting next to Jack. She wasn’t wearing the decedent style that the other girls had on, but a much plainer dress that didn’t look a smidge wet. Mrs. Mapleton was shrinking into her seat as Max sat up straighter in her own. Even if Prim didn’t know the context, it was painfully clear what was happening.
“You’ll probably need to report to Max about how the lessons are going and any clients you take on,” Idelle said, giving Prim a wink, “I don’t think there’ll be any drastic changes, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.”
Prim nodded, letting herself smile as Mrs. Mapleton walked away from the table with a huff. “I’ll make time in my schedule tomorrow.
Chapter 5: A Broken Latch
Summary:
Finally, we have these two meet and in a very strange bit of happenstance. I hope no one is too OOC in this and I apologize if they are. Also, first instance of canon dialogue, along with divergence of where exactly Charles Vane came from to have a confrontation in the brothel.
Again, I thank you to everyone who’s read this so far and left kudos. I hope you like it!!
Chapter content warning: mentions of blood and injury
As of May 7th, 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Chapter Text
Prim was awakened by the sound of cannonfire.
She shot up, expecting to find herself back in the Apple’s lower deck to ready herself for battle. After catching her breath, she realized that she was in her room at The Inn. She blinked, taking a deep breath to center herself, letting her hands grip at the straw of the cot to ground her.
The boom of a cannon echoed through the air again and she realized she hadn’t been dreaming. Something was happening outside.
The cannons continued to boom as she collected herself, wrapped herself up in her cotton robe, and headed out into the street. The air hung heavy with the humidity from the rain the previous night, making the sun all the more grueling as it beat down onto Nassau.
Idelle was posted at the entrance, Jack and Anne out in the road. Prim looked between them as another round of cannonfire boomed. People were running up the street, all from the direction of the beach. She couldn’t see anyone bleeding or injured, but she knew she couldn’t relax just yet.
“Are we under attack?” she asked.
Idelle’s face was pale as she shook her head. “They’re firing from the fort. Someone’s taken it over while Hornigold was out.”
Prim looked over to Jack and Anne. If Idelle looked worried, Jack Rackham looked absolutely terrified. Anne’s face was blocked by her hair and hat, but her stance was rigid. Prim couldn’t help but flinch at another boom, now able to see the smoke rising from the direction of the fort.
“What do we do?” she asked Idelle, unsure if Jack was capable of speech at the moment. “Has this happened before?”
Idelle shook her head again, eyes scanning the crowds. “In the years I’ve been here, Hornigold’s held the fort. No one’s ever challenged him to try and take it.” Her eyes widened and she looked straight at Jack. “He’s fucking back, isn’t he?"
Anne turned and Prim could see a thin scowl on her lips. “We don’t know that.” Her voice was deep and hoarse and it took Prim a moment to realize that it was the first time she ever heard the woman utter a word.
“You said that he wasn’t going to come back, that he’d left this place for good,” Idelle cried out, pointing an accusing finger at Anne’s face. Prim tried to hold her back, unsure of how Anne would react. “You know out of all of the pirates on this fucking island, he’d be the only one with the stones to do something like this.”
Anne continued to scowl, moving to grab Jack’s hand and pulling him back into the building. Idelle followed them, wrenching herself out of Prim’s grip, shouting something at the two that she wasn’t able to make out.
Prim headed back inside, unsure of what to do. Would she need to go down to the beach if someone was injured from the cannon fire? Did any ships get hit? The sounds from the fort had ceased, but she didn’t want to assume they’d continue to fire. ‘Assumptions make asses out of you and me’ her Captain had said and from what she’d experienced on the Apple , it proved true.
Max answered the question for her, coming out of her room and letting out a sharp whistle for the rest of The Inn to know she was holding court. Jack and Anne were not far behind, emerging from their own room.
“For the moment, please remain inside for any services,” she announced, leaning against the bannister, “Keep to your rooms until we can determine what is happening. I will be speaking with Eleanor Guthrie within the next few hours to get more information.”
Prim headed into her room and shut the door. She changed into one of the dresses Hannah had found for her, unfortunately not tailored to hide her brand like some of the other dresses did, and she tried to continue with her morning routine.
By early afternoon, she had organized her books, planned lessons stretching into the following week, and started up a new batch of tinctures with the herbs Jack had provided for her. She tried to think of anything else to do with her time, since there were only so many bottles she could use for her concoctions.
Prim looked out her door to see if there were any people waiting for her, but the first floor was emptier than usual. She could see Jack settling in at one of the tables, a book in his hand. She’d read most of the books on her shelf, but she could probably ask Jack to share a few from his collection with her.
The sound of her window creaking open drew her attention, but she figured the wind had picked up and was moving the glass around. There was no cannonfire to be heard, so she felt as though she didn’t need to worry about what was going on outside.
“What the fuck is all this?”
Prim turned to see a man standing next to her windowsill. The man was tall, nearly a head taller than she was, with olive toned skin that spoke of weeks out in the sun. His dark hair was tied back with a smattering of dreadlocks and braids, revealing an angular face with bright blue eyes. He looked rough, fresh cuts and bruises healing over his face and the exposed areas of his arms. His clothes were dark, torn and mended in places that indicated he’d been in a few fights.
Her eyes fell to his waist, a habit from when she’d been on the Apple , but she couldn’t see any weapons attached to his belt. If he was armed, he probably had something tucked in the back of his trousers. Or he’d use his fists.
A lot of things went through Prim’s mind, questions she wanted to ask, curses she wanted to spit, begging she wanted to do, but the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “How the fuck did you get in here?”
The man pointed to the window that led out to the alleyway. “Broken latch. This room was used for storage, no one bothered to fix it.”
“...fuck.” The entire time she was staying in the room, there was a chance that some sort of lunatic could hop in through the window? She’d get it fixed as soon as she was able, but for now, she had to focus on what to do with the unknown man occupying her room.
Prim moved closer to her table, remembering she had set her shears down there. Even if she couldn’t see a weapon on him, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to hurt her. Prim was already at a disadvantage with height and size, so if she could get her hands on something, she’d be able to defend herself long enough for someone to hear a scuffle and come to her rescue.
When she was on the Apple, there hadn’t been a need for her to head over the rail and board another ship. Her fighting skills were limited to whether or not she had something sharp enough to pierce someone else’s skin.
The man’s eyes followed her and she stopped moving. He took a step closer, his lips curving into a sharp grin as he realized what she was trying to do.
“Thought I’d try and get back in here without anyone knowing, but I didn’t expect this room to be occupied. What are you then, one of the new whores?”
“I’m the new physician, actually,” Prim said, smiling in a way she hoped was charming. She held out her hand for him to shake, “Primrose Enfield at your service.” Her other arm moved to her side, slowly moving to reach the table. “But everyone calls me Prim.”
He blinked once. Twice.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I can assure you I’m not.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus. What’s Jack done with this place?”
Prim dropped her raised hand and took the opportunity to get her other hand onto the table, feeling around for her scissors.
Just as she was about to touch them, she noticed a small pool of blood beginning to form on the floor beside the man.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, immediately making her way towards him, weapon forgotten. She could see that there was a tear on his right shirtsleeve, blood trickling out through the fabric. The man stepped back as she approached, looking more angry than anything else.
“The fuck do you care if I am?”
“You’re trailing blood on my floor and you’re in the room where I help the wounded. Not my fault you didn’t expect it when you used my window. Now,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, “are you going to have me take a look?”
If the man’s eyes could get any wider, she would have laughed. Instead, she gestured to one of the empty chairs. He looked at the chair, then back at her, still looking dumbfounded. It was like no one had ever given him orders before. Prim could understand why; the size of him was intimidating and she could see that he had a firm, muscular build to compliment his height. No one would mess with him, even if he didn’t have weapons on him.
Slowly, the man moved and sat down, rolling up the sleeve on his right arm.
There was a large gash that extended from his wrist to his elbow. When he held his arm out straight, she could see that the wound was shallow, but where it was placed caused it to bleed more than a wound on his forearm would.
Prim headed towards the shelves closest to the cot, grabbing a washcloth, bandage, and a half filled bucket of clean water. None of the tinctures she had were properly infused, so she couldn’t use any of those to assist with cleaning the wound.
The man was silent as she worked, dutifully moving himself wherever she chose to position his arm. It surprised her that he hadn’t put up much more of a fight, but she could see underneath the bruises on his face that there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.
“You shouldn’t need more than a bandage wrap. I can’t tell you not to move your arm, but do it slowly if you need to.” Prim nodded in satisfaction as she tied off the bandage, glad to see that there wasn’t any blood seeping into the clean fabric.
The man looked at her, then at his arm. He moved slowly, seeming to test how loose the bandage was against his flesh. He looked satisfied and Prim couldn’t help the pride that welled up to a job well done.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the man asked.
Prim nodded. “Yes, I’m new to Nassau.”
The man gave her a thoughtful look and gave her another sharp grin. For a moment, there was a shift in the air and Prim felt like she was facing a wild animal, baring its fangs as a warning. The man stood up from his seat, all but looming over her. Instinctively, she took a step away from him, her back colliding with the shelves along the opposite wall.
“Been a long time since someone hasn’t known my face,” the man said, his voice a low growl, “It’s almost refreshing.”
Prim couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to reply. She froze as the man moved ever closer, crowding her into the nearest wall.
“What a privilege to be so fucking naive.”
The doors to her room opened. Max stood in the doorway, her kohl rimmed eyes turned from Prim to the man. The look she gave him was of pure disgust, looking as though she would attack him if given the chance.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Max hissed. Prim scrambled to get out of the way as the man headed out of the room, giving Max a nod.
“Good to see you off the beach,” he whispered, causing Max to straighten her stance. She watched him leave, Prim coming to stand beside her as he entered the open area of the brothel.
The Inn seemed to lose its air as he made his way through. Everyone stopped what they were doing, their focus entirely on him as the man slowly made his way towards a particular table. Jack Rackham looked up from his book and jumped to his feet.
“Captain. Welcome back,” Jack said, sounding jovial, but looking less than confident, “I assume congratulations are in order. Steward of the fort. Stroke of pure genius” Prim could see his fists were clenched at his sides, nearly hidden by the long sleeves of his coat.
“In some ways, Jack, it had to come to this. Don’t you think?”
“Come to what?”
The man moved forward, taking the seat that Jack vacated. “Me deciding if you live or die.”
Jack’s breath caught, the rest of the room completely silent save for their conversation.
“Captain, I don’t know what you’ve heard-”
“Hamund pulls you out of bed, marches you down to the wrecks, to look for a stash of stolen pearls.”
The man turned towards the door out into the street, giving the slightest tilt of his head. Prim watched as Mrs. Mapleton appeared in the doorway, giving Jack a sneer before heading back out into the street.
“And somehow, you and your dog make it back alive.”
Anne had somehow been unaffected by whatever spell the man cast, but stopped her descent halfway down the stairs, her face fully visible and pinched in worry.
Jack looked up to where she stood, then back to the man, sighing.
“Quite a moment,” the man said, tilting his head, “Jack Rackham with nothing to say. Had I a shrewd quartermaster right now, he would tell me that I can’t let what you did stand. He would say an offense like that demanded an example to be made of both of you. The bloodier the better.”
Jack’s mouth was agape, looking as though the wind was knocked out of him as he took a seat opposite of the man. His face had paled, causing his sideburns to stand out starkly against his skin. Anne looked like she would protest, but screwed her mouth shut. Prim had never felt fear for the two owners, but now she felt like if there was even something out of place, one of them would be killed without quarter.
“But today, I’m a little less worried about perception than I used to be. As long as I hold that fort, doesn’t really matter.” The man leaned in across the table, his face neutral. Prim couldn’t believe that he’d been so expressive with her, but was masking his emotions as he spoke down to Jack.
“So the street will know what you did. They will know you betrayed your brothers for a woman. That story will spread far and wide and you’ll never sail beneath the black again. You’ll sit in this place and rot with the rest of the whores. Something tells me that will sting worse than dying.”
Prim knew enough about the streets that any kernel of information that was deemed to be true spread as quickly as wildfire. If the man would release information that could ruin Jack’s reputation, then Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny were as good as ruined.
The man pushed his chair out, heading towards the entrance to the brothel. “Loyalty, Jack. It’s supposed to mean something. It does to me anyway.”
“Oh.” He turned, giving the rest of the guests a sharp grin as he gestured with his hand, “Love what you’ve done with the place.” Without another word he left through the open door. Prim could see a group of men crowded outside, as though they’d been waiting for him to emerge.
The Inn was silent, no one daring to speak. Prim slowly headed back into her room, Max following close behind and shut the doors behind her.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice low, “Did he do anything to you?”
“No, I-I just wrapped his arm.”
“What?”
Prim looked at Max. “He was hurt. Isn’t it my job to take people off the street and help them?”
There was a moment of silence and Prim could see there was a shift in the new Madame’s look. It took her another moment to register the pain, but when she did, Prim didn’t even cry out.
Max’s hand was raised and the warmth in her cheek was enough to let her know she’d made a mistake with helping the man.
For a moment, it took her back to a life before The Inn and before the Apple. How a harsh slap was enough to deter her from an action. How it was a promise for more, if she was to continue the behavior. How soft it could be compared to something far worse.
Prim blinked and willed herself to focus. She was not back there. She was in Nassau. She had been slapped by Max because she helped someone.
Who the hell was that man?
“He was hurt,” she whispered, trying to make her case even though the sting in her cheek told her otherwise.
“You are not to treat him again,” Max hissed, lowering her arm. Her kohl lined eyes were bright with a fury Prim had never seen. “Even if his guts are spilling out in the street, he is not to be touched.”
Prim shrunk away and held her cheek, nodding. Max turned away, but made sure she was loud enough so that the rest of the girls in the building could hear.
“If Charles Vane ever leaves his fort to set even a toe in here, he is not to be served.”
Chapter 6: Old Name, New Face
Summary:
Another chapter finished! I'm fixing these up quicker than expected!
The aftermath of the meeting and Vane’s threat to Jack and Anne. Again, I hope I’m doing these characters justice, they’re fun to play around with!
Chapter content warnings - swearing, descriptions and innuendos of sexual acts, mentions of violence
As of May 7th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!!
Chapter Text
The rest of the afternoon remained tense. Max had holed herself up in her room, along with Jack and Anne, though Prim couldn’t even begin to imagine what they were discussing. The clients that had been in The Inn when Charles Vane had appeared had either left shortly after he did or found more than enough coin in their pockets to take their girls to the upper floors for a longer service.
Charles Vane was a name known to Prim. She’d read about him while she was in the colonies, whenever she was able to get her hands on the pamphlets that Mr. Tennent received on his plantation. Vane had a reputation as a man without morals, ruthlessly slaughtering whoever crossed his path. In those pamphlets, there’d been no mention of what port he called home, but it made sense that he’d be in the Bahamas.
Prim was too distracted to have a full lesson with the girls, her cheek still stinging and her pride a bit worse for wear. A few of the girls came to visit her, curious as to what happened before Vane exited her room and they decided to stay and gossip.
Apparently, she was a bit behind on the talk surrounding Vane, something the girls were more than happy to remedy over a pot of tea that Prim supplied. She had to admit that the way they spoke of their tales brought her back to a time in her life when she was with her parents. She’d attended small get togethers with other young women over the course of an evening, listening to gossip and playing pretend at being a formal lady.
She thought she was far too old for those things now, but with the company she kept, she wanted to be able to have fun with them while they spoke. And it truly felt that they were making a place for her as they talked over what exactly Vane’s reappearance meant for Nassau.
“Word around the beach was that he’d gone off the island a little less than a week ago,” Idelle said, sitting across from Prim at her table, sipping her tea, “Jack didn’t even know where he was headed. While you were with him today, Max found out that he was the one who took the fort with a bunch of wildmen.”
“And the reason he knows Jack is because he was captain of the Ranger and Jack was the quartermaster?” Prim asked, trying to follow along with what she’d been told. There were politics in Nassau and the ladies of The Inn knew exactly who the players were. “But he’s not Captain of the Ranger anymore, because why?”
“Whole other story,” Charlotte said, lounging on one of the cots, doodling in a notebook with a freshly sharpened graphite stick, “but with the fort under his command and a seat with Ms. Guthrie on her Consortium, he’ll find a new ship without a problem.”
Hannah was sitting behind Prim in another chair, working a small hair brush through her curls as she spoke. “He and Ms. Guthrie are probably going to go at it before the day is done. I’m surprised he told her first before heading down from the fort to come here. It’s very, very messy.”
“‘Messy’ ‘s putting it kindly,” Charlotte said, “Seems like there’s always something happening between Vane and Eleanor. One minute they’re at each other’s throats, the next they’re sneaking into each other’s beds.”
Idelle rolled her eyes. “I doubt it’s going to get messier. I’d like to think this will just have them go back to do the same dance they always did around each other. The question remains if he’s going to stay in the fort or find a way to get a ship and get back to searching for prizes.”
Although Prim had never met her, Eleanor Guthrie was a common topic of gossip in and around The Inn. Most of the information came from the new crews on the island, amazed at how one woman was able to be the de facto barterer, negotiating terms for their goods and promising them fortune if they followed her lead. Some crews hated her because of the taxes she imparted on them for their containers or the goods they tried to sell. Still, there was a certain respect to be had on the Guthrie name.
The Consortium Eleanor helmed was freshly christened, a way to placate the crews and show that she didn’t play favorites. It was a very loose interpretation of a governing body, a group of the most respected Captains on the island, all of them with loyalty to Eleanor’s plan for an eventual unification of the island. Prim figured that it was created to save face, after what she heard from Vane about his crew and the rumors that Eleanor had been the one to organize the killings of the last members of the Ranger from the women she was seated with .
“The way he looked at Eleanor…” Idelle murmured, “God, it’s like she hung the stars in the sky. If someone ever looked at me like that, I wouldn’t even charge them.”
“Does Mr. Featherstone not count?” Charlotte asked, tilting her head as she pressed down harder with her stick. Idelle’s cheeks turned pink.
“I’m assuming the same goes for Logan?” Idelle shot back. Charlotte sputtered from the cot, sitting upright and looking like she was ready to argue.
Prim grinned as Hannah giggled behind her. She was now aware that her hair was no longer being brushed and instead was being separated into sections.
“Are you doing something to my hair?”
“Just making it easier to brush, dove, never you mind,” Hannah said, but Prim could hear the smile in her voice. She merely sighed and let it happen, just glad to be included at this point. If Hannah tried any odd stylings, she’d remove it as soon as the girls left.
“Lucky Prim, giving him some aid may have gotten you onto his good side.” Idelle said, smiling at her over her teacup.“Took me a good two years to have him in my room for a few hours. You might have some talent after all.”
“Though it’s sad that he won’t come here for a service,” Hannah muttered, “That’s a man I’m going to miss.”
“So even though he was with Eleanor, he still came here?” Prim asked.
“Usually came just to spite her,” Charlotte said, focusing on her drawings, now leaning up against a shelf so that her notebook pages were facing Prim, “He paid well and behaved better than the rest of his crew. Very focused on the pleasure of whoever he bedded.”
Prim happened to look over at the wrong time, seeing that Charlotte had drawn a very anatomically correct cock and was busy shading it out with her graphite stick.
“Oh my,” Prim said, heat rushing to her cheeks, averting her gaze. Charlotte let out a giggle and flipped the page to a blank one.
“He loves a good set of tits,” Hannah gushed, “And if you got him excited enough, he’d go straight to-”
“I think we’re scaring her,” Idelle said, trying and failing to keep from laughing at Prim’s expression as the younger girl attempted to make herself smaller in her chair. If there was one thing she’d had to say about the ladies of The Inn, they didn’t have shame. For better or for worse, if they had something they wanted to say, they’d made sure you heard it plainly.
“But yes,” Idelle said, waggling her eyebrows, “I know Hannah and I have had enough time with him to see that he’s just another man who gets lusty from time to time.”
“So, then he really is as ruthless as they say when he’s on a ship?” Prim asked, straightening up, earning nods from the other girls. “The only reason I know his name is because of the stories in the colonies’ papers. They tend to stretch the truth.”
She remembered reading them once the Tennent’s had finished their morning meals, trying to see what was happening outside of the plantation. Names like Edward Teach, James Flint, and Charles Vane were prominent, especially when there were stories about their cruelty to the ships they captured. There were some stories that Prim knew were embellished (Teach lighting up parts of his beard so that it made him look like he was a demon out of hell? Unlikely), but the ones she heard about Vane highlighted how cruel he was to any crew or Captain that crossed him, including taking their flesh and boiling it into a stew to serve to the crew of the Ranger .
While the last part was outlandish, she tried to think of the man she helped as the bloodthirsty savage the papers painted him as. She couldn’t see it, no matter how hard she tried. But there was a chance, now that he was here, she’d see that cruelty first hand. And she couldn’t see the man the girls described as lovestruck around Eleanor Guthrie either, so she’d need to make her own appraisal, if they ever crossed paths again.
“Anyone outside of Nassau will stretch the truth,” Idelle muttered, “If they’re not here, how can they report on our goings on? Doesn’t make sense to me at all.”
“It’s a whole crock of shit,” Charlotte said, frowning.
Prim could only sigh, moving ever so slightly to pick up her teacup and sip. She could feel Hannah’s hands moving rhythmically with her hair and suddenly froze, nearly dropping her cup.
If her hair was being moved, that meant that Hannah could see the part of her back her dress didn’t cover, along with her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” Idelle asked, noticing the fear on Prim’s face, “You alright there, dove?”
Hannah’s hands stopped moving and Prim tried not to clatter her teacup on the table when she set it down. She closed her eyes.
“Oh you poor thing,” Hannah whispered, “Is this why you were looking for dresses with higher collars?”
Prim could hear the sound of a chair pulling out and the straw in the cot shift as Idelle and Charlotte both got up to move behind her.
The silence hung heavy over the four women and Prim expected to hear the door open for someone to leave. Instead, Hannah went back to her braiding and there was a soft hand on her right shoulder.
“That doesn't look new,” Charlotte said, “Have you had that the whole time?”
“I’ll make sure that if we’re getting in new dresses, we find ones with higher collars,” Idelle interjected.
Prim opened her eyes and took a deep breath in. “I would greatly appreciate that.”
“And I think you’re done!” Hannah said, standing up from behind her with a wide grin.
“Done with what?”
Hannah pulled out a small hand mirror from her dress. “Take a look!”
When she was indentured with the Tennents, Prim would usually have her hair in a bun or bundled up in a kerchief. Seeing it plaited into a large braid that rested along her left shoulder, Prim almost didn’t recognize her reflection. She looked…lovely. The reflection smiled at her, its visage blurred by the tears in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but turn to Hannah and draw her into a hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the other woman’s shoulder.
Hannah stroked long lines down her back. “No need to thank me. You look pretty with your hair up. Promise that you’ll let me try some other styles?”
“So long as I’m not ornamented like Mrs. Mapleton.”
“Oh, sweet dove, I’d never put you through that torture.”
Prim giggled, feeling other hands on her back as the girls moved in to embrace her. She closed her eyes, feeling tears fall against her cheeks and sighed, finally feeling settled after such a hectic day.
------
Bolstered by the other girls to show off her new hairstyle, Prim decided to head out onto the street in search of new books. The hubbub of the morning had subsided, the street getting back into its normal routine without too much underlying chaos.
Jack’s bookseller seemed happy to see her again (and by happy, he didn’t comment on her choices when she claimed her purchases). Her mood was lifted when finding a book by Isaac Watts that would be simple enough for Hannah and Charlotte to read from aloud as practice of their letters.
“Five pounds,” the man said, holding out a hand for coin when she had selected two other books to take with her.
“I thought it’d be more,” she commented, dropping the coins into his outstretched hand.
The man shook his head, squinting hard at her with his eye. “You’ve got a new look about ya. Consider it a ‘welcome to the island’ discount.”
Prim grinned and thanked the man, clutching the books to her chest as she nearly floated down the street. Maybe she’d get the hang of this island after all.
She headed back to The Inn, but stopped just before the entrance. She made a quick turn into the alleyway that her window led to, just to see if Vane had been telling the truth about the latch.
The window was closer to the ground, so anyone who wasn’t sitting down could hoist themselves onto the sill. It was one of the few windows in the brothel that had glass in it, making her feel a bit safer that someone wasn’t just going to barge in when she was with a patient. She stood on tiptoe to check the latch attached to the glass, seeing that it was indeed loose.
“One more thing to worry about,” Prim muttered to herself, poking the piece of metal with her finger. If she could find Jack or Max before the sun set, she’d hopefully be able to have them find a worker who could fix it, if the laborers hadn’t all fled from the beach. If not, she’d make sure that she blocked it from the inside to keep any intruders or pirate Captains from finding their way in.
Prim settled herself back down on the ground, dusting off the front of her dress. Her braid slipped from her shoulder and she was just about to adjust it when she felt a calloused finger ghost along her skin, tracing the pattern of her brand.
She moved on instinct, twisting herself around and launching her fist to hopefully catch whoever touched her in the jaw. Instead, she saw a large hand catch her fist, clenching down on it to stop her momentum.
Charles Vane stood before her, clutching her fist in his hand. He’d changed his clothes, a low cut sleeveless shirt and black trousers that seemed to cling to him, making him look much less messy than he had been earlier in the day. This time, she could see that he was armed, a pistol and a cutlass on his left hip.
“The last woman who punched me got quite the bruise,” he said, voice low in warning, “I doubt your Madame would be happy if I knocked one of her newest girls into a wall.” He let go of her hand, but kept it poised over his hip.
The aura of danger about him hadn’t subsided even though he was grinning. Prim felt like she was being stared down by a predator. He looked past her to the sill behind her.
“Figured you wouldn’t take me at my word about the window,” he said, sounding amused, moving his hand from his weapons, “Took you long enough to make it back here and check it.”
Prim hated how long it took her to realize what he meant. “Were you following me?”
“Just the last few minutes,” he said, “Almost didn’t recognize you with your hair. The girls always liked braiding. Hannah was always playing with my hair after a long night.” His eyes fell to her shoulder, nodding his head. “Best to keep your hair down if you’re looking to cover that.”
Prim instinctively reached up to cover her shoulder. The brand there was nearly a decade old, but it remained a sore subject for her to explain whenever someone noticed it. The need to hide it was always at the back of her mind, dictating how she would dress or if she’d keep her hair down. It wasn’t easy to mask either, all curved lines that couldn’t be excused off as a quick cut during a scuffle or from a battle while on a ship. It had been a relief when the girls saw it and understood, but it made her realize that not everyone would be so welcoming.
Vane tilted his head, something passing along his face and she clenched her hand tighter over her exposed skin. He slowly lifted his wrapped arm, as though he was trying not to spook her, and moved his hand over Prim’s. He took her hand in his and moved it down, her brand now on display for him to study. Prim let her hands drop as he traced it again, the calloused pads of his fingers catching on it and the edges of her burns.
“Take no shame in this,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble, “It means you’ve survived.”
Prim could feel warmth flooding her face and looked away from Vane’s intense stare. She looked at his chest, his shirt falling open a bit more as he leaned in towards her. Beneath the dark fabric, she could make out a muscled chest and stomach, but what drew her eye was a raised mark on the left side of his chest.
Without thinking, she raised her hand to move away the fabric, revealing a puckered bit of skin just under his collarbone. At first, she thought it was a bullet wound, having seen far too many of them while on the Apple. But the shape of it was wrong. There were four long marks, reminding her of a compass that stretched outward from the pucker.
It wasn’t a scar from a bullet, it was a brand.
She looked up at him, his eyes still trained on her face. They were such a vivid blue, bright in the darkening shadows of the alley. She took in a quick breath, feeling his fingers pressing down on her shoulder.
“You-” she breathed, eyes darting back to his brand.
“Know more about what it means to bear a mark than most of the men on this island.”
She looked back up to him and wanted to ask. The urge to know more, to have them share their pasts without judgment or pity, it welled up inside her to the point that she didn’t know if she was breathing.
Prim’s hand moved to touch his chest. She needed to feel the raised skin against her fingers just as Vane was. It was only fair, wasn’t it?
As soon as she made contact, Vane flinched back. Between one blink and the next, he removed his hand from her shoulder and backed up to the other wall of the alley.
The look on his face was unreadable, something simmering beneath his blank expression. He wasn’t scared, but the way he held himself made it very clear she’d crossed a boundary.
Without another word, he made his way out of the alley and back onto the street, disappearing into the crowd as she watched his retreat.
Prim slid down the wall of The Inn, her heart pounding in her chest, the warmth of Vane’s fingers on her shoulder as hot as her brand had been when she first received it.
Chapter 7: Attempted Mending
Summary:
The day after Vane’s first day in Nassau! Still sticking to the canon timeline where a lot of stuff happens on a particular day~ We get Prim helping out whoever she can (keeping canon compliant of course).
As of May 7th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Chapter Text
Prim told no one of her encounter, especially with Max’s warning. She’d gone to Jack when she got back in, asking if he’d be able to find someone to make repairs. The window to her room was fixed the next day, a young laborer from the beach more than happy to get some extra coin for his trouble at Prim’s insistence that it be done as quickly as possible.
With the settling of the new owners of the fort, the street was rife with gossip by the next day about how Nassau was changing. Charles Vane was now a fixture in Eleanor Guthrie’s Consortium, so he’d be able to walk the streets without issue. Talk swirled around how, if he truly had control of the fort, he’d next find a way to take full control of Nassau without the threat of a governor at his heels.
Prim heard her name mixed in with the rumors, more than a few of the newer crews skeptical that she was actually doing more good in her new profession than ill. She couldn’t help but flinch when the word ‘witch’ was brought up more often than not, but she hoped things would settle soon enough.
There hadn’t been as many clients as she wished who walked through her door, but it still remained enough that Max was satisfied with the money she pulled in. Prim’s tinctures were quite popular, since it was mostly alcohol with a bit of herbs mixed in with it. She made teas that could assist with clearing airways and helping keep sickness at bay. She had pouches of fragrant herbs that men could use to hide the stench of the sea if their ladies didn’t enjoy their return home. There was more she wanted to try, to experiment with, but she paced herself because the money she was getting in from her concoctions wasn’t enough to cover the cost of supplies.
What seemed to pull in more of a profit were her balms, made of a simple oil and wax mixed with healing plants. Only a few men she treated needed them, since they were complaining about sore limbs. She’d helped a few men with bullets lodged in their skin to have relief after years of enduring the pain of a piece of metal moving against their skin and muscle.
But, as the rumors began to stretch about how her concoctions made men feel better than they had in years, so came the thought that she was actually communing with damned spirits to heal those men.
Still, so long as people were coming to be seen by her, she didn’t mind that her reputation was soured. It was the word the street used that made her uncomfortable and she couldn’t help but grimace whenever someone came to her room to ask for the witch.
The only type of talk that trumped her own was what Charles Vane had spread about his former quartermaster.
She was just finishing a repair of one of Idelle’s favorite dresses when a shout echoed through the first floor of the brothel. She put the dress aside, ready for whoever it was to walk in. She was expecting a disgruntled patient or someone barrelling in with a major injury.
Instead, Max opened her doors, not looking any worse for wear.
“Gather your supplies,” she said, “Jack Rackham needs assistance in his room. I’ve left a bucket of water outside for you to use.”
Prim grabbed her things quickly and without question headed up the stairs. Anne was still seated at one of the tables as she passed, her eyes turned down and her mouth in a frown.
She headed up to the door that led to Jack and Anne’s room, seeing that there was indeed a large bucket of water set aside for her to use. She took it and knocked on the door.
“Go away.” Jack’s voice was muffled by the barrier of the door.
“Just me,” Prim said, keeping her voice light, “Max said you needed some help?”
There was a pause. Prim took it as consent and opened the door.
Jack’s back was to her, his shirt off and thrown across the room. He turned to face her, clutching a bottle of rum in his hand that he drained as she watched. He dropped it on the ground with a solid thud and stood there for a moment, Prim able to see the bloodied marks on his body. She couldn’t help the pity that entered her voice.
“Oh, Jack,” she murmured, looking him up and down, “What did they do to you?”
Ever since Charles Vane’s visit to the brothel, Jack had been beaten or spat upon by disgruntled citizens and members of other crews. Captain Vane had made good on his word and there were times that Jack wasn’t able to set a foot out of The Inn before someone was in his face about the massacre of the Ranger ’s crew.
This afternoon, it seemed he’d had a longer scuffle, his face a complete mess, with blood from his temple dripping down to his cheek, a swollen right eye, a split lip, and a cut along his nose.
“Don’t know, don’t care, just make sure my face doesn’t scar,” he muttered.
Prim headed towards the bed, motioning for him to sit down as she joined him with her supplies. She paused for a moment, wrinkling her nose as a stale stench wafted from him.
“Is that-?” she turned to ask him, but stopped speaking when she saw his expression. Jack’s mouth was a thin line, tension emanating from him. In the time she’d known him, he’d never been short with her, content to talk about everything and nothing because she was there to listen. Now, he was silent, eyes downcast, looking to all the world like a defeated man. Prim shut her mouth, knowing that anything else she said was going to be taken the wrong way.
Prim dipped her first washcloth into the bucket, making sure it was nice and wet. Instead of starting on his face, she moved first to his hair, drizzling a bit of water to wash out the stench of piss. Jack’s head moved with her hands, allowing her to use the washcloth to work out the nastiness that was there. He didn’t speak another word as she tilted his chin up, assessing the damage to his face.
“You can’t keep going on like this,” she murmured, reaching for another washcloth. She tossed the first cloth towards where his shirt lay, not wanting to get anything with piss contaminating the freshwater she had. She dipped the second washcloth into the basin, and dabbed around his face. There was a bruise just starting to heal above his eye and wiping the blood from his temple showed a small cut that was already scabbing. His nose didn’t look broken, but he must have been kicked or punched hard enough that it started to bleed. His lower lip was swollen, but with time, it wouldn’t even scar. The rest of the mess was sand and dirt, easy as anything to clean.
Jack remained unnaturally silent, allowing her to maneuver his head so that she could get as much debris off his face and neck. She wanted to go further, but a shadow out of the corner of her eye made her pause. Anne stood in the room, making no noise as she stalked towards Prim.
“Shall I leave the rest to you?” she asked, looking Anne right in the eye. The other woman returned her gaze with one as sharp as the steel she wore on her hips. Jack moved, tilting away from Prim to look at Anne.
She couldn’t tell what passed between them. It seemed like they had a language of their own, all it took was a look or a gesture to speak volumes. Prim had seen it happen so many times, but it never ceased to amaze her.
“I’ll take some bandages,” Jack said, turning back to her, “I thank you for your assistance.” The sound of his voice was enough to reassure her that he’d be alright under Anne’s care.
Prim nodded, handing over the bandages she hadn’t used yet, along with a small, amber vial of liquid. Jack looked at her quizzically.
“This is a tincture infused with allspice,” she said, “You only need a few drops for your hair to keep it looking nice between washes. The alcohol keeps your hair looking oily and it’ll mask any residual smells too.”
That got a small twitch from Jack’s lips. He nodded and Prim took that as her sign to leave, taking her washcloths and his shirt along with her so she could try and get the piss out of it before it was properly washed.
Prim sighed as she descended the stairs and headed back to her room, giving Max a quick nod to let her know all was well.
She shut her door and headed towards her window. The alley outside was usually empty at this hour, so she could just toss out the water and wring out her cloths to dry before she got to the washing.
She opened the window and readied the bucket.
“Didn’t think you’d get the latch fixed so quickly.”
“FUCK!” she screamed, dropping the bucket out the window. The washcloths fell at her feet with a wet plap. “Christ and all his saints, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Charles Vane was leaning up against the wall of the building. He puffed on a cheroot, letting out a small stream of smoke from his mouth as he looked down at his feet. The bucket had rolled off the sill, spilling water as it went and landed next to his boots. Tucking his cigar behind his ear, he bent down to pick it up and rested it next to him on the sill.
“It’s an alley. Anyone could have been out here.”
“Anyone would have least had the decency to shout before I started sloshing water all over them,” Prim fumed, her heart still racing from the fright. There was no indication from the man that he even cared about what happened the day before, his demeanor much more relaxed. There was still that underlying danger that kept Prim wary to choose her words carefully.
“I never had the chance to pay you,” Vane said, quickly changing the topic and moving to face her in the window, resting an elbow on the sill. “Figured Max would be on your arse about it, from what Idelle told me.”
Prim settled her chin on her hands, elbows propped up on her side of the sill. So that’s where Idelle had been; no wonder she’d left in such a hurry. “Max has got better things to do than worry about me. And your fee was paid by my wages, so you’re well sorted.”
In truth, Prim had left the money near Max’s room with a note, explaining that she wished to pay for the service she provided. Max hadn’t spoken to her about it and Prim never mentioned it again, but when she headed up to Max’s room later in the day, the money was gone.
“Then I’m in your debt, not hers.”
“It’s not a bother,” she said, “If anything, you repaid it by telling me about the window. I would have had a few unexpected and unwanted guests in my room, if you hadn’t.”
Vane let out a hum, the look on his face enough for her to realize he wasn’t satisfied with her answer. “Come up with something a little less half-assed when we meet again, Prim.”
Prim wasn’t surprised that he knew her name and decided to pay it back. “If you insist, Captain Vane.”
He arched an eyebrow, leaning in a bit closer on the sill. “So, you do know who I am. Thought your whole thing when we met was an act.”
“The day you broke into my room, I truly didn’t know who you were,” Prim said, “but now I do.”
“And are you afraid?”
It was a fair question, coming from a man that had a reputation for cruelty. And yet, there was still the unspoken connection between them with the brands on their bodies that made her want to trust him more than most. The way the girls spoke about him, the way he’d acted towards her, there were things she had yet to uncover. Prim shrugged her shoulders.
“You haven’t caused me any harm, haven’t threatened my life in any way,” she began, “but I’ve heard the stories and the rumors. I can’t help but be a little wary.”
He gave her another sharp grin, plucking his cheroot from his ear. “Wise choice.” He pushed the bucket towards her. “I’ll let you get back to whatever. But I don’t forget my debts; I expect a real answer from you when we next meet.”
Prim watched him turn to retreat. An idea struck her and she called out, “Actually, I have an answer.”
He turned, tilting his head. She hesitated for a moment.
“Well?”
Now that she had his attention, she hoped what she had to say would be enough. “I haven’t been here to know much about the politics of this place, but I know that your word can make the difference between a flourishing or a ruined reputation. Give Jack and Anne their reputations back and I’ll consider us even.”
Vane turned to her fully, walking slowly back to the window. The careful mask of amusement he’d shown her had fallen, revealing the blank expression he’d had when telling Jack about his plan. That face was of simmering anger, not yet out of control, but could boil over without warning.
This was the Charles Vane the papers had spoken of. And Prim had just uncorked his anger.
“You presume that this would be enough to get them back in my good graces?” he questioned, moving back towards the sill, “You’ve heard what they did. How they killed my men to cover up their betrayal. As their Captain, it cannot stand. They deserve what they get.”
“But-”
“You know nothing of what it means to be part of a crew,” he hissed, his expression darkening, “To know the betrayal that those two afforded me. Reconciling with them would lessen my own reputation and I’d lose what I fought so hard to gain.”
Prim gaped at him, unsure of what to say to that. And what could she say? She had been on a crew, had held her own on a ship, but she’d never been too close with the members of the Apple. She was their physician, nothing more, and hadn’t even had the chance to fight with them, to build the comradery that those on a pirate ship had when charging into battle together. That a was a connection she’d only witnessed and it ran just as deep as blood did.
Prim closed her mouth and nodded. Vane turned back to the alley entrance without looking back and she closed the window, making sure to latch it tight.
So much for thinking things had settled.
Chapter 8: Second Day in the Fort (Charles POV)
Summary:
First shift in perspective! I finished ‘IX’ and got inspired, so have Charles’s second day in the fort from his own perspective. Set a few hours before Chapter 7. Since this is coming from a canon character, please let me know if anything seems too out of sorts, but I think I did a pretty good job!
Also, first spicy scene of the series! It's not between the main pairing, but I did make sure to tag it nonetheless. It's been many a year since I wrote a sex scene, so I hope I'm not completely out of practice. (Let me know if the rating should change with this, if not now, I know I'll have to update it later.)
Chapter content warnings: nudity, sex
As of May 8th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited
Chapter Text
A few hours earlier…
“Fuck you,” Eleanor spat. The door opened behind her and Idelle emerged with the promised rum. “And fuck you too.”
Charles made no move to keep her from leaving. He’d done what he wanted; he needed her to think about what he’d told her, to get her to realize that he was in the right and that he was exactly where he needed to be in order for Nassau to be as great as it could be.
Eleanor’s edges were softening, likely from the pressure that came from her little Consortium. There was no way that she could get men who plundered ships to come to accords about anything. Now that he was in the fort, Hornigold was banished to the beach and he was probably the only one who could have helped her to ease that pressure. If this was all it took for her to show weakness, then Charles truly had underestimated her cunning.
Where was that manipulation she’d shown eight years ago?
And fuck her talk of him providing her security for her storehouses. If she wanted Hornigold’s terms, she should go to the beach and ask him to help, not expect Charles to bend to her whim.
Idelle rolled her eyes at him and approached him while he was lost in thought. “You planned for her to see us, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think she’d get here this early,” Charles admitted, moving back to lounge on his bed. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping on anything so soft in his life. Hornigold had wasted no expense on furnishing his room in the fort with all of the luxuries that Charles never even thought he’d see in his lifetime. Furs, plush fabrics, feather pillows, only the best for the Captain of the fort. Regardless of what the next day brought, he was going to enjoy himself with his well earned prize.
Idelle flopped on the bed next to him, her robe slipping open to reveal the full expanse of her pale skin. In all the years he’d been with her, he always marveled at how pale she was, regardless of how strong the sun was in Nassau. She’d always claimed she’d never been able to tan, but he’d seen her use umbrellas and wear long clothing outside even on the most humid days to keep the sun off her skin. It gave her an edge over some of the other girls at The Inn, providing a exotic feature that not many could mimic.
He reached out to touch, moving his fingers along her stomach and up her side, moving the robe to reveal more of her milky skin. She smiled, moving a bit closer so he could get one of his hands on her hip.
He hadn’t had his fill of her yet, hoping to get another fuck or two in before she had to leave. When she hadn’t been moaning his name or shouting loud enough for the rest of the fort to hear, she’d been complaining about how things had changed over the scant few days he’d been gone from New Providence.
“So, Max is going to be angry at me for a bit longer, isn’t she?” Charles asked.
Idelle lifted her shoulder in a shrug, more of her robe slipping off. “She didn’t think it odd that I had ‘errands’ to run this morning, so I assume as long as you’re not inside the building, she’s fine if you’re still paying.”
“I doubt she kept my name on the seller agreement. Either her or Jack would have made sure that was done as soon as he saw me off on the boat.”
“Where did you go, anyway?” Idelle asked. Charles looked at her face and could see the tell-tale glitter in her eyes that happened when she was on the hunt for information. He wondered if she knew she could be read so easily.
“A bit of business,” he muttered, “Nothing more than that.”
She frowned, looking immediately disinterested. “Keep your secrets, then.” She took a sip from the bottle she held and hummed to break up the silence.
Charles didn’t really want to think anymore of what happened at the logging camp. His wounds from his fight against Albinus were finally beginning to heal, as was his mind. There was nothing left to hold him back from pursuing whatever he wanted, whether it was out at sea or in Nassau. A part of him wished that Eleanor would have learned that this is how things would always end with him, that their goals for Nassau and the whole of New Providence Island were going to differ. Her thoughts of order with the Consortium, making Nassau look prim and proper to the world across the ocean was going against the very nature of the place. He’d see it return to its glory as a place ruled only by the people that lived there, without any interference from England, Spain, or whoever else attempted to conquer it. Things would be so much easier between them if she knew he was in the right.
Idelle's free hand wandered over his chest, brightly painted nails caressing just shy of his brand. She’d never touched it, never asked about it, just expertly avoided it like most of the other whores he’d fucked. Eleanor never even touched it, only in his drugged out hallucinations. The only person in the brothel that had the nerve was the one he’d barged in on yesterday.
“The new girl,” Charles began, “the physician or whatever the fuck she’s called. What could have possibly gotten into Jack when he hired someone like that?”
“From what I heard,” Idelle said, giving him a grin that let him know she had something juicy to share, “it was Max who made the decision. Mrs. Mapleton had to be convinced and it was done right before she was let go. I’m sure Max was thinking of herself as Madame when she made that choice.”
He looked down at his arm, the bandage long gone, but his wound having scabbed over properly. It wouldn’t scar, not with the exposure to the sun, but it had healed far better than it would have if he left it alone. She knew what she was doing.
“Max requests half of her wages on whoever she treats. A bit of a shame, since Prim doesn’t take in the same types of clients that the rest of us do, but she’s doing her best. Poor girl’s working with less than half of what I get in a day.”
Charles’s brow furrowed. “Was I to pay her for her services?”
“With the way Max is fuming over your arrival, I hope she doesn’t expect it. But you never know with her.” Idelle took a small swig from the rum, a bit trickling down her chin to land on her chest. Charles leaned in to lick it off, liking how Idelle shivered beneath his tongue. He leaned back against the bed, staring up at the rock hewn ceiling.
“I hear the street is calling her a witch,” he said, “Is it true?”
“Nah. Prim knows a lot of things about herbs and has been making tinctures she claims can help keep people well. The books she’s reading aren’t spellbooks, but ones by doctors in the colonies or notes from ship physicians.”
She paused for a moment, Charles turning to see her considering the bottle in her hand. “Prim is naive, sometimes to a fault, but she’s learning quickly. There’s a look she gets, whenever someone comes in to ask her for a potion that will hex their enemies, like she just got told she’s got the clap. She doesn’t like it, but I doubt the street will stop at her expense.”
Charles propped himself up on the bed, his free hand idly stroking along her breast as she spoke. Idelle took a swig from the bottle again, passing it to him to take a healthy swallow himself. With her hands free, Idelle let herself melt onto the bed, opening up her robe completely. She ran her hands over her body hovering over the crux of her legs and her dark patch of hair.
“Want me to get ready for you?” she whispered, fingers teasing lightly just above her skin.
Charles set the bottle down and rolled to loom on top of her, his long hair barely brushing her face. Idelle bit her lip, tilting her head to look at him through her lashes. The coquettish look wasn’t something that got him hard, but she seemed to like that it made him focus on her face. He moved a hand between them, joining hers, then dipping lower, teasing a finger into her opening. She was still stretched from the last time they fucked and she squirmed against his finger as he moved further inside her. He angled his hand so that his thumb was searching beneath her hair for the bit of skin that made her scream whenever he touched it.
He grinned wolfishly when he found it, Idelle wiggling her hips to draw his finger in deeper. She had moved her hands to his shoulders, clutching down towards his back as she made sweet little moans in his ear. He added another finger, keeping in time with her thrusts.
“Need you,” Idelle mewled, scratching lines down his back, “inside-fuck-”
Charles could feel her clenching around his fingers and removed them, drawing a whine from her. She clung to him even tighter and he could feel the welts he was going to have later that day.
He moved his hand to coat his cock with her own wetness, slipping himself inside with ease. He wanted to take things slower and focus on his own pleasure and the sweet sounds he could coax from Idelle while he did it. He gave her a scant minute to get used to his size, glad to see a flush finally coloring her face before he moved, snapping his hips deliberately to reach that spot inside of her.
“Yes!” she groaned, shimmying up to wrap her arms entirely around his shoulders. “Don’t stop, please!”
He bent down to kiss her neck, just underneath her chin and he felt her legs lock around his back. He was getting close, speeding up enough that Horingold’s bed frame was knocking against the wall.
Charles was a gentleman enough not to collapse on top of Idelle once he finished and he closed his eyes, letting himself come down from the high of his release. He gave her little button a few more good rubs as she trembled next to him until she batted his hands away from her while gasping for air.
With Eleanor’s meeting already past, the afternoon was his to do as he pleased once Idelle left for The Inn.
Maybe he’d pay a visit there as well, just long enough for Jack and Anne to remember his threats.
And who knows? The witch might be there too.
Chapter 9: A Witch’s Coven
Summary:
Back to Prim! Takes place the same day as the previous two chapters. I know there's more I can do with this chapter, but for now I'm more than satisfied with the work I have.
Another character makes an appearance! Why would I write a story about a woman with the title of witch without bringing in the lady who held the title first into the story?
I always felt for Miranda, especially with her being so isolated. There was so much she endured and I would have loved it if the showrunners dove into her thoughts and feelings a bit deeper. What we do get is still nothing short of tragic and she’s definitely one I want to do justice with this fic.
As of May 8th 2025, this chapter has been edited and updated!
So, let’s give her a friend, shall we? Witches gotta stick together!
Thank you to everyone who’ve left comments and kudos so far on here! Seriously, I’m glad that people are enjoying this and are checking it out!! Please keep commenting, it gives me more drive to write!
Chapter Text
“I do apologize, sir,” Prim said, escorting an old man out of her room, “but nothing I sell would be able to make someone fall in love with you.”
The man huffed at her with a scowl beneath his bushy beard and walked out of the brothel without another word. She let out a languished sigh as she headed to the bar. Idelle stood behind it, eyebrows raised in question.
Prim planted her head on the bar’s counter when she sat down. “If I have to hear one more person coming up to me to ask for a love potion, I’m going to scream.”
Idelle passed her a mug of rum, fanning herself to attempt to stave off the heat of the day. She’d arrived a few minutes ago, giving Max an excuse about losing track of time, but Prim couldn’t help but see the telltale sway of her hips that let her know Vane had been telling the truth. “The rumors about your ‘spellcraft’ and ‘potions’ are the talk of the street. It’s almost expected for that kind of news to draw in the curious and superstitious.”
“Am I really new news? I feel like I’ve been here long enough for people to know what I do at The Inn.”
“It’s the allure of you now that’s got their attention,” Idelle said, giving her a smirk, “You know, if you offered, you’d be able to get a few customers that would pay for a few hours with you.”
“I think I’ll take the men calling me a witch, for the moment,” Prim said. It hadn’t been the first time Idelle or one of the other girls thought she’d be a good partner for one of their customers. She was flattered, but the thought of having someone touch her in that way made her sick to her stomach. Maybe one day, with the right customer, but for now, she was more than happy to continue taking patients.
“He was asking about you,” Idelle said, idly switching her fan to her other hand.
Prim tilted her head so that her cheek was on the counter, looking Idelle in the eye. “‘He?’”
“Vane.”
“Should I be worried? Afraid for my life?”
“Nah. I tried to set him straight, keep the rumors on the street out of his head.”
Prim blinked. “...is he really that good of a lover that you’d risk servicing him?”
Idelle lifted one manicured eyebrow at the question. Prim realized that she might have just revealed that she’d talked to Vane earlier that day. Still, if Max’s ban was in effect, it meant Idelle stood as much to lose as Prim if she talked openly about visiting the fort.
“Money is money,” she said, “He knows I’m a good fuck, so he’ll pay me for it. If I have a bit more fun with him than some of the other men, then it’s a bonus. You, on the other hand, might need to come up with some concoctions of your own so that the streets don’t keep talking about you like you can hex people with a word.” She leaned in close. “You won’t tell Max, will you?”
Prim lifted herself up and grabbed the mug, shaking her head. She trusted Idelle and if this was something the other woman wanted to do, so long as no harm came to her, she’d keep her mouth shut. Prim took a large sip from the mug and immediately started coughing at the taste and burning in her throat.
“You either chug it or you let it sit on your tongue before swallowing,” Idelle scolded, coming from around the bar to thump on her back, “Don’t drink it like your teas or you’ll keep coughing hard enough for your lung to pop out.”
Prim took a few moments to collect herself, then settled for placing her head in her hands. “He was waiting outside in the alley shortly after you got back,” she muttered, “We talked, but I don’t think he thinks of me very highly right now.”
“To be fair, he doesn’t much think of anyone too highly.” Idelle sat next to Prim, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever anger he’s got towards you, it won’t take long to cool. The fact that he’s talking to you means that you’re interesting to him.” She gave Prim a grin. “That’s the best place you can be in his eyes. Just be you. If he does start causing problems, Max’ll make sure it’s handled, okay?”
Prim gave Idelle a small smile. It wasn’t enough encouragement to do much to her mood, but she was thankful for it nonetheless.
“I think your hair’s going to need a good brushing,” Idelle muttered, moving her hands through her loose hair. The braid Hannah had given Prim didn’t last long and she didn’t know how to ask for something to be done to her again.
She hesitated, then whispered, “Would Hannah be willing to do my hair again?”
“Of course! And if she’s busy, I’ll do it; I’ve got some ideas.”
Prim smiled at that, then suddenly felt a pull on her sleeve. She turned to see if she’d gotten it caught on a bit of splintered wood from the bar.
A small boy, looking no older than ten, was tugging on her dress sleeve. Prim recognized him as one of the many children that served as messengers in Nassau. They came from all around the island and because of their size were able to duck and weave amongst a crowd to get to their destinations. Prim had never been on the receiving end of one, so it was a bit of a surprise.
“Can I help you, young man?” she asked, keeping her voice light.
“You’ve got an invitation from the witch of the island to visit her.”
Prim chose her next words carefully. “And who might that be?” It wasn’t a secret that some of the crews had a particular name for Eleanor Guthrie, but she didn’t want to assume.
“The witch,” the boy said, pointing out the door, “the one inland?”
Not Eleanor Guthrie then. Who was he talking about?
“Oooh,” Idelle cooed in her ear, “Look at you gaining a reputation. If you want to see a real witch, she’s the one to go to.” She moved away from the bar and gave Prim a wave, heading towards the stairs. “I’ll let Max know you’ll be out for the afternoon!!” she called out.
Prim was left with the boy, who looked quite nervous.
“Would you be able to show me where the witch lives?” she asked.
The boy shuffled back, twisting his hands nervously. “I was asked to escort you.”
“Then let’s go.”
--------
Prim followed the young boy through the streets and onto a dirt road that led further into New Providence. Her travels had never taken her inland, but had heard stories from the girls about what would await her. While the pirates and privateers overtook Nassau, there were people that had settled on the island that had no connection to piracy. Most were loyal to the Crown, keeping to themselves in the interior of the island, and attempting to live out their lives as peacefully as they could.
The road was long, but Prim could see that they were reaching a small settlement far quicker than she realized. The boy kept the lead, moving towards the left as the road branched into several pathways. The settlement was bustling in a far different way than Nassau. Small dogs and goats were roaming around openly. There were small fenced in squares of crops, ranging from corn to eggplant to a plethora of other vegetables that she hadn’t seen since she’d been on the Tennent’s plantation. Small, sturdy huts were scattered about the road, more properly constructed than the bungalows on the beach, made out of clay and brick rather than wood and thatch.
Prim tried to keep her mouth closed, but couldn’t help but move around the road gaping in awe. She’d heard about the Underhill estate, a small plantation that was further into the interior of the island, but she didn’t think she’d see an entire town less than five miles from Nassau.
The boy led her along one of the forks in the road to a house that was a bit removed from the others, surrounded by more of the fenced in crops than other homes. There was a woman standing a few feet from the building, watching intently as Prim approached.
At first glance, the woman was dressed plainly; however, the fabric of her dress seemed to shimmer in the light of the sun and, as the wind picked up, Prim could see how plush it looked. She wore earrings with small beads that glittered in the early afternoon light. She held herself in a poised pose reminding Prim of how Mrs. Tennent had held herself when receiving guests.
Prim expected a more detached greeting, but the woman gave her a wide smile as she approached.
The boy looked from the woman, then back to Prim.
“Two witches,” he muttered, spitting on the ground and running off. Prim tried not to grimace.
“Forgive the boy,” the woman said, approaching her, “He’s only repeating the things he hears and sees from his elders.”
“‘Witch’ is the popular moniker for me at the moment, regardless of what I do,” Prim said, shrugging, “I would like to hope that there might have been a good word or two attached to my name.” She tried to set her shoulders a little straighter, feeling far too underdressed.
The woman smiled. “There were rumors of a woman in Nassau proper that saw to the ill from a room at the brothel. My interest was piqued when I heard that you were taking in patients off the street. I would have thought you were confined to the occupants of the building.”
“There’s enough going on right outside the doors that brings in patients,” Prim admitted, “The tavern is close enough that I get a few brawlers stomping into my room. And with the amount of men coming off boats, there’s no shortage of people I can help.”
The woman was looking at her strangely. Prim couldn’t place where she knew the look from, but it unnerved her a bit. It was as if the woman was looking through her, but not in the way that Mrs. Mapleton had when she first arrived on the island. In fact, it looked more akin to Max, making Prim feel as though she was being studied under a magnifying glass that could torch her skin if she wasn’t careful.
Prim tried to break the scrutiny. “I know that we both have our titles, but my name is Primrose Enfield, Prim for short. Would I be remiss to ask your name?”
The woman’s look of scrutiny was replaced with another wide smile. “I’m known here as Mrs. Barlow, but you may call me Miranda.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Prim said, “So, you summoned me. Is there anything that you’d want help with or something you wanted to ask?”
Miranda’s smile grew wider. “So polite. Yes, there were more than a few things that I wanted to discuss with you. Would you follow me so that we can walk and talk?”
Prim didn’t expect to do more walking, but nodded, a bit afraid to decline the request. Miranda moved to her side and led her towards the fences where her crops were growing.
“The moniker of ‘witch’ is one I’ve held for several years,” Miranda said, “And while I know a bit in regards to tending to wounds, it’s not because of it that I’ve been labeled so.”
“Then why are you called a witch?” Prim asked, keeping a steady pace with the other woman.
“I want to say it’s because the man that visits me most often is one of the most feared Captains on the island.” She gave Prim a small grin. “The pirates on the beach believe that I’ve provided him with supernatural protection. The people of the interior, even some of my own neighbors, just believe that I’ve cast my lot with a heathen.”
Prim didn’t know what to say to that, letting out a soft, “I see.” She turned her attention to the crops along the fences. There was corn, potato plants of different varieties, and a small patch of wheat. Prim was impressed; with the climate so different from what she’d encountered in the colonies, it was surprising to see the plants were thriving without issue.
“The community grows food,” Miranda explained, stopping near a patch of the gardens closer to her home, “but I also planted herbs in my space.”
Prim couldn’t contain her grin at the small patch of garden that Miranda showed her. She recognized most of them, a lot of them similar to ones she remembered from the Tennent’s plantation. There was lambs ear, the fuzzy leaves that could act as a bandage if there wasn’t any cloth to be found. A quite impressive sage plant took up one corner of the patch, its scent wafting over to her in the breeze, which could be used to improve the flow of blood. There was rosemary, which the scent assisted in invigorating the mind, along with the tea that derived from it. And there was lemon balm, which made for a lovely tea that also assisted with digestive issues.
She didn’t want to be too forward and ask Mrs. Barlow for a chance to harvest her plants, but she couldn’t help her excitement at seeing the potential of just some of the herbs she could identify.
Prim bent down and gave one of the herbs a small sniff. She smiled in recognition. “How did you manage to find mint out here?”
“I brought it with me. And I’m sure you know just how quickly it can grow, regardless of the conditions.” Miranda looked at the garden. “The soil here can only allow for certain plants to grow, but mint always seems to thrive wherever it’s been planted.”
She paused for a moment and gave Prim a somewhat sheepish look. “I might have invited you on the pretense that you would assist me with the harvest. I usually work this patch alone, but when I heard about you, I thought it’d be a great opportunity to share what I have planted here with you as well. Two birds, one stone, as many say.”
Prim looked back and forth from the mint to Miranda. “Are you sure I can have some?”
“I would be remiss not to offer you any. I’m sure you’d find better use for it than I. I’ve heard tales of your balms and tinctures, so I’m sure mint would give you a much more diverse way to assist your patients.”
She was right. Mint had a cooling sensation that Prim was sure she could work with in her balms. And mint tea was a common cure for upset stomachs, so she could peddle her wares to assist with long nights at the tavern or to sailors trying to find their land legs. Her excitement must have shown on her face because Miranda’s grin widened and she looked as though she might laugh.
They spent the rest afternoon out in the garden, Prim getting her skirt stained with dirt and loving every second of it. Miranda was good company, seeming very curious about the stories Prim could share about her time at sea. Prim liked talking to her, even if the other woman didn’t share much about herself. It was nice to be able to speak as herself and regale a few of the tales from the Apple that shaped her into the person she had become.
By the time Miranda got up and wiped her brow, the sun was far lower in the sky than Prim expected.
“I appreciate the help. It would have taken me part of tomorrow to finish this, but with your help, I might be able to take a day of rest,” Miranda said, holding out a bundle of mint from what they’d harvested. “Your payment for your assistance.”
Prim took it with glee, unable to stop herself from burying her nose into the leaves and inhaling a scent she thought she’d never have the chance to smell again. It was comforting and settled her mind, something familiar from nearly a decade ago.
“I would like to call on you again,” Miranda said, “Or you can come to visit at your leisure. I hardly venture towards the coast, so it would be lovely to have something to look forward to.”
“Would you want me to send correspondence if I was to decide to come on a particular day?” Prim asked, settling the bundle of mint into her bag.
Miranda shook her head. “I don’t travel much from my cabin, so if you do visit and don’t find me here, I would be out in the fields helping another family with their harvest.” She moved closer and clasped her hands around Prim’s. “I would like for us to be friends, Primrose, and so long as you’re on this island, you are welcome into my home with open arms.”
There was something about Mrs. Barlow that made Prim feel at ease. She squeezed the woman’s hands back. “I would like that too,” she said, “very, very much.”
--------
The sun was setting as she headed back to The Inn. The day had cooled significantly and Prim tried to enjoy the breeze while it lasted. She passed by her book vendor, giving him a small wave. He nodded in acknowledgement as he packed up his things for the day.
The street was quiet, a sight that Prim enjoyed. If there was quiet, there was no need for bloodshed or violence. No wounds she needed to pack, no crews fighting amongst themselves. Her services wouldn’t be needed this evening.
“What’s a fine lass like you doing out here all alone?”
Prim stopped in her tracks, turning to the man who addressed her. He stood just a few inches taller than her, his hair a long, sandy blond. What struck her was his right eye; there was a deep scar that extended from the side of his cheek to just above his eyelid and his eye had lost its color due to it. In the setting sun, the shadow on the right side of his face looked more sunken.
Prim had to stop herself from asking about the vision in his eye out of medical curiosity. This man most likely saw her as just a woman out for a stroll and she needed to present herself as one. With all of the rumors on the street, she didn’t need him to think of her as anything more than a young woman looking to get home. “I’ve just been inland and am heading home. An escort isn’t needed.”
The man’s eyes flicked from her to The Inn behind her. “I see. Don’t think I’ve seen you around the place.”
Prim smiled, attempting to remain polite. “I do apologize, but I must make sure that I return or the Madame will be angry.”
The man nodded. “I won’t keep you. Your stature makes me think you’re well paid for your services, if I might be so bold as to say.”
Oh, he was a flatterer. Prim’s lips formed a thin line in an attempt not to grimace. “My services at The Inn aren’t of that nature. I do appreciate the compliment, regardless.” She took another step back, feeling that if she turned away, this man wouldn’t let her leave.
The man’s eyes widened, a strange gesture with the sunken state of his right eye. “So you’re the witch that’s been on everyone’s tongue, then?” he said, advancing towards her, “I’ve heard so many stories about you. Quite a reputation you’ve built up here.”
Prim tried to keep her composure, tried not to flinch at the moniker, but couldn’t help herself when she took another step away from him.
The man stopped moving, seeming to know how he was presenting himself. “My apologies, I’m sure that those stories are hurtful to your reputation. I was merely relaying information that I’d heard, there was no offense I wished to impart.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” she said, “but as you can see, it is quite late, and I shouldn’t dally any longer.”
His gaze raked up her body again and, with great speed, he caught her left wrist in his hand. Prim tried to move away, but his grip was too strong as he pulled her closer to him.
“I might visit you,” he whispered, breath hot against her cheek, “This island is one of opportunities, is it not? I’m sure there are things that I could ask of you that you’d be able to handle.”
“Sir, you’re hurting me.”
He let go of her wrist in an instant, holding his hands up in surrender. “It wasn’t my intention, lass. I’ll let you be on your way, then.”
Prim didn’t wait for him to turn and leave. She turned towards The Inn and ran down the street to the entryway.
Chapter 10: Discretion
Summary:
Another spark of inspiration chapter that’s on the shorter side. Let Prim have nice things before stuff gets messy (spoiler!!!)!!! And let’s actually have a session with one of her patients to show how she works!
Thank you again for all of the kudos and comments!! You guys are awesome! And just for being awesome, today is double upload day! Enjoy!!!
Chapter content warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, mentions of nausea and vomiting
As of May 8th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Chapter Text
Prim’s entrance to The Inn had little fanfare, only a few of the girls giving her waves as she beelined straight to her room. She shut the door, only to hear a knock at it before she could even set her bag down.
“Come in,” she called, making a valiant effort to keep her voice from shaking.
Idelle and Hannah entered, hands grasped around hairbrushes and a few small baubles. Their looks of glee immediately faded when they saw Prim’s pinched expression.
“Dove, what’s happened?” Hannah asked, rushing to her side.
Idelle moved slowly, but looked vicious. “Did that inland bitch do something to you?” she hissed, “I should have never let you go alone if I thought that she’d-”
“It wasn’t her,” Prim said, making sure to stop that train of thought before it made its way out of Idelle’s mouth. She relaxed in Hannah’s embrace, calming herself. There was nothing she needed to worry about within The Inn’s walls. If anything, she knew she was free to tell the girls what had happened without fear of judgment.
Hannah moved her over to one of the chairs, settling Prim down to face the table while she pulled up one to sit behind her. “You can tell us what happened,” Hannah said, “but no one hurt you, did they?”
Prim shook her head, taking a look down at where the man had grabbed her wrist. He hadn’t held on tight enough to bruise, but she could still feel his grip there. Idelle’s gaze followed her.
“Did someone proposition you?” she asked, setting her things down on the table and taking up the other chair to sit next to Prim. Hannah hadn’t sat down yet, gently running her fingers through Prim’s hair in a soothing motion.
“He tried, could see my discomfort, but then hinted that he’d find a way to visit me. I thought men weren’t supposed to proposition ladies outside of The Inn or the tavern?”
“They’re not,” Idelle said, “and especially shouldn’t to any of the newer girls. What’d he look like? I can see if Max and Jack can get him banned.”
“Tall, light hair, right eye and that side of his face scarred,” Prim said, “I don’t think I’ve seen him around the street before.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose, grabbing her brush from the table. “I remember him coming in here a week ago. Max said he paid for some information about a prize off the coast of Florida.”
“Of course he did,” Idelle said, grabbing her own brush and scooting her chair closer to Prim, “I swear, Max would be able to charm a beggar out of the clothes off their back if it’d get her some money.”
“Hush about all that,” Hannah muttered and Prim felt she was intruding on a common conversation between the two. “Now, dove, Idelle told me you wanted another braid?”
Having the girls do her hair was becoming one of Prim’s favorite things. She knew nothing of fashion, outside of the dresses that the girls deemed would look proper on her, and apparently hair styling was its own form of fashion.
She’d seen Anne Bonny with small beads braided into parts of her hair (and it was a wonder she even saw that, with how often the woman was either out of the brothel or keeping her hat down so low Prim had to wonder how she was able to see). She wondered if Jack braided them into her hair or if she did it herself. The answer would most likely come from Anne, but Prim couldn’t help but be a little afraid to ask her something so personal.
This time, Hannah was trying something new, working with a few smaller braids to weave in a bead or two. Prim had expressed that if something happened that she needed to tie her hair up for, she didn’t want anything getting caught. The beads were flatter, more flush with her hair than a circular bead would have been.
Idelle was working on a larger plait that stretched down near the edge of her collar, working the smaller braids into it. It was a little stiff, but Prim preferred it over something that could easily get in the way of her work. She closed her eyes, feeling at peace. She could hear the muffled sound of a fiddle player striking up a tune on the lower floor outside her door.
Prim didn’t realize she was almost falling asleep until Idelle shook her shoulder gently.
“Don’t drift off yet, you need to see our masterpiece,” she said, grinning wide. Hannah held up her small mirror for Prim to see.
From the angle she was at, she could only see the sides of the braid, but she was entranced by the small braids that Hannah had made, glittering with scale-like beads along the larger braid. She moved the mirror every which way, just so she could see everything and try to piece the entire reflection together.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, unable to stop herself from tearing up.
“It’s the woman that makes the style,” Hannah recited, probably something she’d heard from another one of the girls, “but it is probably my best work. You keep that in for as long as you can, hear me?”
Prim nodded, handing back the mirror to her.
“It’s getting late,” Idelle said, letting out a yawn, “You best get some rest before tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Prim said, smiling brightly as Idelle and Hannah headed back out into the brothel. Prim felt along the back of her head one last time, still giddy, then went to light the lanterns and candles in her room to settle in for a, hopefully, quiet evening.
Her door opened with a loud slam and Prim looked up to see a woman standing there.
“They say you’re a physician?” the woman asked. Prim could immediately tell that there was something wrong, the woman’s face too pale and looking nearly green. She was holding her stomach against a nearly threadbare dress that hung a bit too tight around her middle.
“Please,” Prim said, gesturing to one of the chairs, “Sit for a moment and catch your breath. What’s ailing you?”
The woman sat down and leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. “It’s like I’m on a ship all the time. Can’t find proper footing and I’m ready to heave every few minutes.”
“How long have you felt like this? Is this something new or have you been having this feeling for more than a week?”
“Oh, far more than a week. At first, it was just trouble keeping some food down from time to time, but now it’s hard to even move.”
The symptoms were very common and, just to make sure, Prim asked as politely as she could, “And how long was it since your last menses?”
The woman tilted her head back up to look at Prim and paused, her mouth opening and closing as the realization dawned on her. “Well fuck me, I just thought I gained a bit of weight.”
“How long, ma’am?” Prim asked again. This was important information.
“I’d say three months, maybe four?” The woman looked down at her stomach. “Told that bastard I wasn’t feeling right. Told me it was just because I was getting too fat.”
Prim nodded, moving towards the back of the room, taking her bag with her. She took out the mint she’d harvested with Miranda. She’d love to have the time to dry it properly, but fresh would still do the trick. She plucked a handful of leaves and turned back to the woman.
“You’re most likely right in the middle of your pregnancy,”she said, sitting across from the woman, “so you’ll be more inclined to vomit and feel sick to your stomach as the baby keeps growing. However, it is important to get your stomach settled so that you’re able to eat enough food to help you and your baby be healthy. I’d like to test something, if you wouldn’t mind?”
She held out her hand with the mint leaves, plucking one out of her palm with her other hand.
“This is mint. You can find it in a few of the teas that Ms. Guthrie serves at her tavern and has in her storehouses. I need you to take a few leaves and chew them, then swallow.”
The woman looked at the leaves, then back to Prim. “...you serious?”
“Yes,” Prim said, “They have a sharp, cooling taste and may numb your tongue a bit, but I’d like to see if they can help your stomach.”
The woman nodded and took a few of the leaves out of Prim’s hand. She dutifully stuffed them in her mouth and chewed, making a surprised noise.
“Feels cold, but not.”
“That’s the oil from the leaves. If you’re tasting it now, you can swallow.”
The woman swallowed and sat still for a moment. Prim could see the change in her demeanor as quickly as the mint was doing its work. The woman looked at her with shock.
“My stomach feels better. Better than it has in days. Was just a few leaves enough to calm it?”
Prim nodded. “I’ll give you a batch of the leaves so that you can chew them before your meals. They’ll calm your stomach down enough for you to eat, though the aftertaste of the mint mixed with other food might not be as pleasant. If the leaves start to dry out, you can place them in cheesecloth to make tea with them, which will have the same effect.”
The woman smiled and got up from her seat, now a bit more steady on her feet and cautiously holding her stomach. “I don’t think I can thank you enough,” she said as Prim headed to the back of her room to collect more mint for the woman to take with her.
“I’m just glad I was able to help,” Prim said, handing over the bag of leaves. “I’ll escort you out and get you sorted with the Madame.”
Prim lead the woman out into the brothel, looking around to try and find Max amongst the crowd. The fiddler was still playing, a group of people surrounding him with girls on their laps and cups in their hands. She could see Anne lurking in the shadows right underneath the staircase and next to her was Max. Prim never saw the two together much, especially not without Jack, so it was surprising to see the two of them alone.
“Right over there,” she said, pointing out Max to the woman, “Just tell her you got some tea from me and she’ll let you know how much to pay.”
The woman gave her a wide smile and, to Prim’s delight, gave her a hearty slap on the back. “You know, you’re not at all what the street says about you. If anyone says otherwise, know you have a satisfied customer.”
Prim smiled and watched the woman head towards Max, satisfied that she had done some good today.
Returning to her room, she noticed another woman standing right by the table. When the woman turned around, Prim couldn’t help but feel her stomach drop.
Eleanor Guthrie wore her blonde hair up in a loose bun, bits of it falling out of place and onto her regal looking face. The dress she wore was simple, made more for comfort than fashion. With a tavern to run and places to be throughout the day, Prim figured she needed to wear things that were easy to move in.
“Is everything alright, Ms. Guthrie?” she asked, taking a hesitant step forward. They’d never truly met, but Prim was sure Eleanor knew what her role was in the brothel.
The woman before her looked conflicted, mouth screwed into a scowl and not meeting her eyes.
“Can I ask for your discretion?” Eleanor asked after a few moments. The question sounded more like an order.
Prim nodded, immediately moving around the room to grab her bag, snatching up a few other supplies as she went. If Eleanor Guthrie was at her door, something big had happened. She wasn’t going to question it now, but it amazed her that after all the time she’d been in town, she was finally being called on by the head of New Providence Island’s trade.
Eleanor led her to the tavern, weaving through the gathering throng without issue, her shoulders set and rigid. The people seemed to part for her and Prim had to keep pace in order not to be swallowed by the growing throng.
The upper floor of the tavern included a section of larger tables, a door that led out onto a balcony that was connected by a bridge to The Inn, and a collection of rooms, ranging from heavily furnished meeting rooms to bedrooms that people could use to stay for a time. Eleanor led Prim towards one of the closed bedroom doors and placed a hand on the knob.
“Do I have your word that you are not to breathe a single thing about what you find here?” she asked. Prim nodded, her heart pounding hard in her ears. What was she going to see once she entered the room?
Eleanor opened the door and Prim nearly dropped her bag.
“Fuck.”
Chapter 11: The Long Night
Summary:
Double upload!! This might not happen often, but know that I do try to skip around the different chapters if the inspiration strikes.
A bit of divergence here. Since this takes place the same night that Ned Low talked to Eleanor, I’d like to think that she needed to get some stuff out of her system after her visit to the fort and that other people took advantage. Maybe not in a physical way, but Vane may have been someone she called upon (or he made an assumption because it’s Eleanor). Hence why Charles was at the meeting the morning after. He had to have known she needed his support in more ways than one, but decided to take a chance before dawn broke.
…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Enjoy what I came up with~
Chapter content warnings: mentions of blood, injury, bodily harm, stitching up wounds
As of May 8th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!!
Chapter Text
The room looked like the site of a massacre. The walls were spattered with streaks of blood, the mattress carved open and raining straw and feathers. A small mirror was shattered into dozens of glittering shards that crunched under her feet as she walked in.
Five men were tossed about the room, puddles of dark blood underneath them seeping into the floorboards. The men were prone or leaning up against the walls, a few groaning as she entered.
Prim didn’t hesitate long and jumped into action. She ran to one of the men on the floor, the puddle beneath him far larger than the rest. Her time on the Apple came back to her as easily as if it was yesterday, Harold’s voice echoing in her mind as she sorted through an inventory of injuries she would be dealing with.
The first man was the worst, two large wounds on his leg and just under his armpit. No time to stop the bleeding completely, the wounds needed to be stitched or he’d keep losing blood. Wipe, stitch, wipe, stitch, just keep moving until it’s done. Worry about sanitizing later.
She moved to a man that was holding his side, seeing a bullet hole that went straight through to his back. Prim packed the wound with bandages, checking for any other visible wounds. Seeing just a few bruises, she moved to the next man.
Bruises, cutlass stab through the arm, but not all the way through. Quick patch to stop the blood, would need better cleaning when she had access to alcohol. Multiple bruises on face, but nothing broken or dislocated.
Another, nicked in the neck, trouble breathing. Check his chest, small crack or fracture to a rib. Could heal with time, needed to take him in for observation. Neck wound is shallow cut, already stopped bleeding.
Last one, bleeding through his clothing, no cuts to be found on his shirt, but a few on his trousers. Under his shirt, a large shallow cut on stomach. No other major wounds on chest or legs other than superficial cuts. Face clear of bruises and cuts. She needed to stop the bleeding on his stomach before stitching.
A warm hand on hers, squeezing just enough to get her to focus. Bright blue eyes focused on her face, familiar and full of concern.
Prim took a deep breath.
She blinked, her mind catching up with what she was doing. Harold had taught her that when she was treating wounds that bled, she needed to be quick and precise. Nothing should take her focus away from her work, even if the patient was thrashing around or yelling oaths in her face. Prim had learned to tune out the world around her as she worked. Although it was great when working on borrowed time to save a life, it took a few minutes for her to return to herself after being in that headspace.
And so, she came back to the present with her hands on Charles Vane’s stomach, the last of her bandages under her fingers to staunch the blood flow. His right hand was on hers, squeezing the back of her hands. He was gritting his teeth and she eased up on the pressure she had against his stomach.
Prim looked to see the other men she’d treated, propped up against the wall. They were all still breathing, which was enough to satisfy her. Eleanor was next to the closed door of the room, glaring daggers at the men against the wall.
“Ms. Guthrie, can you please get these men some water?” Prim asked, her voice sounding distant in her own ears as she turned to the other woman.
Eleanor looked to her, then back to the men. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Everyone here has lost a lot of blood and the best way to get that replenished is with water.”
“I’m not going to just-”
“Unless you want me to go out of the room and leave you here with these men, then please get me some water.” Prim couldn’t help the anger entering her voice. The grip on her hand grew tighter, but she ignored it.
Eleanor didn’t hesitate a moment longer and headed out the door and down the hall. Prim felt Vane move under her fingers and heard him groan in pain.
“Pressing too hard,” he muttered.
Prim didn’t let up. “I need to stop the bleeding before I stitch you up. And the best way to do that is pressure.”
The room was silent for a moment, the only sounds were the heavy breathing of the wounded men. Charles moved his hand off of hers and she lifted the bandage to check on the bleeding. The wound was large, but shallow, crossing from the right side of his stomach to the top of his left hip. Even with its size, the pressure from her hands had done enough to slow the bleeding.
Eleanor returned quickly with freshwater for the men, which Prim made sure was administered to each, kneeling next to the men on the floor. The one with the cracked rib had a bit of trouble, but he didn’t choke, so she knew he was going to be alright.
“So,” Prim said, getting up from the floor, “I know two of you from Captain Hornigold’s crew. You two…I can’t place your faces, but I’m sure you’ve been in the brothel. All of you are going to follow me there for further treatment.” She turned to Eleanor, who had slowly drifted closer to Charles. “Ms. Guthrie, I’ll be back to stitch Mr. Vane’s wound once I get more thread. Please keep him here for the time being.”
“Don’t need no witch to heal us,” one of the men muttered. Another one let out a wet cough and spat at her feet, blood and spittle leaving a stain on the ground near her shoe.
“A shame,” Prim said, now thoroughly fed up, “You can take my offer to help or leave it. Unless you’d like me to escort you to Captain Hornigold right now and let you explain to him what you were doing here. I’ll leave you to suffer and heal on your own and I can promise that the pain you feel will be on par with the blow to your pride at being dismissed.”
“I’ll be sure to let the Captain know all about this come morning,” Eleanor interjected, “This will not go unpunished.”
Vane gave Eleanor a quizzical look as the men shuffled to their feet. Prim could tell there was something he was concerned about, but figured it’d be best to give Vane and Eleanor the space to talk it out. It didn’t take much hustling to get the men out the door and down the steps, the crowd in the tavern paying them hardly any mind.
-----
It was completely dark by the time Prim made it back to the tavern, the four men properly tended to and were either already headed back to the beach or resting on her cots at The Inn.
The lower tavern floor was full to bursting with customers now, drunks swaying between the tables and leaning against the bars. She dodged a few spills and headed towards the stairs that led to the rooms.
Prim had enough time to piece together what had happened in the room: Eleanor and Vane were most likely together, then were ambushed by the four men. There’d most likely been confusion, the men probably didn’t expect Eleanor to have company. There was something that didn’t make sense, but she decided to drop it in favor of getting the men out of the tavern and into The Inn in one piece.
Eleanor nearly ran into her as she stormed down the stairs, her face red.
“Ms. Guthrie? Are you al-”
“Come find me in my office and I’ll send someone up to clean the room, but only once Vane is out of it.” She didn’t stop to say anything more and Prim watched as she moved quickly from the stairs to a large set of doors on the first floor, slamming them behind her.
Prim headed up the stairs alone, clutching her bag now refilled with supplies. She opened the door without knocking.
Vane was laid out on the remainder of the mattress, eyes closed and a hand over his face. He cracked one eye open to watch her enter.
“I assume Eleanor’s down in her office?” he asked, voice sounding hoarse. He dropped his hand and moved his head to face her. His braids were coming undone, bits of his hair falling along his cheek. Prim still couldn’t believe the duality that this man presented, especially after seeing firsthand what he’d done to four men all on his own.
“Yes, I’m to inform her of when you’ve left the room.”
Vane turned his head and closed his eyes again. “Well, have at it then. Stitch me up and then I’ll head back to the fort.”
Prim nodded and headed towards the mattress, taking a seat next to him. “Lift up your shirt for me. Or just take it off if you don’t want more blood on it.”
Vane moved to pull up the corners of his shirt and folded it up onto his chest so that the wound was visible. Prim placed her bag on the floor near the mattress, taking out a spool of black thread and a fish hook shaped needle. She unwound a bit of the thread, biting it off the spool once she thought it was long enough.
“What was all of that earlier?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Prim’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You seemed to lose yourself as soon as you walked into the room. Too focused on what you were doing for any sweet talk or bedside manner.” He shifted on the bed, adjusting his shirt, still keeping his eyes closed. “But when I took your hand, you were back.”
“Call it a symptom of my past,” she said, “I can focus too much.” She bit her lip as an excuse to hold the needle while she looked for thread, hating how she felt the need to still dance around her past. “Grounding myself keeps me in the present, but there are times I forget. Your hand on mine was enough.”
Vane hummed. “Sounds like it could get dangerous.”
“I’m sure it could,” she said, threading her needle and tying a knot at the end of the thread, “This is going to hurt, so please try to stay still. The more you flinch, the longer this will take.”
Vane shifted himself again, lying as flat as he could on the mattress. His breathing seemed to slow, making the rise and fall of his stomach easy to predict. Prim took the needle and started her stitch, not at all surprised that he didn’t so much as move under her. The way he positioned himself told her that he’d done this before. Now that she was looking down at his bare skin, the thin lines of scars criss crossing his stomach and torso made it clear he’d endured the needle before, or at the very least had wounds he’d endured without proper care.
She was silent as she continued to move back and forth along the cut. She was glad she’d been able to stop the bleeding before she left for thread. It made it much easier and far quicker to stick up a non-bleeding wound than a bleeding one. Made the seams of skin easier to find and press together.
“Surprised that you didn’t faint as soon as you got in the door,” Vane said, opening his eyes and tilting his head just enough to watch her work.
“What I’ve seen tonight is a far cry from the worst injuries I’ve treated.” Being on a ship had exposed her to some of the worst injuries she’d ever seen; compared to that, stitching up a cut was nothing.
“Your hand is steady,” he continued, “You don’t see that often, even with some of the seamstresses on the island.”
“Again, call it a product of my past,” Prim muttered. She was trying to make sure her stitches were even. The last thing she needed was to catch on the open wound and stab into Vane’s gut while he talked. She’d heard stories of his strength in battle, if threatened, she knew he could kill her easily.
“You never said how you learned your craft.”
“Do you talk to everyone that stitches your wounds this much?”
“To be fair, it’s been a long while since I’ve let anyone stitch me up.”
“Then I’ll thank you for allowing me to mend you.” She tilted her face up to meet his gaze, straightening her shoulders. “Now, you made it clear this afternoon that I don’t know much about you to assume anything, so I would like to extend that same advice to you. Give me a bit of silence so I can focus or I’ll pack up and leave right now.”
One of Vane’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that a threat, witch?”
Prim gripped the needle tighter, pulling the thread taught. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“A promise, but it can become a threat if you ever call me that again.”
Vane’s lip ticked up in a smirkk. “A sore subject, it seems. Any truth behind it?”
There was that predator’s grin again and Prim had to muster her frustration. She realized that this was how he got his way: he knew exactly where to pick at someone’s defenses, to make them squirm and lash out so that he’d be able to worm his way past them with words or with fists.
There was more to him than that. Prim knew he had the strength to back up whatever threat he made, but there was something lingering beneath the different masks he chose to share with her. And he was surely taking every bit of information she gave him to use against her in the future, so she needed to keep things short.
“Maybe,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “The term’s used as both title and insult here and it’s hard to tell the difference. Maybe you can ask Idelle about it, since you two are so chummy.”
Vane didn’t reply and shut his eyes. Prim took her time to finish the stitching as evenly as possible, biting the thread and tying it off flush against Vane’s skin. She looked at his face, expecting him to check her work or study her again, but his eyes were still closed. She waited a moment before hearing a soft snore.
Prim almost wanted to laugh. Out of all the patients she treated, one had never fallen asleep while she stitched them up. She nudged his leg, just above his boots. He didn’t stir.
“Vane.” She nudged harder, knocking his leg against the side of the bed.
“Hmm?”
“C’mon, you’re done. Time to get out of here so this room can get cleaned.”
Prim packed away her supplies as Vane sat up on the bed, stretching just a bit as if to test out the stitches. Prim could see most of his stomach and just the barest peek of his chest as his shirt lifted. She’d been so focused on her task that it took her a moment to realize that she had had a very muscular man underneath her fingers. She looked down at her bag, attempting to appear that she hadn’t been openly ogling him.
Vane stood up from the bed, moving his shirt down. He headed towards the door first, but paused before he opened it, his hand hesitating on the knob. Prim remained seated as he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
“I offended you,” he said, his voice soft, “earlier today and while you were treating me now. The times that we’ve crossed paths usually have you mending me and I’ve been nothing but ungrateful. For that and for my comments, I apologize.” He kept his eyes trained on her face, as though waiting for her to interrupt him. He looked almost sincere and something warm settled in Prim’s chest.
That was one of the last things she expected him to say. She got up from the mattress and moved towards Vane, noticing how he tensed minutely as she got within arm’s length. She held out her hand.
“Apology accepted. And I also apologize for my harsh words, both this evening and this afternoon. I hope you can forgive me.”
Vane looked down at her hand and clasped it in his own. His hand was calloused and rough, but large enough that her own hand was encompassed in his warmth. Slowly, meeting her gaze, he lifted it up and bent down to place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.
Prim had to take a moment to remember to breathe. His lips were slightly chapped and dry, but just as warm as his hand was. She didn’t pull away until he raised himself back up and let go of her hand.
“I look forward to more conversations with you,” he said, giving her a sharp grin before turning to head out the door.
Chapter 12: The Start to a Long Day
Summary:
Another aftermath chapter.
But yes, we’re getting into a bit more of the feelings that Prim might have towards Vane (FINALLY!!). I know it took me a bit to get here, but I appreciate you guys hopping along on the journey with me!
I appreciate the comments and kudos you’ve been leaving too!! It keeps me wanting to finish this in a timely manner instead of putting it on hold for over a decade and feel bad about never getting back into it (that won’t happen, not with this one).
I’ll be going on vacation for the next week, but I’ll have my laptop with me to add to this as I see fit. But I did want to let you know in case there is a delay! Manager jobs are exhausting and I’m probably going to want to eat all day then sleep while I’m on the beach.
Chapter Text
Prim was sitting in the tavern, nursing a large mug of tea. Through the open windows, she could see the sun beginning to crest over the horizon. Her hands shook as she sipped her drink, both exhaustion and what had happened the previous night settling on her body and mind.
God, what had she gotten herself into? Private calls from Eleanor Guthrie? Talks of discretion when there were crews actively seeking retribution? Bloodshed because of a dispute with how things were being run? Charles Vane, who was to be an equal member of the Consortium, found in her room?
Nassau was proving much more dangerous than she expected and its politics were drawing her deeper into a place she didn’t want to be.
And then there was Vane. Vane, who had, without warning, apologized to her? Vane, who after maiming four armed men into submission, had felt at ease with her enough to fall asleep? Vane who had-
Prim stopped herself, feeling how warm her face was getting. There had to be some sort of reason he did what he did. She couldn’t take the things he said and the way he acted at face value. He had been digging for information, Idelle said he found her interesting, there had to be a motive. But she couldn’t deny the ache in her chest that, even now, threatened to place Vane’s actions in a rose-colored light.
She shook her head and took a moment to center herself. The scent of the tea in her hands was calming; black tea, from what her nose could gather. Bohea, maybe? Definitely something from a ship coming from Asia. She’d have to ask the kitchen staff where they got it and try to convince Jack to buy some for her to mix with the mint she procured.
Prim’s thoughts were interrupted by Eleanor approaching her table, holding a serving tray with a pitcher of what she could clearly smell was rum. Maybe it was time for something a bit stronger.
“Ms. Guthrie,” Prim said, nodding, “Top me off, please?”
The other woman hesitated before pouring a bit of rum into Prim’s raised cup, then settled into the seat in front of her. She looked as tired as Prim felt, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the growing light of dawn.
“How was he?” Eleanor asked.
Prim took a healthy swig from her cup, loving how the richness of the tea melded with the bite of the rum. “Stable. I took the liberty of informing your staff about his leaving.” In truth, Prim had no clue how she could face Eleanor without taking time to calm her racing heart from what occurred before she left the room. “I understand your need for secrecy, but could you do me the courtesy to tell me what the fuck I walked into?”
Eleanor bit her lip, looking a bit guilty. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s been more than a few crews that have entered Nassau and believe they can usurp my rule on the island. Those men were most likely convinced by those crews and attempted to ambush me, but Charles was in the room with me.”
Prim nodded. “And I’m guessing, just from the state of him, that you and he were in a bit of a…compromising situation.”
“No, nothing like that.”
Prim frowned and tried very hard to not roll her eyes.
“Either that, or Mr. Vane had purposefully removed his shirt before the fight, since his shirt had no rips or tears from the cuts he received, but his trousers did.” She watched Eleanor’s face turn pink.
“Let me ask you this, did you put his clothing back on after the attack or did he?”
The other woman bit her lip again, remaining silent. Prim wanted to smack her.
“You asked for my discretion and I have given you my word. If you cannot trust me after I stitched up five men, four of which were after your life, then I don’t know if there’s any other way I can convince you.”
“He came into the room and took off his shirt,” Eleanor finally muttered, “Nothing happened. He was the one who redressed before you came.”
“Thank you,” Prim said, “He needs to relax for at least three days. No hard labor, nothing strenuous, or he’ll pop his stitching and go bleeding all over the place.”
Eleanor gave her a confused stare. “Why not tell him yourself?”
Prim tried not to blush or stumble over her words at why the explanation never made it to Vane’s ear. “If tonight was any indication, I thought you’d want to know, especially if you two decide to take a tumble.”
The other woman scoffed. “He is a part of this island’s Consortium, I’m never going to be ‘taking a tumble’ with him again. There’s no preferential treatment to any of its members.”
Prim took another sip, letting the rum settle on her tongue before swallowing. There was a part of her, the part that existed long before the Apple that would have her believe what Eleanor was saying. The other part knew that things were never that simple when it came to affections in Nassau.
“Still, now you know. And you can tell him before or after your Consortium meeting today, if you wish. If you’ll excuse me.”
She stood up from the table, stretching out to feel her back crack.
“Payment for these procedures should be left with Max. Or Jack, if you can’t find her,” Prim said, giving Eleanor a small smile, “I’ll most likely be with patients or out of The Inn if you arrive. Good day, Ms. Guthrie and I hope it is a pleasant one.”
-------
“There’s something bothering you,” Miranda said, setting down a china cup filled with warm tea in front of Prim. “You look tired.”
Prim couldn’t even begin to describe what the past day had been like for her. She should have slept when she got back from Eleanor’s tavern, but she still had the men from the fight to watch over. She was able to send three of them off, the last one with the rib issue needed more time to recover. He was still resting on one of her cots, expressly told not to move and to sleep while she went out and attempted to shake off the night’s events. If he felt better, he was to send for someone to escort him to the beach where his Captain was stationed.
Mr. Scott, an older man with six lines burned into his cheeks, had come to her room earlier with news that once the last man had recovered, all of them were to be shipped off the island. Apparently, all four of them were under Hornigold’s command and he was doing what he could to save his reputation and get his position back as part of the Consortium. Eleanor had told him what occurred and he was releasing them from his service before getting them on the next boat off New Providence to Port Royale.
Instead of taking that news and allowing herself to rest, she’d decided to take on Miranda’s open invitation, hoping that getting away from the street would help her settle and get her mind off of everything.
Vane kept working his way into her thoughts, making it hard for her to appreciate the company she was with. She set her cup down with a sigh, placing her face in her hands.
“Last night was a bit of a first for me. I had a ‘house call’ for the first time and it was...not what I expected.” As much as she wanted to tell Miranda all about who hired her, she wanted to keep her word to Eleanor that she wouldn’t reveal too much.
Mrs. Barlow hummed in consideration. “I’ve had my fair share of tough cases, especially when I first settled here. I may not have seen the type of injuries that you had while at sea, but I’ve had dealings with…difficult people.”
Prim dropped her hands and reached for her cup. She should have found a way to take some of Eleanor’s rum for the road, she felt far too sober for this conversation.
She had seen a lot of injuries while on the Apple and Harold had made sure she had knowledge of what could happen to the human body if a wound or illness was left untreated. The books he kept in his cabin had enough illustrations to strike fear into the heart of a pirate and Prim remembered needing to take a few moments between pages in order to keep her wits about her. Still, the Apple ’s sailors had only minor injuries from scuffles and the occasional attacks, nothing that required her to fear for someone’s life.
Prim sighed, taking a large sip of her tea and attempting to think of a topic that wouldn’t have her dwelling on her profession. Thoughts of Vane cropped up at that opportunity and she set her cup down with a grimace.
If there was someone to ask about troubles of the heart, why not someone who she knew wouldn’t go gossiping to each and every corner of the island?
“You said there was a man in your life, correct?” Prim asked.
“Yes.” A look of sadness passed along Miranda’s face. “But, things are complicated.”
Prim sipped her tea to keep herself from pressing further. She decided to take a different approach, one that was hopefully happier for Miranda to recall instead of taking her down a regretful path.
“What was the moment that made you realize you had feelings towards him?”
The older woman smiled into her teacup. “I would say that it isn’t a moment, but a collection of them. He was magnetic; as soon as I met him, it was like the world was letting us have more time to spend together to get to know one another. I’m sure it’s like that for many people. You begin to notice the effect that he has on your life that makes you want to get closer to him and can see him sharing in your future.”
Prim was aware of a few rumors that swirled around Mrs. Barlow and her relationship with the pirate Captain Flint. Prim had never met the man, only hearing about him leaving the day she arrived on New Providence Island. He had a reputation for being stubborn to a fault, his quartermaster being the only one that could keep him in line and steer him in the right direction. He’d also been the topic of several papers that circulated around the colonies, calling him a man that would erupt into a violent fervor without rhyme or reason.
Mrs. Barlow was someone that he was often seen with when not on the beach and, with the rumors about her connection to the dark arts, people believed she had put spells on him to change his luck and keep him safe. Of course, that was pure rubbish and was most likely what garnered her the title of ‘witch’ among the residents of the island.
When Miranda spoke about the man in her life, Prim couldn’t help but wonder if she was referring to Flint or to someone else.
“I can hear you thinking,” Mrs. Barlow whispered, grinning as she set her teacup on the table, “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ve got your questions.”
Prim bit her lip and set her cup down as well. “Ma’am, I do have questions, but I want to respect your privacy.” She looked her in the eye. “You’ve respected mine as we began to speak these last few days and I don’t wish for my questions to cause you any discomfort.”
The older woman’s smile grew soft, another look of near longing passing over her face. “I truly have been blessed to have made your acquaintance. You truly are one of my dearest friends in this place.”
“Oh I’m sure there’s more people you know that you can call friends,” Prim said, feeling her face color with embarrassment. The two had known each other for a little less than a week, but Mrs. Barlow spoke to her so frankly at times it felt as though Prim had known her for longer. It felt comforting.
“Oh, you are very sweet. Now, ask your question.”
“What’s it take to get a pirate to listen to you?” Prim asked, “Maybe, not just a pirate, but a Captain?”
Mrs. Barlow’s expression turned almost girlish, grinning knowingly at the question. Prim hid her face in her hands, knowing that look from the girls at the brothel. She let out a groan. “Please don’t start.”
“You cannot just leave it at that, my dear,” the older woman said, laughter in her voice, “Tell me who you have feelings for.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what those feelings are at the moment,” Prim muttered, moving her hands so she could grasp her teacup, “Mostly intrigue, a bit of frustration, and maybe a smidgen of fancy, but nothing so untoward that he’d know I was interested in him.”
“So you say, but your descriptions are quite enough to garner attention. Let me ask, has he shown such feelings towards you?”
Prim clutched her cup a bit tighter. “Last night, I stitched him up. We had shared words before and had left things with barbs on both sides. Before he left my care, he apologized. I apologized as well and he took my hand and kissed it. And then he left.”
“Sounds like a gentleman.”
Prim couldn’t help but roll her eyes, a laugh bubbling from Miranda at the sight.
“I’m sure he could act like one, if he wished, but the times that we’ve met have shown him as someone who’s focused on how to remain strong and dangerous. But there’s things I’ve witnessed, things he’s said and done that show the tender side to him.” She took a long sip of her tea, mulling over her words. “Maybe not tender, but vulnerable? I don’t know, I think this is the first time I’ve spoken to anyone aloud about it. I don’t know how the girls at the Inn would take it and the last thing I want is for them to start gossiping.”
“Understanding a pirate is quite difficult,” Mrs. Barlow began, “There are codes they’ve adhered to, oaths they’ve sworn and it can be hard for those nor part of it to understand them. And a Captain’s responsibilities extend not just to himself, but to his crew and displaying weakness could land him without even a ship to use. Reaching the man beneath the Captain of pirates…that is a Herculean task for anyone to take on.”
“But it can be done?”
Something passed over the older woman’s face. “For that, I cannot say. I knew Captain Flint before he had ever gained that title, before he became the man he is today. I’ve known both sides of him and there are times when it takes me a few moments to know which ‘Flint’ I’m speaking to. Especially after the things he’s done to get to his current station.”
Prim’s heart couldn’t help but sink at that. “I might be a bit of a fool, then,” she said, smiling sadly, “I expected that a man who might have known about the hardships of my past would be understanding. For him, I don’t think that’s ever been something that’s crossed his mind. And maybe all of this was just a passing fancy, something to distract him from the other person that holds his attention.” She focused on her cup. “With what I’ve learned from my time here, it could be that or something completely different, but I doubt I would be able to get a straight answer out of him as things stand now.”
There was silence between them. Prim didn’t know how to break it and Miranda made no comment or gesture to dispel it.
The sound of hoofbeats broke through the stillness and Prim could see one of Nassau’s errand boys hopping off his steed before it stopped moving. She exited the cabin, heart racing at the thought he was here for her.
“You’re needed at the Guthrie tavern,” the boy said, staring intensely at her, “We cannot delay.”
Chapter 13: Attention (Charles POV)
Summary:
Second chapter with Charles! I wanted to get a little more into his head. Again, if things get a little OOC, I apologize. A part of me just wants him to be able to let his guard down for someone, especially with all of the stuff that's been happening with Eleanor at this point in the series.
I apologize for the cliffhanger for the last chapter, especially right as I was heading on vacation. I was already halfway done with this chapter, so I knew I’d get it out to you guys sooner rather than later.
I'll also be updating previous chapters with edits (my father was my beta reader and gave me a fresh perspective on a few things)~
Chapter content warnings: mentions of injury, descriptions of PTSD/anxiety from an outsider’s perspective
As of May 15, 2025, this chapter has been edited and updated!
Chapter Text
Charles left the tavern with a smirk on his face, which was enough to clear a path back out onto the street. He was sure that even though Prim had stitched him up, the bruises above his shirt and on his arms were enough to deter anyone from looking at him for too long.
Even though it’d been an hour since he’d been attacked, his blood still thrummed from the fight. He needed to fuck or fight or both and Eleanor wasn’t going to be an option.
He and Eleanor had argued after Prim left. He didn’t think that Eleanor should go to Hornigold, but she claimed she still had a duty as a part of the Consortium. It devolved into one of their usual shouting matches and she stormed out of the room without another word. He let her go, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say anything tonight to change her mood.
Prim had come back to the room shortly after Eleanor left, looking more tired than he’d ever seen her. Once again, his curiosity was piqued when she started to stitch him up. When she first entered the room, her face had gone blank, eyes focused on her work. She didn’t speak and it wasn’t until her hands were on his stomach that he knew she wasn’t really ‘there’.
Charles had seen his fair share of men on his crew and on Edward Teach’s crew that held the same look in their eyes whenever a cannon went off too close to their ears or when the sound of wood splintering cracked through the open air. They’d go stock still, sometimes not able to move without someone shaking them out of it. Teach had told him it was like their minds were stuck in a memory and they needed someone to help them break out of it.
Prim seemed to be the opposite. All she did was move, even though the way she looked at what she was treating was too focused. Too intense.
It intrigued him.
She’d told him about it when asked, so earnest in the explanation, but there was still something she wasn’t telling him. He kept asking her questions, wanting to see just how much she’d reveal. Prim seemed to understand what he wanted to know, but she met his questions with practiced deflection.
He dozed off at some point and Prim had made sure he woke up so that Eleanor could have the room cleaned. He’d seen how she averted her gaze as he stretched. Did she think that because she wasn’t a whore, it meant she had to deny herself?
And yet, the look on her face when he kissed her hand was the same one the whores got when he showed them more interest than their regular clients. There’d been a flush high on her cheeks, working its way down her neck, right to the collar of her dress. Charles wondered how far it went down her body, if it enveloped her breasts in a rosy hue or if it stopped just above them. He found that he had the urge to know and secretly hoped that she’d proposition him.
Instead, she looked at him red faced until he shut the door. He left the tavern alone and as he made his way back to the fort, he turned his thoughts away from the intriguing physician and to what tomorrow would bring.
Eleanor needed to realize that her Consortium was just a collection of cowardly men who called themselves ‘Captain’ and puttered around a table instead of going out to sea and taking what they could with their own hands. But to convince her, he needed her to understand that he was willing to take her side if necessary.
So, the next morning, Charles woke up with the sunrise. He washed himself in freshwater and redid the braids in his hair. He found a shirt and trousers that weren’t in need of a wash along with two of his nicer scarves, and placed his choker around his neck. He affixed his wrist cuffs and looked at himself in Hornigold’s mirror. Satisfied, he put on his coat and headed out of his room.
The walk from the fort to the tavern was uneventful, passerby moving out of Charles’s path as he walked. He headed up to the meeting room, grinning when he realized he was the first one there. He settled down in a seat and pulled out a bit of tobacco and rolling paper to keep himself busy while he waited for the rest of the Consortium to arrive.
------
Charles had been the first to arrive in the room, Lawrence, Frasier, and Naft filtering in a few minutes later. He was smoking his cheroot when Eleanor entered, giving her a wide grin. She paused in her greeting, clearly affected that he actually kept his word, but didn’t say anything else when she sat down opposite of him.
“I’m most eager to hear the results of Captain Lawrence’s journey,” she said, eyes still trained on him. He turned away, tuning out Lawrence’s explanations, waiting for the other man to say something of worth. If Eleanor wanted him to be serious about this, he would be if only to show her that the men she was putting her trust in weren’t made for ‘civilized business’.
“Eighty barrels of molasses, sixty-five units of rum. I can’t believe this is all we got for it.”
“If I may, ma’am,” Lawrence interjected, “I consider it a triumph I made it back here at all. I was met with great skepticism at every turn, from the merchant buyers to the customs house–”
“Your papers were properly arranged. Your payoffs were in the proper amounts,” Eleanor said, gesturing towards the purchase logs, “It was all in good order.”
“All but your family’s name, ma’am.”
Charles watched as Eleanor closed her eyes and sighed. After the stunt her father had pulled, it was a wonder that there was even money to be made in the Guthrie name.
“It is no longer in good order,” Lawrence continued, “and everyone in that harbor knew it. I was questioned for nigh on three hours the minute the customs man realized I was your agent. At a certain point, I had to frighten him into believing there would be reprisals against him personally if he were to arrest me.”
“By whom?” Charles asked, causing the four meeting members to turn to him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“By whom did you suggest there would be reprisals against him?” Charles tried to hide his smirk, but he knew the answer before Lawrence could spit it out. “Did you use Mr. Frasier’s name? Captain Naft’s, then?”
He leaned over to blunt out the end of his cheroot, making sure to catch Naft’s gaze. “I can understand how that would strike fear into the heart of any man.”
“Charles, enough,” Eleanor said, her tone suggesting she’d already realized what name Lawrence gave.
He didn’t stop, making sure Lawrence was looking him in the eye before he asked, “Or did you use mine?”
There was a beat of silence, but no argument was raised.
“You’re welcome.”
Of course they’d use his name to their advantage. It was one of the benefits of him joining the Consortium. Eleanor wanted security. His reputation offered enough that the ports and harbors knew better than to cross him. Vane and Guthrie were unequal in power and he finally held the upper hand.
Eleanor shook her head and he tried not to roll his eyes as the meeting continued.
------
The meeting concluded and as soon as the other Captains left the room, leaving Charles and Eleanor alone, he spoke again.
“You need to walk away from this.”
“Walk away?” she asked, incredulously.
“This venture is on shaky footing. How long before the street realizes this? How long before the mob is outside your door again? What happens if this time, it won’t go away?”
Eleanor’s gaze hardened with each of his questions. “Since when have you been concerned with my operation?”
“My concern is for you.”
She scoffed and the bit of his heart that she still held twitched in pain. She got up from her seat, approaching him. “I believe this is going to work. I believe you have motive to see it fail. I believe you’re angry with me. I believe you resent me.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her as she continued her vitriol. “What I do not believe, not at all, not for an instant, is that you have any concern for me.”
“I can’t protect you from this,” Charles said, softly, looking up at her. Oh, to see Eleanor full of rage and anger, but not directed at its true target was a sight to behold. It was that rage that had called to him like a moth to an open flame and he’d already received his fair share of burns from her. Still, the urge remained for him to keep going back, to find a way to bask in her light without encountering its heat. He needed to get her to understand that this would lead to nothing but Nassau’s fate to be overtaken by Spain or England once more.
“My men follow me because I serve their interests first,” he continued, “To ask them to protect a tyrant, too weak to enforce her own tyranny…I will have a very hard time convincing them that that is in their interests.”
He got up from his seat, glad that he was holding her attention and hoping that, somehow, his words would get through to her. “If you are not strong enough to protect yourself, Eleanor, then I am urging you to cease behaving as if you are.”
There was a strangled shout from the tavern below and he and Eleanor both looked toward the open stairwell. She moved first and he followed close behind, running out of the room as another shout pierced the air.
Chapter 14: Escalation
Summary:
What a long day Prim’s had.
Would be a shame if, I don’t know, something really big happened to disrupt it….
This is where things get gnarly. Rating has been updated to ‘E’ for this. If anything disturbs you, I won’t be mad if you stop reading. Take care of yourselves, okay?
Also, consider this double upload as my apology for leaving you without a chapter while I was on vacay~
Chapter content warnings: blood, extreme violence, vomiting (but not dwelling on it), aftermath of trauma and violence, shock, panic attacks, attempted assault, death
As of May 15, 2025, this chapter has been updated!!
Chapter Text
Prim had clung to the errand boy as he urged his horse faster than she’d ever ridden before. By the time they arrived at the tavern, there was a large crowd forming around the entryway that puddled out into the street. She hopped off the horse and rushed in, already smelling the metallic tang of blood from outside the building.
She couldn’t tell if it was the amount of blood that spilled across the floor, the sight of a headless body strewn beneath an overturned table, or her own exhaustion, but Prim took one look at the scene, promptly turned towards the door, and emptied her stomach out onto the stone steps in full view of the street.
She coughed, trying to rid everything from her mouth, glad to see a few people step away so that she didn’t hit them. It’d been months since she’d last gotten sick, but she’d never seen a scene as gruesome as the one in the tavern.
Prim took a deep breath and gave one last gag before wiping her mouth and running back inside, trying to see anyone that needed her help that wasn’t already dead.
Eleanor Guthrie sat on the floor near one of the entryways, cradling a man’s body on her lap. Prim ran to her side, pushing through the crowd of people and crouched on the floor next to her. There was blood around the proprietress too, staining the floor and parts of her dress, but it didn’t seem like she had been injured. Eleanor was holding the front of the man’s neck and Prim could see the fresh flow of blood that was spilling beneath her blood stained hands.
The man was already dead, eyes half lidded and clouded. Prim looked down further to see a deep slash through his shirt, along his stomach that was still freely oozing blood and bits of his insides onto the floor. Prim turned her head away from the sight, refusing to empty her stomach again, and focused on Eleanor.
The stories of Eleanor Guthrie were complimentary in their own way, focusing on her strength and stubbornness that had made her such a formidable force in Nassau as its trademaster. The woman who sat with a bloodstained dress and a dead man on her lap was not the same woman in those stories. She was crying, but her face was devoid of emotion. Her eyes looked down at the prone body, wide and lost.
Prim knew that look far too well.
She settled next to Eleanor on the ground, feeling the blood from the floor seep along her skin and into the fabric of her shoes and dress.
“Eleanor,” Prim whispered, knowing that she needed to be as gentle as possible or she’d send the other woman into a panic, “Can I help get you off the floor and somewhere more comfortable?”
“Help him,” Eleanor mumbled, “You’re a physician, you have to help me get the bleeding to stop.”
Prim tried not to sigh; Eleanor was too far gone already, not able to process the dead body beneath her hands.
“Eleanor,” she whispered, “there’s nothing I can do.” She placed her hands over Eleanor’s blood-caked ones, gently lifting them off of the man’s neck. The other woman didn’t fight her and when she turned to face Prim, she all but collapsed onto her shoulder. Prim didn’t know if Eleanor had fainted or was just overwhelmed, but she knew it wasn’t good to try and move her too quickly.
That seemed to signal to the lingering crowd that it was time to disperse. Prim watched them leave, uncomfortable looks on their faces as they passed by her and Eleanor.
The floor was empty before them, save the bodies. Eleanor hadn’t moved, her weight heavy against Prim’s side. Hot tears were dripping down her face and onto Prim’s dress as she opened her eyes.
“What have I done?” she croaked, seeming to find the strength to move off of Prim completely and just sit, facing her. Where there’d been blankness, there was now sadness, which Prim took as a good sign, even though the situation was grim.
Prim kept her hands steady on Eleanor’s and kept her voice gentle. “Unless you held the blade that caused all this, I don’t know how you can put blame on yourself.” The best thing to do would be to get Eleanor somewhere safe and out of view of the carnage around her, then give her time to settle and return to normalcy.
Prim heard footfalls and instinctively moved herself between Eleanor and the approaching figure. The last thing the tavern owner needed was unwanted provocation.
Instead, she relaxed as Charles Vane stopped a few paces away.
“Need help getting her up?” Vane whispered.
Prim nodded.
Vane was able to easily lift Eleanor off the ground, not carrying her but getting her upright. Prim stood and gently took Eleanor’s hand, movingher towards the back of the tavern.
A black woman with a patterned scarf wrapped tightly around her head approached them. She looked to Prim, then at Eleanor.
“There is a bed on this floor,” the woman said, turning back to Prim, “Follow me.”
Prim led Eleanor along until they reached a small alcove, complete with a made up bed and a few pillows. The iron bars gave Prim a moment’s pause, but she realized that it would be enough to keep Eleanor in place as she sat down.
“There we go,” Prim said, keeping her voice light, “Get yourself settled here. I’ll have someone fetch you some water and I’ll prepare some tea while you get washed up and changed.”
Eleanor didn’t even nod from her place on the bed, but Prim didn’t expect much movement from her at this point. She nodded to the woman in the headwrap and gestured for her to come close.
“Are you employed here?” she asked first. She hadn’t seen the woman the last time she was in the tavern, but that didn’t mean she didn’t work there.
“I’ve been assisting Ms. Guthrie with serving guests,” the woman said.
“Would you mind terribly if I used your kitchen?” Prim asked, “I’d rather have someone here to help Ms. Guthrie that she knows and trusts.”
“Of course,” the woman whispered, “I’ll make sure she’s redressed and washed.”
“Thank you,” Prim said, holding out her hand, “I apologize for the late introduction, but I’m Prim, a physician at The Inn. And you?”
“Eme,” the woman said, smiling slightly at Prim’s outstretched hand before clasping it in her own, “I will come get you if Ms. Guthrie has any wounds.”
The kitchen staff gave Prim a curious look as she headed into the room towards one of the open fires. She borrowed a spare kettle she found and, while she set it over the fire to boil, she took out some herbs from her bag. Miranda still had mint to spare and Prim had gotten lucky a few days before and found a small shipment of chamomile flowers out of one of the warehouses. She ground both herbs up and put them into a small cheesecloth pouch so they could steep when submerged into a mug.
The kettle needed time, so she wandered back out into the main tavern. Members of the kitchen were already out on the floor, redistributing chairs and tables back to their normal places. Another group were spilling buckets of water against the wood to ease the dried remains of the blood out of the grain. A few more were moving the remains of the two men out another exit to dispose of them.
Vane was leaning up against the bar closest to the kitchen, his back tense. Prim took her place near him, still close enough to the kitchen entrance to hear if the kettle began to whistle. She could see his arms were crossed against his chest, the fingers of his right hand digging into the meat of his arm.
“What happened?” she asked, her stomach lurching in displeasure as she watched some of the staff begin to mop up the blood. The scent wafted into her nose.
“Ned Low made a display of his quartermaster,” Vane said, nodding towards the body that hadn’t been removed from the building. “Took his head off in full view of the street and Eleanor. Made a threat that he’d want to stay here a while longer.”
His voice was tight and Prim didn’t need to see his face to know the expression it held. He was reigning in his anger and she was damned lucky that she wasn’t on its receiving end. The name he gave her made her pause.
“This wouldn’t happen to be the same Captain Low with a scar on the right side of his face? Eye sunk in?”
Prim could feel Vane’s eyes on her. “Seen him around?”
“He attempted to make my acquaintance earlier in the week and he and his crew have been in the brothel previously. He seemed very presumptuous, a charmer, but I could see there was a danger about him.” She turned to Vane, scowling. “I don’t think he’s going to stop simply with this display. What made Eleanor draw his ire?”
Vane dipped his chin. “When he first arrived, she cut his share of profits when he presented her with a cargo of tobacco packed in barrels. There’d been blood on the barrels, but he claimed it wasn’t so much that couldn’t be removed. She didn’t let up and I’m sure he never had a woman speak to him in such a way.”
“That’s quite an escalation,” Prim muttered, turning back so she leaned against the bar.
There was a beat of silence and Prim listened closely for the kettle. The scene was a little less oppressive than before, now that the blood on the floor was being cleaned up, the imminent threat becoming distant with each drop mopped up. Vane’s proximity to her made her feel much safer than being out on the street.
Prim nearly jumped when the kettle started whistling, heading back into the kitchen to pour out the water into one of the large mugs the staff had given her. She put in her makeshift tea bag and brought the mug with her out to the bar, letting it sit for a few minutes so it could infuse properly.
“Tea?” Vane asked, tilting his head to look at what she’d retrieved.
“Chamomile and peppermint. It’ll help Eleanor relax.”
Vane snorted and Prim looked at him. “Didn’t think anything but a stiff drink could do that.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure a bit of rum mixed in wouldn’t be a bad idea either. So long as it’ll calm her enough to sleep.”
Vane hummed. “Eleanor’s seen her fair share of bloodshed here. I don’t think she’ll have much of an issue.”
Prim turned to him and he turned to meet her gaze. “I’m not implying she’s going to be a withering maiden, but Eleanor might need help relaxing.”
There was a small tick of his lips. “With every meeting I have with you, I feel like I’m one of those English schoolboys listening to a lecture from a teacher. There’s always something new you’re teaching me that I couldn’t even begin to think I’d ever learn.”
She couldn’t help but give him a grin. “I’m glad I’m expanding your knowledge. Now, if you’d be so kind.” She took the cup and held it out to him. “I think she’d rather have a more familiar face than mine delivering this to her.”
Prim could see his fingers twitch, but his arms remained crossed against his chest. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because, if what you said is true, she might not see me as a friendly face that’s arrived to bring her tea.”
Again, Prim had to remind herself that the man she stood next to was a feared pirate Captain. It still amazed her that there were times she’d forget, seeing Vane as just a man with a bit of a reputation.
“Alright. I’ll see if one of the kitchen staff will take it.” Prim held the mug close, the warmth seeping through it along with the scent making the tiredness she’d been fighting off come crashing down. She turned away from Vane quickly, attempting to stifle a wide yawn.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asked, voice far closer than where he’d been standing before.
Prim shrugged, turning back to look up at him. They were a mere hair’s breadth apart, the heat of his body mingling with her own. “Night before last, I think.”
There was that same concern in his eyes that she had noticed when he first approached her while she was on the floor with Eleanor.
“Serve your tea, then get some rest,” Vane said, voice quiet, “Can’t have Nassau’s physician running herself ragged.”
He made no move to touch her, but Prim wanted to move towards him, to feel the heat of his skin on hers and just bask in it as she drifted to sleep. She blinked her eyes quickly to rid herself of those fantasies and turned quickly to head back towards the kitchen. She could feel Vane’s eyes on her as she left.
------
Prim’s question as to who to give the tea to was answered when Eme approached her as she was heading back towards the kitchen.
“How is she?” Prim asked.
“Ms. Guthrie is unharmed,” Eme began, “but she’s shaken by what happened. She still hasn’t spoken.”
It was just as she thought. “Would you be able to give her this?” Prim asked, holding out the mug, “It’ll hopefully get her tired enough to rest, but, as before, I don’t believe I’m the right person to administer it.”
Eme took the mug and sniffed it. She looked at Prim with a stern gaze. Prim could remember another woman, Tula, who was much older and wore her hair in large braids, that gave her the same look just before a lecture. Prim didn’t know if she should be scared or expect a scolding.
“You are…” Eme began, “not what I had expected. The people here, they talk about you as the witch across the road, but you are a healer.”
“I hope that the rest of the street will be able to see that soon,” Prim said, “I must be getting home, but if you or anyone here needs assistance, just let one of the girls know at The Inn and I’ll come running.”
Eme left her with a quick nod and Prim turned back towards the entrance to the tavern.
Vane wasn’t on the lower floor, so she figured he’d ended up leaving for the fort. The sun was just beginning to set and, when she stepped out into the street, there were hardly any people walking around.
God, she felt dead on her feet. Prim was looking forward to collapsing onto her bed and not moving for at least eight hours. Maybe she could get the girls to try and deter any fights, so she didn’t need to see patients. She tightened her hold on her bag, glad she didn’t have to walk too far to get back home.
Her feet led her to the alleyway’s entrance and she paused, a part of her hoping to see Vane leaning against the wall, waiting for her.
Instead, there were three men leaning up against the window sill. Prim felt something sharp against her back as a fourth man forced her into the alley and towards the other men.
“Captain Low says we can have our fun with you,” the man said, leaning his head towards her neck, hot breath hitting her cheek, “He wants us to bring you to him when we’re done.”
Time seemed to slow as Prim watched the other three men make their way closer to her. The knife at her back was a pinprick of discomfort, but it was enough to make her realize that she was in real danger. The man behind her might have a weapon, but she knew she needed to react to get herself out of the perilous situation she faced.
As carefully as she could, she moved her hand into her bag, reaching for the one thing she never removed from her pack. The three men drew closer, the gleam in their eyes reminding her too much of Mr. Tennent and how he’d watch her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Prim yanked out her shears from her bag, grip firm on the handle, and twisted around to face the man with the knife. Without hesitation, she thrust her shears against the man’s throat, watching as his eyes went wide. His mouth opened up, with a strangled, choking noise. She pushed further, observing in awe as the end of the shears protruded out of the other side of his neck. The man’s eyes rolled up and she heard his knife fall to the ground. She tore her shears out, wielding them like a knife in front of her to ward off the other three that surrounded her. The felled man collapsed to the ground behind her with one last gurgle.
“Stay the fuck away,” she hissed, emboldened by her rage.
The other men stopped their approach, looking dumbfounded between her to the body behind her. She took a step closer to them, her heart leaping as they all took a step back.
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to turn around and go home. Tell your Captain that I’ll make sure that there are no messengers the next time he tries something like this. I will not be touched.”
For a moment, she thought her threat worked, the men looking between themselves. She took a step back, unwilling to show them fear, facing them with bravado from the adrenaline thrumming in her veins.
One of the men let out a shout and ran at her, jumping towards her too quickly for her to dodge. Prim had her shears in front of her and thrust them up as she was knocked to the ground. The man wheezed above her and she shoved up harder, twisting herself so that she was on top of him and he was straddled by her. She removed her shears from the limp body and brought them down again and again and again. The shears poking out from his bloody chest.
“Fuck this,” one of the men swore behind her, as he ran down the alley and turned left towards the beach. Prim wanted to follow, unsure of what the man would tell the rest of Low’s crew, but she moved next to the dead man before she made an attempt to stand.
Prim closed her eyes, trying to center herself. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, her thoughts a mess of memories and sensations. She was in Nassau. She was alive. Low’s crew had tried to harm her, but she was alright now. She’d killed them. There wasn’t any danger here anymore.
A hand wrapped around her neck and Prim threw up her hands to scratch at the attacker’s face. She heard pained noises and felt something warm beneath her fingernails. The pressure on her neck didn’t let up and she tried to let out a scream to alert a passerby for. She kept clawing at her attacker, trying to find his eyes or cut him hard enough to make him let go.
For a moment, there was nothing. No sound escaped Prim’s throat and she could hear a ringing in her ears. She kept moving her nails against her assailant, hoping to catch on something squishy instead of rough skin. The pressure on her throat continued to build and her vision faded into black. Her limbs were heavy and no matter how much she gasped, she couldn’t get enough air.
This was how it would end, under the hand of one of Ned Low’s crewmates.
There were far worse ways to go. Prim took some pride that she’d die a free woman. She had made it out of the Tennent’s plantation, had made a name for herself in a place she was happy to call home. She’d met people she knew would miss her and hopefully would have fond memories of her.
She’d finally allowed someone to see her vulnerable. She’d gotten her first kiss. She would have liked it to be on her lips, but she’d take it. The sounds around her faded into the ringing, she didn’t feel scared anymore. She was ready to go.
Suddenly, the hands were pried off her neck. Prim let out a hard heave as air hit her lungs. She turned onto her stomach, coughing and wheezing, trying to get enough air to clear her vision. Once the darkness cleared, she could see her savior.
Charles Vane was holding Ned Low’s crewmate against his chest, arms wound tightly around his neck. Vane’s teeth were bared in a sneer as the other man’s face turned from red to purple. There was a sickening crack and the man fell limp onto the ground, landing a few paces in front of Prim.
For a moment, it was just the two of them breathing. The setting sun in the alley cast dark shadows against Vane’s face, his expression hidden from view. Prim took a moment to sit up, trying to get her breath back.
Then, suddenly, Vane was in front of her, sitting on the bloody dirt. She took a deep breath in and choked on it, coughing hard towards the ground. Vane’s hands were resting on her shoulders, and anchor for her to latch on to as she tried to get her breathing under control.
He moved away from her shoulders and held her hands in his, as if assessing the damage. She could see that his own hands were raw and bleeding in the dim light. When had he punched someone?
She closed her eyes, heartbeat loud in her ears. She was in Nassau. She was alright. She was safe. She’d killed those men.
And yet, her hands were numb, even though she knew someone held them. Her fingertips prickled as though they were being stabbed by pins. Her breaths were short, her lungs not wanting to accept air. It was like she was still being held down and strangled, even though she knew she wasn’t. She blinked and could see spots in her vision. She wanted to scream.
“Focus.” Vane’s voice was a sharp growl in her ear. An order. “Come back here.”
She shut her eyes tight, willing herself to calm. She would try for him. She just needed a moment. She could feel his grip tightening on her hands, as if he was attempting to pull her back to the present, but her fingers still felt numb. Oh, how she wanted to know what his hands felt like on hers and not just the pressure of them against her fingers and palms.
“Prim.”
Her name on Vane’s lips was the last thing she heard before her upper body hit the ground.
Chapter 15: Momentary Reprieve
Summary:
I feel like the only reason Prim made it as far as she did without sleep was her time on the Apple and just having to deal with weird sleep schedules and frequent threats of attack.
Also, still sticking to canon, so Jack’s coming out of his talk with Anne and Max about their relationship, so he’s also having a time of it.
Come to think of it, there’s always so much going on in a short period of time for these characters, it’s no wonder their tempers are so short and fights/arguments are rampant.
In this case, let’s get Prim some nice comfort and rest to recuperate, shall we? And get some soft Jack too!
My father pointed out that, although he likes the fact that Prim’s backstory is being revealed bit by bit, it’d be nice to see something a bit more concrete. So, dream sequence for you all!!
Chapter content warnings - Descriptions of injuries, aftermath of a nearly life-ending attack, general exhaustion and the feelings that come with it
As of May 19th, this chapter has been edited and updated.
Chapter Text
Prim woke slowly, blinking up at the dark ceiling of her room at The Inn. She could feel the straw mattress of the cot beneath her fingers. Her breathing was steady, but she could feel a tightness in her throat. She took a testing deep breath and immediately began to cough, making her throat feel even worse.
“Oh, dove, thank goodness!!”
Hannah’s voice floated through the air beside her and Prim had to turn her head, following the direction of the voice. Hannah stood above the cot, taking a hold of Prim’s arm to have her sitting upright. Prim took a few moments to calm her cough and tried to get up from the cot.
“Prim, maybe sit for a moment? I didn’t get the chance to look you over proper-”
“Hannah,” she rasped, “I’m fine.” She got up, trying not to look back at the other woman. She’d seen the pity on Hannah’s face; how would she react when she knew Prim was a killer?
She needed to get out of The Inn. One of Low’s men had gotten away and she knew he wasn’t going to paint her attack as self defense. Ned Low would come after her again or come after the girls at the brothel. She’d seen his wrath firsthand and knew he wasn’t going to just let her get away with killing some of his men. Regardless of the plan she would come up with, the first thing she needed to do was get out of the building.
“But Prim-” Hannah called out, following her out of the room and reaching for her arm. Prim felt pain blossoming on her hands and looked to see Hannah studying them as well. There were horizontal lines on her palms and fingers, bits of blood rising to the surface. It took a moment for Prim to realize that the cuts were from the tightened grip of her shears.
There was a sound of a door closing on the upper floor and Jack appeared above them, bending over the railing. For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes a bit distant as he stood there, but once he focused on them, his demeanor shifted. “Everything alright?”
“Something’s wrong with Prim,” Hannah said and Prim winced again when the other girl grabbed her hand to hold it up.
“Shit,” Jack said, making his way quickly down the steps and over to them. Hannah released Prim’s hand, only to have Jack grab it to see the damage. His eyes moved to her neck and his face lost its color.
“Come, let’s get you settled,” he said in a concerned, hushed voice, “Seems like all of us have had a difficult day.”
Prim was far too tired to argue, the lack of food and sleep taking its toll on her. Jack maneuvered her back into her room and onto her bed, keeping a light grip on her arm so that she didn’t falter. He used the wall to steady her and she rested against it once she was seated. She felt like she was going to pass out again.
“Hannah, dear, can you get me some clean water and a small bar of soap?” he asked. Hannah had been hovering in the doorway, looking unsure of her usefulness at this point in the situation, but nodded and moved quickly back into the brothel, leaving Prim and Jack alone.
Prim kept her eyes on him, trying to focus on something outside of the pain in her neck. His expression was pinched, an unfamiliar reaction. She could see that his wounds had healed well; she couldn’t even tell he’d been in a fight a few days ago.
“It feels like I haven’t had the chance to see you in a fortnight, but with all that’s been going on, it seems we’ve both been busy,” he said, gesturing for her to hold out her palms for him. She tried not to wince as he checked her wounds, flipping her hands around to study the backs of her hands for any damage.
“There were whispers,” Jack began, keeping his voice low, “about something that happened at the tavern this afternoon. It’s a bit hard to miss when you’re next door, even when there’s crowds in your vantage point. But a few of the girls were on the bridge between buildings and saw you rush in there, then rush back out to promptly vomit.” He paused. “What on earth happened?”
Prim closed her eyes, very tempted to drift off to sleep and not answer his question. The entire day was one she didn’t want to revisit, but she needed to make sure that Jack knew exactly what had happened to Eleanor and, for that matter, could happen if anyone at the brothel crossed Low’s pirate crew.
“There’s a newer Captain on the island, going by Low,” she said, cursing at how hoarse her voice sounded as she tried to speak up, “He and members of his crew beheaded their quartermaster in front of her, along with killing her personal guard.”
“Jesus,” Jack said, face going white, “In broad daylight? With a crowd?!?”
“Mhm,” Prim hummed, “It was gruesome, Jack. Ned Low doesn’t seem to be someone who does things halfway. If someone angers him or if he wants something, there’s no question as to when he’ll retaliate, but when. And I think I might have brought on his ire.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Four of his men attacked me tonight when I was coming back here. I killed two of them. One got away.”
“And the other?” Jack said, his voice getting closer to her. She felt one of his hands brush her neck, assuring there were bruises beginning to bloom there. She opened her eyes, surprised to see genuine concern on his face.
“Captain Vane killed him. But they’ll think it was just me.”
Jack’s lips thinned, but he kept his eyes on her. “Prim, know that you are safe under this roof. I will make sure that Ned Low and his ilk aren’t welcome here again.” He gave her a quick nod. “In fact, I’ll let Max know first thing in the morning.” He paused. “Charles was there with you?” Jack sounded almost incredulous.
“He had been in the tavern when everything happened. I think he was leaving when he saw what was happening.” She cleared her throat, grimacing at how much it hurt. She took a shaky breath and felt tears spring to her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears falling onto her cheeks, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. They came for me first and I don’t want any of the other girls to be caught up in my mess.”
“And they won’t be,” Jack whispered, clutching her hands in his, “I’ll speak with Max regarding Low’s crew and make sure that they aren’t welcome here. I’m sure once I explain the situation, she’ll understand the danger he and his crew pose.”
Prim nodded, lower lip quivering.
Hannah appeared behind Jack in the doorway, holding a small basin along with a small bar of soap and a washcloth.
“Did you make her cry, Jack?” she asked, looking at him with a glare. Jack turned to her and tried to grin.
“She’s just had a time of it,” he mumbled, “Would you mind terribly if I left the rest to you, Hannah? I have a few things to sort out with the lady of the house.”
Prim shoved her face against the wall, trying to stop crying. She could hear Jack leaving and Hannah approaching, feeling Hannah’s hand on her cheek.
“Sweet dove,” she cooed, “I have to see if you’re bleeding around your neck. Can you face me?”
Prim obeyed, still leaning heavily against the wall, tilting her chin for Hannah to check. She closed her eyes at the soothing of the cool water against her bruises.
“No broken skin,” Hannah said, “but you’re going to have some nasty bruises. I don’t think powder would be able to make those look nicer.”
Prim opened her eyes, thinking back to what Harold had taught her about strangulation. The neck was a delicate place, since there were large veins that could cause a man to bleed out. But strangling someone without a noose took time and lots of pressure. She counted herself lucky that Vane had been there before she lost consciousness or there could have been worse things for her to deal with than bruises.
“How did I get back here?” Prim whispered, dipping her head back down with a soft nudge from Hannah’s hand.
“Charles carried you in here and left in a bit of a hurry after he set you down.” Hannah ran her fingers beneath Prim’s eyes, wiping away the tears. “I thought you’d passed on with all the blood you’ve got on your dress, but he said you were in a fight?”
Prim nodded.
“Did you win?”
She nodded again.
“That’s all that matters,” Hannah said, “Let me get your hands sorted and you can rest.”
Prim held out her hands dutifully as Hannah scrubbed at them with the soap and water. Her tolerance for pain was high, but the sting from her open wounds kept her occupied and didn’t have her mind wandering to other places. She remembered Charles’ words to her before she lost consciousness, how he’d tried to keep her tethered when she was drifting away from the present.
He’d listened to her when she’d told him about her condition, he knew what to try and keep her there. Her chest hurt and she wondered how long she’d been wanting him to be her anchor. But as much as she wanted him, she knew that Charles and Eleanor had history and, with everything that had happened, she was sure he’d want Eleanor by his side more than her.
Prim was jolted out of her thoughts by Hannah’s hand resting on her cheek. The other woman gave her another look of pity, but it reminded Prim of how her father would look at her whenever she was sick.
“I found you a nightdress you can change into. I’ll have new clothes set out for you in the morning, okay?”
In a daze, Prim worked herself out of her dress, wincing when she noticed how much dried blood there was on the material. She pulled on the nightdress, feeling how light the material was against her new bruises and old scars. Hannah laid her down on her bed and pulled up the covers, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.
“You get some sleep, dove,” Hannah whispered. Prim closed her eyes and hoped that sleep would come easy.
------
She was back in Savannah, resting on her stomach. The humidity was high that night; it felt like she was trying to breathe through layers of cotton. She could feel the air settling on her bare back, the pain still fresh from the day before.
“Keep still,” a soft voice whispered, “Tula’s working on a salve for your back.”
Prim turned toward the voice, reaching out her hand to try and find its speaker. A calloused palm found hers and she attempted to relax. She was among friends, there was nothing she needed to fear.
“Your fever’s down,” the voice said, “That’s good. Do you need anything? Water? Food?”
Prim shook her head as best she could against the cot. She just wanted to fall back into a dreamless sleep again and hope that the next time she woke up, her back would feel better.
There was a sound of a door shutting behind her and she could smell mint and lemonbalm. Tula was back.
“This will hurt,” Tula’s voice floated from somewhere behind her. Prim felt something cool and wet against her skin and, for a brief moment, she felt relief for the first time in days. Then, the pain started, a sharp burn that had her burying her face into the cot to try and keep her screams muffled. The person holding her hand gripped it tight, riding through the pain with her as she clutched his hand hard enough to bruise.
“We’ve got you,” the voice cooed, his grip tightening in hers, “We will make sure you survive this, Primrose.”
-------
Prim woke to sunlight streaming through her window. She couldn’t hear any bells that sounded on the hour, but judging by how high the sun was, she must have slept past breakfast and into the afternoon. She rubbed eyes and stretched, feeling the pinch of pain on her hands when she moved them and the usual dull throb of her back.
Hannah had left a hand mirror on the table near her bed and she slowly got up to study her reflection. Grimacing, Prim could see that her neck was mottled black and blue. There was a small cut underneath her chin, but other than that, she was no worse for wear. Hannah had taken care of the dirt or sand that had been on her face, but she could see that her hair was in disarray, large strands having come undone from the braids Idelle and Hannah had given her. She clenched her hands, seeing that her cuts had clotted.
Bruises healed with time, cuts scarred over, hair could be washed and rebraided. She had been able to survive her attackers and, for now, that’s all that mattered. Like Hannah said, she’d won.
Prim got dressed in a loose fitting shirt and trousers, realizing after a moment that she was wearing the clothing she’d first arrived in when she came to The Inn. She made up her bed and the cot, making sure that everything was in place. She paused before exiting her room, realizing that her neck was on display. The last thing she wanted was for Max to see and reprimand her about looking presentable to customers. She looked around for something to wrap around her neck.
She noticed a brown scarf draped across her bookshelf. It looked familiar, but Prim couldn’t place it or its owner. Figuring one of the girls had dropped it while collecting laundry, she placed it on her shoulders. She was able to wrap it loosely enough so that it wasn’t squeezing against her bruises, checking in the mirror to make sure it rested naturally against her collar. She hoped it didn’t look too conspicuous and she made a note to apply some of her mint salve to help the bruises heal.
Prim headed out her door and into the lower floor of the brothel. There weren’t many patrons save for the regulars that were being led up the stairs or to the curtained rooms near the back. It looked to be a slow afternoon, judging by how hot the weather was. A group of girls were crowded around the bar, taking turns handing off fans to each other and drinking from mugs. Prim thought she was quiet with her approach, but someone seemed to have heard her door open.
“She lives!” Charlotte cheered out, running up and nearly tackling Prim to the ground with a hug. Prim tried not to grimace, muscles from yesterday’s experience sore. Her neck felt like it had fingers crushing it, but she was more than happy to imagine that it was just Charlotte’s grip that was making it sore.
“Can’t die yet,” she said, her voice hoarse, “I still have to get you writing poetry.”
Charlotte peppered kisses on her cheeks and in her hair, still holding tight to her with a hug. Prim could see Hannah and Idelle approaching from the bar, grinning at her.
“And you will, sweet dove,” Charlotte said, “but we’ve got to make sure you’re well first. Let’s get you in a bath and dressed in something more comfortable, hm?”
For the second time in her time at The Inn, Prim was led to the room on the upper floors with the tub. Someone had already filled it with hot water and the steam that welled up from the basin looked absolutely heavenly. Hands were in her hair, carefully removing the beads and braids that Idelle and Hannah had so lovingly adorned. The girls left her to her own devices and Prim submerged herself into the water, unable to stop her moan at the soothing feel of water against her bruises and her back.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, just letting the hot water soak into her skin. She knew she’d need to wash her body and hair, but it wasn’t until the water started to lose its heat that she started to clean herself thoroughly. Her hair was truly a mess, bits of dirt coloring the water as she ran her hands through it. She submerged herself a few times after scrubbing against her skin and scalp and, once she felt clean enough, she got out.
The girls had left Prim a loose dress that seemed more akin to the nightgown she’d worn the night before, but she put it on dutifully after drying herself off with a scratchy towel. She emerged from the room feeling a bit more like her normal self, still making sure she could wrap the scarf around her neck comfortably.
She made a retreat to her room, but Idelle stopped her at the bar. Prim hadn’t dried her hair completely, but Hannah appeared with her brush to detangle the strands and coax them into a new hairdo. Prim let her, hoping it’d count as payment for not being able to keep her promise to keep the last braid in for as long as she could.
“Promise this one will last longer,” Hannah said, fingers moving against her damp strands.
Prim smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 16: Fear and Tribute (Charles POV)
Summary:
Another chapter for Vane! Time to get in his head after the aftermath of Prim’s attack, Eleanor’s visit, and his thoughts on a visitor that comes to the fort. Again, anything OOC is completely my doing. Lots of show dialogue in here, so I had to make sure I got it down right before I posted this chapter!
I thank you all for the bookmarks, kudos, and comments you’ve left here! I appreciate them all and I always get excited when I see a notification in my email about new stuff! We’re nearly at 500 hits and I want to thank each and every one of you for taking a look at this complete monster of a fic.
We’re not even halfway yet (...methinks…we’re playing things by ear at the moment), so stay tuned!
Chapter content warning: mentions of past injury, mentions of dead bodies
As of May 20th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Chapter Text
The night before…
Charles Vane did not scare easily.
The lumber camp had attempted to beat into submission whatever fear and doubt he had towards Albinus and the men of his crew, replacing it with blind obedience instead. He’d escaped before that could happen, ran away before those lessons could take hold, and he retained a more keen sense of what should and could scare him .
Then Edward Teach had taken him under his wing; shown him how fear could be tamed, controlled if necessary. He’d learned that lesson the first time he went over the rail to secure a prize ship, clashing against men who meant to kill him. The fear he had needed to be tempered, evolved into something that could benefit him and the men that fought alongside him at the end of the day.
When he was the Captain of his own ship, he never displayed fear to his crew. That was a true weakness, something to be stowed away until landfall. He’d found ways to make it akin to anger, to have that running through his blood instead of wanting to flee.
When he’d been deprived of a ship and crew by Eleanor, he’d felt the fear of never being able to sail again. Jack and Anne had seen that fear, allowing him to ride it out with drugs and women until he found his nerve to leave the island and kill Albinus. With his taskmaster’s death, removing the one person that had power over him outside of Nassau, he knew that he’d never have to fear anything again.
When the Prim’s eyes had rolled back into her head and her body collapsed onto the bloodstained dirt of the alley, true fear shot through him. And it frustrated him that he didn’t understand why.
The setting sun would bring people outdoors, so he knew he had to either get the bodies somewhere they wouldn’t be seen or get Prim somewhere safe.
“She alive?”
Charles immediately went for his gun, too far into the alley to risk a close encounter with whomever was at its entrance. The man was swathed in shadow, but held up his hands in surrender.
“Just heard the commotion and wanted to see what happened. Not many of us stay out this late when most of the gold’s being spent in The Inn.”
Charles cocked the pistol. “Three seconds to leave here before I make a new commotion.”
The man kept his hands up. “That’s the doctor girl, right? Those bodies are right outside her door. With all those rumors abound, how do you think this is going to look?”
Prim let out a wheeze and Charles’s attention was drawn away from the man. Slowly, he moved closer to her, shielding her with his body before turning back to the man at the entrance of the alleyway.
The man hadn’t made a move towards him, but shifted enough that Charles could see his face. He recognized the man, a bookseller that Jack always insisted on visiting whenever they got back to Nassau from a hunt. Looks like he’d found a new customer in Prim.
“I need to get the bodies out of here, but she needs to be helped,” Charles said, slowly putting his pistol back on his hip, “Can’t do both alone.”
The man took a step back and tugged a wooden cart into view. “I can help with the bodies. Get them on here. I’ve got a blanket that will hide them.”
Charles moved quickly, grabbing the men and placing them onto the cart. He wiped the blood from the bodies off of his coat as best he could, hoping it was enough to avert suspicion away from him. He made sure to grab Prim’s shears from the chest of one of the men, impressed that it took him both hands to remove it from the body.
Once the bodies were loaded, the bookseller covered them with a large, thick blanket. Without another word, the bookseller nodded at Charles and started pulling the cart behind him. He headed down towards the beach, the cart not even jostling with the weight of three men on it.
The drying blood in the dirt was the only indication that there was a struggle. Satisfied, Charles turned his attention to Prim. She was still prone, limbs askew like a puppet with its strings cut. He gathered her in his arms, making sure she was still breathing, and moved out of the alley to the entrance of The Inn with as much speed as he could without drawing attention to himself.
He entered the brothel and immediately turned towards Prim’s room, depositing her on one of the cots. He was sure people saw him enter, but at this time of day, they were either too far into their cups or ready to head out for the night than to notice him. Max would most likely have something to say if she found out, but he didn’t care.
The blinding last rays of the sun poured through Prim’s window, but failed to stir her. Prim was pale against the burlap of the cot, breaths coming out in reedy intakes of air. Her neck was an angry red, the raised bruises in the shape of fingers made his anger deepen.
Anger he could embrace. That he could ride out for as long as was needed. But there was still fear, simmering beneath the surface and waiting to erupt if Prim stopped breathing.
“Charles?”
He turned to see Hannah standing in the doorway of the room, draped in a silken gown and leaning against the doorframe. She looked at him, batting her eyelashes, then noticed the prone figure on the cot.
“Gods, Prim!” she screeched, bounding over to the unconscious woman without an ounce of grace. She knelt on the floor of the room, hands hovering around Prim’s face. “Oh Jesus and his saints, what’s happened to her?”
“A fight,” Charles said, unsure how to properly explain what he’d walked into. He’d recognized Low’s men when they’d been in the tavern to watch their quartermaster lose his head, but as to why they singled out Prim was a question for another day. He’d seen how exhausted she was and waited to make sure she made it to The Inn without issue, but when the men had crowded her into the alley, he knew something was wrong.
What surprised him the most was how there had already been two bodies bleeding out on the ground by the time he arrived in the alley. She only had a pair of shears to defend herself and it had been a surprise to see two bodies on the ground when he’d gotten the last man off of her.
Fear again reared within him. If he hadn’t waited for her, and he returned to the fort, what would have happened to her?
His skin felt too tight and he relinquished one of his scarves atop Prim’s bookshelf to try and keep his nerve. He blinked and saw that Hannah was in front of him now, on her feet, looking at him with worry and concern.
“Are you alright?” she asked, getting closer to him.
“Fine,” he said, gritting his teeth, “Just take care of her.” He didn’t wait for Hannah’s reply before he headed out of the room and out of the brothel, hoping to get the feelings raging within him under control before he made it back to the fort.
--------
Charles hadn’t expected Eleanor to be in his room when he returned to the fort. She looked so small as she sat in front of him, her expression of fear beckoned him to embrace her. However, he remembered his words to Prim at the tavern. He and Eleanor were no longer on equal ground. Not anymore.
“I don’t see a move I can make from here,” she said, looking up at him. She looked exhausted, unshed tears in her eyes. “If I move against him directly, his men retaliate and I don’t have the muscle to withstand it. And even if I could muster up that kind of support, I couldn’t get away with it. Not after such a public display of loss as today. Not so brazenly.”
Charles could feel his heart sink at that. Of course she was coming to him in hopes he could do something about Low. She’d expected him to get his hands dirty for her because she was the one asking, another favor he should be more than happy to do. And God, he wanted to, but he knew that Eleanor could turn on her heel and use him to garner the support she needed.
His feelings of love towards her were tempered with each passing day and he couldn’t wait for the day that he could finally leave that love in his past. For now, it was squeezing his heart and addling his mind more than any drug could and he was helpless when listening to Eleanor’s troubles.
“The Consortium is fragile. It would be toppled. And I’m simply not willing to allow that to happen. And I suspect it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move against me.”
They stared at each other for a few moments before Eleanor got up from her chair, moving in closer to him. She smelled like the tea that Prim had brewed for her and Charles wondered if that was what was keeping her so calm now.
“You want me to believe that you have some concern for me?” she asked, “Then show it. If you need something to induce your men into action, I know his crew hold an asset from their last prize that they deem of great value.”
That piqued his interest. “What asset?”
“I don’t know,” Eleanor said, shaking her head, “...I don’t know.”
He could tell she was speaking the truth, her eyes still too wide and wet to try and hide anything from him now. He watched as she turned and headed out the door, his feet keeping him stationed in the room.
Charles didn’t sleep well the rest of the night and, when dawn crested over the horizon, he was out of bed and getting a few of his men out to the fort’s square for a sparring match.
Fighting was easy. It was instinct. He could tell what moves a man could make by how he held a sword or how he moved his feet. And he hadn’t tested the full mettle of his new crew yet, so Charles decided that having a few sparring matches would show him if they were worth his time.
He’d worked up a sweat as he dropped his second opponent to the ground when a hush fell over his crew. Looking up, he could see his new quartermaster, Jenks, approaching with someone in tow.
The last person Charles expected to appear was Ned Low. In the full light of the sun, he looked much younger, less imposing now that he was cleaned from the blood and gore from the day before. He surrendered his sword to the quartermaster, who trudged up to stand nearby and wait for acknowledgement.
Charles had Low sit down at a small table while he washed his hands and face, attempting to remove the sweat off from his sparring matches.
“I’ve made camp at Port Royal, Tortuga, Kingston.” Low began speaking before Charles had finished his cleansing. “No matter where I’ve been, one thing is true. There’s always one. The one you don’t cross.”
Charles turned to look at him, squinting in the bright light of the sun.
“It would seem readily apparent that in this place, that would be you,” Low continued.
“Thank you for noticing,” Charles said, taking a seat opposite of Low, settling his fingers together on the table, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Low leaned closer. “I think it’s no secret that since my arrival I’ve been repeatedly provoked and harassed by the Guthrie woman. And, as her aggression seems to be escalating, I thought it wise to speak of this in the open.”
“Her aggression toward you?” Charles asked.
“Conspiracy with my quartermaster to depose me. And a provocation by her man-at-arms. I think you and I have seen enough of these things to know they never end well.”
“What are you telling me for?” Charles asked, his patience growing thin. If there was something the other Captain wanted, he needed to spit it out.
“I saw you,” Low said, resting his left arm on the table, “that day in the tavern. I hear you and she have a connection. And if things were to deteriorate even further between us, I’d just like to know whether I’ll have you to deal with too.”
Jenks spoke up, Charles attempting to keep his face neutral as his eyes slid over to the other man. “I can’t imagine what we’d have to gain by taking an interest in the affairs of the Guthrie woman. Would you, Captain?”
Charles readied his gaze back to Low.
“Not that I can see.” Better to agree now and determine what Low was planning to do later.
“You certain?” Low asked, “I only ask again in that I know myself, and I know when confronting threats like these, I tend to be a bit of a blunt instrument.” He cocked his head, just slightly, studying Charles with his one good eye. “Try as I may to be rational, there’s an instinct towards the extreme that always gets the better of me.”
Charles had seen that instinct firsthand at the tavern, how Low had gone for the kill of Eleanor’s guard without hesitation and with enjoyment at the suffering he put the man through before putting him out of his misery. Ned Low was dangerous not just because he was deadly with a sword, but because anything could provoke his wrath. Nassau would be in shambles if he was left to his own devices.
“So that we’re clear, no matter how bloody this feud gets between she and I, I can rest soundly knowing you’ll take no part in it?”
“None whatsoever,” Charles replied, giving the other Captain a small grin.
Low nodded and looked about to get up from his seat when Charles continued.
“However, commerce here relies upon her. Should you move against her, you may find no shortage of new enemies on the street.”
Low looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. Although, from what I understand, confidence in her new venture is tepid at best. Who knows how much she’ll be missed, if at all?” He paused for a moment. “There’s something else, or someone else, that has been trouble for my crew that I thought I’d speak with you about as well.”
“And who’s that?”
“My crew like to frequent the brothel in Nassau,” Low said, “Four of my men had been out and waiting for a certain whore to show herself yesterday evening. She’s not tied to the place like the others and they figured they’d request her services outside of The Inn. That whore killed three of them with a mending shears.”
Charles’ finger twitched against his wrist cuff. “Proprietors of The Inn want to make sure their business is performed inside their building. You’re sure that there wasn’t a provocation?”
“The man who was able to escape the carnage told me as such. There had been no provocation; the whore had taken out her shears and stabbed two men through the neck because she could.”
That was the largest load of bullshit he’d ever heard. This had been an attack, whether orchestrated or decided in a moment, Prim was never meant to make it out of the alleyway unharmed.
Low leaned in close. “This is the whore that I’ve heard fancies herself a witch. And I think she means to lay a curse on me and my crew.”
Charles lifted an eyebrow in question. He knew of the superstitions that came from being out at sea, but to have a Captain on land turn to curses and hexes was laughable. “And how do you believe your crew was cursed?”
“When my man fled, he saw a figure melt from the shadows and attack the last man. She conjured up a creature out of darkness to do her bidding. How else would you explain it?”
“Trick of the light,” Charles said easily, shrugging his shoulders, “Even those who claim to be conjurors can’t make something from nothing. Your man was probably scared out of his wits and saw something even more terrifying.”
Low leaned in across the table. “I’ve known that man for many years. If he says that’s what he saw, then I believe him.”
Charles’ fingers twitched again. Prim told him she didn’t like the title of ‘witch’ and Ned Low was using it far too casually. It made him want to wrap his fingers around the other Captain’s neck, just as his man had done to Prim the night before.
But Low was a Captain with a very violent crew. Now wasn’t the time.
“Witchcraft, it was. Is all of Nassau not aware of her? That every day she’s out on the street, her power could grow?” Low sat back across the crate, leaning back against his chair. “This place…there’s such a difference in where I’ve been over the years and it’s all wrong. Someone’s got to do something about it.”
Again, Charles had to school his expression into something less murderous. He wanted to lunge across the table, but tried to tamp his anger down. “I assume you want that person to be you?”
“Maybe it has to be me,” Ned said, his eye focusing on Charles with sharp intent, “Maybe I’m the wave of change that this place needs to survive.”
He reached into his trousers and took out a palm-sized leather bag, setting it on the table with the tell-tale clink of coins within.
“What’s that?” Charles asked.
“Tribute,” Low replied, “And the respect of my crew. Ten percent of our most recent haul. Would have been a little heavier, only Guthrie taxed us over the state of the containers.”
Low got up and left his seat, taking his sword from Jenks and leaving Charles sitting alone.
If there was some sort of asset that Low was hiding, he’d made no hint towards it in their conversation. However, it didn’t mean that someone on his crew had shared that information in the throes of passion or the afterglow of a night at The Inn.
Prim had said Low’s crew frequented the place now that they’d made port. Maybe it was time for Charles to officially visit and see if Max had any information. He took the bag of money and shoved it into his pocket, getting up from his seat to pay the brothel a visit.
Chapter 17: Reputation
Summary:
Bit of a shorter chapter in comparison to some of the others, but one I did want to write out~
Prim’s gotten her rest, so she’s got someone to visit. But not before getting an unexpected visit of her own. This takes place a little before Charles’s meeting with Max, taking place after Ned Low bopped by the fort. And we’re still keeping within canon, folks! Still don’t know how, but it’s still happening!!
Chapter content warnings: references to past violence and death, discrimination based on profession, references to injury
As of June 4th 2025, this chapter has been updated and edited!
Notes:
Edited as of September 3rd 2024: Hiyo!
So, as some of you in the comments are aware, my beta reader is my father. I chose him because he likes historical fiction and he's been itching to read some of the longer form fiction that I've written. I've had to explain to him a few times what a fanfic is exactly, but he gets the gist. Also, he has not yet seen 'Black Sails'. I wanted someone with an unbiased opinion on characters and things that occurred in canon so it doesn't color their critiques. I do want him to start watching it though, just to see how much he likes the show from what I've written about it.I had given him this chapter last Saturday and he talked to me this Saturday about it. It was chapter I had stopped writing at one point, figuring it was done, but he talked a few things out with me and I realized that I could expand and explain a few things to make the flow a lot better and actually give insight into Prim's backstory. So, thank you, Dad, you helped me to get a bit more in depth with this chapter~
Chapter Text
Prim had hoped to spend the rest of her afternoon catching up on the chores that had been neglected due to the troubling events of recent days. She was halfway through her part of the girls’ laundry (she’d insisted, despite Charlotte and Hannah trying to coax her back into bed for the day) when her room’s door slammed open.
“Your reputation on the street is becoming harder to ignore,” Max called out, entering her room in a whirl of lace and perfumed oil. She shut the door and turned, her face looking pinched as she glared across the room. It had been some time since Prim had received a visit from the Madame and this one, unfortunately, was more unwelcome than the last.
Prim tried to stifle her groan, pushing aside the washbasin she was using and wiping her hands on her skirt. “What are they saying now?”
“That you are a witch. That your herbs, although common, aren’t meant to do the things they are doing to heal the sick. That you’re able to conjure up familiars and spirits that can help you get out of trouble.” Max dipped her voice low. “Your frequent visits inland aren’t helping either.”
The rumors weren’t new, but apparently they’d become exaggerated in recent days. Prim’s visits to the tavern had given people a face to the name of the witch from The Inn. Although the three bodies of Ned Low’s crew had disappeared from the street, the one who ran had seen enough to know what sort of danger she posed. Prim wouldn’t be surprised if Ned Low himself was trying to support the rumors in order to exact revenge.
Max crossed her arms as she continued. “There’s also been word about you taking on private clients as well. Are they paying you or are you using the supplies we’ve bought for you without you compensating us?”
“I’ve only had one client that wished for privacy and they paid me for my services,” Prim said through gritted teeth. It was surprising that Eleanor’s request hadn’t come to light with all of the trouble surrounding her, but Prim wasn’t going to tell Max any more than what she already had said. She’d made a promise after all. “Check the books, I made sure Jack got half of my fee.”
Max continued to scowl, stepping closer. “Something must be done about this talk.”
Prim held her arms wide. “What would you have me do?” A spark of anger was growing in her chest and she needed to keep it in check before she said something she’d regret.
“I would have you be aware of yourself. I have done far too much here for The Inn’s reputation to be in jeopardy.”
Prim was taken aback. “You were the one who took me on as the brothel’s physician. You had to have assumed what sort of rumors would come from that, even with me just being a woman.”
“I had hoped that you would-”
“You cannot just hope!” she hissed, her voice cracking painfully, “If my reputation is causing these rumors to affect business, then send me away! Rip up my contract and leave me on the street!!”
Max hesitated and Prim took some satisfaction in seeing her flinch before her face was back to its mask of calm. “Even if I do release you, I don’t believe you understand. Regardless of where you go, the stories and rumors will follow you. The Inn’s reputation would need months to recover the income you have cost us.”
Prim could feel her anger slowly being snuffed out, replaced with bone deep exhaustion. No matter what she did, no matter where she was, she was never meant to find a place to settle and call home. Nassau had given her hope, showing her that her skills were worth learning and sharing with the people on New Providence. It only took a few choice words and her hopes were back to merely being dreams.
She sighed. “Either dismiss me or help me understand what I must do in order to bring The Inn’s reputation back to where it should be. I feel that these are my only options.”
Max was quiet, eyes drifting around the room, as though trying to think of a solution. A small flare of anger returned to Prim at that; what was it that was making Max hesitate? If things were truly dire, she figured she’d already be out on the street before the end of the afternoon, but Max seemed to be trying to find a reason to keep her, despite everything. Why?
“If you have someone speak on your behalf,” Max offered, “someone who would be willing to show the street that you’ve been offering nothing but help-”
“You don’t think I’ve been trying?!” Anger tinged Prim’s voice, but regardless of how much her throat hurt from the action, she needed Max to know how she felt. “I’ve been treating patients for months. I’ve shown myself to the public these past few days to show them I’m the one that Eleanor fucking Guthrie trusts if there’s ever an emergency. That should be more than enough for you, more than enough for them, and more than enough for any newcomers to recognize that I’m fucking good at what I do.”
She tried to take a deep breath, coughing harshly into the sleeve of her dress. Her eyes watered as she attempted to catch her breath, not able to get enough air into her swollen throat. She could barely make out Max starting to move closer and flinched away from the other woman’s touch, settling down on her cot to ride out the fit.
Once she was able to breathe again, Prim looked at Max. The Madame looked as rattled as Prim had ever seen her, apparently very affected by the distress Prim was suffering. Prim got up from the cot and smoothed out her dress, reaching for her medical bag.
“I’m taking the afternoon,” she said, voice hoarse, “If you need me, send someone inland. I’ll be back before the sun sets.”
------
The walk from the brothel inland was a much rougher one than Prim had experienced before. The afternoon sun was harsh against her face and the dryness of the air hurt to breathe too deeply. She was glad for the scarf she’d found in her room. Even though there was sweat pooling around her neck, she was able to use the fabric to cover her mouth and nose to keep the worst of the dust out of her face.
The scarf smelled of smoke and leather and Prim hoped that she hadn’t accidentally taken one of the girls’ tokens. A few of the brothel’s patrons would leave gifts for some of the girls as well as payment, usually something they could wear around Nassau to show off who they’d bedded. Prim could have sworn she’d seen the scarf somewhere, but couldn’t place to whom it belonged. For now, it was serving its purpose to hide her bruises and protect her face.
She made her way through the inland community without much fanfare. Most of the men and women who were out tending to their crops and animals had seen her before and didn’t spare her a second glance. Prim waved to a few of the friendlier folk, including the resident pastor of the local congregation, as she made her way to the Barlow cabin.
Miranda was already outside in her garden, looking a bit flushed from the heat. Prim didn’t want to startle her, but it seemed that Miranda could sense someone was approaching. The older woman got up and smoothed out her dress, a much looser and less decorated cloth that was probably only worn on hot days like today. She gave Prim a small smile, drawing attention to the flecks of dirt on her cheeks.
“You’ve come at the perfect time,” she said, “I was thinking of washing up and putting on some tea. It is truly a horrible day to be outdoors isn’t it?”
Prim nodded, moving the scarf away from her mouth. “Very much so.” She hoped that Miranda hadn’t noticed the rasp in her speech.
Miranda invited her into the cabin, which did little to lessen the heat, but it was comfortable compared to outdoors. Prim sat on one of the chairs at the table in the kitchen, relieved to rest from her journey.
“Prim, what happened to your neck?”
She clutched at the scarf, afraid that it had slipped when she’d moved it from her face.
Miranda carefully moved towards her, tugging gently on the scarf with a hand to reveal what was beneath. Prim tried not to flinch.
“Who did this?” Miranda asked, her voice cold. The look on her face was one of barely contained rage. Prim was glad that she wasn’t the one Miranda was angry with.
“A dead man,” Prim said simply. Miranda’s eyes shot to her face and Prim tried her best to smile. “Nothing a little rest and some salve can help fix.”
Miranda’s eyes were hard, a flash of anger gone in an instant. “Then I insist that we visit the garden before you leave here. You’ll need more than the mint I gave you last time if you want to help those fade faster.” She lowered the scarf back down, almost reverently, around her neck. She then moved her hands to Prim’s shoulders, gently squeezing them. Prim appreciated the comforting touch.
“If there is anything you need from me to help you,” Miranda continued, “you need only ask.”
“Thank you,” Prim said, placing her hands over Miranda’s. She couldn’t think of what more to say; Miranda had been so open towards her since their first meeting and subsequent visits to the cabin felt akin to a homecoming. She could be herself and not worry about being scrutinized as she was while at The Inn.
Miranda dropped her hands and turned towards the fireplace. “I’ll get this started and then we can talk about something a bit more pleasant.”
Prim dutifully sat at the table, watching as Miranda moved with ease around the kitchen. Still with bits of dirt on her cheek, she filled up the kettle and selected a small tin of black tea from one of the nearby cabinets.
“I wanted to apologize for leaving you so quickly during my last visit,” Prim began, “There was-.”
“Oh don’t apologize,” Miranda cut in, setting the kettle over the fireplace, “I’ve seen Navy men called out of bed to muster their weapons and prepare for battle. If there is a need that can be filled, I would hope that you too would rush to encounter it head on.”
The example was oddly specific. ”Did you know a Navy man?”
“Back when I was living in England,” Miranda said, turning her head to give Prim a polite smile, “my husband and I had a close friend that was a lieutenant. At the time, he’d only be called to the headquarters if there was need for his advisement, but he’d hustle without much of a ‘goodbye’ when he was summoned, regardless of the reason.”
Prim nodded and looked down at the table, frowning. “It feels as though whenever I visit you, there’s always something waiting for me when I get back to Nassau or I’ve news to share with you that isn’t pleasant. I wouldn’t take it to heart if you wished for a break in my visits.”
Miranda sat down in the chair closest to her, her lips pinched. “What’s brought this on? Have I offended you in some way?”
“It’s not that,” Prim assured her, “Nassau’s streets have their stories about me, and with all that’s been happening over the past few days, the last thing I want to do is make others assume that you’re involved.”
Miranda held her hand out over the table and Prim took it, squeezing it.
“I have gone through much in the past few years,” Miranda said, her tone soft, but firm, “I have done things I am ashamed to say, but they are still a part of me regardless. I’m sure the same holds true for you and for the rest of the men and women that reside on New Providence. Rumors and stories may abound, but I will not judge those whom I’ve met.”
Prim had to blink away a few tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but the whistle of the kettle prevented her from doing so. For the first time, she felt the urge to tell someone everything. She wanted to tell someone what had happened to her and what made her make her way to Nassau.
“Miranda?”
“Yes, Prim?”
“I want to tell you something.”
Miranda moved the kettle from the flame of the hearth, then turned to face Prim. “Of course. You know I am here to listen.”
Prim moved her hand towards her left shoulder, brushing against her scarf. She’d never revealed her brand to someone willingly, so she hesitated, her fingers hovering just above her collar.
“Prim?” Miranda’s voice sounded so far away. Prim took a deep breath and tugged down her collar towards her left shoulder exposing her brand and just the edge of the scarring from her back.
She watched as the color drained from Miranda’s face. Miranda shakily moved forward, settling down in the chair closest to Prim.
“I want you to know who I am,” Prim said, voice thick, “and what happened to me before Nassau. You’ve been so kind, but you need to know me .”
Miranda’s gaze remained on Prim’s brand.
“I’m the only child of Rebecca and Tobias Enfield. I was born in Philadelphia. My mother passed away when I was four and my father made sure to see to my education. He owned a few farms outside of the city and was looking to expand into the neighboring colonies, without the use of slave labor. He moved us to Boston about ten years ago at the behest of a landowner who had promised my father a sizable plot of land to start a new farm as an offset of a working plantation down in Savannah. His name was Mr. Tennent.”
Prim took a break to breathe, her throat already sore. She pressed on despite the pain.
“Mr. Tennent met with my father to discuss the deal, but claimed that the amount for the farm was far higher than what he’d promised. My father’s funds were not enough and Mr. Tennent demanded satisfaction for the missing money to make up the cost, if the deal was to go through. I understand now that my father was thinking of the future, knowing that if he backed out of a deal this lucrative, he might not have another chance to expand his land and provide me with funds for my future. At the time, my father had no assets that could cover the costs. They came to an agreement, after days of discussion, that I’d be hired into the Tennent’s household as an indentured servant in order to pay the remainder of what was owed. My service was agreed upon for two years, which would be enough to cover the cost and allow my father to recoup his own losses through the land he bought.”
“Mr. Tennent assigned me daily chores in his home in Boston, along with tending to his wife and three childrens’ needs. I did my duty as instructed, knowing that I was only there for a short amount of time. A half a year before I was to be sent home, Mr. Tennent took me aside and told me that my father had passed away. I was distraught; there was no one in the colonies that I knew, no family that my father had told me about that I could return to. I was thirteen, alone, and unsure of what prospects I had.”
Prim took another moment to catch her breath. Miranda listened intently, still pale, but now focused on Prim’s face.
“Mr. Tennent said that because my father was no longer alive to pay his debts, I was his collateral and would remain in his service. I thought that meant I’d be taken into his family or would just remain as a member of his household staff until I’d earned enough to make my own way. Instead, I was branded before we traveled from Boston to Savannah to his plantation. I was no longer a person, but his property, and my brand was clear enough to see who I belonged to.”
“Primrose.”
Prim stopped speaking, surprised that Miranda had used her full name. The two sat in silence for a moment. Miranda’s face had regained some color, but there were tears in her eyes now. Slowly, she gently touched Prim’s brand, the touch as light as a feather on the scarred skin.
“How long did he keep you?”
Prim took a slow breath in through her nose, catching the scent of leather from her scarf and focusing on that to keep herself grounded. “Ten years.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to see Miranda’s expression. She could hear Miranda’s shocked gasp and feel her hand clamp down on her shoulder. Prim took a shallow breath in and shakily exhaled.
She felt lighter, if only slightly. There was more she could tell, but for now, it felt like enough. Prim was ready for the questions, the concern and the pity that could come with such a revelation, but when she opened her eyes, there was just a sad look on Miranda’s face. Not pity, just sadness.
“You’ve gone through such hardship,” Miranda whispered, “but know that there are people here who will support you, myself among that number.” She moved her hand from Prim’s shoulder and gathered Prim’s hands in hers. “I know there isn’t anything to be done about what has already happened, but my door will always be open to you if you need anything.”
Prim took a deep breath to keep her tears at bay. She closed her eyes and nodded, taking a few minutes to compose herself as Miranda held her hands. It was the first time in many years that she felt comfort from someone who genuinely cared.
—
Miranda had to place the kettle back on the fire to get the water hot again, then poured it into two mugs and set them down on the table. “Give it a few minutes to cool. Now, there is something I wish to hear.”
Prim’s brows furrowed. “And what’s that?”
“How is your relationship with the mysterious Captain proceeding?”
Prim’s mouth dropped open, completely blindsided by the question, causing Miranda to laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
Miranda placed her elbows on the table, propping her head on her hands like an excited schoolgirl. “Come now, I’m sure that you met with him at least once more before today. Do you still doubt that you and he are compatible?”
Prim tried to stretch the silence out before she answered, reaching for the mug of tea and holding it against her palms. She had seen Charles last night. He’d killed for her, he had tried to keep her grounded and in the present, he’d made sure she had gotten back to her room safely. It wasn’t something he had to do. He could have just left her, but he didn’t.
What would she even say to Charles when they did meet again?
It took Prim another moment to realize that it was the first time that she thought of Charles and not ‘Vane’ or ‘Captain Vane.’ She felt her face grow warm.
“Ah, I see,” Miranda said, snapping Prim from her thoughts, a playful smile on her lips, “Keep your secrets. I’ll relish them until the next time you visit.”
Chapter 18: Unraveling
Summary:
I BACK!!
I had a shift in my work schedule (early mornings are...no bueno) and I’ve been a bit too tired to write once my shift is over.
Conflict arises! Charles Vane does seem to shove an entire boot into his mouth from time to time, doesn't he?
I’m going to be honest, this one was hard for me to write. I needed to talk it out with my best friend in order to get a clear idea of how the chapter should progress and how certain characters should act. And my new schedule is still an adjustment.
To give you an idea of my writing process, I don’t usually work in order. If I get an idea for something, I'll immediately write it down without context. I had a whole different idea for this chapter, but by the time I was up to chapter 15, I knew I needed to make some changes.
Thank you again for all of the comments, kudos, and hits! There have been over 700 hits on this story so far along with almost a dozen comments!! I’m so happy that you guys are liking it!! Thank you so much!!!
Chapter content warnings: mentions of past violence, mentions of death, threats of violence, threats of assault, betrayal of trust, mentions of past torture, disassociation
Chapter updated 6/6/2025
Chapter Text
With large bundles of fresh mint, rosemary, and lambs ear, Prim headed back to Nassau.
Prim wished the visit with Miranda had lasted longer, but taking the time to have tea and reflect put Prim’s mind at ease. She felt more centered and the tea had done wonders to help her throat feel better.
Walking back to the brothel with a clear head made her realize that she might have been too harsh earlier that day. Maybe she’d speak to Max and apologize, or at the very least talk through everything that was causing the Madame such worry, just so Prim could understand where her anger, or frustration, or whatever spurred on her confrontation that day, was coming from.
As she made her way down the street, the late afternoon heat finally began to settle. Clouds moved across the sun providing a small respite to the oppressive heat and prompting Prim to remove the scarf from the bottom of her face. Miranda had given her a few sachets of tea when Prim had commented on how they soothed her throat. Prim hoped she could use the mint to make a tea for Miranda as appreciation for her thoughtfulness.
“Didn’t expect to see you out so soon,” a rough voice called from her right. Prim turned to see the book vendor beckoning her, a small smile on his usually sour face.
She carefully deposited her bundles of herbs into her bag and approached him. His set-up was the same, a few more stacks of books that he found on the beach on display for her to peruse. She missed being able to take the time and just browse through his wares.
“Feels like I haven’t been here in ages,” Prim said, already crouching down to a stack of books to check for anything new that piqued her interest. She could already see a few poetry books (perfect for Charlotte) she was ready to buy on the spot.
The man regarded her with his one eye as she perused the selections, then turned his eye to the street, scanning the people walking to and fro. She looked behind her, a feeling of uneasiness creeping into the pit of her stomach. When she turned back, the man gave her a gap toothed grin.
“Don’t you worry, lass,” he said, waving her towards another stack of books, “Just making certain no one undesirable decides to come over.”
Prim hesitated and realized that Charles might not have been the only one that had witnessed her attack in the alley. She felt a familiar dread settle in her stomach, willing herself to remain in the present and not dwell on what had occurred the night before. She flexed her fingers, expecting to feel them wet with blood, but they only tingled as the tell-tale numbness began working itself up the digits. She gave the vendor a sideways glance and chose her next words carefully.
“Am I to assume that you heard an…altercation last night?”
“Aye,” the vendor said, keeping his voice low, “Couldn’t help with the fight, but there are other ways to make sure the streets stay clean.”
Prim stood up straight, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. The vendor focused on her, his eye glittering in the afternoon light. His brows raised up and he turned towards a small cart to his side, a simple wooden thing which seemed to have some questionable stains on the wood grain. Her stomach churned again.
“Happened upon this during the clean-up,” the vendor said, holding out something in his palm, “Figured this was yours. Cleaned it off for ya.”
Prim’s shears gleamed in the late afternoon light, looking just as they had before she’d buried them into one of New Low’s crewmate’s chest. She should thank the vendor, show her appreciation in some way, but there were no words of gratitude running through her mind. Just fear.
The full weight of the night before crashed down on her. Someone else had been a witness to her killings. What if Ned Low questioned the bookseller? Even if Jack had mentioned banning the rest of Low’s crew from the brothel, there was still a chance that Low would learn what she did and try to seek retribution once more.
She took a step back from the vendor’s outstretched hands. Then another.
“I’m so sorry!” she called out, her own voice sounding far away as she turned to head towards the brothel. She moved with purpose towards the building, trying not to think of what could await her if Ned Low learned of what she’d done. Her fingers dug into the fabric and leather of her bag, clutching it tight as she weaved through the people on the street.
Her return to the Inn was met with little fanfare, which was odd, as the brothel seemed quite crowded. The lack of noise made her curious and she looked to see what it was that was drawing everyone’s attention.
Prim watched as Charles Vane, out of his fort and apparently now welcome in the building, embraced Jack Rackham, every eye in the place focused on them. Finally, Charles seemed to have reconciled with his former crewmates. It meant that Jack and Anne could start sailing again.
She went to her room, setting down her bag on her table, feeling a bit calmer. If she could focus on a task and only that task, it’d help her to keep her thoughts from spiraling. Miranda’s herbs needed to be checked over before Prim could bundle them up in the drying process, so she took them out one by one, sorting them into piles. Mint, lambs ear, rosemary, lambs ear, mint, mint, mint, rosemary-
Prim flinched as two quick knocks sounded on her doorframe. As she turned, she realized that in her haste, she didn’t close the door to her room.
Charles Vane stood in the doorway, leaning up against the frame. There looked to be a bit more care put into the braids in his hair and his clothing looked cleaner than when she’d last seen them. There was a lazy smile playing on his lips.
He took a step forward and Prim immediately backpedaled, catching her hip against the corner of the table. Charles’s expression immediately turned concerned and he stopped moving. Prim could feel tears springing up, cursing herself for still feeling so afraid. She screwed her eyes closed.
Charles had been the one to save her, the one responsible for her standing in her room at this very moment. He wasn’t going to harm her. Why couldn’t that frightened part of her understand that?
There was a pause, then the sound of slow and deliberate steps made their way towards her.
She kept her eyes shut, willing herself to remain in the present and not slip into memories of the past. Charles’s hands moved to her shoulders, the fingers on his right hand finding her brand. She could feel his thumb against the scar, not tracing it but just catching his calluses on it in a steady motion.
The sounds from outside her door faded out, leaving her in darkness with Charles’s hands keeping her still. She took a shaky breath in, feeling her shoulders being squeezed as she did so. It was laborious, attempting to dredge herself up from the dark thoughts she had. It took her another three deep breaths to feel steadier.
Prim opened her eyes, the rest of her senses coming back to her in one large wave, trying to find a way to keep herself from being swept away. She reached up to wipe at her eyes, trying to pull herself together.
Charles’s face was blank as he watched her settle. He was silent, just looking at her, eyes lingering on her neck. Prim tried not to blush under his intense gaze. Even though the scarf hid most of her injuries from view, he’d been witness to how she got her bruises.
“If I might be so bold,” he said, taking a step towards her, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin, “I think you look rather good in my colors.”
For a moment, Prim didn’t understand, but when Charles reached out his hand to ever so gently touch the fabric wrapped around her neck, she could feel a full flush rising on her cheeks.
“I thought- I didn’t-” she babbled, hands fluttering towards her neck so she could take the scarf off and return it to its owner. Charles caught one of her hands as she tried to move his hand from her neck.
“Keep it,” he said, the amused grin still on his face, moving her right hand down towards her side, “I can always get another one. And you need it more than I do right now.”
Prim opened her mouth to say something, anything that could at the very least express the gratitude she had towards his rescue the night before, but before she could even get a stammering appreciation out, there was a tapping noise on her window. She suppressed a scowl as she turned towards the glass window and opened it, missing Charles’s warm hands on her.
It was normal for a few drunkards from the tavern to knock on her window in hopes of getting the attention of one of the girls, but Prim’s appearance made them sober up quickly.
“If you bastards are starting to drink before it’s dark, I swea-”
Ned Low stood outside, along with the man that had fled from the alleyway the night before.
For a moment, Prim’s mind went blank, a deep seated fear overtaking her. She needed to run, she needed to get away from the two men that were mere feet outside of her window. She took a shuddering breath in, feeling like the very air was being choked out of her. Her vision swam as Ned Low grinned and she could feel her mind beginning to slip somewhere else.
Before she could make her body move, Charles was in front of her, blocking her view with his back. He did not touch her, but his body’s heat was close enough to a comfort. Again, he was protecting her, but why? What reason did he have?
“The fuck are you doing here?” he growled.
Prim couldn’t see Low’s face, but she could see that his body was moving, as if trying to look behind Charles to see her.
“Captain Vane!” he said, voice eerily cheery, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Especially not here of all places. Thought you were banned, last I heard?”
“The Madame had a change of heart,” Charles said, “That doesn’t explain why you’re here when Jack banned you from even stepping near the building.”
“That ponce can’t just ban paying customers,” Low’s crewmate growled back, “And we didn’t do nothin’ to deserve the ban.”
Charles took a step forward, Prim moving with him on instinct. “From what I hear, your crew has done more than enough. I suggest you leave. Now.” His voice was getting close to a growl and Prim could sense the predator she’d encountered weeks ago baring its teeth.
Low made a small sound, akin to a sigh. Disappointment colored his next words. “I had assumed you understood that the money I gave you extended not just to the Guthrie woman, but to the witch as well. That’d you’d stand aside and allow me to do what needed to be done. Was I mistaken?” He paused. “Didn’t take you for having such strong feelings for two whores.”
Prim could see how Charles’s back tensed at that and caught Ned Low’s eye as he finally met her gaze. “At least Guthrie’s got a spine on her. Look at you, cowering behind-”
She didn’t realize she moved until she was face to face with Low. The only thing that separated them was the windowsill. Prim was tired of this, regardless of the fear she felt. She gained a small bit of satisfaction from seeing Low’s crewmate backing away from the window as she approached.
She could say something, threatening Low, which could put her back in danger again, but instead Prim grabbed the edges of the window and slammed the glass down and latched it. Through the warped glass, she met Low’s angry stare as he watched her before stomping away, his crewmate following close behind.
“Is what he said true?” Prim asked, her voice catching in her throat, “Did he pay you to not get involved with me and Eleanor if he was to go after us?” She turned to face him, the anger and confidence she felt all but snuffed out by what she saw.
Charles was silent, eyes sliding from her face and towards her table. He didn’t look ashamed, but his mouth was pinched into a frown.
“Is. It. True?” she asked again. The way she ground out her words made her want to cough.
“Yes.”
Her stomach dropped. For a moment, she was back in Savannah, seeing the look on the face of a young boy as he looked on her in fear. Of Mr. Tennant coming towards her with the hot iron brand that would bind her as his property, a look of twisted glee on his face. The look of the servants and slaves who could only watch as a flame was lowered onto her oil slicked back.
Prim let out a strangled noise and, in an instant, Charles’s hand was on her arm, his touch light. She hated how it grounded her, how it brought her back to the present and into the anguish she was trying to resolve within herself. Very slowly, feeling as though she was moving through water, Prim tugged her arm out of his grip. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t let go, but when she looked him in the eyes, he immediately released his grip.
Prim turned towards her table, focusing on the herbs she’d collected with Miranda in a futile attempt to not worry about the man in her room. With the heat of the day, the mint leaves were already curling up in an attempt to keep their moisture. She felt the urge to mimic them, to curl in on herself, but she didn’t want to display any more weakness than she already had. She moved towards the wood, placing her hands on the table.
She and Charles had been steadily circling each other, moving this way and that and found themselves on equal ground for a moment. She thought things would have settled. Now, the ground was pulled away and Prim felt that she was in freefall.
Prim thought she’d found her place in Nassau, but even now, just a handful of months after being freed, there were still people working against her. She was just another pawn for Charles and Eleanor and Max to play around with as they wished, cleaning up messes and keeping her mouth shut because she had to in order to survive in peace. It was no better than the life she had before, the decade she spent under someone else’s control. The freedom she had hoped for in her new life was nothing more than a fantasy; no matter what she did, someone else would try to take advantage of her and she couldn’t stop them.
The scars on her back ached. God, she was so tired.
“Get out of my room.”
She could hear Charles shuffle behind her. “What?"
“I’m not going to tell you twice,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could, “Please leave.”
Prim waited a few moments, trying to keep her breathing steady. She didn’t know how long the two of them stood there, but it seemed like forever until Charles’s footsteps made their way towards her door. She didn’t turn around until she heard her door click shut.
Chapter 19: Consequences
Summary:
Oh dear…
But also, here's over 3,000 words to thank you for your patience!!
Of course, keeping with canon, we’re onto another gnarly chapter as far as descriptions of violence are concerned. Ned Low doesn’t last all of season two, after all! (I’m assuming ya’ll are caught up or have already watched the show at this point, but spoilers if you haven’t; the whole show’s available on Netflix, check it out!)
Another chapter where I needed to talk out character reactions. Prim has gotten angry, but I wanted her reactions to not feel like she was being dramatic to suit the story; rather, she was saying what she was saying and doing what she was doing because that was how she reacted to things. Hopefully that makes sense.
Again, I appreciate all of the love you've been giving this story. We're almost at 900 hits at the time of this chapter's publication!!
There's much more to come as I work through some old documents I've found from years ago.
Chapter content warnings: Death of a minor character, descriptions of violence and injury, drinking and drunkenness
As of June 7th 2025, this chapter has been edited and updated!
Chapter Text
Prim spent the rest of the day with the window to her room covered by her newly stocked bag and staying outside of her room as much as possible. She busied herself with chores, working though some of the other girls’ tasks without complaint. The afternoon moved quickly as she moved from task to task, trying to keep herself away from any of the girls so she didn’t have to take part in their gossip.
Max kept her distance, but Prim could see her hovering in one or two doorways while she assisted with stripping down the bedsheets of the rooms for washing. Jack did approach her to ask if she was alright, but once she insisted she was fine, he left her be. Anne remained on the balcony overlooking the rest of The Inn, eyes trained on the ground floor and not once lingering on Prim. For that, at least she was thankful.
The girls were a bit harder to ignore. Charlotte was initially on laundry duty and would follow Prim into some of the upper rooms, gaze bright as she waited to hear some gossip or news, but Prim didn’t give her the satisfaction. Hannah was with clients for a majority of the day, but she took a few moments to seek out Prim. Once Prim had shown that she had no desire to go back into her room, Hannah had taken it upon herself to take one of the balms Prim kept for bruises and applied it to Prim’s throat throughout the rest of the day. Idelle kept her distance, but when she did meet Prim’s eyes, there was a hardness to her gaze.
She found a sense of calm in the routine. There was always something to do around the brothel and keeping her body busy helped to keep her mind focused. Even though her body ached and her throat hurt from the previous night, she worked through it. She wouldn’t allow thoughts from the day’s events to slow her down.
Before she knew it, the sun had set and some of the regular clients were arriving from the stores of the street. Prim ducked back into her room, unaffected by the darkness as she shut her doors. She felt exhausted from everything that had transpired in the past day and guessed it wouldn’t take her long to drift off to sleep. She changed into a nightdress one of the girls had lent her and settled into bed.
Sleep came easy, between one breath and the next.
—
“I can’t,” Prim whimpered.
“You have to.”
She turned, squinting her eyes against the sun. It was too hot, the dress that Mr. Tennent had made her wear clung to her back and only aggravated the freshly healed burns that tugged against her skin.
A tanned hand found its way onto her shoulder, squeezing tight. The voice of its owner was soft, but there was a hardness lying beneath it. He always spoke like that.
“I will help you anyway I can, but this is not something I can do for you. He is watching and he will punish you if you show him weakness.”
Prim nodded and she could almost make out a smile behind the sun’s light.
“Survive,” he whispered, “for all of us.”
For a moment, she was somewhere else, stashed between two beds in a rowhouse that she didn’t belong in. Mr. Tennent stood at the door, pistol in hand, mouth screwed into a wicked smile.
Prim could almost hear the scream of the young boy that dove into the path of a bullet that was meant for her.
—
Another bloodcurdling scream was enough to rouse Prim from her rest, the dream evaporating as she sprung into action. She heard the scream again and was out of bed in a moment, throwing on a dark green coverall that she cinched with a belt she had in her supply. She instinctively grabbed her bag and rushed out the door to find out what was going on.
It was still dark outside. Prim didn’t know how late it was, but the lanterns on the street were already lit along with the occasional torch flame to assist with keeping the road from growing too dark.
In the dim light, she could see a crowd gathering at the tavern’s entrance, lamps and torches alike brightening up the area. Prim moved cautiously, making her way to where a large group of people were standing close to one of the entrances to the tavern. They were circled around something, a large torch at the center throwing light around the shadowed faces of pirates and members of the interior.
For a moment, she thought she was still in a dream. The crowd parted, a few murmurs of ‘witch’ floating through the group, but what she beheld in the center of their circle was not what she even imagined she would expect.
Ned Low’s head was speared on a pike, right next to the tavern’s entrance, the expression on his face one of sheer terror. There was blood in his hair, but not the face was wiped clean so that there was no mistake as to the owner. Prim looked further down on the pike, noticing a sheet of parchment tacked onto the wood with a message written in dark ink:
I angered Charles Vane
“Fuck,” Prim whispered, taking a step back.
Charles had killed him.
She felt sick. She could smell the blood that was dripping down the stake and onto the dirt road, watching it puddle. She took another step back, the crowd parting to allow her back into the fringes.
She took a steadying breath, turning away from the crowd and heading back to the Inn. She needed to make sure that the rest of the girls knew what was going on.
Prim instinctively turned towards the alleyway, partly in fear of a group of Low’s crewmates lurking in the shadows, but mostly to make sure there wasn’t anyone unwelcome lingering outside of her window.
For a moment in the flickering lamplight, she couldn’t make out anything, but once she focused, she could see the shape of someone sitting against the wall of the Inn. Taking a step closer, she could see a familiar silhouette in the shadows.
Prim didn’t even hesitate, stomping up to Charles with a scowl.
“Are you insane?” she rasped, crouching down beside him in order to inspect him for injuries, but also to shield him from anyone who was waiting to check down the alleyway. Now that she’d had at least a few hours of sleep, seeing Charles again made her more angry than hurt.
Charles looked up at her, face stained with blood, eyes bright in the flickering lamplight from the street. She could see he was holding a hand to his left wrist, the blood pooling through his fingers enough for her to realize Low had gotten at least one good stab in.
“You came,” he murmured, his voice sounding thick in her ears. Was he drunk?
“Of course I came; they’re screaming in the streets about you and you’re outside my window.” She paused. “Again.”
There was a curl of his lips at that and he rested his head against the outside wall of The Inn, closing his eyes.
She’d never had the urge to strike someone, but she needed Charles awake in order to make sure there was only one wound he needed to worry about. Prim gave into temptation and smacked his cheek, hard, forcing him to open his eyes. Charles gave her an incredulous look and it took all of her willpower not to laugh.
“What the fu-”
“Hush,” she said, reaching into her bag for her replenished cloth bandages. She knew he was left-handed, knew the dangers of a wound just above the wrist, and the last thing she needed was his voice in her ear distracting her.
Charles seemed to understand and held his arm steady, not uttering a word. Prim knew she could try to take a needle to the wound, but without evaluating the damage, it could cause more problems later. She decided that wrapping it would be enough to stem the flow. Now that she had more time to look at it, it seemed that whatever he’d been stabbed with went straight through to the other side of his arm.
“You’re lucky you were stabbed straight through,” she muttered, wrapping his arm as tightly as she could to stem the bleeding. Charles didn’t even let out a hiss, which irked her even more. “Wiggle your fingers, I need to make sure you don’t have a severed nerve.”
He did as she asked and it didn’t look like he was having issues moving. He made no sound of pain, no indication that he’d even been hurt. Prim gritted her teeth.
“I suppose Eleanor is the reason for this act of rebellion?” she asked, pulling the bandage taut and relishing the grunt she got from him in return.
Charles looked at her, blinking slowly in the dim light.
“...didn’t do it for her.”
Prim couldn’t help but roll her eyes, tying off the bandage.
“Of course not. Now, get out of here before you draw any more attention to yourself.”
She let go of the bandage, but felt Charles’s fingers brush against her own. She hated how her heart fluttered at the contact, but didn’t meet his eyes. He was trying to ingratiate her and she wasn’t going to fall for it. She moved her hand away and headed out of the alley back towards the entrance to the brothel, not daring to look back.
Most of the girls were out of their rooms when she entered the building, clutching silk robes or hastily wrapped blankets around their bodies. Prim headed straight to the bar, setting down her bag and pulling up a seat. Idelle was behind the bar in an instant, leaning in towards Prim with an expectant look.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Don’t have to worry about Ned Low anymore,” Prim said, holding out her hand for a bottle of whatever she could get. Idelle gave her a half-empty decanter of wine and slid a mug next to her. Prim looked at the mug, then at the decanter, and uncorked it. She took a swig straight from the bottle, letting out a deep sigh before delivering the news to the group of wide-eyed women around her. “He’s dead.”
There was an eruption of noise throughout the bottom floor of the brothel to arouse the girls on the second floor. Prim could see Jack and Anne already leaning over the railing on the stairs, Max appearing close behind. She knew she should report everything she saw in order to keep Max abreast of the incident, but for now, she just wanted to get very, very drunk.
Idelle leaned over the counter of the bar again. “I’m no physician, but I don’t know if drinking is going to help with your throat.”
“Don’t care,” Prim said, clearing her throat before she took another swig.
“Dove, I know you’re upset about something.”
“Charles Vane killed Ned Low.”
That caused Idelle to straighten up behind the counter. “Really?”
“Left a note and everything. Low’s head on a pike, ‘I angered Charles Vane’ tacked onto paper right below it. Can’t get much clearer.”
Idelle’s eyes went wide. “Didn’t they say that Low decapitated his quartermaster at the tavern? And Vane did the same to him?”
Prim groaned and took another swig, glad that the wine was slightly more watered down than usual as it soothed her throat. “Captain Vane made an example of him.” She took another large gulp from the decanter, frowning as she realized it was empty.
“He did it for her,” Prim murmured, “Low was a threat to Eleanor wanted and bribed Char- Vane to make sure he wouldn’t interfere. Vane killed him to make absolutely sure her place wasn't questioned.”
“Of course he did,” Idelle muttered, handing off another half-filled decanter, “I’m sure she’s fucking his brains out this very moment in gratitude.”
Prim groaned, taking a fresh swig. This wine was a little sweeter and a bit easier on her throat. “That’s the last thing I needed to hear.”
“It’s true. Hope she chokes on him so she can finally shut up.”
Prim’s eyebrows shot up and she almost spit out the wine she hadn’t swallowed. “You really don’t like her, do you?”
Idelle’s eyebrow’s quirked in response. “Eleanor Guthrie could be on fire and I wouldn’t even take the time to piss on her.”
That got her to laugh and even though it hurt to do so. It prompted a few looks from some of the other girls, but Prim allowed herself the indulgence. She coughed afterward and Idelle had to fetch her a mug of water. It was the first time in a very, very long while that she’d laughed. Even though it hurt, her spirit felt better for it.
“The girls could tell something happened this afternoon,” Idelle said, once Prim had settled, “I won’t pry, but if you need me to knock some sense into Captain Vane, I’ll do so willingly and with enthusiasm.”
“He has a stab wound to the arm, that’s enough pain for me to feel good about.”
Idelle chuckled, leaning over the counter, propping her head on her hands. “Wonderful, dove. I didn’t think you realized the…allure that Charles Vane has over some of the girls here, but it’s good to see that you see him for his true self.”
Prim sipped on her mug of water, then took a large gulp from the decanter. She knew that regardless of what she thought of him or what she expected him to do, he’d go off and do whatever he wished. There was no predicting Charles Vane and she knew that whatever happened next between them, she needed to remember that.
There was a soft squeak of a chair next to her and she turned to see Max sitting at the bar. Idelle poured a mug of something auburn and slid it over to the Madame, then bowed her head and retreated towards one of the curtained rooms.
“Prim,” Max said, fingers drifting along the rim of her mug, “About this afternoon, may I speak?”
Prim began to speak before Max could continue. “I apologize for-”
“ Non ,” Max said, her voice firm, holding up a hand, “You spoke your mind and said your piece. I should have spoken to you earlier, long before the rumors became an issue.”
“How could you have known they’d become a problem?” Prim shot back, trying not to sound harsh as she took another sip from the decanter. She’d be in no shape to take patients the next day. “How could you have guessed what sort of obstacles you and I would encounter?”
Max’s lips screwed into a frown. “I make it my business to know things, to anticipate what can come from decisions that myself and others make.”
She turned to look at Prim, fully facing her. For a moment, Prim could see how tired Max looked, how her dress, although fine and beautiful looking, was frayed in places easily hidden by the folds of fabric. How her kohl lined eyes hid the darkening circles beneath them.
“This place was once something I never thought I’d embrace fully. But it’s shown its worth and I’d be remiss to deny myself what I could learn here.”
Prim nodded, switching from the decanter to her mug of water. “I assume you want to know what I saw out there?”
“ Oui . But know that this is for the safety of the girls, not to make you dwell on what you saw.”
Prim recounted the scene in as much detail as she could, Max looking mostly unaffected by the news. Idelle wandered back over to the bar, pouring another drink for Max as Prim finished up the description of the spectacle Charles Vane left in the street.
Max took a quick sip from her mug. “It seems that Captain Vane is making moves. He makes himself a more prominent partner in the business of the Inn and is going after other Captains without seeking Eleanor’s approval.”
“There’s something more going on,” Prim muttered, “Eleanor had to have spoken to him, had to have said something to make him act.”
“Still,” Idelle said, her smile sharp, “I might have heard that, while Charles was in your room, Ned Low was lurking just outside your window.”
Prim knocked over her decanter as she moved to get closer to Idelle. “So you knew that Low was outside my window?” she asked, feeling hurt that Idelle didn’t share that information with her before she’d gone into her room.
“Found out once Charles left. One of the girls was headed back from the tavern, saw how you slammed the window shut on him and his man.” Idelle’s smirk grew wider. “You keep saying that he’s got his eyes set on Eleanor, but Charles seems to be taking time to see you.”
Prim settled herself back in her seat, the sudden flush of anger dissipating.
“She’s right,” Max said, “It’s not often Charles Vane asks around about someone other than his next fuck or Eleanor Guthrie.”
Idelle wiped off the bar counter and grabbed another bottle, tipping a bit more wine into Prim’s decanter. “And he brought you back here after what happened last night. Are you two-?”
“Fuck no,” Prim muttered, taking a long swig from the decanter, “He made it clear that he’s only looking out for himself now.”
“And yet, Ned Low is dead,” Max said.
“Because of Eleanor,” Prim countered, “Low went after her first, threatening her position. She and Charles have history, of course he’d kill in her name.” She felt the tears welling up and tried to blink them away. “It’s always been about her.”
Max was quiet next to her, something Prim appreciated as she attempted to collect herself. God, she was going to be a mess in the morning if she kept it up. She pushed the decanter away, placing her face in her hands.
“He did so much for me,” she said, her voice muffled by her palms, “Charles Vane killed the man that would have killed me, but then he takes a bribe to not involve himself in my affairs to let another Captain have their way with me. Instead of wanting him to rot, I patch him up like I always do. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“I think,” Max said, her voice soft, resting her hand on Prim’s shoulder, “you are in love.”
Prim scoffed.
“There is nothing wrong with being in love.”
“Except when the person you love doesn’t feel the same way.”
“Do you know this for a fact? Have you questioned him about his affections towards you?”
Prim lifted her face from her hands and turned to Max. “I never had the chance,” she mumbled, “And he’s got Eleanor, why should I even bother?”
Max opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Prim was taken aback, never knowing the Madame to hesitate when wanting to provide her opinion. Max looked at her mug, considering the spirit inside it for a moment before she took a very long drink. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her dress and leaned in close to Prim.
“We cannot choose who our hearts are drawn to,” Max whispered, “but we can make sure that we are ready to accept the pain that comes with our choice.” She paused and took in a slow breath. “I have accepted that truth with Eleanor and I know that you will be able to do so with Captain Vane.”
Prim could see that Max was being sincere, the start of tears beginning to well up just above the kohl lined rims. Prim turned away, focused on the decanter that she was now holding in a tight grip. She let it go, moving her hand to grasp at the mug of water.
Was what she felt truly love?
Chapter 20: Tether (Charles POV)
Summary:
Another introspection from Charles. I know, most of the consensual sex scenes I’ve written or alluded to don’t include Prim in them, but we’re getting there!!
I wanted to get Charles's ideas of affection and love smoothed out here to use in future chapters as his relationship with Prim deepens more than he's used to. This isn't really something that's overt in the show, so I really hope I did it justice!
The dynamic between Charles and Eleanor always intrigued me. This is how you write enemies to lovers to enemies(?) to lovers(?) to enemies. Lots of angst, good acting on both sides. Good stuff, Stars, good stuff.
Also, I am fully in the camp of ‘Charles Vane takes care of the ladies’ needs’ because I think that he wouldn’t be so popular at The Inn if he didn’t. And you saw how some of those ladies were hanging off him, my goodness.
Thank you all for your kudos and hits! We made it over 1,000 hits and 50 kudos!! I appreciate each and every one of you for giving this fic a chance, guests included, and I am so happy you're enjoying it!! I'm having a blast writing it~
Chapter content warnings: sex, descriptions of past violence, descriptions of manipulation
Edited 6/7/25
Chapter Text
The words “I didn’t do it for you” still felt heavy on his tongue hours after he’d spoken them.
Eleanor had all but presented herself to him when she entered the fort, kissing him soundly, then hiking up her skirts. He’d taken her against his desk, against one of the hard rock walls of the lower rooms as she gasped out in pleasure, and he was currently working her open again on the furs of his bed.
She was pale against the dark furs, writhing on his fingers as her hands scrabbled along his skin to find a place to hang on. Her nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned, shoving deeper into her with the intent on having her cum again so he’d have a chance to recover. He moved his face to her chest, mouthing at her breasts as she let out a loud gasp as he ran his tongue over her nipple.
“More,” she gasped through gritted teeth, the last part of the word dropping off into a moan as she came, slick dripping down his fingers and puddling on his palm and the furs beneath her.
Charles lifted his head and grinned, twisting one of his fingers just so. Eleanor nearly bucked off the bed and shoved at his shoulders to stop. He relented, pulling out and straightening up on his knees.
For a moment there was silence between them, broken only by the sounds of Eleanor trying to catch her breath. They never talked much once the afterglow faded, but he could see by the set of her brows that she was thinking about something. He spared a glance out his window, seeing just how late it was.
The heat in his blood began to cool, but he bent down, bracketing her prone form with his arms and knees.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, tilting his head.
That brought Eleanor out of her head, eyes far more alert than someone who was just minutes ago in the throes of pleasure. She was always quick to leave after cumming, tying up the ribbons on her dress and smoothing the wrinkles before Charles could even get up to try and pull her back into his lap for another round. She never lingered longer than she had to and the fact that she’d stayed as long as she had tonight felt like he was in a dream.
The twinge of pain in his left wrist was enough to prove otherwise and he glanced at the bandage, frowning at his thoughts drifting to another woman other than the one in his bed. He grit his teeth and looked back at Eleanor, trying to discern what was wrong.
She seemed to know he was expecting an answer. “Sorry,” she murmured, turning herself over to lie on her side, “It was a bit too much.”
The heat in his belly cooled even more. He moved off of her, allowing her space. “Did I-”
Eleanor twisted to face him fully, giving him a small smile. “It was just a bit overwhelming. Give me some time?”
He nodded, his own pleasure forgotten as he moved onto the side of the bed she wasn’t occupying. The furs would be stinking with sweat and spend come morning if he didn’t move them both off and under the covers, but when Eleanor moved in closer to nestle herself against his body, he knew it was a small price to pay. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, just reveling in the feeling of her against him.
Those who knew him would never describe Charles as a soft man. Even if they didn’t know of his past, he had a reputation in Nassau as being one of the most ruthless pirates that had found their way to New Providence. He was tall and showed off the scars that spoke of battles other sailors could only imagine. He struck an imposing figure up against the men who called themselves pirates. They let beer and women slow their draw of their swords and put fat on their bellies.
He’d sailed with Blackbeard for most of his life and crossed swords with Flint and Hornigold with his own strength and merit when he became the Captain of his own ship.
But then there was Eleanor Guthrie.
Seeing her years ago on the beach had changed something in Charles. He stood, a pirate in his own right, but with her bright brown eyes focused on him as he caught her in a moment of vulnerability, he felt like the one that was taken off guard.
Blackbeard, who’d finally told him his given name Edward Teach after years of sailing under him, had laughed at his description of what happened, more than happy to provide advice on how to approach her. There had been no women at Albinus’s camp, so Charles felt out of his element with this new feeling that settled in his gut. Teach had showed him to the brothel, had a few of the older girls take him under their wing to teach him how best to give and receive pleasure. Charles became a regular, spending a bit of his well earned coin on long nights in bed with a whore that would guide him through where to place his fingers, how to flick his tongue just right, and how to tell when a woman was wet enough for him to stick it in.
He’d met Idelle during one of his first visits. He was closer in age to her than he was with Eleanor and, after a very memorable first visit, Idelle decided that she’d be the one to teach him more about a woman’s body. She was frank with him, blunt almost to a fault, showing him that a little bit of softness in a dark bedroom was nothing to be ashamed of. His hard edges were softened even outside the brothel and Teach had commented that he’d make one of the whores a happy wife, if he wanted to buy one of their contracts.
Charles didn’t want a whore. He wanted Eleanor. And he waited for his chance to properly make his intentions known to her when he approached her in the tavern. He couldn’t remember how he’d asked her, but it was his first time doing so and he knew he sounded like an idiot. Eleanor had giggled, taken him by the hand, and led him into the office in the tavern that would one day be hers. He’d taken her on the desk, throwing maps and inkwells to the side in a flurry of movement that had her squealing into his neck.
When they both had taken their pleasure, she told him about her plan for New Providence Island. How with her father more than happy to leave the island and its inhabitants under her care, she’d need someone strong beside her. Someone who was hardened by battles and ready to come into their own as Captain of their own ship.
But, there was a catch. There was always a catch with Eleanor. And Charles didn’t hesitate to turn on Blackbeard and drive him out of Nassau in order to make sure Eleanor’s rulings wouldn’t be questioned.
She’d rewarded him, of course. Not just with her body, but with the spoils that came with being the lover of New Providence’s trade boss. He’d made a name for himself as Captain of the Ranger and carved out his place in Nassau without Blackbeard. It didn’t take long from him to regret his decision and he believed it would be easy enough to leave Eleanor to her own devices. He could be just another Captain loyal to her, without being so attached. He thought he could push down those feelings for her.
And yet, whenever their eyes would meet on the street, it was as if she was a waypoint in the crowd, beckoning him closer. They’d spend the night together, she’d make promises, and he’d realize what he’d done. And the cycle would continue over and over and over again for eight years.
It was always Eleanor he’d drift back to. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t escape her pull on his heart. It was as if there were times where she was clutching it between her fingers, one tight squeeze away from ending him entirely. Charles would often think of how it wouldn’t be a bad way to die if it was by her hand.
He looked down at her, curled up in his arms. Soft against his salt weathered skin, his tanned arms looking so dark against her pale skin.
He was a fool to try and convince himself that everything he’d done over the past few hours hadn’t been for her.
“There’s something-”
Charles paused, just for a moment. Things were going well between them; she’d been the one to come to him. He wanted to trust her with what he and his men had found in The Fancy’s brig. The thing that Ned Low had been so secretive of when he made port in Nassau. And yet, there was still doubt in his heart that she wouldn’t use it or him for her own gain.
He’d shown her his strength without her; she knew what he could do to her if he wished. Yes, she held his heart in her grip, but he still had control. If he could convince her that his way was the only way to a free Nassau, then he’d take that chance.
Eleanor lifted her head and raised one of her eyebrows in question. “Charles?”
“I need to show you something,” he said, raising himself up from the furs.
Chapter 21: Old Crews, New Faces
Summary:
Time for some other character introductions! Prim needs to be able to tend to someone who will appreciate her. And we get some fan favorites to finally meet our girl!
I’ve been sitting on this chapter for a hot minute, so of course it’s coming out much sooner than the last few. Again, I appreciate your patience with me and the fact that you guys are still checking this fic out!! We’re up to over 1,200 hits, I can’t believe it!!
Chapter content warnings: mentions of past abuse and torture, injuries
As of June 11, 2025, this chapter has been updated!
Chapter Text
The crack of dawn brought a good deal of news into the street, despite the early hour. Ned Low’s fate was still on everyone’s lips, but their eyes were turned towards the harbor with the arrival of a large, unknown ship.
Prim stood on tiptoe near one of the brothel’s upper windows, trying to look out past the beach and into the water of the bay. A few of the other girls were positioned behind her, trying to see what had gotten Nassau into a frenzy.
Sure enough, a giant ship was sitting in the harbor just out of range of the fort. Even with less than a year of sailing under her belt, Prim knew a Man O’ War when she saw one. The colors on the sails were white, but there was a large black flag rippling off the stern, the design too far away to be seen to tell which Captain had claimed her for himself.
“They say it’s Spanish,” one of the news runners said, attempting to have his voice carry over the crowd that was surrounding him, “And that Captain Flint is the one on it. He made a threat to the fort that he’d attack if Captain Vane doesn’t give it up.”
“Flint’s gone for not even a few weeks and he’s expecting Vane to just leave?” one of the customers closest to the window commented.
Prim moved away from the hubub with a yawn, allowing other members of The Inn to fill into her spot. The drinks from the night before had resulted in a sound sleep and a bit of mint settled her stomach once she woke up. She was grateful that she didn’t have a headache to deal with either.
She headed down to her room, noticing the swarms of people making their way up the street outside the brothel’s open doors. They were coming from the beach, from the look of their sand covered shoes and hems of their dresses. Prim didn’t blame them; regardless of who was on the ship, they were within shooting range. And a Man O’ War had more cannons on it than probably any other ship currently docked in the harbor. The panic the fort’s cannonfire had brought on Nassau was nothing compared to the damage that a Man O’ War’s cannons could do.
Captain Flint’s return made Prim want to head into the interior of the island and let Miranda know. Prim had read about him in the papers from the colonies. She had to admit that his tales were quite bloody, the papers warning cargo ships in the Bahamas to be on the lookout for the Walrus, Flint’s ship. Since she’d spoken to the women in The Inn about how fictional those stories were, Prim wondered what Captain Flint was truly like. Maybe she’d happen upon him at Miranda’s cabin if she stopped over for tea or he’d come to her room for treatment.
The migration from the beach did provide her with a few clients over the next few hours. Many were new, having never ventured too far from the beach or were sailors that had made port the night before. More than a few seemed to think she was all talk and Prim was happy for the challenge.
She’d been working on more hair oils, especially when Jack kept asking her to make more for him. She infused them with different scents from rosemary to whatever she could buy from the storehouses to cater to both men and women. With the mint and lemon balm she’d been able to dry from Miranda’s cottage, she was able to provide soothing teas to help sailors with getting their bearings back on land. She was paid a visit by the pregnant woman who had visited her the night Eleanor first asked for help. Prim was able to feel the baby kick and the woman wasn’t experiencing the severe nausea she had before.
“Your mint really helped,” the woman said, settling back in one of Prim’s chairs, “Don’t even feel like I was ever sick, even with the baby. You really know your way around plants and such.”
“I’m just glad they were helpful,” Prim said, smiling, “And you haven’t felt ill since? No pain or cramping anywhere?”
“No, just tired. The extra weight’s enough to put you off sex, I’ll tell you that.”
She giggled at that. “Good to hear. If you should feel any discomfort at all or if something feels strange, please come here or have someone call on me and I’ll come to you, understood?”
The woman got up from her chair, her eyes looking misty. “Bless you, love. And thank you for everything you’ve done.” Before Prim could say anything more, the woman tugged her into a tight hug. Prim returned it, happier than she’d been in days. It felt nice to be appreciated.
She waved the woman off and decided to get to work on infusions. Prim was dropping a few sprigs of rosemary into some rum (the alcohol preserved the scents of the herbs for tinctures and she liked how it could act as a hair treatment to dry out oily scalps) when the doors to her room burst open. The person she turned to face was someone unfamiliar.
He stood at about her height, curly hair just brushing the tips of his shoulders. He had a young looking face, but Prim could see the start of a beard growing on his chin. He was dressed in loose fitting clothing and breeches, but from the sand that stuck to his shoes and how wet his pants were, he’d most likely come off of a boat.
“Forgive me, but I don’t think we’ve been acquainted,” she said, smiling politely, “How can I help you?”
He looked a bit out of breath and cleared his throat, needing a moment to collect himself to straighten his stance and give her a small grin.
“My name is John Silver,” he said, giving her a nod, “and my Captain is currently just outside the harbor in a Spanish Man O’ War. I have a bit of a situation that, according to what I’ve heard from the beach, you are one of the few on this island who can solve.”
Prim’s eyebrows shot up.
“Well,” she began, “I didn’t think I’d start my day with a visit from one of Captain Flint’s crew members. What is it that I can assist you with, Mr. Silver?”
Silver smiled, a wide, boyish thing that made her wonder if he was actually younger than she was. “I and another crew member are in need of your medical expertise. There’s someone that needs treatment on the beach.”
“Does the Walrus not have its own doctor or surgeon?” she asked. There was at least a surgeon on every ship, due to the necessity of treating wounds when it was unclear how long a crew would be out at sea.
“Yes, but, unfortunately, he is indisposed with the Captain. Only myself and my compatriot are on land for the time being. We were sent out to make sure our presence in the harbor isn’t seen as the threat Charles Vane says it is.” He paused, as if waiting for her to question him again. “Shall we go? Or is there business here that you’d need to attend to first?”
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Silver, but the way he looked at her and how he sounded seemed at odds with each other. It was as if he was putting up a front, keeping his true intentions hidden from her until she was deemed worthy enough to hear them out in their entirety.
Prim turned to take her bag, checking to make sure that she had replenished her stock of bandages and had a few salves and a full skein of water in case they were needed. She draped the bag over her shoulder, adjusting the scarf against her neck.
“Lead the way, Mr. Silver.”
------
The walk to the beach was uneventful, most of the street cleared out with half of Nassau having already moved further inland to escape the threat of cannonfire while the other half was already on the beach, listening to several men crowing about what each Captain was attempting to do.
Prim hadn’t visited the beach since her first week in the brothel, so it was a surprise to see just how many people were crowding the sand, sitting on the steps of bungalows, or running to and fro to deliver news from one side of the beach to the other. There were large tents and small collections of camps that were crowded together, tent fabric flowing in the wind as a breeze came off of the harbor.
Now that she was closer, she could see how the Man O’ War was positioned. She’d never seen one up close and she had to stop herself from moving closer to where the sea met sand. It truly was a sight, three masts holding up what was probably a full ton of fabric. She could make out figures moving along the deck, their shapes dark against the nearing noon sun, most likely Captain Flint’s crew waiting to hear what their orders were.
“Is it true then that Captain Flint made a threat against Captain Vane and the fort?” she asked Silver, moving quickly to catch up with his strides.
“Not so much a threat, but an offer to give up the fort before tomorrow’s sunrise. I can assure you, Captain Flint wants no bloodshed in this request.”
Prim doubted that, but since she didn’t know Flint, she couldn’t say what he’d do. What she could determine was what Charles would do in retaliation. An open threat would result in violent retaliation, as she’d witnessed the night before.
She pictured Max rubbing her palms together in the brothel, waiting for a surge of injured from both the fort and Man o’ War flooding The Inn in need of treatment.
“I must say,” Silver began as they weaved through the crowds still on the sand, “I never expected The Inn to have a physician among their ranks. I’m sure Max snatched you up as soon as she realized your capabilities.”
“She wasn’t the Madame at the time,” Prim said, giving him a polite smile, “but I do owe it to her for allowing me to practice out of the building.”
“Is that all you do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Huh,” Silver said, looking her up and down, “Bit of a shame.”
Prim nearly balked at his insinuation, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. The girls would coo and compliment her from time to time, insisting that if she didn’t want her scarred back on display, there’d be men willing to have their way with her clothed, but none of their clients had shown such brazen interest in ‘damaged goods.’
“I appreciate your compliments, Mr. Silver,” Prim said, attempting not to sputter, “but I can assure you that at this point in time, I’m not interested in a relationship of that nature.”
Silver’s gaze lingered on her for another moment, still appraising her, then shifted back to where he was leading her.
“Then I will speak no more of that. You come highly regarded and recommended by the crews on the beach, so I‘m hopeful that you’ll be able to assist me and my crewmate with our current problem.” He paused for a moment, turning to her with a sheepish look. “In my haste, I don’t think I ever got your name. My apologies, but what are you called, ma’am?”
Prim wanted to roll her eyes, but knew firsthand how one’s mind remained focused on a task if there was an emergency. She gave silver a smile and attempted a small curtsy, jostled by a group of people that were moving behind her. “I’m Primrose Enfeild, but I’m known around Nassau as Prim.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. We’re just about there, I promise, so just follow me.”
He led her to a much sturdier fixture on the beach and entering the building showed her that, somehow, Silver had gotten either a trader or a merchant to give up their storehouse. There were bulbs of onions and garlic hanging from the carefully constructed rafters to dry. She could smell the earthy scent of potatoes and other tubers along with the spiced scent of tobacco. She followed Silver towards the back of the tent where two men greeted her.
The man standing in the corner of the tent was dressed in all white and holding tight to a set of crutches, a shock of thinning white hair clinging to his scalp. His right leg was missing, still wrapped in a bandage that Prim could tell was fresh, based on how tightly it was wrapped. As soon as she appeared in his line of sight, he scowled at her, turning his eyes towards Silver.
“It ain’t right,” he growled.
“Come now,” Silver whispered, putting on a much more strained smile for the man than the one he’d given Prim at the brothel, “Prim’s only here to help.” He made a small gesture to the other man, lying with his eyes closed on a burlap mat at the edge of the tent. Prim moved towards him with purpose.
The man was tall and muscular, but the sallowness of his cheeks told her that he probably hadn’t had a decent meal in some time. If this is how large he looked when he’d been without food for a few days, she could only imagine how large he’d be with proper nourishment. His blonde hair was shorn short and he held a bit of stubble on his chin and cheeks. His eyes were shut tight and it was hard to tell from where she stood if he was even breathing.
“This is Billy Bones,” Silver said, extending his arm in a flourish to make it seem like he was presenting the prone man, “and he needs your help.”
Prim knelt down beside Billy, giving herself another moment to take in his appearance. “How long has he been like this?” she asked.
“Someone found him adrift this morning and recognized him as a member of the Walrus . The last time I heard of him, he’d been tossed overboard by a storm a few days ago, so I’m surprised he’d drifted back here.”
There was more to the story than Silver was letting on, but it was enough for her at the moment. She got straight to work, checking to see if the man was still amongst the living. His breathing was shallow and sounded strained, but she couldn’t hear any blockages in his windpipe from water he inhaled. He felt far too warm, most likely touched by a fever. She used a bit of water from the skein in her bag to wet a cloth and place it against his neck and wrists, hoping to cool his blood without jolting him awake.
She paused in her tending, noticing that there was a shackle around Billy’s ankle with a chain extending from the shackle to one of the many wooden shelves that held dried goods.
Prim eyed Silver, keeping still. “Should I be worried about my safety, Mr. Silver?"
“Rest assured, he’s in no position to harm you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” The way he smiled at her oozed charm and she wondered how much danger he’d avoided by flashing that grin at the right people. Prim had to admit, it was tempting, but she could sense an edge to it that made her want to be more cautious around Silver instead of letting down her guard. Her past experiences solidified the feeling that there was more to this man than met the eye.
She also noticed the man with crutches continued to stare at her and it took her a good deal of effort to return the stare. Not because she didn’t want to, but because it felt as though the man was attempting to kill her with his eyes alone.
“Can I help you , sir?” she asked, addressing him directly for the first time.
The older man scowled, but said nothing.
“Don’t mind Randall,” Silver said, giving her another grin, “He doesn’t like new people.”
Prim let out a small huff. “I can promise you, Randall,” she said, addressing the man directly, “I won’t be in your presence longer than necessary. I just want to make sure Billy is alright and then I’ll head right back from whence I came.”
She turned back to the task at hand. Billy was severely dehydrated, so at the very least, she could try to get some fluids in him. Prim didn’t have enough freshwater with her to fill his empty stomach, but she made sure she could maneuver his body and tilt Billy’s chin up so she could rest the skein against his lips. She paused, hoping that he would regain consciousness to know that someone was trying to make him drink.
She let out a sigh of relief when Billy’s lips moved against the rim of her skein. She tipped it forward slowly, allowing a trickle of water to run across his lips. When his lips moved again, she made sure the trickle made it into his mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was have him start choking. She was careful, letting Billy dictate if he was ready to take in what she was giving him. The fact that he was swallowing on his own, even though he wasn’t fully awake, told her that he’d make it out on the other side alive, but he was far too weak to even hold his head up. She nestled his head against her chest, placing a hand against his throat to check that the water was going down without issue.
Billy probably didn’t realize whether he was awake or dreaming, judging by how limp he was in her grip, but his face, which had been a tight grimace during her observation, had loosened into a relaxed frown. Prim eased him back down onto the blanket, making sure he showed no signs of distress, and turned his face to one side, just in case he needed to empty his stomach.
Prim checked over the rest of his body for cuts and bruises, wondering what could have happened to him before he was found ashore. According to Silver, it’d been days, not weeks, since he’d fallen overboard, so why did he look so frail? Flint’s departure from Nassau was no more than a week, which didn’t leave time for hunger or scurvy to ravage someone’s body.
There were cuts and abrasions along Billy’s palms, confirming the story that he was tossed from a ship and had tried to grip whatever he could to stay out of the water, but the storm was far too strong. There were minor bruises on his legs and face, indicating that he could have knocked up against the side of a ship when he was thrown into the sea.
Lifting Billy’s shirt, she almost jumped back in surprise, letting out a gasp at the sight.
“What?” Silver asked, moving closer to her.
Not much affected her anymore when it came to injuries, but this was something that she’d only ever heard about in stories from her time on the Apple .
“You said he’d been adrift?” she asked. Silver nodded. “I think someone else found him after he went overboard, kept him, then set him loose into the sea.”
She lifted Billy’s shirt up so that both Silver and Randall could see the bruise that took up the entirety of his chest. It was still a deep purple, spreading from just below his collar bone to the bottom of his ribcage. Prim didn’t need to touch the bruise to know that it was still tender and fresh, the color not even fading at the edges which would indicate the onset of the healing process.
“What causes something like that?” Silver asked, looking genuinely worried as he stared at the bruise, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” Prim said, keeping her voice low, “A few of the crew I sailed with told me about this. It’s a Spanish torture tactic used to extract information. A man is put in a leather vest and water is poured onto them. They’re made to lie in the sun as the leather constricts, tightening around them until it can eventually squeeze their chest hard enough for it to collapse and kill them.”
Randall’s eyes widened almost comically at her description.
“Most would stop the torture before it gets too far, but Billy seems to have held out to near fatality. From what I can see, his ribs haven’t been bent beyond repair, but I can’t speak for any muscle tension that has kept them intact. I don’t want to touch his chest more than I need to, but if I do, it’s going to hurt. He’s going to be in even more pain when he wakes up.”
“But he’ll heal?” Silver asked.
“Slowly and very painfully,” Prim said, “but yes, he’ll just need to take it easy. Loose fitting shirts and trousers, just so there isn’t anything brushing against the bruises to make them worse. Depending on his station on your crew, he may need to be kept from certain duties, but I’ll leave that for you to discuss with Captain Flint.”
She turned to rummage through her bag, checking to see if she had anything that could at least help alleviate Billy’s pain.
“The deepness in color of the bruises indicates that they’d been recently inflicted,” she continued, “I’m not aware of any Spanish ships sighted near the harbor, except for the Man O’ War, but this makes me think there could be some headed towards Nassau or that had just passed right outside.”
“If you’re unaware of the circumstances of Billy’s arrival, then there’s only going to be assumptions made until he regains consciousness. If the Spanish Navy is in the Bahamas, then there’ll be much more for the entire island to worry about.”
Randall shivered at her words and Silver’s face went pale. Prim wasn’t sure if either of them had been on New Providence when the Spanish attacked the island over a decade ago. Prim had listened to her father read over pamphlets delivered to their house that declared a raid on Nassau in October of 1703. The
Silver seemed to hesitate before he nodded. “Of course.”
Prim moved some of her washcloths out of the way and couldn’t help the grin that broke out on her face. Miranda Barlow’s mint proved useful in a salve that was resting at the bottom of her bag. It was similar to the one Harold had used on her back months ago and something she liked to offer to the girls at The Inn to help numb any cuts or bruises they incurred. At the very least it’d help with Billy’s pain, but she hoped the oils would help to keep his skin loose and help his bruises heal quicker.
She undid the cap on her tin and lifted up his shirt again. As gently as she could, Prim rubbed the salve against his chest, working it into his skin with as much pressure as she dared. He made a few sounds in protest, but she continued, knowing that it would only help him. As his protests faded, she hoped he’d think of this whole experience as a bad dream instead of having to deal with the aftermath. Wounds of the mind were harder to cope with than wounds of the body, of that Prim was well aware.
“You a healer?” Randall piped up, his voice a rough growl that made her flinch. She didn’t expect him to address her directly.
“I’d like to think I am, yes,” Prim said, giving him a small smile as she took another fingerful of salve to Billy’s chest, “My ways aren’t perfect, but they’re proven and I would never do anything that would harm your shipmate.”
The older man still stared at her, tilting his head as he settled on his crutches. “You use balms and salves?”
“When the injury calls for it, yes.” She held up the tin she was using for him to see. “This one has mint in it. The oil in mint gives off a cooling sensation, so it’s good for burns and wounds that are above the skin. It may not do much for his pain, but it will hopefully help to keep Billy’s skin from keeping the bruises for too long and to help keep his skin loose to aid in the healing process.”
Randall looked at her, baring his teeth and beginning to mumble. Prim looked to Silver, who was looking at the older man in confusion.
“I apologize,” Silver said, his voice sounding uncertain, “He doesn’t mean to frighten, it’s just the way he is.”
Prim gave Randall another glance, but went back to her work, taking a few more minutes to finish spreading the salve. She’d heard from Harold about men at sea that had, whether through illness or experience, lost their wits. Those men were husks of their former selves, just their memories keeping the crews from leaving them on land. Randall seemed to be someone that Silver had been tasked to watch over. She wiped her hand on her skirt to rid herself of the balm residue and straightened up to stand.
“Can I leave this with you to give to him once he regains consciousness?” Prim asked Silver, holding out the tin of salve. She’d make more when she got back to her room, so she didn’t feel the loss of letting someone else have it.
Silver took the tin with a nod. “I’ll make sure he knows what to do with it. Thank you, we are truly in your debt.”
“...purslane,” Randall muttered behind him.
Prim turned towards the older man. She recognized the word; if she heard it right, it was describing a type of plant that grew close to the beach.
“Pardon?”
“Sea purslane,” Randall said, not really smiling, but no longer scowling. “Mum would use it all the time for food, but that’s not all it could be used for.”
Prim blinked, then realized what he was trying to tell her. Harold’s notes had mentioned how sea purslane was a source of not just nutrients, but could assist with treating rashes and other sensitive skin issues.
“I see. I haven’t used purslane in any of my salves yet. Does it help with closed wounds or open?”
“Closed. Good for pain. Mum wanted to try it, but never had the chance.” Randall looked to Silver. “Got some on the ship for her. She can have it. Too salty to eat. No good when you’re out at sea.”
“Randall, I’m not going to take a longboat back to the ship just for herbs,” Silver said, rolling his eyes, “We’ve got more things to do here, remember?”
“But she needs them!”
Prim couldn’t help but grin as the two men squabbled. As much as she believed Silver was putting on airs around her, it seemed that the facade dropped when speaking with his crew. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge him; after the past few days, she knew she shouldn’t assume what pirates were capable of.
“Call on me if you need anything else,” Prim said, giving a little wave to the two men before leaving the storehouse. They didn’t seem to pay her any attention, still bickering amongst themselves as she headed back onto the beach.
Prim made sure her pack was secure and headed back towards The Inn.
Chapter 22: A Meaningful Walk
Summary:
Still a busy day for everyone in Nassau and lots of characters moving from place to place. Let’s see how many encounters Prim has with key players in the days ahead. And there is a certain someone who owes her an apology, isn’t there? And maybe a chance for them to get a little closer.
You waited!!! You were patient!! And now, more romance!! Not all the way, but still cute!! We're only a few days out from Ned Low, so of course Prim is taking things slowly.
Also, enjoy this monster of a chapter!! Enjoy!
Guys, I honestly can’t thank you enough for all of the people that have read this so far! It’s far from perfect, but everyone who’s commented and given feedback has been so nice! I appreciate your patience with me; I got a seasonal job that has me working weekend nights that is proving to be a bit tiring. I've still been working on chapters whenever I have the time, but the updates will probably be a little slower, at least until the end of October. In the meantime, I'll see if I can't get the old chapters refurbished while you wait~
Chapter content warning: threats of violence, mentions of past death and violence
As of June 11, 2025, this chapter has been updated!
Chapter Text
Prim headed back up the street towards the brothel, already trying to calculate how many more supplies she would need to replenish what she’d used for Billy’s injuries.
At the very least, she’d have to visit one of the storehouses before the day was through. With the threat of an attack and the Man O’ War stationed in the harbor, there probably weren’t going to be ships coming into Nassau. She’d have to get whatever she could before the storehouses ran out. Prim debated if a visit to Miranda would be wise before the day’s end.
There were still large groups of people crowding the streets around the tavern and The Inn, content to stay put until they were forced back down to the beach or worked their way inland. A few runners were weaving in and out of the crowds, chattering away with messages from the beach. There was still an underlying feeling of fear surrounding the group, but it seemed to have eased up during her time on the beach. She moved out of the way of some of the runners, not wanting to impede anyone from getting where they needed to go as she stepped through the brothel door.
The first thing Prim noticed when she entered the lower floor was that Max and Jack were speaking near the bar. With Jack as one of the true owners of the building and Max being the Madame, they usually took their meetings up in Max’s room, where she kept the ledgers for The Inn under lock and key. To see them talking outside the room made Prim curious and she took a few steps closer to hear what they were discussing.
“-happening here,” Max was saying, “The three of us, it is only temporary. A state of denial until she finally makes a choice.”
Jack looked incredulous after taking a hearty swig from one of the bottles on the wall. “Choice…between you and I?”
Max lifted her brows just a fraction, Jack leaning in across the bar.
“Anne and I have been by each other’s sides since she was thirteen years old. We have sailed together, we have killed together, we have shared things you couldn’t begin to imagine.” The corner of Jack’s mouth ticked into a grin. “You shared a bed with her for a week.”
“You’d be amazed of what can change in a week in my bed,” Max said, meeting his stare with a steady gaze.
Prim saw Jack laugh, a humorless sound that made her realize he and Max didn’t need an eavesdropper on this particular conversation. She turned away from them and towards her room, hoping neither of them realized she had approached them.
She hadn’t been aware that Anne and Max were together. She hadn’t even been aware that either Max or Anne were interested in the same sex. The two women were like oil and water. Max’s duties her flirting and complimenting the clientele. Anne and Jack were attached at the hip from what Prim had seen in the last few weeks and she figured they were lovers by how Jack addressed Anne. Apparently that wasn’t the case anymore and Max had been sharing a bed with Anne for at least a week.
Prim tried to think of anything that she could have seen or heard that would have revealed what was going on. Jack’s behavior just before he helped patch her up after Ned Low’s men attacked her made much more sense, especially if he had walked in on Max and Anne together. Was there an affair going on between the two owners and the Madame? She was one for listening to gossip, but if something like that spread around The Inn or even spilled out onto the street, there were bound to be problems. For now, she’d keep her mouth shut and pretend she didn’t know anything.
Idelle stopped Prim before she headed into her room. The other woman’s face was a neutral mask. Prim could tell there was something wrong.
“You’ve got a visitor,” Idelle said, gesturing to the closed doors, “Told him you were down at the beach and wasn’t sure when you’d be back.” Her lips thinned. “I tried to get him to leave, but he insisted on waiting for you.”
Prim looked from Idelle to the door and back, realization dawning on her. “Is it-”
“A former patient,” Idelle said, eyes darting behind Prim and around the lower floor, “He wanted to speak to you about his last visit here.”
Prim knew of only one person who would find their way into her room, though she was thankful that he’d decided to use the door this time.
“Is my patient well?” she asked, choosing her words carefully, aware of the other people sitting at tables and making merry around her, “Because if visiting is his purpose, I feel like there are more pressing matters he should be attending to.”
Idelle nodded. “I tried to tell him that you’d be cross about it, but he’s not listening to me.”
“He didn’t seem to be injured?”
“He seemed fine, but he may have overheard that you were brought down to the beach by a member of the Walrus crew.”
Prim deflated. “Fu-”
“Hush,” Idelle whispered, moving in closer to Prim’s space, “Look, I know you have feelings for him, but it’s dangerous for him to even be out of the fort. Those on the beach are choosing sides, wondering if Flint would be a better choice to occupy the fort than Vane. Flint hasn’t kept to the Man O’ War because he’s overseeing it; he knows that he’d be vulnerable to attack if he left. Vane should be thinking the same.”
“I didn’t tell him to leave it!” Prim hissed, “I just thought this whole mess was a squabble amongst rivals!” With Captain Flint being absent from Nassau for most of the time she’d been there, she hadn’t paid attention to any of the talk she heard from clients or from the girls.
Captain Flint’s first day back in New Providence provided enough proof to her that there was some truth to the pamphlets she read about him while in Savannah. Sure, he wasn’t the youngest pirate out of Nassau, but his was a name that got men whispering. Or in this case, moving further and further inland so they wouldn’t be in the line of his cannonfire.
Prim took a calming breath in an attempt to center herself before entering her room. She looked to Idelle, who gave her a small nod. Prim opened the doors to her room and quickly shut them behind her.
Charles Vane sat on one of her chairs, feet up and resting his boots on her table. He wore a long, dark brown hooded cloak that looked large enough to hide him completely. Prim knew there were very few people in Nassau that had the stature and gait of Charles Vane, but if he was able to get into the brothel without the people waiting outside causing a fuss, the cloak had to be working somehow.
He looked up at the sound of the door closing, a predator’s grin clear even through the shadows the hood threw up around his face. He pulled down the hood, shaking his head to ruffle what looked to be freshly plaited braids in his hair.
“Didn’t think you’d take so long,” he muttered, “Tell me, which one of Flint’s men fucked up enough to need a physician?”
“You must be insane,” Prim said, ignoring the question, “Why are you this far from the fort?”
“I needed to stretch my legs and figured I’d pay the street a visit.”
“On the worst day that you could!” Prim hissed, “What if someone from the beach decides that Flint’s offer is too reasonable and attempts to take the fort while you’re not there? Or if someone tracked you from the beach? You’ve got a target on your back, apparently, and half the population of Nassau might not be content with waiting until tomorrow morning to see you killed.”
Charles leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, keeping himself balanced as he dug his boots into the wood of her table. “The people here aren’t that stupid. They know this is between me and Flint. Sure, some will rally to his side and some will come to my aid, but they know better than to deprive us of what’s to come tomorrow morning.”
“And what, pray tell, would that deprivation be?” Prim asked, genuinely curious, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing how curious she was.
“Who will control the future of this place.”
She paused. Charles had never talked to her concerning his feelings about Nassau. She knew that, even for herself, this was a place of opportunity for pirates. This is where men and women lived freely, no governor or king that ruled, just a strange balance that existed between each man and woman called New Providence home. Every person in Nassau acted as they wished because they were free. It didn’t make them invulnerable to retribution, Ned Low’s case being a very gruesome example, but those examples seemed to keep the rest of the city in line. There were unspoken rules, codes that people learned the longer they lived here.
Prim felt very small at that moment, the thought of just being in New Providence for a few weeks and only scratching the surface of Nassau’s machinations. She’d been aware of the shadows playing behind her actions, what others gleaned from them and how she’d been put into several situations because of her naivete. There was more she needed to learn, much more if she wanted to keep herself safe during her stay here.
She blinked and was brought back to the situation at hand. Charles Vane, looking quite unbothered with his feet propped up, eyes closed like he was going to fall asleep.
“Why visit here?” she asked, taking a step forward, “After everything that’s happened, why are you here ?”
Charles opened his left eye to peer at her. “You treated a member of the Walrus. Who was it and how were they injured?”
“I won’t tell you.”
That made him tense. He slowly lowered his feet off the table and stood from the chair, moving slowly towards her.
“Won’t?” Charles growled, “Or can’t? Did they pay you to keep your mouth shut?”
Prim took another firm step forward, her fists balled at her sides. She’d gotten lucky with slapping him the night before, but seeing him before her now, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to defend herself.
“You’re one to talk,” she whispered, gritting her teeth.
His eyes widened at that, but there was still an angry snarl on his lips. “Then show me. I know you’re ready to deck me. Do it. See what happens after.”
He was goading her and Prim was all but ready to throw the first punch. And yet, something about his tone was off. She took one more step towards him, nearly brushing against his cloak, then moved around him to go to her bookshelf.
She was still wearing her bag, so it was easy to slip it off and bend down towards the shelf. She could hear Charles shuffling behind her, hoping that she bought herself some time with her maneuver before he started seeing red again. Prim grabbed the last of her salve and a small leather pouch where she kept her spending money.
“What the fuck?!” Charles exclaimed, loud enough that Prim was sure someone on the lower floor of the brothel heard.
“I’m not going to pick a fight with you,” she said, straightening up and slinging her bag over her shoulder, “I’ve got errands to run.” She tried not to feel a sense of triumph at his incredulous look. “So, either sit here and stew in your anger or walk with me.”
Prim opened her doors back out to the lower floor of The Inn, seeing that Jack and Max had already left their places at the bar, both heading up the stairs. Idelle was on the lap of a client, turning to Prim with a small wink. Hannah had stationed herself behind the bar and looked almost ecstatic as Prim exited her room and moved out onto the street.
She didn’t have to look back to know that Charles was keeping a steady pace behind her.
—
The storehouses were like a small marketplace of their own, barely touching the sand of the beach. There were various vendors of everything from meat to dry goods to glassware, sitting themselves behind wooden tables and waiting for customers to bargain. Unlike the shopkeepers and vendors of the street, they kept stringent logs of what they sold as well as the price of their wares, all to be reported back to the watchful eye of Eleanor Guthrie.
Most of the wares were taken from prize ships, sold off to the storehouses in hopes that someone in Nassau would find them useful. Anything deemed unnecessary, like certain ledgers or broken items were discarded near the beach for the street vendors to pick up and attempt to sell. Nothing went to waste, regardless of what the storehouse’s records would claim.
For the first part of her trip, Prim made her way towards a vendor that specialized in spices. She’d usually run into Eme gathering supplies for the tavern’s kitchen, but today the storehouse was quiet. The vendor idly stood by waiting for customers. He gave Prim a small wave, which he quickly dropped when he looked at a spot behind her. Charles hung back Prim on their walk, but she knew he was still following her.
“Please, don’t mind him,” she said, smiling, drawing the vendor’s attention back to her, “Now, what do you have for me?”
She left the vendor with less coins in her purse and some delightfully smelling herbs in her bag. The next storehouse she visited was one with glass jars and bottles that she would use to store her herbs or mix her salves.
By the third storehouse, one that sold a variety of perfumed oils, Prim could tell Charles was calming down. The hood covered his face to keep it in shadow, but the rigid set of his shoulders had relaxed so that the vendor she was speaking to didn’t appear to be frightened.
“That’ll be fifteen pieces for everything,” the vendor said, holding out his hand for her coin.
Prim grimaced. “The prices haven’t been very friendly to one’s purse today.”
The vendor shrugged. “We’ve been told that as long as the Man O’ War is in the harbor, there will be no arrivals or departures from anyone. So, we’re trying to make as much profit as we can, until the conflict is resolved.”
It couldn’t be helped then. Prim sighed and pushed away a vial of oil she was hoping to infuse with mint. “Keep this and I’ll take the rest for eleven?”
“I can go as low as twelve.”
“Deal.” Prim handed over the coins and placed the rest of her purchases in her bag. She didn’t want to burden herself with too much for her walk back home. The thought crossed her mind of asking Charles to carry her bag, but she stopped that train of thought. The fact that he was still following her meant that there were things he wished to say; she didn’t want to spoil his mood even further if things were going to end in an argument.
After she and Charles had moved far enough away from the storehouses and onto a less traveled part of the road heading inland, she had the courage to speak up.
“If you have anything to say, you should speak. I have business in the interior of the island, so we have some time before we get to Mrs. Barlow’s home,” Prim began, pausing to turn back to him. The hood was still over his face, more of a cover from the sun rather than keeping his identity a secret.
“Has anyone ever told you how baffling you can be?” Charles asked. “Your moods change like the tides, something different to expect every time we meet.”
“Can hardly blame me, can you? Especially with the things I’ve dealt with over the past few days alone. I’ve found that I must adapt or risk losing my place here.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve finally gotten my freedom. The last thing I need is to lose it.”
“Being tied to The Inn isn’t freedom,” he countered, “You’re under contract.”
“Better something I signed myself rather than it being forced upon me.” Prim’s idea of freedom seemed far different than Charles’s. It made her wonder if it was because of what he endured while he was enslaved.
She turned around and continued to walk. “Keep up the pace, Captain Vane, I’d like to get inland before sundown.” His answering footsteps behind her put her at ease, but she could feel there was still a tension between them that the empty road seemed to exacerbate.
After a few minutes, Prim heard Charles’s footsteps devolve into a shuffling gait. She turned to look at him, unable to see his face with the hood. Because of his hunched shoulders, a thought occurred to her.
“When was the last time you slept?” she asked, slowing down, “I feel like you’ve had a busier number of nights than I did.”
Charles let out a scoff and she could practically feel him rolling his eyes at her. “You call them busy nights, I call them just a regular week.”
“You better have a good night’s sleep tonight, then.” She didn’t want to sound like a nursemaid.
“Is that a physician’s order?”
Prim scoffed. “I doubt there’s anyone in the world, physician or otherwise, that could make you do what they want if you aren’t amicable to it. From me, it’s a recommendation. You won’t be able to do anything tomorrow without proper rest.” She paused for a moment, considering her next words, then continued. “You told me once that I didn’t understand what it meant to be part of a crew. I don’t know how it is under your command, but I know that a Captain must not show weakness.”
Prim turned to look at him, getting close enough so that she could see beyond the shadows of the hood. She knew she needed to say what she wanted or she’d lose her nerve. “I owe you my life, Captain Vane. Regardless of what has passed between us, you do not have to fear retribution if I see you weary. You calmed me when I was drifting. Let me provide you some comfort in my company, if only to have you stop putting on airs.”
There was silence between them and from the expression on Charles’s face, Prim thought that he’d turn back and leave her to walk the road alone. There was the anger she’d seen, but, after another moment, his expression dropped, as though a mask had fallen from his face.
For the first time, Prim was seeing the man beneath the title and anger; this was Charles Vane, far more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him before. He looked tired, a slump to his shoulders that, now that they were free from Nassau’s crowds, was more prominent. Even beneath the hood, she could see his eyes looked bleary.
She reached up slowly, without thinking, cupping his cheek in her palm. To her surprise, he closed his eyes, his face relaxing under her touch. There was stubble against her fingers, but he was warm and didn’t seem to mind her boldness.
Prim felt herself blushing, her own forwardness getting the best of her, but this seemed to be what Charles needed. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous night and her insistence that Eleanor was still a presence in Charles’s life.
Had she ever seen this side of him?
Prim cleared her throat and removed her hand, letting it drift down to Charles’s chest where she knew the brand was resting under his clothes and cloak. He didn’t move and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her palm.
“You told me to never feel shame, so I am just reiterating the message to you. There will never be judgment from me. Now, if you want to head back to the fort, I suggest you do so now.” She patted his chest and went to turn back around to continue on the path inland.
Charles opened his eyes and adjusted his hood as she turned round, but she heard him fall into step beside her. “I’ll see you to your destination, then I’ll go back and rest. Might be good to give the men the run of the place for the day.”
Prim nodded her assent and continued forward, trying to keep her heart from escaping her chest. Charles worked his way from behind her to her left side, keeping pace with her as they continued inland. The hardy foliage disappeared from the sides of the road, now that they were far enough from water, leaving only dry, sandy earth on either side. The road changed too, bits of stone and clumps of dirt that hadn’t been smoothed out by constant foot or horse traffic jutting up from time to time.
“I wanted to apologize.”
The admission caught Prim off guard, nearly tripping on her own feet when Charles uttered it. Even his voice sounded weary.
“I had never had any intention of letting Ned Low get away with what he’d done. There’s no place in Nassau for someone that insane. Killing him was the only way to stop him.” Charles paused. “Maybe I did it for you, maybe for Eleanor, maybe for New Providence itself, but regardless, I don’t regret what I did. I do regret making you think he’d have a chance to try something again.”
Prim stopped moving, Charles standing just as still next to her. She took a breath to steady herself and she felt him move closer, their arms brushing. Even between the fabric, she could feel him sturdy against her, knowing that if she were to lean into him, he’d keep her upright. She took her time to respond, bumping her arm against his.
“I accept your apology. In the future, know that keeping me privy to the goings on in that mind of yours would be better for both of us.”
Charles let out a soft chuckle. “Of course. If you’ll allow me to speak plainly, then I shall.”
Prim made a flourish with her hand, starting to move forward again. “There is no one stopping you, Captain.”
For the rest of their time walking towards the inland, Charles Vane gave Prim a bit of history in regards to the power struggle within Nassau and New Providence. The island was owned by England, but their governor was usurped by pirates close to a decade ago. The Guthrie family made landfall and established themselves as allies to the crews and their daughter rose up in ranks to overtake the main city’s trade. And yet, there was a desire in the men and women who lived in Nassau that yearned for more, for a true freedom without a country across the sea controlling it.
“My goal for Nassau is to see it freed entirely. There would be no England to try and retake it, no Spain to attempt to claim it, just a place that men who wish for freedom flock to,” Charles said, “Flint’s intent is to work with The Crown to establish peace. Why would he try to negotiate with the very empire that sent us a governor that the island could usurp?”
There wasn’t much Prim could say to that. She knew that if she were to have an audience with Captain Flint, he’d tell her a different tale. There were always several sides to conflict.
As they continued to walk, the familiar path to Miranda’s home came into view. The residents gave them a small berth, unfamiliar with the man that wore a cloak. Prim couldn’t blame them.
“Your actions are not mine to judge,” Prim conceded, “There’s far more to this whole situation than what the news runners and gossips of The Inn are privy to. I understand your side, but know there is another that I must know before coming to a decision; so, I will let it rest.”
A few people were looking at them, still going about their days, but curious as to the visitors to Mrs. Barlow’s cabin.
“You continue to surprise,” Charles said, straightening his stance a bit under the eyes of others, “but I’ll concede to your judgment. Think what you will of me and I’ll leave it be.”
That seemed to mark the end of their companionship. As Charles moved to leave the way they came, Prim decided it was now or never.
“Ch-Captain Vane,” she said, attempting to keep her voice low, not to alarm those nearby.
He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow at her. There was a soft grin on his lips. “Hmm?”
“Regardless of what happens tomorrow, please be safe.”
He moved closer to her, the fabric of his cloak just brushing against her dress. “I think we’re past the need for titles, aren’t we, Prim?”
“Then please be safe,” she said, tilting up to look him in the eye, “Charles.”
There was a genuine smile on his lips and Prim wished his face was more exposed to the sunlight so she could see how Charles Vane looked with happiness in his eyes. Still, the shadowed version gave her a good idea and she smiled back.
He leaned down before Prim realized what he was doing and, for a moment, all she could see was the blue of his eyes. Then, he diverted towards the side of her face, leaving her gazing at the fabric of his cloak and the bits of his braids she could see within his hood.
Time seemed to stop in that moment, the two of them just a breath apart from each other.
“If you don’t mean what you’re about to do, then don’t do this,” Prim whispered, shutting her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her ears.
Charles’s breath was warm on her cheek. “You told me that I should feel no shame around you. Maybe this is what I want.”
His lips were chapped, his stubble rubbing against her cheek, but Prim’s heart threatened to dislodge from her chest as he laid a chaste kiss to her skin. She didn’t open her eyes until she felt him retreat and, when she did open them, he was already a few feet away, heading back towards the road to Nassau.
Prim held her bag against her chest as she watched him walk away. She felt far too warm, but the full heat of the day was nothing against the heat that was coloring her face. Her mind was jumbled, thoughts bouncing everywhere as she was refusing to believe that what had just occurred actually happened.
Her affections had been returned.
“Well,” Miranda’s voice floated from behind her, “I can see why you fancy him.”
Prim let out a squeak of surprise and she could swear she heard a deep bark of laughter coming from Charles’s direction.
Chapter 23: Remembrance and Reprieve
Summary:
Let’s get a little respite before the day of Flint’s threat, shall we?
In my initial vision of this story, Miranda wasn’t in the mix as much as she is now. I don’t regret my choice, since she’s usually cooped up inland to be left to her own devices and then bops into the story as a main player, especially with the flashbacks. I wanted her to have someone to confide and befriend. I know she might not be everyone’s favorite, but there’s something about her character and the way the actress portrays her that makes me want something good to happen to her for once in the show. LET HER HAVE A FRIEND! SHE'S GONE THROUGH ENOUGH!!
Time to delve into the past, along with some banter and teasing, now that Mrs. Barlow has finally seen the man Prim’s been going on about. Unfortunately, it does delve into some difficult topics.
Be warned, we touch on some sensitive things in this chapter, so I’ve made sure to include everything in the content warnings. If you've watched the show, some of these are familiar to you. If you have trouble, you can skip parts of this chapter. Take care of yourselves!
Chapter content warnings: past torture, descriptions of homophobia, death, suicide mention
6/11/25 -updated
Chapter Text
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that gentleman in the inland before.”
Prim tried to hide her face, still feeling embarrassed that Miranda had witnessed the interaction between her and Charles. The older woman was moving about her kitchen as though it was one of Prim’s normal afternoon tea visits, but there was a glint in her eye and a grin on her face that indicated to Prim that there was more teasing coming her way.
Prim attempted to make herself smaller in the chair she was sitting in.
“He does seem very fond of you. I didn’t want to assume that your attraction towards him was one sided, but it’s not uncommon.” Miranda set her kettle over the fire and moved to sit across from Prim. “To have him be so bold in his affection that he would kiss you in full view of whoever happened to look. Primrose, he must truly adore you.”
Prim placed her head on the table, placing her arms against the side of her head to attempt to muffle whatever Miranda was going to say next. “Have mercy, please. This is my first…anything and I fear my heart is going to give out.”
“I’m not a true physician, but I don’t believe that’s how that works,” Miranda said, prodding a finger into Prim’s forearm as she stretched across the table, “That’s besides the point. What I want to know is why you did not say that the Captain you fancied was Charles Vane?”
“Because he is notorious in New Providence for being a fearsome Captain and pirate,” Prim said, her voice muffled by the wood of the table, “and I was worried that you would judge me.”
“Primrose, in matters of the heart, I am in no position to judge.”
That was enough to make Prim lift her head, now witness to Miranda’s smile. “This is the first time I’ve felt this way towards someone,” Prim said, “I keep wondering if I’m doing everything right or if I should be saying something or acting a certain way.”
“Did you never have anyone who you fancied while in the colonies?”
Prim grimaced. “Even before I was taken by Mr. Tennent, I was raised by my father, who tended to keep me away from the young men in Boston. Even the tutors I had were female.” She paused, aware of Miranda’s eyes on her, intent in her gaze. “The plantation wasn’t the ideal place for finding a match either.”
There was more she could reveal, but it would take her mind into a much darker place than she wished to be. Prim smiled, trying to settle her hostess’s mind as the kettle whistled. Miranda rose to take the kettle from the fire, pouring the hot water into another set of china cups. Prim closed her eyes as something floral wafted through the air.
“This smells different than the last tea you had me try.”
“It’s something I’ve been saving. This is imperial hyson, a green tea from the East. I received it from a friend and decided to share it with another friend.” Miranda set the teacup down next to her. “Now, I will ask you one more question to put an end to my fretting. Charles Vane does have a reputation, even though today was the first day he’s set foot this far inland. Do you feel safe with him?”
Prim nodded, taking the teacup in both her hands. “I do. We’ve spoken much more plainly to each other and I think we’ve found equal ground. I know that there will be things I learn about him from others, his past is one that he’s kept to himself, but I cannot judge him based on his past because I’ve done my fair share that I regret.” She blew off a bit of the steam from her cup before taking a sip. “He’s never harmed me. On the contrary, he’s saved my life. Getting the chance to have this relationship with him feels…good. And I feel that whatever comes next for us will only bring us closer.”
Miranda sat in a chair closer to Prim, studying the younger girl over her own cup.
“I am happy for you. Truly, you seem much more at ease today.” She smiled, sipping her tea. “It’s been years since I was swept into the arms of my husband, so hearing that you are experiencing it now makes me feel nostalgic.”
“What was your husband like?” Prim asked, taking a small sip from her cup. Miranda rarely spoke about her life before Nassau and Prim was curious as to how a woman who seemed of either noble birth or high society ended up on an island in the West Indies.
Miranda smiled, her eyes drifting past Prim. “He was a wonderful man. I didn’t expect to fall in love with him when we were introduced, but there was such a charm to him that, even now, I can’t quite explain.” She blinked, Prim seeing the start of tears spring to her eyes. “These past few days have had me thinking of him and how much I miss him.”
Prim didn’t want to cause her friend any more discomfort, so tried to pivot the conversation to something that might prevent Miranda from crying. “Tell me something he did that made you fall in love with him.”
Miranda let out a small hiccup, an attempt to keep a sob from escaping her. “Oh,” she said, voice sounding unsteady, “There were so many things. The one that comes to mind is when he was courting me. Of course, our marriage had been arranged, without the term being used in our nuptials. My soon to be husband, Thomas, wanted to come up with some grand gesture to show his intentions.”
Prim scooted her chair closer to the table, watching as Miranda’s sadness was overcome with an endearing expression. “He was the son of a Lord, so money was no object, but instead, he went to my friends and family, gleaning whatever he could from them on what I appreciated and enjoyed. It was a month before we were to be wed when he brought me into his home, saying that he had a gift for me.”
Prim had never seen Miranda smile so brightly. She looked years younger as she focused back on Prim, her eyes no longer threatening to spill over with tears. “Thomas had scoured London and the surrounding areas for every single book that I adored and had a whole set of shelves crafted to house them all. I stood there, speechless. He picked one of the books off of a shelf and beckoned me to sit. He read the book aloud to me, the entire thing. He only stopped when he had to light a lantern as the sun set.”
It was a lovely story and Prim understood how much it meant to Miranda to tell it. The older woman let out a small sigh, a smile still on her face.
“We were happy and I believed that we truly loved each other. And yet, our relationship was changed when a Naval officer was charged to assist Thomas in his plans overseas.”
Prim interjected before Miranda could go further. “Is this the same Naval officer you spoke about before?”
Miranda paused, then said, “The very same: James McGraw. He would visit our home when he was assigned to assist Thomas in mapping out proposals for new settlements in the colonies. With James’s standing with the Navy, he’d been stationed in the colonies and other territories for months at a time and had a keen eye for how the populace would react to England’s rule. He and Thomas would discuss plans and work through arguments and counter arguments to see what the House of Lords would accept as a proposal.”
She took another sip from her cup. “James was well traveled and the stories he told sounded like adventures out of a novel. While Thomas was out of the house, he’d tell me of the places he was stationed and the different people he encountered. I will admit that his charm was enticing.”
Prim tried not to seem too uncomfortable, but with how Miranda spoke, it sounded as though the charm of the Naval officer had caused her to stray from the love she had with her husband.
“Were you unfaithful?” Prim asked, biting her tongue after the fact. It was a delicate topic, one that she wasn’t sure she could understand completely. She thought about the relationships she’d seen throughout her life and how different they were to what she was seeing in Nassau now. Her mother and father adored each other, had been married until her mother passed away and her father never saw the need to remarry.
And yet, she wanted to keep her mind open, to try and understand what it meant to see the different relationships between people of different sexes play out. How similar they were to what she was just beginning to experience.
“No.” Miranda gave Prim a look of trepidation, the expression so foreign on her face compared to the easy confidence that she carried. She looked a bit pale. “The relationship that I had with James, the officer, was also one that was shared with my husband.”
Prim couldn’t help but feel relieved at the admission. With how highly Miranda spoke of her husband, it baffled her to think of what could have caused a rift between them that would have Miranda fall into the arms of another man. As for the nature of the relationship, she’d seen her fair share of servants and slaves during her time on the plantation that expressed affection towards each other, regardless of their sex. And having multiple partners wasn’t unheard of either. She thought back to the discussion she’d heard Max and Jack having before she left The Inn. Maybe they, along with Anne, would come to an arrangement that included the three of them together?
“If you’re worried I’m going to be appalled by the relationships you had, don’t be,” Prim said, “I’m not so young as to have never heard of or even seen such relationships play out. I’d only be worried if the relationship you had with them was unhealthy or made you feel unsafe, just as you had with me.”
That got Miranda to look far more relaxed, a bit of color coming back into her cheeks. “It was not unsafe at all. It was far different from what I had ever experienced, but it never felt wrong and no one hurt me.”
Prim scooted her chair closer again, wanting to know more. Miranda held herself as a proper lady and Prim thought she’d ended up on New Providence because of a deal or a promise made to someone in England. Prim felt as though there was more to that story and Miranda would reveal it now.
“Thomas was wary, unsure of his own feelings towards the man that had all but been inserted into our home. As colleagues, they worked well together, but there seemed to be something just below the surface. We’d seen the way that he looked at the two of us.” Miranda looked at Prim. “It was like you described, the three of us finding an equal footing that helped us to see more plainly what we felt. At the start, I hoped to allow James to build up his courage with me first before my husband’s feelings settled, so I approached him first.”
Prim took a large sip from her cup, pulled into the story.
“Thomas and I were happy in our marriage and satisfied with our current relationship. But James stirred something within us that we wished to explore; whether it was between the both of us or individually, we let our passions take hold. And so, two became three.” Miranda smiled, her eyes drifting off, as though looking into the past. “We were all in love. We understood each other, how to navigate each of our affections, and, for the time we shared together, it was paradise.”
Miranda grew quiet then, her gaze far away as she held her teacup. The tears had returned, but Prim could see that the older woman wasn’t going to let them fall. Her voice didn’t shake as she continued her tale.
“At some point, we’d shown too much and someone informed Thomas’s father and James’s commanding officer. An affair between a naval officer and the wife of a Lord was scandalous, but an affair between two men was insanity. No one could even fathom the three of us in a single relationship and Thomas’s father sought to make sure that it would not continue. Thomas was sent to an institution, his father reworking the rumors that the affair I had with James caused his son to go mad with grief.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “It was just to spare himself the shame of what people would think of his son.”
“Less than a week later, James and I were told that Thomas had killed himself. To spare his memory, we were asked to leave London and create new lives for ourselves.” Miranda paused to take a sip of her tea, Prim still watching her. She didn’t realize she had started to cry until Miranda leaned over the table to wipe up the tears on her cheek.
“Oh my dear, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
Prim cleared her throat, trying to collect herself. “Apologies, I got caught up. You didn’t upset me I…”
She trailed off, unable to find the words that could offer her friend comfort. There was no excuse she could find and she closed her eyes, letting her tears flow. Someone she held dear experienced the loss of a loved one, of course she was upset. But she didn’t want Miranda to dwell on the sadness of her past. Prim was trying and failing to keep her own emotions in check.
Prim heard the creak of a wooden chair and Miranda was gathering her into her arms in a tight hug. Prim wrapped her arms around Miranda’s back, returning the gesture.
“I am sorry you had to endure that,” she whispered, “I am so sorry, Miranda.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Miranda whispered back, “It’s in the past. There is nothing more to be done now.”
-----
Prim’s journey back to the brothel was uneventful and felt far too quick.
The setting sun was enough to light her way back to Nassau. With each step she took, she felt disconnected from her body. Her visit with Miranda didn’t last much longer after their embrace and she felt exhausted from the revelations of the day. She hoped that she would have the chance to close her doors to the rest of The Inn and drift to sleep.
When she entered The Inn, she was greeted with what looked to be a very drunk Jack Rackham trying to bring the rest of the brothel goers to the table he sat at. His face was red, flushed down towards his neck as he turned towards her. Anne Bonny sat next to him, her hat on the table, a bit of red coloring her cheeks as she took a sip from a mug.
Prim wanted to move away without him noticing, but even drunk Jack seemed to focus on her as soon as she stepped too close.
“Primrose!!” he called out, beaming widely in her direction. His mood had improved dramatically from the afternoon talk he had with Max. “Sit down and have a drink!”
“Maybe later,” she said, trying to wave him off, but he’d already gotten out of his seat, moving towards her with a drunkard’s gait.
“Not later, now! Tonight, we celebrate!!” He held out his arms, wiggling his fingers as if to try and bring her towards where he’d been sitting. Anne was behind him now, maneuvering him back down into a chair.
Prim looked around the lower floor, seeing that even with the promise of an attack in the morning, people were drinking and making merry. She sighed, deciding to allow herself a reprieve. “What are we celebrating?” she asked, settling herself in the chair across from him.
“You are looking at Captain Jack Rackham of the Colonial Dawn ,” he said, beaming, “I have a ship of my own now!! And we hope to sail out tomorrow!!”
That had not been the announcement Prim was expecting, but it was a welcome one. She beamed back at Jack, waving down one of the girls at the bar to pass her a mug. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you, Jack.”
Jack puffed out his chest and, with how messy his hair was, he looked akin to an exotic bird trying to make itself look larger than it was. Anne rolled her eyes at his display and Prim allowed herself a laugh. Hannah set a mug of rum down next to her, giving her a wink as she headed away towards the bar.
Prim gave in to the celebration, letting Jack’s enthusiasm pull her into a much happier place and putting aside her fears of what the morning would bring.
Chapter 24: Repercussions
Summary:
The day of the attack is upon Nassau! Unfortunately, it doesn't go as well as many of our main players want it to go. Prim might have her hands a bit fuller than she thought, what with people on the beach still being in the line of fire.
Let's get into the medical stuff! There's descriptions of some gnarly injuries, so read at your own discretion. I feel bad that I didn't really get into some of Prim's daily encounters, so this chapter is making up for it in a very, very big way.
Also, we're close to 2,000 hits?!? Thank you guys so much for reading this!!
Chapter content warnings: violence, injuries of varying degree, blood, mention of preparation/execution of amputations, mentions of death
As of June 11, 2025, this chapter has been edited and updated!!
Chapter Text
Prim knew dawn was upon New Providence when she heard the sound of cannonfire from the direction of the beach.
She was up and dressed in record time, slipping on a high necked green dress she’d laid out the night before, her hope for a peaceful morning already beginning to dim. She hesitated before opening her door, just allowing herself to be in the present for a few moments. Her nerves were already alight from her sudden awakening and she knew that, regardless of what else happened, she needed to be there for the patients that ended up at her door today.
Prim would do what she could to see the day through.
The Inn was already abuzz as she exited her room, people already away and huddled around tables, the bar crowded with patrons asking for mugs of whatever they could get. Prim was able to flag down Hannah for a kettle of hot water and a mug, content with dipping into her own stores of tea for the morning.
She held her mug, waiting for someone to bring out food for the workers, when she noticed a gentleman making his way further into the lower floor. He had the dress of a sailor, a loose shirt and pants with a faded brown vest. What little hair he had on his head was a smattering of brown and gray, a large bald spot taking up the rest of the space. He twitched with each echoing blast of the cannons, but his eyes were focused, scanning the room in search of someone.
Prim could see that the rest of the girls were busy, so she decided to approach the man, setting her mug on the bar for the moment. “Can I help you, sir? Is there someone in particular you’re looking for?”
“Ah, um,” the man stammered, “You wouldn’t happen to know where Mr. Rackham is? He said that we were going to meet this morning to discuss his new crew, but he doesn’t seem to have come down from his room.”
“Let me see if I can track him down,” Prim said, giving the man a reassuring grin, “I can assure you that he’s very pleased about this endeavor.”
The man gave an aborted nod. “Just tell him that Mr. Featherstone is asking for him.” He headed over to one of the tables a few feet away from the stairs, looking a bit nervous as another cannon blast echoed through the air.
Prim figured Jack would already be up, so she decided to check the lower rooms for any trace of him. The girls she spoke to claimed he hadn’t left his room yet, but with such a ruckus going on in and outside of the building, he would have been up even before the cannonfire started.
Prim exited the brothel, looking around on the street for Jack’s signature wild hair or even Anne’s hat, but even in the crowd that was coming up from the beach, she couldn’t see him.
She was about to make her way towards the tavern, wondering if he’d stopped in there for food, when she heard a few startled screams from above her. She looked up, seeing about a dozen people standing against the railings of the wooden bridge that connected the tavern to The Inn, wondering if they’d seen something happening on the beach that she couldn’t.
Those thoughts ceased when she caught the bottom half of a man, bare to the world save for a white sheet covering up his front. The back and bottom however were on full display and Prim let out a scandalized gasp of her own when she noticed the face of the man.
“Jesus, Jack!”
Jack looked down at her, looked down at himself, and immediately moved his sheet to wrap around his waist and fold under his nethers. “Apologies!!” he called out.
Prim looked down at the dirt of the street in order to give The Inn’s owner a moment to collect himself. “I have a Mr. Featherstone asking for you, can you please get dressed and come downstairs?”
“Oh shi- yes, of course, tell him I’ll be right down.”
Prim took a moment to try to think of anything else but Jack Rackham’s bare ass and balls right above her and headed back into The Inn. She gave Mr. Featherstone a polite smile when she approached his table.
“Mr. Rackham will be down shortly. Is there anything you need? I can fetch you something to eat or drink?”
“No, I’m alright,” Featherstone said, smoothing out his shirt, “I’ll sit here for the time being.” He paused. “Do you think you could fetch Idelle for me?”
Prim realized that she had heard Mr. Featherstone’s name before, uttered by Charlotte to tease Idelle. She gave him a wider smile.
“I’m sure she knows you’re in the building, Mr. Featherstone, but if I see her, I’ll make sure she knows you’re waiting. If you do need any assistance before she arrives, please don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”
With that, she headed towards the bar to grab some food and her mug, content to keep herself cooped up in her room as long as possible without looking towards the beach. She knew she would only work herself up if she saw the destruction the Man O’ War was causing against the fort and attempted to begin her day by coming up with another infusion with some of the mint Miranda had provided the day before.
Her thoughts were on Charles with each echoing bang.
An hour later, the assault was still ongoing. There were bouts of silence for a few scant minutes, a telling pause that made it clear Captain Flint was using as much of his artillery as he could. Even though The Inn was a good distance away from the beach, its walls shook with each cannon blast from the Man O’ War. Prim opened her doors, afraid that they would fall off their hinges because of how hard they shook. As she tried to keep herself busy, she couldn’t help but peek out onto the lower floor to see what was going on.
The brothel was filled with people lining the balconies and stairs, loose dust painting their hair and faces with each tremor. A beach runner had climbed onto the top of The Inn’s roof, bending back down to relay anything that he could see from his perch as the rest of The Inn listened for word on how much damage the fort was taking and Prim found herself lingering next to her doors to hear what was happening.
Idelle tried to pull Prim away to sit with her, Featherstone, Jack, and Charlotte at one of the tables. Prim deigned to stand as they spoke, talking about plans to make their way out of the harbor while the crew of the Man O’ War was distracted. Jack believed that waiting until the attack on the fort ended would give him a few hours of time to get a crew out to the Colonial Dawn and set sail for their first prize ship, but that depended on how much gunpowder Captain Flint had to spare.
When a man bleeding from his head nearly toppled through the entrance of the brothel, Prim knew he wasn’t going to be the last. Even if Flint was aiming for the fort, that didn’t mean the people that were on the beach were out of danger from the debris.
As person after person entered her room, Prim was made aware of what was happening to those remaining on the beach during the attack. The huts and temporary structures were in ruins. The people who weren’t near the fort hadn’t been spared from Captain Flint’s cannons, stray shrapnel or cannonballs launching themselves in an entirely different direction, some dangerously close to the start of the road that led inland.
At first, there were people with cuts and bruises, mostly superficial wounds that she was able to handle with a washcloth and bandages. She was thankful she’d shopped for supplies the day before and hoped that they would be enough to last through the attack.
As the cannon blasts continued, more and more people began to file in, sporting wounds that Prim hadn’t had to handle since her time on the Apple; broken bones, disorientation, and limbs blasted clean off or left in tatters attached to a body. She called for assistance, Hannah answering her eagerly to run and fetch whatever was needed. While Prim was treating her patients, Hannah was attempting to keep the people waiting calm. She even moved some of the chairs from the tables near the bar in order for the injured to sit outside of Prim’s room, letting her know just how many people needed help. Charlotte, apparently wanting nothing more to do with Jack that morning, was on water duty, filling up pails and bowls of freshwater for Prim to use.
So far, everyone she met was able to be treated or needed time to rest in order to heal. She sent away anyone who was able to walk without assistance. The others who needed a bit more time to rest sat on the chairs in her room or laid on one of her cots.
“Chin up,” Prim whispered to a young boy, wiping the blood from his brow with a damp cloth. The little boy sniffled as she affixed a small bandage to the wound, the blood soaking it just enough to adhere it to his hairline.
“There we are. Looks like you had just a scratch. Don’t remove the bandage for at least another day, but if your mother sees it beginning to bleed or if it gets completely soaked, you’re to come straight back here, understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” the boy said, getting up and running into the skirts of an older woman balancing a baby on her hip. The woman gave her a smile and mouthed ‘thank you’ as she ruffled her son’s hair and led him out of the room.
“Next please!” Prim called out, her stomach dropping as an older man hobbled towards her. His right foot was all but shattered, bits of skin hanging out of his boot. She would need to remove the leather to see the full damage, but she could tell that the man would most likely have to lose the foot or risk infection. She helped him sit on her table, having him lay out across it so he didn’t have to keep standing.
She grimaced at the scent of blood already emanating from the man’s leg. “From the fort or from a cannon ball?” she asked, bending down to assess how far the damage had spread up his leg. If there was a way she didn’t have to saw through his leg, it’d be easier to salvage most of his mobility.
“Part of the fort,” another man called from just outside her door, “Saw it with me own eyes.”
“Let’s take a look then,” she whispered, gingerly moving the boot off of the man’s foot. The damage didn’t spread as far as she thought, which would mean minimal incapacitation for the man. Still, everything below the ankle looked like mangled meat and bone.
Prim grimaced and looked at the man who had spoken, beckoning him into her room.
“I’m no surgeon and I don’t have the proper tools to treat him as he is now.” She turned towards her pack and pulled out a few coins to hand to the man. “However, I’m sure the butcher would be willing to assist, with the proper payment. Can you deliver this to him and bring him here?”
The man ran out her door and she helped the older man lay down on one of her cots. “I cannot do much for the pain for now, but I can have someone fetch some strong rum, if that would help?”
The man nodded and Prim turned towards her doors to call for Charlotte, asking for a bottle of rum.
“I will need you to fetch me two more important things,” she said, catching the other girl’s arm before she left the room, “I need a wooden spoon that we don’t use anymore, along with a fire poker that’s been sitting in the flames. Can you prepare those for me?”
Charlotte nodded, already looking pale at the implication, flitting out of the room quickly. Prim tended to the less seriously wounded, knowing that there was only so much she’d be able to do for the gravely injured besides keeping them comfortable.
“Excuse me?”
Prim nearly jumped at the calm, accented voice nearly in her ear, but managed to collect herself before turning around. There was a man that had made his way into her room. He didn’t look injured, but there was sand on his boots and dust on his face, so he had to have come up from the beach. His blonde hair was dusted with silver streaks and was tied back into a small bun, bits of hair haphazardly falling out of its leather band.
“Yes?” Prim asked, trying not to sound strained. She hoped whatever he wanted to say was simple and didn’t waste the time she could spend on the injured.
“I’m a surgeon from La Rose D'or, ” he said, “I’ve heard of your talents from the beach. May I help you treat these men and women?”
Prim felt a wave of relief wash through her at the offer. “Yes, please. I could use someone who’s an actual surgeon to assist. How long have you been a ship’s surgeon?”
The man was quick to move to one of her bookshelves, setting down a leather case with a collection of different cutting instruments. He selected a large cleaver looking knife and moved towards the table. “Fifteen years, come this winter. I assume you have something to cauterize the wound?”
Prim nodded and called to Charlotte. The other girl moved in record time, handing her the poker and a spoon. Prim watched as the surgeon placed the spoon into the other man’s mouth. He muttered to himself in French, running a hand down the table next to the man’s injured leg, as if to see how much space he had.
“Ready?” the surgeon asked, looking towards the man and then towards Prim.
“Ready,” Prim said, holding onto the metal tightly.
-----
The next few hours passed in a blur. The man Prim had sent out to get a butcher never returned, making her believe that he’d just taken off with her coin rather than help a fellow man in need.
The older man needed time to recover from the shock of losing his foot, but the surgeon, Mathieu, claimed that he’d handled it better than some of the pirates he sailed with.
With an extra pair of hands, Prim was able to get through her patients at a quicker pace. Some were able to walk out of the brothel, others were carried out of the building to be buried.
Prim knew that there was no way to save every single person that walked through her door, but she still felt the guilt that there was something more that she could have done, made a quicker decision instead of mulling over an injury. As the flood of people eased into a trickle, Mathieu approached her again.
They didn’t speak much as they treated the injuries of the crowd, usually just barking out requests or asking for opinions on treatment, no other conversations needed to be had. Prim was thankful for that, glad that there was someone who was willing to remain as focused as she was on taking care of others and not treating the situation as something to be made light of.
“In my fifteen years at sea,” Mathieu said, wiping sweat from his brow, “I must say that I’ve never worked alongside someone like you. Your instincts are incredible.”
“I appreciate that,” Prim said, feeling weariness beginning to bleed into her limbs, “But your experience was needed here and I thank you for lending a hand.”
Mathieu heaved out a small sigh. “The fact that there are others on this island that share my profession, but wish to keep their tools for their own crew is an insult. I am glad that I was in the right place at the right time to assist you, Primrose.” He gave her a beaming smile, all of the exhaustion and worry gone from his face in an instant. “But, I now must see my crew at the tavern. I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve run off to.”
Prim held out her hand and he took it to shake. “If ever you need anything, please call on me. I’m in your debt, Mathieu.”
The older man shook his head. “ Non , I will not have debts between two like-minded souls. Continue to grow in your experience; that is all I want, and I know you will plan to do so anyway.”
For a moment, Prim felt an odd sense of someone having said something similar to her before. She couldn’t place who it was, but Mathieu’s words were far too familiar.
He left just as quickly as he arrived, gathering up his tools without much fanfare, leaving Prim to make sure that the remaining patients were doing well. Throughout the entirety of the surge of patients, the Man O’ War’s cannons continued to sound through the air, still rattling the building and glassware around The Inn.
Prim left her room in order to get some fresh air, deciding to visit Jack’s table. Mr. Featherstone and Idelle were nowhere to be seen, leaving just Jack and Anne sitting across from each other. Anne knew she was approaching, gesturing to have Jack turn to look at her.
“Please take a seat, Prim,” he offered, gesturing to one of the empty chairs, “I’m sure you’ve had a time of it this morning.”
She didn’t want to sit down, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to get up, so she leaned heavily against the wooden pillar behind Jack, in full view of Anne.
“Would you like for me to talk about something to take your mind off of the day?” he asked, another cannon blast echoing through the air, “Or would you like to commiserate with us on how the fort and its keeper are doing; particularly how the past week has been for him?”
There was another meaning to the question that Prim could only sigh at. “How much do you know?”
“Prim, you must understand that-”
“We sailed under him for years,” Anne chimed in, nearly making Prim jump. She hardly heard Anne speak, so she was taken off guard with the hoarse voice addressing her, “We know things about him that he didn’t learn until we told him. We were there when he became a Captain and we were there when the Guthrie bitch took away his Captaincy.” She looked up from beneath her hat, giving Prim a hard look. “We know him better than you ever will, so don’t try and fuck us over.”
“What Anne means to say,” Jack interjected, “Is that because of all the time we’ve been with Charles, we know him in ways that a handful of people are aware of. And this past week, he’s done quite a lot for you.” His own gaze went hard, the usual calmness freezing in an instant. “We both hope that you understand the significance of those actions.”
Prim felt as though she was being cornered and in her weary state, she wasn’t sure if they’d believe her in what she had already admitted to Miranda and what Max and Idelle had already gleaned. She took her place on the chair and looked between Jack and Anne.
“I would never take advantage of him. He’s saved my life and, even with that debt, I have no desire to betray him.”
Anne didn’t make a move, but Jack nodded. “That’s all we need to hear.”
The three of them sat in silence, Prim feeling like she could doze off, just as another barrage of cannon fire sounded.
“Will things stop once Flint runs out of powder?” Prim asked.
“Depends,” Anne said, “If he thinks there’s enough damage to the fort, ‘m sure he’d stop.”
“The goal was probably to get Charles out and to stay away,” Jack added, “Flint’s got an eye for strategy, so there could be more to it, but that’s what it seems like to me.”
A hush fell over the building as the shaking stopped. The air was still with anticipation. Prim could see the particles of dust reflecting the sunlight from the open ceiling, drifting down to the bottom floor. No one in The Inn seemed to be breathing. A minute passed, then two, then three, and there were no more shots whistling through the air.
“Whatever’s happened,” Jack said quietly, “I think things will be moving onto land for the time being.”
Chapter 25: Confrontation
Summary:
Happy 5 Month Anniversary!
The attack has ceased, but that doesn’t mean that Prim’s work is done to help the wounded. Especially when said wounded includes a notorious pirate Captain making his debut in this story~
Thank you all so much for your hits, your bookmarks, your comments, and your kudos! I appreciate each and every one of you and truly hope you’re enjoying this ride I’m taking you all on.
Thank you for your patience as well. I'm nearly done with the busy month, so updates might become a bit more regular once we get into November (no promises, but I will try!!).
Also, as many of you know by now, my dad is my beta reader! He's still a bit unsure of the schematics with fanfiction, but has bugged me for ages to show him something I've written and this is what he got. He's given me a lot of good advice and he's never seen the show as of today. It gives him a different perspective of characters and actions that I've written about, so his feedback helps me figure out where I can go next!
Say 'hi' to Papa Livikun in the comments and I'll tell him about it and he'll probably answer with 'wait...who are these people?'.
Chapter content warnings: Blood, injury, aftermath of violence
Chapter Text
Prim’s patients had filtered out one by one as the morning turned to afternoon. Whether on their own accord, helped out by friends and family, or carried out by someone to have them buried, she found her room eerily empty.
She grabbed one of the bottles of rum her patients hadn’t finished and drank it to its last drop. Any tiredness she’d feel after the morning she had was overshadowed by her racing blood. She had to calm down or her mind would get too worked up to get through the rest of the day. Focus was key and she decided that a walk around the lower floor of The Inn would help.
With the ceasefire, there were more people coming into the brothel for servicing rather than to hear what was happening on the beach or in the harbor. Girls were disappearing into rooms with sailors and shopkeepers who wanted to take their minds off of what was going on beyond their doors.
There hadn’t been any word from the fort or from the Man O’ War about what was going on. The beach runners hadn’t visited the Inn since the ceasefire. Prim had only been left with the news that her patients from the beach had brought her: the fort’s southern wall was all but destroyed by cannonfire, the beach around it torn up by stray shots.
She sent up a silent prayer to whoever would hear it, hoping that Charles wasn’t hurt or at least still alive.
Prim moved out of her room and noticed Max was out of her office, speaking to a standing Anne and Jack while Charlotte was sitting at a table. There were bits of paper strewn about on the table, a few designs catching Prim’s eye under Charlotte’s hands and pencil.
When Max noticed her, she beckoned Prim over. Jack was pouring Charlotte a bit of rum into one of the mugs from the bar, then sidled into the seat next to the blonde-haired girl. Anne slowly moved behind him.
“You have a regular custom with the men of Captain Flint’s crew, yes?” Jack asked Charlotte.
Charlotte looked to Max, as if asking for permission. Max moved to sit on Charlotte’s other side, saying softly, “It’s all right.”
Charlotte looked back to Jack, catching Prim’s gaze as well. “Just one. He won’t let the others near me.”
She had to be referring to the ‘Mr. Logan’ that she was learning to write for. Just from her description, Prim figured that Charlotte’s affection was reciprocated.
Jack leaned in a bit closer, a gleam in his eyes. “Has he paid you a visit yet since his recent arrival?”
“No,” Charlotte said, her voice sounding satisfied, “but he will. Can’t stay away for long, that one.”
“If or when he finally decides to visit you, I’d like to know what he has to say about the Urca gold.” Jack said the last few words in a hushed tone, the clamoring of The Inn nearly drowning him out. Still, Prim didn’t know what exactly he was referring to, looking to Max with a brow raised. Max met her gaze with a raised brow of her own and a small smile.
More secrets seemed to be playing out behind the scenes of the brothel. Prim had never felt more of an outsider in a conversation and desperately wanted to leave. She made to take a step back, but Max’s gaze grew hard and Prim stayed where she was.
“You haven’t heard?” Charlotte asked, looking between Max and Jack, then leaning in close to Jack to whisper, “Everyone's saying it wasn’t there. They ran into a man of war instead, managed to nick that ship.”
“Yes, I know,” Jack said, the corner’s of his mouth quirking up, eyes crinkling in delight, “Just indulge me, will you-”
“Mr. Rackham,” Idelle said, leaning in between Charlotte and Jack, “A word.”
Jack looked at her, a bit confused. “With me?”
Idelle just nodded, moving away from the table and up the stairs, turning back from time to time to see if he was following her. Jack scrambled up from his seat with a hurried, “Pardon me,” and followed her up the stairs into her room.
Max rolled her eyes. “He will be at the very least an hour,” she muttered, making a small gesture towards the rest of the women who surrounded her, “I suggest you carry on with your days for the time being.”
There was a loud bang of the brothel’s doors being slammed open and Eleanor Guthrie stormed into The Inn, tension wrought upon her. She looked almost frazzled, bits of her hair coming out of her tied bun, her chest heaving from some exertion. The hem of her dress was discolored with dirt or dust. Something inside Prim froze when she saw the dark residue of gunpowder on her palm.
Max smoothed out her dress, a mask of warmth falling onto her face, as she stood up to greet the tavern owner. “Eleanor, what can I-”
“I need her,” Eleanor said, pointing a finger at Prim.
Prim looked to Max, who gave her a small nod. Eleanor didn’t seem to care about the others sitting or standing around the table, her entire attention fixed on Prim.
It felt like a routine at this point whenever Eleanor called on her, so Prim made quick work of gathering as many of her dwindling supplies as she could into her bag before following Eleanor out of The Inn, across the street, and into the tavern.
The tavern was eerily empty, not a sound to be heard on the top or bottom floors. There were overturned cups on tables, half eaten pieces of meat and bread still on plates, all the signs that the partakers had left in a hurry. Prim couldn’t even hear the kitchen staff moving about.
Eleanor led her up the stairs and towards one of the areas that was used as a meeting room for the Consortium. Prim could see there were drops of blood on the floor as they approached and she couldn’t help but fear the worst. There was already so much bloodshed from the attack on the fort, what could have happened inland that had someone bleeding all over the Guthrie tavern’s upper floor?
Before Eleanor led her through the doorway, she faced Prim with a snarl on her face. “Get them patched up and ready to talk. Anything The Inn asks for, I’ll double it to make sure you never mention what occurs here. Is that understood?”
Prim could only nod in reply and Eleanor threw open the door revealing who she was to be tending to.
Charles Vane stood along the wall, hair undone from its tie and braids, blood along his nose and lips. Prim had never seen him look so disheveled and with how wild his eyes were, he seemed like he was one move away from lashing out. This was the predator she’d seen glimpses of in their meetings, now fully realized and ready to strike, unhinged from his grip on humanity.
His focus remained entirely on another man that sat on one of the wooden chairs in the room. This man was older, hair pulled back into a small ponytail and bleeding heavily from his nose as he held it in his already bloodstained hand. He was hunched over, more concerned with his own health and safety than what Charles was threatening with a mere look.
Both men were panting hard, teeth clenched and red faced. Prim didn’t have to guess that they’d been fighting, but was surprised that one of them wasn’t on the ground bleeding out or dead. Just a quick look at them told her that either they’d stopped before trading lethal blows or someone, most likely Eleanor, had found them and had them stop before they went too far.
Prim clutched her bag to her chest, at a loss as to address what was going on. She didn’t feel the need to jump into action as she had the last time Eleanor took her into the tavern; the room felt stifling with tension that, if she took an unnecessary step forward into, she’d be ripped to shreds.
Instead, Prim waited in the doorway, waiting for Eleanor to address her or to tell her where she needed to sit or stand.
Every time Eleanor called on her, she seemed to be mixed up in something dangerous. At least this time, there were only two men injured instead of five and both were alive. Still, the air in the room was charged and she felt as though she was intruding on something else than just a fistfight between two men.
“She,” Eleanor addressed the men, pointing to Prim, “is going to clean you both up while I go to get my father. And then we are going to sit down and talk or, so help me, I will shoot you both.”
There was no reaction from either of the men, but Eleanor seemed satisfied enough to leave the room, keeping the door open, and leaving Prim to her own devices.
Prim tightened the hold on her bag, unsure of how to even begin.
She didn’t want to move towards Charles first, the anger on his face not subsiding even after Eleanor left the room. His fists were clenched at his sides, eyes focused entirely on the man sitting down. The older man didn’t give him much more than a passing glance, more concerned with sniffing up the blood that was leaking from his nose.
Prim waited for the older man to look at her before she moved, knowing that both he and Charles were still riding high from a fight. She had enough experience with brawls at the brothel to know that if someone didn’t expect her to be nearby, they’d lash out. The last thing she needed was an unexpected punch to the face.
“May I?” she asked, her voice quiet, but seeming far too loud in the room. The seated man nodded and she moved closer, pulling up a chair next to him to take a look at his injuries.
With how she’d seen Charles fight, it was amazing to see the man before her not only still breathing, but to have more superficial wounds than anything else. She focused on his face first, attempting to stem his bloody nose while checking to see if it was broken or not.
She placed one of her older handkerchiefs up to his nose and the man took it without hesitation. Prim gestured for him to tilt his head up and the man did. She checked for a bend, but couldn’t see anything. There were small cuts on his face and neck, along with a large red mark along the latter, but nothing that was near anything critical. She noticed that he had faded scars near his collarbone and just past his shoulder, from what his loose shirt could reveal.
“Does it feel broken?” she asked, placing her hand on the man’s cheek so he could angle his face back down.
The man shook his head. “I’ve had worse. I’ll just wait for the bleeding to stop.” His voice was husky and she had to wonder if it was just his timbre or if the marks on his neck indicated that Charles had attempted to strangle him.
The man’s eyes drifted past Prim, his focus now on something beyond her right shoulder. There was a quick twitch of the left side of his mouth and he stilled under her touch. Turning around, she saw Eleanor at the threshold of the room.
“Mrs. Barlow and my father will be returning here shortly,” Eleanor said, moving her hands to smooth out the front of her dress. She looked at Prim, chin tilted up. “I trust Captain Flint hasn’t given you any trouble?”
“He’s been fine,” Prim replied, her voice trembling a bit with the newfound revelation. She turned back to the man, his eyes now focused on a spot on the floor, frowning beneath her handkerchief. She could hear Eleanor’s footsteps behind her as the other woman moved to the other side of the room.
So, this was Captain Flint. He really wasn’t what she had expected. Once again, the colonies’ papers stretched the truth from what she’d read while back at the Tennent Plantation. His hair and eyes weren’t red and ablaze with fury and he didn’t look as though he was going to strangle her whenever she moved. His eyes were very green, but weren’t shining like lamplights in the deep of the night.
Captain Flint’s hair and beard were a dark ginger color, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks underneath the blood that had spattered from him and Charles. In truth, he didn’t look like a pirate at all. Prim couldn’t place where he’d be most at home, but out in the Bahamas attempting to regain a fort was not one of them. A thought lingered in her mind of Miranda’s description of the Naval Officer James, and she wondered if there was more to Miranda’s tale than what she’d been told.
Prim turned to grab some bandages for the man’s hands, which were carved open at the knuckles, but Flint grabbed her wrist before she could finish reaching into her bag.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see Charles shift his position against the wall.
“No wraps,” Flint muttered, “Just clean me up and get to Vane so you can get out of here.”
Prim nodded and Flint let go of her wrist. She took out her skein of freshwater and used it sparingly on her washcloth for Flint’s face and hands, only using enough to work the drying blood from his skin. She wanted to believe she took her time because she wanted to be thorough, but another part of her was afraid of what she’d encounter once she reached Charles.
She got up and began her approach, keeping her pace slow and steady. The weight of the day’s events was heavy on her and she knew that they would be even heavier on Charles.
At first, she thought he’d have shifted his focus to Eleanor, now that she was back in the room and closer to him, but he hadn’t. The anger in his eyes was still present as they lingered on Flint and he still looked poised to strike if someone made the wrong move. His body was wound tight with tension and she knew she needed to proceed with caution. Prim had never seen him so worked up before, not even with Ned Low’s threats. He and Flint had more of a history than she’d known and it seemed to have come to a head mere minutes before she was summoned.
She took meaningful steps towards Charles in hopes of not catching him off guard. She could see Eleanor off to her side, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed, but watching her every move. Prim moved slowly into Charles’s line of sight and met his gaze. For a moment, she thought he’d lunge for her, all of the time she took with Flint not even cooling his anger for him to hide it.
Charles met her gaze and she could see recognition in his eyes. His shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, but it was enough for her to know she could approach. Prim gave him a small nod, stepping closer, not daring to speak lest she break the tension. The only sound she could really hear now was Flint’s occasional sniff as he tried to stop his bloody nose.
Although Flint looked older, he’d done enough damage that Charles would have bruises for the next week. There was blood near his mouth, his bottom lip split from a well placed punch. There was blood in his hair, on his shirt, and down his arms, and it was hard to tell if it was his or Flint’s.
Prim pressed lightly against his side to get his attention. Charles’s eyes snapped back to hers and she gestured for him to bend down so she could check his face for anything she hadn’t seen. He did so with a small grunt and she wondered if his ribs were bruised.
“Don’t know if this is your idea of ‘safe’,” Prim whispered, keeping her voice low enough that Eleanor and Flint wouldn’t hear her, “but I’m glad you’re in one piece. Does it hurt when you breathe?”
“No.” Even his voice sounded tight, an aborted growl rather than his usual timbre.
“Good. Let me know if I press too hard.”
Prim worked through her examination with care, noting any sounds that Charles made as he finally caught his breath. Just like the last time she’d treated him in the tavern, it didn’t seem like anything caused him too much pain. She wiped away the blood from what she could see, noting the shallow cuts and blossoming bruises he’d have. She moved up towards his neck, seeing red marks similar to Flint’s. Charles and Flint were both able to speak, so the bruising was minor, but they both would be sporting a necklace of bruises in the coming days.
Prim cleared her throat and gestured for Charles to lean down, unable to check his face unless he moved in closer. He obliged without a sound.
Prim held Charles’s right cheek in her hand, using a washcloth with the other to clean off the blood on his face and near his mouth. Now that he was closer, she could see a bruise blooming on his cheek. Thinking quickly, she undid the lid of a tin of one of her mint salves, coating her thumb with it. As Prim finished wiping his face, she absently moved her thumb against the bruise as she worked, attempting to soothe it. She could see his eyelids fluttering, glad that he’d relaxed enough under her touch.
It took her a moment too long to realize that Eleanor was still watching her and she gestured for Charles to stand back up. She held his hands in hers, scrubbing with her washcloth just enough so that she could get any dust or dirt that could get in to infect the cuts on his knuckles. She worked around the various rings on his fingers, unsure if he wanted to take them off.
Prim turned his left hand over, undoing his leather cuff to check the already healing cut on his wrist from Ned Low’s blade. The scab was drying already, so she knew he’d have one more scar to flaunt to his crew at the fort. He’d already removed her bandages and the wound didn’t look inflamed. If he’d been able to get into such a large scuffle with another fearsome pirate Captain, then his hand and arm were both working.
Both Captains seemed to be in as good a shape as they could be after a scuffle. She placed her washcloth in her back and smoothed out her dress, ready to depart.
“What took so long?” Eleanor huffed, dislodging herself from the wall, “You moved faster with five injured men than the two here.”
“Those five injured men were the most serious patients I had that day,” Prim said, “Today was a bit busier for me, Ms. Guthrie. Forgive me for wanting to make sure I haven’t missed any injuries that could lead to something worse.”
Prim heard Eleanor huff and hoped that was all; she was tired enough as it was and didn’t need an argument to keep her there for longer than she needed to be.
She let out a small sigh, if only to ease her mind for a moment, then turned to head out of the room and back to The Inn, praying there were no more clients she needed to tend to for the day.
Before she turned fully, Charles caught her hand and Prim turned back to meet his gaze. He looked far more relaxed now, the beast within him quelled for the moment.
Prim squeezed his hand and let it drop, but Charles reached to grab it again and she paused, turning back to face him fully. He ducked his head down so that his lips were near her ear.
“You told me yesterday that my actions are not yours to judge,” he whispered, his voice rumbling through her body, “Did you mean that?”
Prim gripped his hand tight and rested her other hand against it. “I meant it.”
He paused, the only sound she could discern was his breath hitting her cheek.
“Meet me at the fort in two hours,” he finally said, “Bring your bag.”
She nodded and broke away from him, noting the sharp look that Eleanor gave her as she left the room.
Chapter 26: Innocence Lost
Summary:
MERRY CHRISTMAS, LET'S GOOOOO!
Firstly, over 2,500 hits!!! Thank you guys so much!!!
Secondly, the day I posted Chapter 25 was when my dad, my beta reader, revealed that he’d finally started to watch Black Sails. He breezed through it and said it didn’t capture his interest…a little anticlimactic, but everyone has their own taste. He did, however, wonder why there wasn’t a ‘Prim’ in the credits and I had to re-explain what a fanfiction was.
Now, a new chapter is upon us!! And another character appears!
I’ll say it outright that I love Abigail Ashe. I would have loved to see her more in the series, but what we got of her showed that there were people that were willing to see the ‘horrible pirates’ of the age and learn that they were just people. A lovely dichotomy against that of her father’s view of the pirate threat and I love how she got the final say against him at the end of the business in Charles Town. Maybe she’ll have a role to play later on in this fic? Who knows! …it’s me, I know, I’m already writing stuff.
Anywho, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Chapter content warnings: mentions of past violence, mentions of past drugging, mentions of past torture, worries of sexual assault
Chapter Text
Prim wasted no time heading back to The Inn.
The walk from the tavern had allowed her a few minutes of reprieve, but she assumed that whatever she was to encounter at the fort would get her thoughts back into a whirlwind.
She also attempted to keep her heart from breaking through her ribs at how close Charles had been. She was sure she was flushed and hoped the girls would aquaint it to how fast she was hurrying towards her room.
There were more clients around the bottom floor, looking far more relaxed than they had been earlier in the day. A few of the girls were idly chatting around the bar, paying her no heed as she slipped back into her room.
There were no remnants of the day’s events. Her cots had been placed back into their normal positions, the chairs lined up against her walls were back at their respective tables, and the floor and table had been scrubbed clean, evidenced by the drying patches of freshwater along the wood. She couldn’t even smell a whiff of blood and she took a seat on her cot for a moment to take it in.
Her thoughts drifted back to earlier, to the ship surgeon that had seamlessly worked alongside her for what felt like forever, not hesitating for an instant when he realized she needed help. Now that she had the time to think about it, she knew there was a lingering familiarity that Mathieu had with her. There was something about the last words he’d said to her that tickled at her memories. She tried to think of what it was, other thoughts and feelings from the day getting her too far into her head.
Prim blinked, patting her cheeks to get her out of whatever daze she’d been in, feeling a stiffness in her limbs that told her she’d been sitting for longer than she should have. It may not have been a full two hours, but it’d take her some time to walk to the fort.
She had work to do.
She got up from the cot, stretching out the stiffness from leaning against the wall and for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past week grabbed whatever was left of her supplies to stuff in her bag. She was glad she’d gone to the storehouses the day before or she’d be completely out of bandages. She made a note to herself to start up a new salve when she returned, her stores getting low.
She exited her room and saw Anne Bonny all but storm away from the bar. Max was nursing a cup of something strong enough that Prim could smell it before even approaching her.
“Is everything alright?” Prim asked.
Max looked weary, the mask of propriety the brothel’s Madame usually wore nowhere to be seen. Her eyes flickered to where Anne had disappeared to, one of the shadowed corners of the lower floor.
“Jack is on his way out to sea,” Max said, “And Anne is remaining here.”
That news made Prim pause. Jack and Anne were partners, never far from each other’s sides no matter what situation they were in. The fact that he had gone out to capture his first prize as a Captain without her was odd.
“So, he’s not taking her with him,” Prim said, “Is that a true problem?”
Max looked guilty. “There were…stipulations for Jack to regain his captaincy. He had to make a choice and he agreed that Anne was not to be involved in any aspect of his new role. He broke the news to her while you were at the tavern”
That got Prim to realize the gravity of the situation. With how close she’d seen Jack and Anne and how long he’d said the two of them had known each other, the fact that they were separated after who knows how long sailing and caring for one another could definitely cause some friction.
“Jack’s already gone by now, I assume?” she asked instead, “With the ceasefire, I don’t think anyone’s got their eye on the harbor.”
“Most of Flint’s crew is on land, from what I’ve been able to gather, so there’s no threat from his ship to fire on anyone leaving the island. And there’s been whispers of a ceasefire, so Flint isn’t likely to try anything more today.”
Max set her cup down on the bar, her attention again being pulled to where Anne had headed. “I will try and talk to her, but this situation may need all of us to remain alert.”
Prim didn’t like the sound of that. “Would she be so angry as to become violent?” Even as she said it, the description made it seem as though there was more to Anne’s past than just having Jack with her. She wanted to ask more, but knew that those questions would be better off being asked to Anne.
“She may be irritable,” Max said, “Things did not go how she wished today and that wound is fresh. I don’t want anyone here to have her at their throat. If there is an instance where she is alone with one of the girls, please let me know immediately.”
Prim nodded. “I’ll make sure to check as soon as I’ve returned.”
That got Max to perk up. “You’ve been in and out of this place for most of the afternoon. What sort of pressing matters are you headed towards now?”
“I’ve been requested at the fort,” Prim said, “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “I will be billing Captain Vane for this, just so you’re aware.”
“I’ll let you know what he owes,” Prim said, grinning and glad that Max seemed a bit more like herself.
------
Prim felt winded from walking up the hill to the fort. There were steps that had been hammered into the ground, but age and the amount of weight from years of people stepping on them made them look more like they’d sunk into the sand. The stairs were built into the small cliffs that rose along New Providence’s shore.
She was thankful that the doors to the fort were already open, not wanting to think of how much more exertion it would take for her to try and push them apart. Prim took a cautious step inside, seeing the wreckage that the Man O’ War’s attack had caused in the innermost courtyard.
There were large parts of the wall smashed and crumbling around haphazard wooden scaffolding, a paltry attempt to keep the already fallen wall from landing in the courtyard. She could see blood on the ground, a small pile of bodies in a shaded area close to one of the few walls that remained upright.
There were men all around her, turning to watch her as she entered the courtyard. Most of them were covered with dirty sand and blood from the day’s events, all of them looking tired. They were dressed in a variety of clothing, some of the more older men in furs and dark leather while others were dressed in the open shirts and sandy cuffed trousers of Nassau’s beach.
One of the men in furs stepped forward, a short beard and mustache on his face. He looked a bit cleaner than the rest, the only grime she could see were on the bare skin of his arms and hands. The rest of the men looked to him, then back to Prim. Whoever he was, there was a presence around him that commanded respect.
“Seems you might be lost, Miss,” the man said, taking one step further into her space, “Allow me to escort you out.”
Prim stood a bit straighter, clutching her bag. “I was asked to come here by invitation from Captain Vane himself.”
The man looked her up and down, a sneer on his lips. “Calling on whores at a time like this? Fuck, he really has lost it.”
“I’m not a whore,” she hissed, “I’m a physician. Now please let me through.”
Something passed along the man’s face, his sneer turning to a full frown. He moved in closer and she could smell the sweat and stink from iron and gunpowder on him. There was a look in his eyes that Prim had seen far too many times in Mr. Tennent’s gaze and her attempt at showing strength began to crumble. She was made far too aware of just how tall the other man was, how his arms were uncovered, showing off burgeoning muscles, that the other men around her were looking at her with hungry gazes.
That even with the word of a Captain at her disposal, she was just a young woman that the men could overpower and do what they pleased with.
Prim reached for her bag, reminded too late that her shears were still with the bookseller, and took a small step back. The man’s eyes glinted in the afternoon light, the corner of his mouth ticking up as his gaze roamed her body.
A solid weight was at her side, an arm wrapping around her back to hold her close, fingers splayed along her left hip. Prim felt grounded in an instant and felt a mix of relief and embarrassment that she could already tell who it was that was holding her.
“‘S there a problem, Jenks?” Charles’s voice broke through her thoughts, his voice a low growl.
“You’re late,” the other man, Jenks, said, taking a few steps back out of her space. Prim let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, relaxing a bit more in Charles’s hold.
“There’s been a development,” Charles said, his voice not changing its timbre, “I thought I’d send someone here to check on our prisoner while I got through the details. Now, let her through so she can do what I’ve asked her to.”
Jenk’s nostrils flared, gaze hardening to a glare. “You-”
Charles moved himself further in front of Prim. “I’ll meet you down there,” he whispered, his focus still on Jenks. He quickly looked to his left.
“YARDLEY“ he barked, a long haired, clean shaven man nodding, “Get her down to the cells.”
Charles gave her hip a small squeeze, something that a few of the men’s eyes fell upon and Prim, attempting to keep her face from getting too red, walked towards the other man.
She followed Yardley into the entrance to the bowels of the fort, past all of the damage from the courtyard into an earth and stone hewn set of stairs lit only by torches. She could hear raised voices coming from the courtyard, but they faded quickly with each step she took.
The air within the fort cooled significantly, the scent of dirt and soot tickling her nostrils. Yardley didn’t speak as they continued their descent. The stairs ended and led to a long hallway with roughly carved openings where rusted metal bars were thrust into the stone. They made their way to the end of the hallway, a wooden door meeting them.
Yardley took out a rusted set of keys and used one to unlock the door. He stepped into the cell, Prim following right behind.
The cell was most likely one of the largest in the fort, even having a window hewn into its side. The walls were smoother, making it impossible for someone who was held captive to even think of escaping out the opening. Prim could hear the sound of waves crashing, clueing her in that they were probably on the far side of the fort that was closest to the beach.
There was a huddled figure on the floor. Prim noticed the embroidered white dress first, then the long, dark tresses that stood out starkly against the pale finery. The prisoner lifted her head, wide eyes looking from Yardley to Prim and back again. Her skin was pale, but not sickly looking.
Prim moved closer, as slowly as she could to make sure the woman in front of her didn’t perceive her as a threat. In turn, the woman scooted closer, eyes now locked on Prim’s.
Yardley cleared his throat from behind her and Prim turned to address him.
“This is Abigail Ashe,” he said, “ The Captain wants to make sure she’s healthy before we set sail tomorrow.”
Prim pursed her lips, a half dozen questions ready, but Yardly retreated out of the room and shut the door to the cell. A bit of anger flared in her gut; she was going to have words with Charles before the day was through.
“You can trust him,” Abigail whispered, seeming to take Prim’s pinched look as concern, “If Captain Vane and his crew hadn’t taken me from Captain Low, I don’t know if I’d be alive today.”
Prim relaxed a bit at that. Regardless of his motivation, Chalres had all but rescued this girl from Ned Low’s clutches. She could only imagine what Abigail went through under the other pirate Captain.
“I trust his Captain. Cross my heart,” Prim said, kneeling down to the girl’s level, making sure she was smiling, “My name is Primrose Enfield. I’m a physician here in Nassau. May I check to make sure you’re healthy?”
Abigail’s eyes went wide. “A female physician? I didn’t know a woman could be such a thing.”
Prim grinned wider. “Neither did I when I was your age, but here I am. I would like to make sure that you’re healthy by doing an examination of your body. Are you comfortable with me touching you?”
The younger girl nodded and Prim slowly placed her hands on Abigail’s neck, checking for any lumps or bruises that shouldn’t be there.
The girl was quiet as Prim moved to her shoulders. So far, Abigail hadn’t flinched back, so at the very least nothing was broken.
Prim stopped for a moment when she could feel the girl shivering underneath her touch. It was cooler within the fort’s prison, but not so cold as to bring gooseflesh up Prim’s arms. Abigail hadn’t felt feverish either. She cursed herself for not realizing just how wide Abigail’s eyes had gotten and how quickly her breaths were leaving her.
Prim slowly took her hands away, holding them aloft.
“Abigail,” she said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Abigail took in a shaky breath, tears brimming in her eyes. She ducked her head, covering her face with her hands.
“So much has happened,” she whispered, her voice muffled by her palms, “I just want to go home.”
“And you will,” Prim assured her, “Captain Vane is a man of his word. And I will make sure he keeps it.”
She gave the girl a few moments to collect herself, taking a moment to return to her bag and pull out a clean washcloth. She handed it over to Abigail, letting her wipe her face. Prim didn’t press the younger girl to continue, allowing Abigail to calm herself down. When the younger girl had wiped away the last of her tears and gave Prim a nod, she continued her examination as gently as she could.
“Where do you hail from?” Prim asked, hoping to calm the girl further with some light conversation.
“Charles Town, Carolina,” Abigail said, voice still thick with tears, “My father was appointed as governor a few years ago, so we moved there from London. Are you from England?”
“I was born in the colonies, actually,” Prim said, “My father and my mother sailed from England a few years before I was born and settled in Philadelphia. We moved to Boston when I was ten. Lift your arm for me, please.”
Abigail did as she was told, lifting up her right arm so that Prim could press her fingers against the young girl’s side. Abigail giggled when Prim moved down towards her stomach. “That tickles.”
“That’s good to hear. You haven’t pulled a muscle or had any of your ribs strained. I’ll need to check your other side, so if you wouldn’t mind?”
Abigail let out another string of giggles while Prim worked, but she was glad that the younger girl was more relaxed now.
“Did you enjoy your time at school? What were you learning?” Prim asked, trying to keep up the conversation, “I only ever had home tutors, so indulge me.”
Abigail looked thoughtful for a moment. “My boarding school was insistent that I learn about embroidery and manners. I did have a few private tutors that my father employed that showed me how to properly read and write. Mathematics too, but I never cared for it.”
“Never had a mind for numbers either,” Prim said, “Nothing more than the basics made sense to me. I was lucky my father wasn’t a merchant or I would be miserable.”
That got a small titter of laughter from Abigail and Prim couldn’t help but join in with a giggle. With a smile on her face, Prim could see just how young Abigail looked.
“How old are you?” Prim asked.
“Fifteen.”
Prim’s heart sank, but she kept a small smile on her face. “No wonder you’ve learned the skills of a lady. I’m sure your father wanted to make sure you had the best education before having you return to the colonies.”
The younger girl nodded, turning her face away with a small sniff. “Ever since my mother passed, he wanted to make sure that I would be a proper lady. He insisted that my education would still need to continue in our home country until I was ready to come home…”
She trailed off, taking in a shuddering breath. “To think of what he could be thinking now, after so long of not hearing from me only to receive a letter from a pirate about my whereabouts…I can only imagine his worry.”
Prim placed a hand on Abigail’s shoulder, causing her to turn back to Prim. “Just a few more hours and you’ll be on your way. I’m sure your father is worried about you, but I’m sure he’s counting down the hours himself until he’ll get to see you again.”
There were unshed tears in Abigail’s eyes and Prim offered her another handkerchief. She paused before speaking again, but knew that the next questions she asked the younger girl would be extremely important, even if they were quite upsetting.
“It doesn’t seem like you’ve been injured or had anything bruised or pulled, so that’s some worry off of your shoulders. I do need to ask you if there was anything…untoward done to you on Ned Low’s ship?”
Abigail’s voice shook when she answered a moment later. “He gave me something to drink that kept the days hazy. I can’t tell you how long I was truly with him because of it. He made threats, but he-” She took a breath, tears springing up again. “Oh God, what if he did? There could have been times while I was sleeping or-”
Prim moved herself to sit right in front of her, gripping the young girl’s hands hard in an attempt to ground her. “Breathe with me,” she said, taking an exaggerated breath in and letting it out in a long sigh. She looked straight into Abigail’s tear brimmed eyes as she did so, urging the young girl to copy her.
It took a few minutes, Abigail’s breathing coming out in halting hiccups as she tried to catch her breath, but she eventually calmed down enough that Prim was able to let go of her hands. Abigail used the washcloth to rub her face, trying to clean up the snot and tears that still continued to leak.
“I can examine you,” Prim said, keeping her voice low, “but only if you feel the need for me to.”
Abigail let out a choked sob into the washcloth and Prim laid her hands on her shoulders, squeezing them in reassurance. She hated that she even had to utter those words, but it hadn’t been so long ago that she’d had to bear the same weight of shame and fear. All she could do now was provide the dignity that Abigail deserved.
It took longer for Abigail to collect herself than before, but when she lifted her face from the washcloth, her eyes were hard.
“You don’t need to,” she said, hardly a tremor in her voice, “but I thank you, Primrose. Thank you for caring about me.”
Prim gave her shoulders another reassuring squeeze and let her go with a nod.
“It’s in my opinion that you’re well enough to sail. Get plenty of rest on the ship, just in case there’s lasting effects from the sedatives lingering in your system. Drink fresh water whenever you can and get your fill of food.”
Prim made to get up, only to be nearly pounced upon by Abigail, who hugged her tightly enough to knock the wind out of her. Prim returned the embrace just as tightly.
----
Prim followed the lit torches back to the stairs she’d been led down.
Charles sat on one of the steps, getting up when she approached him. He didn’t look like he’d gotten into a fight with Jenks, no new cuts or bruises on his face, but there was still some tension in the set of his shoulders that made her wary.
She chose her words carefully. “The daughter of the governor of Carolina; quite a prize to be found on a dead Captain’s ship. I’m going to assume that returning her home is not just out of the goodness of your heart?”
Charles smirked. “Her father has promised a hefty sum to see her returned. If there is a good deed hidden beneath that, then I will gladly admit to it.”
Prim gave him a stern look. “She deemed you trustworthy because you were her savior and I assured her that you would keep your word.”
His smirk disappeared and he moved closer to her. “I intend to keep it. The plan is to leave tomorrow morning. My crew and I have the rest of the afternoon and evening to plan our course. It’ll likely take a few days, no more than a week even if we run afoul of a storm. We hand her over, take the ransom, then come back here.”
“Ms. Ashe has been through a trial.” Prim kept her voice hard. She needed to make sure that he knew how serious the situation was, just how much Abigail had suffered and would most likely continue to suffer because of New Low. “She is vulnerable right now and the only thing that is keeping her spirits high is knowing that in a few days, she will be on familiar land and in the arms of a loved one. If I find out that she’s been harassed or harmed in any way by your crew, then so help me Charles, I will-”
“She’s to be returned to her father unscathed,” Charles said, taking another step towards her, “I gave my word to her as well as her father and I intend to keep it. I will handle my crew if they fall out of line.”
She allowed herself a moment to relax. With how open Charles had been with her over the course of the past few days, it felt much easier to trust him. And the fact that he made sure that Abigail was separated from the rest of the crew, especially with what Prim had seen when she first entered the fort, there was a kindness he was extending to the young girl. Whether he was aware of just how much she’d suffered over the past few weeks, Prim couldn’t say, but it helped lift her spirits.
Relief weighed down on her and she felt her legs beginning to buckle. Charles moved quickly to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. His grip was firm, but he held her a respectable distance away from his chest.
His other hand cupped her cheek as he lifted her head to study her face. “You look like death warmed over. Do you ever fucking sleep?”
Prim tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. She should have taken more time to rest before coming to the fort, unsure if she drifted off to sleep while she’d been sitting on her cot, but there was no correcting it now. She placed her hand on top of his. “I’ll make that my goal for tonight. And I’m sure you’ve had quite a day as well.”
“Just a normal day in Nassau.”
Prim rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand. “I would hate to encounter the abnormal days in Nassau. Abigail’s gotten my approval to sail, but she is to get as much rest as she can before she makes it home.” She paused, unconsciously biting her lip, her face heating as Charles’s eyes caught the movement. “And I’d like to make sure that the Captain of the ship she’s on gets his rest too.”
Charles let out a scoff, but his tone was soft as he looked into her eyes. “You’ve spent the past few weeks worrying about me and everyone else in Nassau. Take care of yourself for once, Prim.”
She would, just as soon as this day came to an end. Once she knew Charles was off the island and away from harm for at least a few days. The thought crossed her mind that this could be the last time she saw him. There was always a chance something could go wrong. And Carolina was not the safest place for a pirate to sail near, if the stories she heard from crews at The Inn were to be believed.
“Shall I say my farewell to you now?” she asked, moving his hand from her cheek to clasp it in both of her hands. Charles still had a firm grip on her waist and she didn’t want to move further away, even though she could hold herself up without his assistance.
The air felt charged between them with her words, Charles looking almost thoughtful.
“I know what dangers lie ahead on this journey,” he said, leaning down, “This isn’t the first time I’ve sailed in treacherous waters.”
“I know.”
“So don’t say goodbye to me just yet,” he said, breath warm on her face as he moved in close.
Prim closed her eyes when his lips met hers. He wasn’t insistent with the pressure, waiting on her to press back. She nearly tripped backward to move away from him, feeling how hot her face was, but his grip on her waist kept her in place. Charles did move his hand away, allowing her to put a few steps of distance between them, but his hands shot out to take hers in his own.
“I’m sorry, I was-”
Charles gripped her hands in his, staying silent. Prim took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth, willing her body to stop shaking.
Charles’s thumbs moved along the backs of her hands, rubbing in small circles. His callouses caught on her smoother skin. She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her, marvelling at the small flush on his high cheekbones.
“Again,” she breathed.
Charles leaned back into her again, pressing his lips to hers. Prim kissed him back properly, feeling his hands gently moving to her hips. She let her hands move up his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips as she settled against his shoulders. She could feel the muscles in them relaxing in tandem with his fingers clutching her just a tad tighter. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. Something akin to a growl left Charles’s mouth as he plundered hers, tongue running against her own.
When she felt dizzy, she pulled away from the kiss and rested her forehead against Charles’s shoulder in an attempt to catch her breath. Prim blinked, finding herself very present and aware of what was happening, whatever fear had been brought on before had left her entirely. She felt as though she was floating, Charles’s grip on her hips the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. With her face so close to his neck, she could feel his heartbeat against her skin, rabbit quick in time with her own.
His breathing was ragged in her ear, just as hers was. She couldn’t ignore the heat that was pooling in her belly. Slowly, Charles’s hands moved from her hips to her waist, allowing them to be flush against each other. Prim’s grip tightened as she felt Charles’s clothed prick against her thigh and he let out a huff of air as she gasped.
“Feel what you do to me?” he murmured, breath hot against her cheek. His hand pet itself along her side and in that moment, Prim wanted. For the first time in years, she wanted to know what his hands felt like on the bare skin of her stomach, her breasts, her back.
She pulled back from his shoulder, seeing how ruddy his cheeks were, how his lips had gone a touch red from their kiss. His eyes were lidded, watching her like she was something to be devoured. She let out a small sound and ducked her head, feeling her own need growing. She moved her hands down his arms, feeling the sheer heat his body was emitting.
“I’ve never had someone touch me like this,” Prim confessed, her voice shaking with fear and desire in equal measure, “To look at me the way you are now…I’ve never. I-I haven’t-”
Charles moved his hands up her back and pulled her into a soft embrace. He didn’t grip her as tightly as he had before, as if giving her a choice to move away if she needed to. Prim wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. She heard and felt his words at the same time, his chest rumbling with each one.
“We’ll talk about everything when I return. Properly. Don’t need to explain yourself now.”
Prim nodded and released him from the embrace and moved back. Charles still had the remnants of a blush and it had been evident that his interest wasn’t flagging, but he was holding himself in check for her. His eyes were still lidded, still held the gaze of a predator, but Prim didn’t feel threatened.
“Get home safely,” he whispered, “and get some rest.”
“Get some sleep tonight, too,” she whispered back, feeling breathless, “And return safely.”
Chapter 27: Wounds of the Mind
Summary:
HAPPY NEW YEAR, LET'S GO!!
Legit watching the number of hits going from 2,500 to 2,600 in a week is wild. Thank you all for giving this fic a chance!!
Also!! Please leave comments!! Let me know how I'm doing, let me know if there's stuff you like and don't like, let me know if I'm missing things!! Your words of encouragement and critique are helping me through this and helping me be a better writer!!Had a mix of angst and romance in the last chapter (I know many of you screamed 'FINALLY', as did I), but now back to angst!
A situation has arisen, as those who have seen the show know. Anne Bonny’s presence isn’t felt too much in this fic, but it's with her actions that brings her and Prim together. Let’s hope our physician is up to the task and that I’m up to writing through it.
Chapter content warnings: Blood, death, description of physical violence, implied PTSD behaviors
Chapter Text
The walk from the fort was enough to cool Prim’s blood. The afternoon heat was beginning to temper with the lowering of the sun behind some of Nassau’s taller buildings, the growing shadows reminding her of just how exhausted she was.
As she made her way up to the street, she could see that the events in the tavern looked to have been wrapped up, men clamoring in and out of the building with mugs of ale. She couldn’t see Eleanor or Flint anywhere outside either, so they must have concluded their business somewhere else.
A familiar figure was leaning up against the steps of the tavern, a small blanket holding his wares. Prim noticed him before he noticed her and decided to approach.
“Good to see you again, sir.”
The bookseller watched her advancing and gave her a wide grin. “Figured you’d be back eventually.”
She couldn’t really think up an excuse, so settled onto something she was more than familiar with. “I apologize for my earlier outburst and retreat,” Prim said, “It’s been quite a rough few weeks.”
The bookseller let out a loud bark of laughter that caught the attention of a few people walking up the street. “That’s a polite way to put it. Shit’s making its way around the island, it seems.”
“You seem to be in high spirits.”
“As much as I can be. Now that there’s been some ships getting out of the harbor, I’ll be able to snatch up some more wares to share with the street.”
It made sense that the lack of ships entering and leaving the harbor would dry up any merchant’s supply, but Prim didn’t know if books would fall into that category with just how few people she knew could read them. Still, if it made the bookseller happy, she was happy for him.
“Now,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “I’ve been holdin’ onto this for far too long for yeh.” He pulled out her shears, the blades gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun.
Prim had wondered if she’d feel scared to take them again, to embrace the part of herself that had caused two men to meet their deaths at her hand. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she reached for them, but the panic she expected wasn’t there. She closed her hands around the shears, feeling how warm they were.
“Thank you for caring for them,” she said, pulling away, “Hopefully the next time I use them will be just to mend some dresses.”
The bookseller nodded, leaning in closer to her, his voice low. “Whatever you choose to do is in your hands, but know that yeh have allies here. And Nassau has a long memory for those who try to control it.”
Something warmed in Prim’s chest at that, as she clutched her shears in her hands. She was about to thank him again when a hand fell on her shoulder.
“Prim!”
Prim turned to see Max, looking at her and then at the bookseller, then at the shears in her hands. Prim quickly placed the shears back into her bag and steered Max away, giving the bookseller a small wave before she retreated.
“Good to see you out and about,” Prim said, still watching Max’s eyes. There was something there that made Prim feel like she was about to be scolded, bringing to mind some of her tutors from years past that had found her doing something other than her studies.
Max’s voice, however, betrayed nothing. “You’re back earlier than I thought. I assume all is well?”
Prim let out a sharp bark of laughter at that. “I don’t know how all of you have been able to handle life on this island for as long as you have. There always seems to be something going on that has someone narrowly avoiding trouble.”
Max gave her a grin, the look in her eyes gone and Prim feeling a little less scrutinized. “It keeps us on our toes.This is why many of us have been able to survive for as long as we have; you learn the signs and stay as far away as possible.”
“And if you’re pulled into that trouble?”
“Well, then, you weather it out like any storm with those who remain by your side.” Max looked up towards the street leading inland. “I apologize for having to cut this conversation short, but I have a delivery to check on. I will return to the brothel shortly.”
Prim nodded, but couldn’t help feeling a bit worried as Max made her way up the street. Would Anne be alright without someone watching her? She attempted to tamp down the worry as she walked into the building; there was enough on her mind at the moment and the last thing she needed was-
“Wait!” Charlotte called out, Prim watching as she hurriedly ran up the last flight of steps and slamming the door to her room behind her.
Charlotte hadn’t sounded so scared. Prim headed into her own room, already trying to determine what sort of supplies she’d need that weren’t already in her bag if Charlotte or her client had an issue. Now that she had her shears back, a bit of confidence had returned.
She was cut from her musings by Idelle walking through the doors to her room.
“Prim,” Idelle said, trying to keep her voice steady, “Where’s Max?”
“She stepped out to get a delivery. What’s going on?”
Idelle was usually good about keeping up appearances; it was a skill that Prim marveled at whenever she had a chance to see Idelle charm a customer to get them up the stairs to her room. The Idelle standing before her looked like a wreck, chest heaving as if she was going to burst out of her bodice, her eyes watery.
“Idelle,” Prim repeated, moving just a step closer, “what’s going on?”
“Anne went into the upper room with Logan and Charlotte.”
Prim cursed herself for not realizing who Charlotte had been chasing after.
“We need to get up there” she croaked out, dropping her supplies and nearly ramming into the doors to the first floor. She made her way up the stairs as quickly as she could, only aware of Idelle’s footfalls behind her. The rest of The Inn’s sounds faded away as panic gripped her. Max had warned them about Anne for a reason and Prim hoped that she wouldn’t have to find out what that reason was.
Prim opened the door to Charlotte’s room just wide enough for her to slip in, immediately hit by the smell of blood. Just a quick glimpse was enough to make her stomach churn, but she knew she needed to keep a level head, especially with the eyes of clients and other girls alike ready to settle on her if she made a scene.
She turned back to Idelle, blocking the contents of the room with her body and shutting the door enough so that nothing could be seen by passerby. She had to think quickly.
“Wait for Max by the bottom of the stairs,” Prim said, trying to keep her voice calm, “Tell her to come up here immediately once she gets back. If any of the girls ask what you’re doing, just tell them you’re waiting for Max to answer a client’s question.”
Idelle nodded, immediately turning to head back down the stairs. Prim moved back into Charlotte’s room and shut the door behind her, the darkened room her only concern now.
Just upon entering, Prim could see Charlotte’s body collapsed on the floor to her left, a growing pool of blood beneath it. There was no movement from the body and bending down to press her fingers against the girl’s neck had Prim struggling to breathe.
Charlotte was dead, her body already cooling on the wooden floor.
There was a man a few feet away from Charlotte, lying face up on the floor, nearer to the window. His throat had been slit, blood still pouring from the open wound in a sluggish stream. Prim didn’t recognize him, but Idelle’s identification made her chest contract more. This was Logan, the man Charlotte had hoped to write poems and letters to.
She took a few more cautious steps into the room, trying to control her breathing. There was one person unaccounted for and just from what Max had told her, Anne had most likely caused the carnage. Prim’s thoughts raced, but she knew she needed to focus. She had to be alert and ready for whatever could happen next.
Even with how warm the day was, Prim felt the hair on the back of her neck rise with a shiver. She took a step closer to the window, checking on her right to see if Anne had been hiding next to the bed.
Turning to her left, Prim braced herself for Anne’s fury, unsure of how she’d be able to defend herself. Instead of seeing someone standing, ready to fight, Prim was able to discern a crouched on the other side of the room, curled up in on themselves.
“Anne?”
Anne didn’t move, face planted between her knees, hands dotted in blood clutching her shins. A knife was clutched in her right hand, the blade catching the light that made part of the room shine red with the blood still on it. There was no erratic rise and fall of her back to show she was in distress, which made Prim even more wary. Anne was as still as stone.
Prim knew that there were a few ways she could approach the other woman, but with just how bloody the scene was, she erred on the side of caution. She moved as slowly as she could, stopping once she was close enough to stretch out her arm to touch Anne. She was a safe distance away that she could back up and run for the door without tripping over the bodies, but even that thought was one she wasn’t sure she would execute successfully.
Anne had been on ships for years and had killed people without remorse or hesitation. She was faster and stronger than Prim could ever hope to be and Prim had no weapon to defend herself. If there was even the slightest inkling that Anne was going to attack, Prim knew she’d have to just retreat as quickly as she could.
The squeak of a floorboard as Prim shifted her weight caused Anne to twitch. She lifted her head, her hat and hair covering most of her face. There were bits of blood along her cheeks and Prim could see, now that she was closer, that her clothing was nearly soaking in it. Her left eye was the only thing visible, bright and shining against the shadows of her face and the light from the room’s window.
Prim knew the look in Anne’s eye. She had seen it before in some of the servants at the Tennent plantation. She’d seen it in the mirrors she looked into while she was there. She’d last seen it in Abigail Ashe’s eyes when considering what could have happened during her captivity under New Low.
It hadn’t even been a year since she’d been freed and Prim wished that no one in Nassau would ever have that same look in their eye. The look of fear and panic on the precipice of a breakdown, the knowledge that there was something wrong but unable to come up with the words to describe it. And yet, Anne Bonny, one of the most fearsome and dangerous women in Nassau, had that look.
Prim moved slowly, careful not to make it even appear as though she looked poised to attack. Once she was in front of Annet, she crouched down, making sure she was eye level with her. Prim made herself seem as small as possible, tucking her knees under her as she knelt before the other woman. She didn’t break eye contact and lifted her hands in surrender, making sure the other woman knew she wasn’t reaching for anything in her bag.
For a moment, all they did was stare at each other. The sounds of The Inn were muffled, the room its own world separate from whatever the patrons and other girls were experiencing. Prim could hear Anne’s breath against the fabric of her trousers coming out in ragged exhales, her back hardly moving a fraction with just how hard she seemed to be breathing.
And yet, Anne didn’t make a move from her position.
“Are you hurt?” Prim asked, keeping her voice low and speaking slowly.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Anne croaked, voice muffled just slightly.
“If you really wanted to, that knife would have been in my throat before I even sat down,” Prim said, slowly moving her hand to point to the weapon still clutched in Anne’s grip, its tip dripping in crimson. “I am not here to harm you or to deliver you elsewhere. Let me help you right now. Are you injured?”
Anne didn’t make another sound, dipping her head down to rest her forehead against her knees again. The fact that she had even spoken to Prim at all was a marvel and far more than what she’d hoped for. Prim wasn’t going to take a chance by continuing their dialogue or trying to touch her, so she retreated. She rose up from the floor, still moving slowly. She straightened up fully as she heard the door behind her open, turning just her head to see who it was.
Max stood in the doorway, eyes wide as she took in the scene around her. Idelle stood just outside the room, her face bright red and eyes puffy. Prim moved quickly across the room, careful of where she stepped, not fearing Anne’s pursuit.
“Max-”
“Let me see her,” Max said, already moving past Prim towards Anne. Prim wanted to protest, to warn the Madame of how fragile the situation was. But Max was already making her way towards Anne, the other woman lifting her head at the sound of Max’s voice.
Prim remembered how Max had spoken about Anne to Jack, how she’d already determined that Anne could become violent because of his decision to leave without her. Max seemed to understand Anne far more than Prim had realized and she felt ashamed that she hadn’t understood sooner.
She watched as Anne’s body relaxed, just a fraction as Max approached.
Keeping quiet, Prim exited the room, shutting the door behind her. She took a deep breath in to clear her lungs of the scent of iron, exhaling shakily.
Idelle was there to embrace her when she began to cry.
Chapter 28: Slipping (Charles POV)
Summary:
Charles POV!
We gotta get his thoughts on what occurred earlier and what happens after. Chapter 26 took on a turn that I wasn’t expecting and a part of me was excited to write his thoughts on it.
For those who are wanting me to diverge from canon, unfortunately this isn’t the chapter. Things are going to progress as they did in the show (So, Vane/Eleanor haters, apologies; I do promise things with Prim will blossom more, but we gotta get through this whole thing first).
Lots of dialogue from the show as well, ye be warned!
Chapter content warnings: Dubious consent (due to the seduction; not saying that either parties were adverse to it, but Charles didn’t know what Eleanor really wanted from it; not sure about putting the tag in the fic itself, but this is definitely a warning. Let me know if I should.), seduction (no actual sex scene in this one, folks), descriptions of past violence and abuse, descriptions of scars
Chapter Text
Charles’s bloodlust had cooled by the time he’d made it back to the steps of the fort. Even after Eleanor had tried to convince him to accept Flint’s trade before he left the tavern, he knew that regardless of what he said, she’d be firmly on Flint’s side. The walk back had given him time to think more on how he’d handle Abigail’s transport, wondering if he should move up the schedule and set off that night instead of in the morning.
Then his rage rekindled when he saw Jenks towering over Prim with a sneer on his lips.
He didn’t even think about what he was doing before he sent Yardley to take her down to the prison. He made sure to look in the eye of every single one of his men as he gripped Prim’s waist, then released her to head down to Abigail.
“When a Captain gives an order,” he said, voice raised, “He expects it to be followed. Anyone who comes to this fort at my request has never been questioned. What made today’s guest different?”
His crew was silent. Fucking cowards.
He took a step forward, snarling. “I ask you a fucking question.”
“She’s the witch that Low warned us about,” Jenks said, not moving from where he’d backed up when Charles had first arrived, “Thought it’d be best to get her to leave. Thought she might have bewitched you.”
He grit his teeth at the use of ‘witch’, glad that Prim was out of earshot. “Never thought you’d take the advice of a dead man, Jenks,” Charles said, lips curling into a sharp grin. “Especially one you helped kill.”
“Just tryin’ to keep the crew from unnecessary trouble,” Jenks replied.
Charles’s mouth twitched. “You think there’s trouble here?”
“Fuck, Captain, you come back here looking like you got your ass handed to you and a fucking witch is at our doorstep. Seems like there’s something going on.”
Charles reared up, standing straighter and stomped towards Jenks. The other man’s eyes widened and the Captain was glad he was able to get the other man feeling afraid. “Flint might have gotten his fair share of punches in, but he’s worse than I am. And that woman is our key to making sure that Governor Ashe’s men don’t sink our ship if they see that his daughter’s sick or injured.”
He turned his head to look at the rest of his crew, searching for the doubt in their eyes. A few looked away from his gaze and he knew that, by the end of this business with the governor’s daughter, he’d be losing a few crewmen. For now, he still needed them to listen to him and to understand the stakes.
“Come tomorrow morning, we’ll be out of the harbor and on our way to Charles Town. In less than two weeks time, we’ll be sailing back to Nassau with enough gold to take the rest of this island. I ask for the time to bring this to fruition. Will you allow me that?”
He turned back to Jenks, who seemed to have shaken off most of the fear. There was still something in his eyes, something that Charles knew he’d need to keep an eye on, regardless of what the other man said. “Aye, Cap’n.”
There were murmurs of ‘aye, Captain’ from the rest of the crew. Charles gave them a sharp nod and moved past Jenks to the interior of the fort.
------
Prim didn’t appear immediately after he descended the steps, but he could hear her voice echoing off of the stone walls of the prison. He allowed himself to take a seat on the stone steps, the aches and wounds from earlier in the day finally making themselves known. He’d been riding the high of his fight with Flint and the anger he had from Eleanor trying to get the two of them to reach an accord, but now that he was back in relative safety, he gave himself the luxury of relaxing.
Eleanor had wanted him to give up the girl to Flint. In exchange, Flint wouldn’t have his men attack and overthrow the fort, reinstating Captain Hornigold.
But when Charles asked for a trade, the Man O’ War for the girl, Flint refused. Again, Eleanor showed that she was more loyal to Flint, arguing that it was asking too much. Even when he’d left to return to the fort, she tried to get him to agree to the deal. Charles knew there was more to it, more to why she wanted Flint to have the girl, why the woman from the interior that he’d seen with Prim was at a meeting of Captains. There was something else going on, but once Eleanor refused to reveal any further, he’d left her standing in her tavern.
Prim’s footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. In the flickering light of the torches, the dark shadows under her eyes were more noticeable. He could see that her dress was wrinkled, bits of blood from him and Flint having stained it. Her hair wasn’t in its usual braid, but still tied up so that the brown waves wouldn’t get into her eyes.
Charles wanted to smile as she scolded him, still amazed by how unaffected she was by the fact that she was standing in front of one of the most notorious pirates in the Bahamas. But her logic was sound and he assured her that everything would be taken care of.
It felt good to finally kiss her. She tasted like the herbs she’d made tea with, along with a sharp, cold scent that he hadn’t expected. He wanted to lick into her mouth to find out what it was.
But, there was hesitation, a fear in Prim’s eyes when she pulled back from him. Charles thought she’d drift away from him, caught up in feelings and memories from her past.
When she all but whimpered for him to kiss her again, he let her set the pace. And God, she was hungry for him, clutching at his shoulders like a lifeline. The heat of her closeness was enough to affect him and he knew exactly when she realized how hard he was. He restrained himself from hiking up her dress to feel how wet she was for him, letting his hand pet along her side instead. He felt her trembling breaths just as they puffed against the bare skin of his neck.
Charles was beginning to know Prim in a way she might not have understood. He’d had learned his fair share while in servitude of Albinus, some bits of that old fear worming their way to the surface years later, but there were things between those who wore a brand on their skin that were known without explaination. She needed a softness, something that she didn’t need to fear or attempt to anticipate pain from.
When he embraced her, letting her know that they’d talk about everything when he returned from delivering Abigail to her father, he realized that it was the first time he’d ever felt along her back. Beneath the fabric of her dress, her back felt…wrong.
Charles had never told her that when he first saw her brand, he’d seen the edge of a dark scar along her shoulder. He hadn’t paid it much mind; he was aware of what a slave master would do to those who defied him, but it didn’t look like the scar from a taskmaster’s lash. With what he felt now, the scar extended past her shoulders to just below her waist but still was centered along her back.
What had she endured at the hands of those who held her? The thought had something settling in his stomach; there was rage, yes, but there was also a respect that Prim had gone through a gauntlet and made it to New Providence. That she’d carved out a place for herself just as he had years ago.
If Charles held her just a bit closer, she was none the wiser.
He let her go back to The Inn with hopes she’d find rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He instead retreated towards the upper levels of the fort to what had been Hornigold’s office.
The room was nothing but rubble, courtesy of the Man O’ War. The temporary stone walls that the former Steward of the Fort had put up to make it seem more like a traditional room had crumbled into a pile of rock, leaving just the hewn steps up to it open and free from damage. Charles took a seat to reflect on the day, feeling the coolness of Nassau’s evening envelop the area. He’d have to think about how to start repairing the fort once he returned, but it wouldn’t hurt to plan now.
The torches along the sturdier stone walls were still bright as footsteps echoed oddly amongst the fallen stone. Charles looked up to see Eleanor standing before him, the dancing lights of the flames enhancing the severity of her gaze.
“Don’t say a fucking word, just sit there and listen.”
His jaw clicked shut and he turned down to look at his hands. He clutched at the bandage Prim had wrapped over his arm, feeling the texture under his fingers. It was enough of a distraction to keep him seated.
Eleanor continued. “You were right about me, about what I am. I am like you. So I know what you’re feeling right now.”
She didn’t know shit. He tried not to scoff.
“That I’m asking you to weaken yourself for someone else, for the island’s sake, for my sake. But you’re wrong. We control something so valuable, the whole of England wants it. We control Nassau. And the ransom we are going to demand for her is going to be fucking enormous.”
She paused for a moment, as if trying to make sure her words had sunk in. “More than money, more than land; legitimacy.”
Charles cocked his head, raising his eyes to look at her. “Legitimacy? England is going to give that to you?”
“They’ll realize it is the only outcome that makes any sense. They’ll have to. And the moment they ratify our control over this place…no more fighting, no more leads, no more chasing our fucking meals. I’m talking about making money the way London makes money. Collecting it, not hunting it. And in amounts that mean something.”
She approached him, bending down to meet him on his level, reaching her hands out to take his. “Give up the girl. Make this deal. Do this with me and we can have a future here together.”
Even now, Eleanor was offering herself to him. Her own reward for him to do as she asked.
Charles closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Prim’s lips on his own. How she’d tasted of the herbs she worked with, sharp and sweet all at once. How she’d felt against his body, the warmth of her under his fingers, still hesitant to chase the new sensations she had.
Eleanor had never had that problem, had known exactly what she wanted and who to get it from. It was something he loved about her, regardless of her own machinations she had against him. But then, if her plans fell through, she would conceal herself as the proper trade boss or tavern owner, making it someone else’s problem to solve.
He opened his eyes to meet hers.
“Eleanor,” Charles said, voice rough, “when I take something from a man, his ship, his money, his life, I don’t hide behind a clerk. I don’t hide behind the law. I don’t hide behind anything.”
“I look him in his eye and I give him every chance to deny me. That. Is. Legitimate.” His hands moved up her arms, grip tightening with each word.
“I know what he means for you to believe, but he’s wrong. England’s return isn’t inevitable, England has no more appetite for taking this place back today than it did yesterday, or last month, or last year.” He pulled her up so they were both standing, straightening up to his full height. “Because they know it is inhabited by too many men like me. Men who would die before being another man’s slave again.”
He could feel the rage from earlier beginning to bubble under his skin at the mere thought. Never again.
“Side with Flint. Beg him to let you keep what is already yours. Show them no weakness and you invite the very outcome you wish to avoid. Side with me and we will show him that this place has never been stronger. And we’ll keep our freedom for another day, another month, another year. A lifetime.”
Charles moved his hand to cup Eleanor’s face, wanting her to see his conviction as he tilted her chin up. She made a small noise in her throat, and he gently moved his thumb against her cheek.
“Do you believe me?” he asked softly.
For a moment, he could see her hesitation. Her eyes were wide and he thought that she would move away, break out of his grip and leave.
Instead, she moved towards him, bringing her lips to his.
He couldn’t help but melt under her touch, kissing her back easily. Her touch was familiar, her lips on his something that he’d learned to adore years ago. He couldn’t help himself and apparently Eleanor couldn’t either.
She kissed him harder, hands desperately moving against his shirt in an attempt to remove it. He wanted to pull away, wanted to deny her this, but it felt easy. It felt right, having her hands brush against him just how she knew he liked it, how she gasped when he moved his lips to her neck.
Her nails dug into his pecs, just above his brand and he all but growled into the crook of her neck. There was no hesitation, nothing to hold him back from what he could do to Eleanor because she was letting him.
All thoughts of Prim, of his promises to her, fell as easily from his mind like the tide receding from the shore as Eleanor moaned. He was a fool to believe that one woman could make him change into something different from what he’d always been. Eleanor knew him for who he was and what he’d been years before. And still, she came back to him.
Could Prim do the same? They’d known each other for weeks, not years, and while she was quick to forgive and give him the benefit of the doubt, she hardly knew him.
With the heel of her hand grinding against his prick, he bit down hard and sucked a bruise just below Eleanor’s collar, earning another delicious moan that he was quick to swallow. Their fingers worked against the fabric of their clothing, scrambling to reach more skin.
If Eleanor was going to be at his side for his movement in Nassau, then Charles would cast aside whoever and whatever he needed to.
He’d done it so easily before, after all.
Chapter 29: Lethargy
Summary:
Hey, Americans on Ao3? How we feeling?
The last few chapters were a little grim. Let’s have a bit of respite for a bunch of Nassau’s residents for a few hours, especially with what's coming next. We all know Prim needs a bit of a rest and those in The Inn do too.
Again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me! Updates should be a bit more regular, as I've used my time between freelance projects to work on some of the later chapters. So far, we're at Chapter 44 and still going strong, but we'll see how that works out.
For now, thank you so much for all of your hits and kudos! I appreciate each and every one of you. Especially the guests! You guys make up a lot of the kudos I get. I like how you've just bopped into my space for a time to read things that I write. Dunno how you got here, but I'm glad to have you!
Chapter content warnings: aftermath of tragedy, disassociation, discussions of mental illness, discussions of death
Chapter Text
The day seemed to continue to wear on and Prim wondered if it would ever end.
She’d tried to lie down on her cot, begging God that having something soft beneath her would make it easier to sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted to Charlotte, pale and bleeding on the floor of her room. Her stomach would lurch at the thought and she’d jolt back to her room, feeling doomed to attempt to repeat the cycle again and again.
Idelle had been a witness to most of her cries, but now it felt as though she couldn’t conjure another teardrop. She felt as wrung out as one of her washcloths, twisted of every feeling she could have and ready to be hung out in the sun to let the heat take the rest. She knew she needed to sleep, but if sleep never came, how was she to function? Thoughts tumbled around her head in an inescapable loop, making her feel even more exhausted.
Between the morbid thoughts and her own feelings of lethargy, there was a need to talk to someone, to find one of the girls and just reflect. With how tired she was, she knew she could never make the trek inland to speak with Miranda. She didn’t want to burden any of the other girls with the knowledge of Charlotte’s death before it was revealed. So, she stewed on her cot, hoping that the sun would just set and rid her of the day.
Of course, her stomach was what betrayed her and she emerged in search of something to eat. Hannah caught her, backing her up into her room and shutting the door quickly.
The older woman’s eyes were red rimmed and Prim knew that even if she wasn’t the one to reveal what occurred earlier, Max or Idelle most likely had. She took a shuddering breath, her already tight neckline constricting even more around her bosom.
“Charlotte and her lover have gone to Providence,” she began, a hesitant smile forming on her face, “They ran away together, just as they’d wanted to since they began seeing each other. That is the story that is being told and Max has said that it is the only story that is to be told of what occurred here this afternoon.”
Prim took a shuddering breath in, her feelings from earlier threatening to spill over, but she kept them in check. She nodded at Hannah in thanks and went to head out her door once more.
“...Max wants you to check on Anne,” Hannah said, turning towards the door, “I told her you need rest, but she insists, before it gets too dark.”
Gritting her teeth, Prim nodded, deciding to forgo her supply bag in order to just question Anne on how she was feeling. She made her way across the ground floor and up the stairs towards Max’s room, where she figured Anne would be kept.
Idelle stood outside of the room as Max exited it and Prim caught the beginning of their conversation.
“-going to rest for now,” Max said.
Idelle was playing with her bottom lip, eyes shooting up to Max’s face and then back down to the ground. She sighed and lowered her hand. “I know this is the last thing you need to hear, but me and the girls were talking.” She moved from the wall, walking past Max.
“We know what risks we face with the turns. How to avoid them, protect against them.” Idle turned to face Max. “What she did to Charlotte-”
“No.”
Prim nearly shivered at how cold Max sounded. The following “Don’t” sounded much warmer, but pleading.
“That’s not something we know how to protect against,” Idelle said, lips quivering, “Shouldn’t we be focusing on getting her out the door right now before it’s one of us next?”
Prim had to admit, it was a fair point made. Max moved closer to Idelle, voice dropping just enough so that Prim had to move up another few steps to hear what was being said.
“Please don’t be the voice of this.”
“If you’re concerned that by removing her from this place she could get violent with you, there are men we can talk to about making sure she can’t hurt you.”
“I don’t want to hear that again,” Max hissed, her back ramrod straight, “Not from you, not from the other girls, ever. When no one in the world…no one– no one–-could care less about what those men were doing to me on the beach, she did.”
Idelle looked guilty, trying to turn from Max’s gaze even as the other woman drew closer.
“That means something to me. So for as long as she desires, this place will be a safe place for her. And those men you would talk to about solving this problem? They value their relationship with me far more than they do yours or Isabella’s or anyone on that floor. If I hear from those men that inquires have been made about them, I will not receive that news well. Is that clear?”
Idelle nodded, tearing up, shuffling past Max and nearly bumping into Prim as she made her way down the steps. Max took a deep breath in and turned around, her face the perfect mask of composure.
“Idelle,” she called and the other woman looked back, “please let the girls know that I understand their concern. If any one of them wish to come to me, my door is open.”
Idelle let out a soft, “I will.” Then, she turned back to finish her trek down the stairs. Prim looked to Max and hope she didn’t look too guilty from eavesdropping.
“I am glad to see you,” Max said, smiling slightly, “Please, do go in and let me know if she requires any medical assistance.”
------
There was no movement from the bed when Prim opened the door.
There was a change of clothing, a white dress and cream slippers, that were piled near Anne’s feet. She looked so small, curled up the sheets. It was strange to see Anne without her coat and especially her hat, giving Prim a clear look at the woman’s face. There was sunburn along her nose and cheeks, the hat not able to cover her whole face from the sun’s rays. Her red hair was damp, probably from a bath, and her dark brown eyes looked unfocused, even as they drifted to Prim.
“Hello, Anne,” Prim said, keeping her voice low, “Do you hurt anywhere?”
Anne blinked at her, eyebrows furrowing. Prim gave her a few moments to comprehend the question. Anne looked wrung out and tired as Prim felt; her eyes rimmed with dark circles.
“‘M fine,” Anne murmured, still looking dazed. She shifted her gaze away from Prim, content to stare at the wall opposite of the bed, drifting along the patterned paper towards the windows. There wasn’t going to be any way for Prim to get a straight answer out of her in this state and she didn’t want to cause agitation by touching her.
So, Prim took a deep breath. She knew that this would change the way she and the other girls would think of Anne, had heard it from their mouths already, but she knew from the things she’d learned and how she spent the last ten years that for such an act of violence, Anne was already facing the consequences of it with her own addled mind.
“I want you to know that you are safe here. Max will be with you to make sure you are taken care of. You know that you can call on me if you find an injury.”
Anne didn’t answer, staying stock still under the blankets, her eyes not even drifting back to Prim as she spoke.
Prim knew she wouldn’t get much more out of Anne, so she made her way carefully out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Max was still standing guard, hands fidgeting with the blue and cream patterned dress she wore.
Prim took a moment to lean against the bannister, crossing her arms over the smooth wood. For a moment, the only sounds between them were the ones coming from the lower floor of The Inn and the sounds of cheering from the beach. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Max take up a similar position, hands gripping tight to the banister.
“I never fully explained my situation to you, did I?” Prim mused, breaking the silence first, “You saw me pretending to be a man and knew I had been under someone’s lash for ten years, but I didn’t tell you everything, did I?”
Max made a noise in her throat, causing Prim to turn her head. “You didn’t need to. Even just seeing you for the first time told me that you and I were not so different.”
There was much to untangle with that statement, but Prim knew that Max wouldn’t divulge her past so easily.
Prim continued. “Then you understand how this situation may need more than just you checking in on Anne throughout the day to confirm how…amicable she is.”
“Anne has been given free reign to wander the building as she pleases. I trust that she will know to keep herself out of trouble.”
Prim attempted to stifle an incredulous chuckle, bringing Max’s eyes to meet her own. “The only one who can determine how she will behave is Anne herself. Max, you need to either be with her at all times or make sure she’s under watch. What if-”
“There is no ‘what if’ in this scenario,” Max said, her eyes growing hard, “Anne’s rage has been tempered by this and she will not do something so rash again.”
“Anne may not lash out, but at the very least you need to be prepared if something in her environment causes her to.”
“She will not do something like that again,” Max repeated, her voice firm.
“Max, you don’t know that,” Prim said, turning to fully face the Madame, “This is not something that you can predict. There is no way to discern how and when she could slip back into that mindset. The only precaution I offer is to look for things in Anne’s life that could cause her to get agitated.”
She paused and grimaced, deciding that if she was going to talk about what went on in her own mind, Max would need to know about it. “I have episodes, due to the ten years I spent on the plantation. They come when I hear a specific noise, smell something familiar, or even have to watch something unfold before my eyes. I cannot make them stop, but I am able to break myself out of my reveries with something or someone to ground me. If I am in the throes of an episode, I cannot seek someone to get me out of it; it needs to pass on its own or someone needs to find me to bring me back to the present.”
Max’s gaze didn’t falter, but Prim could tell she was filing the information away in that clever mind of hers. She continued, trying to seem undeterred. “If you’re content with leaving Anne to her own devices, don’t wander too far from her. Let the other girls know. Make sure they can look out for her, just as they’ve looked out for me. Show them that Anne, while dangerous, needs support to make sure she is as well as she can be. They don’t need to treat her like an invalid, they just need to look out for her wellbeing.”
Prim fell silent, waiting for Max to comment on something, to say anything, to ask a question. But the Madame did not, instead turning back to face the open portion of The Inn, eyes drifting down to the first floor. Prim took that as her cue to leave, heading down the steps as quickly as she could.
She made it back onto her cot and closed her eyes. Charlotte’s image continued to haunt her, but her mind was too tired to see it as a threat to slumber. She tried to think of good things, the scent of cheroot smoke and the taste of seawater on her tongue.
Between one breath and the next, she was asleep.
Chapter 30: Consequences
Summary:
3,000+ hits on this fic!! Thank you guys so much!!
This chapter’s a bit longer to cover some of the events occurring over the course of a full episode. I’m trying not to rush, but you guys deserve a longer chapter after not having one for a hot minute and the last one I wrote being shorter!
I really truly appreciate everyone who's read this so far. Knowing that there's people out there that like to read what I'm writing, even if it's something that might not be perfect, warms the cockles of my heart.
Chapter content warnings: Dissociation, self harm (consciously and not consciously acted upon), thoughts of drinking to excess
Chapter Text
There were murmuring voices all around her, the dark of the night making it hard to discern what was going on. She could only see what the flickering torchlight showed her and even then, there were moments she couldn’t tell who or what she was looking at.
To her left, she could see some of the servants and slaves, most likely those who were deemed delinquent in their duties. If she was to be made an example of, the ones Mr. Tennent thought were lacking would be the ones privy to her death.
On her right, she could see a few more of the house’s servants, along with three young children. The oldest boy, no older than ten, had his eyes on her, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“My wife is dead!” Mr. Tennent cried out, voice cutting like a blade through the quiet night behind her, “The child she bore breathed for a few moments before he died. Two lives I have lost this night and I aim to punish the one responsible.”
Any words she wanted to conjure died in her throat. She could feel now that her wrists were bound, her legs secured by rope with no room for her to even try to move.
The splash of liquid against her back wasn’t cold, but she could feel a steady heat beginning to intensify. The scent of ash and flames hit her nostrils before she fully comprehended the pain.
-----
“Prim?”
Prim jolted awake, nearly launching herself from her cot, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness surrounding her, her dream lingering just behind her eyes.
There was a light hovering nearby, a candle that Hannah held aloft over her cot. She’d moved out of the way of Prim’s jolt, standing as still as she could to let the younger woman collect herself. A part of Prim wondered how Hannah could remain so calm while another part of her wondered if she’d seen this type of behavior before.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, dove. It’s past supper and I wanted to make sure you’d eaten.”
Prim could feel how empty her stomach was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten that day. Was it before or after she’d been summoned to the tavern? She was at least aware that she never had her supper, but had finally gotten some sleep after her discussion with Max. With the heat of the night, it felt a bit dizzying to be without food for hours on end. Her scars hurt as she maneuvered herself in her cot to face Hannah.
“What time is it?” she asked, her words syrupy thick from drowsiness.
“Half past eight,” Hannah said. She took a seat at the foot of the cot, still holding her candle aloft. “Prim, are you alright?”
The question hung in the air for a moment and Prim couldn’t think of an excuse for a response. “No, I don’t believe I am.”
The day needed to end. There needed to be some sort of relief in the promise of tomorrow, but she wasn’t finding it even in rest. There were obligations she needed to fulfil and she wouldn’t be able to do anything if she didn’t sleep straight through the night. She needed to purge her mind of Charlotte, if only for a few hours, and try not to worry about Charles’s voyage.
God, Prim was never one to run to drink for comfort, but she wanted to have something other than wine settle in her belly to dull her senses and make her numb to the rest of the island for a day or two.
A hand on her left shoulder made her flinch and come back to the present moment. Hannah was patiently sitting an arm’s length away, the flickering light of the candle enough to just illuminate her face. She looked tired, the skin puffy beneath her eyes. The whites of her eyes looked near bloodshot and Prim was quick to shimmy closer to Hannah, placing a hand on her back.
“Are you alright?” Prim asked and Hannah shook her head. There was a hardness to her expression, something that was keeping the older woman from completely breaking down.
“As well as I can be. Now, let’s talk about food. Max said-”
Prim didn’t want to drop the subject. “Does Max know the seriousness of this? Charlotte-”
“Charlotte went to Providence,” Hannah said, keeping her eyes locked on Prim’s, “That’s what we’ve been told. For all the rest of the island knows, that’s the truth; she and her lover took a ship out of the harbor and made their way towards Rhode Island. If anyone says differently, we’ve been asked to refute it, understand?”
Prim nodded, already feeling tears brimming in her eyes.
“Hey,” Hannah whispered, moving her hand down Prim’s arm, “Having a crew come after us for retribution is worse than a lie. You need to understand that, dove, or all of us will be dead before the Walrus crew shoves off.” She gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I know it may seem shallow to say, but only two casualties is a blessing for this place.”
A strangled sound escaped Prim’s mouth and she tried to think of her time back on the Apple . The loss of life was looked at in a similar way; yes, the crew mourned and paid respects to their fallen brethren, but they also gave thanks to those who passed to allow them to see another sunrise. As much as she wanted to keep her life on land and life at sea separate, it seemed that fate didn’t want that to happen just yet.
Hannah squeezed her arm tighter. “It’s not proper and good, but it’s a blessing all the same.”
Prim opened her mouth. “I know,” she whimpered, “but I hate it.”
Hannah embraced her then, the candle snuffed out and leaving the two women in darkness as Prim all but wailed into her dress. She wanted to scream, but was too exhausted as her weak wails turned into whimpers. Hannah held her tight, not saying a single word, but just letting her get out the emotions she’d kept bottled up for the entire day.
Hannah let her go when Prim sagged against her, still feeling far too tired to do anything but make an attempt to rest.
“Head over to the tavern. Max asked the staff to prepare something for you when you arrive.”
----------
Prim was thankful to have the tavern’s kitchen staff recognize her face, most of them giving her a polite nod as she settled along the wall. She still didn’t feel like herself, feeling stretched too thin after the events of the day to feel comfortable, but hoped that getting food in her stomach would make her feel more like herself.
Eme approached her after a few minutes. She gave Prim a smile and, after disappearing around a corner, returned with a small bowl filled with stew and a soft piece of bread. Prim took it gratefully, heading out of the kitchen to find an empty table to eat.
The tavern was bustling, snippets of conversation cluing her in that the beach had been cleared out in order for the crew of the Walrus and Captain Hornigold to hold court at one of the bungalows on the sand. Prim stopped listening after mention of the Walrus crew, having enough of their and their Captain to last her a few years.
Prim was able to find an empty table, settling in to dine alone. She was almost through her piece of bread when Eme pulled up a chair across from her, resting her chin on her hand.
It took Prim a moment to collect herself and swallow the bite she’d taken out of her meal, but she attempted to put on a polite face. “Can I help you, Eme?”
“There’s talk of a rough day at The Inn.”
“Very much so.” Prim didn’t want to get into specifics and tried to busy herself with her soup. “I understand you might have questions, but I don’t have the answers to what happened today.”
“That’s not what I wanted,” Eme said, “I must ask, if it is not too forward, but who taught you how to make your tea? The one you brewed for Ms. Guthrie?”
Prim smiled, pausing in lifting the spoon to her lips. That was not the question she’d been expecting, but it was a welcome distraction from the flurry of thoughts in her mind.
“Her name was Tula. She was a part of the kitchen staff when I-” Prim stopped herself, unsure how to properly phrase what she’d been before Nassau. A slave? A servant? A piece of the Tennent Plantation that should have never left?
She cleared her throat and continued. “I was serving a plantation when we met. She shared a lot of recipes with the other girls in order to keep everyone in the household healthy. She’d take a few of us out after chores to look for herbs that the plantation didn’t grow to sell and taught us to identify what was good for the stomach, the joints, or sleep.”
Eme nodded, something passing along her face. “You are a healer, then.”
“As much as I can be,” Prim said, looking Eme in the eyes. She was surprised to see the other woman smiling.
“You are a very curious person, Prim,” she said, getting up from her seat, “I look forward to the opportunity to speak with you further. Excuse me.”
Eme weaved her way around the tables and crowded areas of the tavern, grabbing empty mugs and flagons without missing a step as she made her way back to the kitchen. Prim wondered what had brought Eme to Nassau, what loyalty kept her tied to Eleanor, but figured she’d learn that with time. For now, Prim focused on her food, taking her time to eat her fill and thanking each staff member that refilled her freshwater.
A full stomach helped to ground her. Prim felt refreshed and calm after getting something into her stomach. When she was finished, she wiped off any crumbs that made it onto the skirt of her dress and headed towards the exit. With her belly full, she could only hope that sleep would come easier.
She made to take a more straight-shot path to one of the exits, but something caught her eye before she could head towards the open air of the street. Prim turned to see a familiar face hunched over a bowl of stew, gobbling it up like her life depended on it.
Prim took a few cautious steps forward. “Abigail?”
The younger girl’s eyes went wide in fear as she looked away from her meal, the hand not holding a spoon nearly white as she clutched against the skirt of her dress. Prim could smell the mustiness from the fort’s cells clinging to her, along with the damp that came from a humid Nassau night. Now in proper lighting, Abigail’s face and bare skin looked near smudged with dust and dirt. Her dress, which had looked scrappy in the fort, looked nearly threadbare in the tavern’s light.
Prim focused on the younger girl’s face, relieved to see that there was color to be found in her cheeks instead of the pallor of sickness or weakness. No matter what spirited her out of the fort, it hadn’t affected the younger girl’s health.
She moved a step closer, relieved as Abigail relaxed as she recognized her.
“Primrose?”
“Apologies if I startled you, Abigail,” Prim said, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. And out of the fort, no less.”
Abigail shook her head. “I never imagined I would be out of the fort before sunrise, but Ms. Guthrie broke me out.”
The wording Abigail used felt mimicked, as though someone else had said something similar to her.
“And what of your transport?” Prim asked, feeling something heavy settle in her gut, “I thought you were to travel with Captain Vane?”
The younger girl moved closer, shuffling along the bench, her voice a low whisper. “Ms. Guthrie said that Captain Vane was never going to take me back at all. That he had no intention of releasing me to my father and was using me to extort more money from Charles Town.”
Prim tried not to balk at that. “I told you that he’d keep his word, Abigail. Does my word mean nothing?”
Abigail shook her head, reaching out to take Prim’s hands in her own. “No! I believe in you, Primrose, but Ms. Guthrie said she’s known Captain Vane longer and that he’s lied before to other women.” Her eyes were bright as she looked Prim in the eye, her face so open and earnest.
Prim wondered if her eyes had ever looked like that.
She took a breath to steady herself, to bring herself to the present and anchor herself there. Now was not the time to get lost in memories. She squeezed Abigail’s hands and put on a more concerned face. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. If not Captain Vane, who is taking you back home?”
“I'm going to go with Captain Flint and Mrs. Hamilton to Charles Town.”
“Understood,” Prim said, giving Abigail a smile, even though her skin prickled with worry, “So long as you are safe with them.”
Abigail nodded. “Mrs. Hamilton knew my father and mother. Ms. Guthrie was the one who told me she was here in Nassau.” She looked down at their joined hands. “To think that I would be fortunate to have such wonderful people looking after me. Being a stranger here and yet having the privilege of being able to return home…I feel blessed beyond measure.”
There was an anger brewing within Prim, but it was tempered for the moment at Abigail’s admission. None of the girls in the brothel were her juniors, so having a younger girl looking up to her and speaking of her in such a way made her feel fond.
Prim gave the younger woman’s hands one last squeeze. “I must speak to Eleanor, but I pray that you have a successful voyage back home.”
Abigail released her grip. “I’ll write to you,” she said, “If that’s alright? You were so kind and I’d like for us to be friends, even if I’m in Carolina.”
Prim’s anger softened once more at that and she all but crowded Abigail’s seat at the table, taking the younger girl into a tight embrace. “Please do. I haven’t written a letter in some time, so I apologize if my first reply to you is not up to par with other letters you’ve received.”
Abigail hugged her tight. “Thank you, Primrose.”
Breaking away felt like a final goodbye, but Prim used it as the catalyst to reignite the flame of anger within her. There would be words tonight. Her eyes searched the tavern’s first floor for its proprietor.
She found Eleanor Guthrie making her way down the stairs from the second floor. Their eyes met over the crowded room and Eleanor paused in her steps for just a moment. She flicked her eyes to her left, a motion to have Prim follow.
They stopped at a quieter area of the tavern, closer to one of the exits out into the street. Even near an open door, the night was doing no favors in cooling them down, deterring the denizens of the tavern from flocking nearby. Prim could see that there was a sheen of sweat and grim along Eleanor’s collar, proof that she’d had a hand in Abigail’s exodus.
“Speak,” Eleanor said, “You look like you have a question for me.”
“I do actually: What the fuck?” Prim hissed, “I thought Vane was taking Abigail to Charles Town?”
“Charles Vane can’t be trusted after the stunt he pulled today with nearly killing Flint,” Eleanor hissed back. She moved a few steps away, grabbing and draining a tin mug from an empty table, full of what Prim could only assume was rum. She let out a harsh breath, then gave Prim a questioning look. “How is it that you know about Abigail?”
“I was asked to determine if she was fit to sail. Captain Vane asked me to do so before I left here earlier this afternoon.”
Eleanor let out a scoff. “No wonder he was so keen to speak to you today. It would make sense to have a physician in his pocket.”
It struck a nerve, but Prim attempted to keep calm.
“I think we’re veering a bit off the topic,” Prim said, taking a step forward, leaning against the doorframe that led out to the street. “Abigail was more than happy to go with Vane, but now she’s singing a completely different tune.”
“He’s too volatile to have so much power over the future of this place. Abigail would only give him more and bring Nassau closer to destruction.”
“And yet, the power that he does have allowed him to receive a reply from the governor himself for the return of his daughter?! Is Captain Flint supposed to pose as another Captain in order for your plan to work?”
Eleanor scoffed again. “So long as Abigail is in his possession, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Prim swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. “So that poor girl is nothing but a bargaining chip to you? Do you even care for her welfare?” She took another step towards Eleanor, straightening her back so that she was as close to Eleanor’s height as she could be. “Captain Vane gave his word and even brought me to check on her before she was to set sail. Where is that concern with you?”
Eleanor reared up against her with a snarl on her face. Prim took a step back at just how angry the other woman looked.
“Abigail Ashe is an asset that will ensure that we’ll be heard by a member of the House of Lords,” Eleanor said, “Captain Flint will be transporting her back to Charles Town because he knows that Governor Ashe will find a more political way of keeping the English out of New Providence Island.”
Prim took a step forward again, anger bolstering her. “I understand the need for delicacy in the future of this place, but to lie to Abigail that Captain Vane wasn’t going to honor his agreement is cruel.”
“What is cruel is having a young girl have hope for any person on this god forsaken island that isn’t willing to make a sacrifice for the greater good. You have no idea what I am willing to do to make certain this place survives.”
That gave Prim pause. Abigail’s words echoed in her head of Charles Vane’s lies and treachery. As though someone had convinced her of it enough that she was parroting the way she’d heard it said. Something shifted in her mind and she leaned back against the wall of the tavern, her eyes going wide.
“What did you do?” Prim asked, her voice sounding weak in her own ears.
Eleanor’s face was a blank mask. “What was necessary. Charles Vane will no longer be a problem for Nassau, now that the asset he’d spoken so highly of had been stolen from under his nose.”
Even with only half a year of sailing under her, Prim had heard stories of what happened to Captains that were deemed unfit for their role. If a prize was taken out of a Captain’s possession without a fight, there would be retribution from the crew or a full mutiny he’d need to deal with.
She tried to keep her composure, having her left hand grip her skit tightly. “You seem unaffected by the thought of your former lover in danger from your actions.”
Eleanor’s mask broke, a grin curling along her lips. She turned towards Prim fully, standing at her full height, back straight and eyes meeting Prim’s without hesitation. Something burned in her gaze, but Prim knew turning away would show weakness. Eleanor seemed to be looking for a crack Prim’s composure to slither into, waiting for a weakness to be exposed.
“‘Former’ lover is a bold statement. Regardless of what happened tonight, he decided to fuck me.” Something flitted across her face, but Prim couldn’t make out the expression past the smug declaration. “He wasted no time with me. He took me to bed without hesitation, took his own satisfaction with my body.”
Something broke within Prim’s chest and she could feel the threat of tears sting her eyes. That was enough for Eleanor to press further, getting close to her ear to whisper. “Poor little witch. What made you think that you were something special to him?”
Prim turned away without replying, walking as quickly as she could away from the other woman. She didn’t need Eleanor to see her start to cry and did not need the other woman to know how much she truly cared for Charles. Her mind was beginning to tumble, thoughts of the time they spent together, the things he’d told her, how he’d acted earlier in the day.
Was she really that naive to think that he had feelings for her? Or was she just a physician that he could use whenever he needed.
Prim blinked hard, the feeling of her nails digging into her palms giving her something to focus on. She decided to head back towards Abigail, hoping that Eleanor wouldn’t follow.
Abigail was still sitting at the table, her food forgotten, eyes wide as she seemed to be listening to a gentleman that was seated in front of her. Behind the man was a woman, her silhouette familiar.
The woman turned and Miranda gave Prim a surprised smile.
“Prim,” she said, meeting the young woman halfway to embrace her, “I’m glad to see you well.”
“As well as I can be,” Prim said, pulling away from the embrace. Her brows furrowed as she looked behind Miranda, now recognizing the familiar form of Captain Flint sitting in front of Abigail. “I was led to believe that a ‘Mrs. Hamilton’ was to be accompanying Abigail and Captain Flint on their voyage.”
Miranda’s lips thinned as she attempted not to frown. “‘Hamilton’ was my husband’s name. I’d all but relieved myself of it when I came to Nassau, but for Abigail, it was a name that she remembered from her childhood. She and her father, Peter, would visit Thomas and I after her mother passed away.”
For the first time in what felt like hours Prim relaxed at the thought. If there was anyone she trusted Abigail to be with, it was Miranda.
Miranda looked between her and Captain Flint, a look of realization crossing her face. “You two have never formally met, have you?” she asked.
“Well-”
“James,” Miranda said, placing a hand on Captain Flint’s shoulder, “This is the friend I told you about. This is Primrose.”
The man got up from his seat in front of Abigail to fully face her. There wasn’t much of a trace of bruising from the afternoon’s events and even the slightest glance at his knuckles let Prim know that he would be healing up just fine.
Flint gave her a once over, his green eyes widening in surprise. “We’ve already met earlier today. I’m glad to know your name now, Primrose.”
James.
James Flint. James McGraw.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Prim’s hunch earlier in the day had been right; Miranda hadn’t let on everything when she told the story of the Naval officer that had found his way into her marriage.
Prim honestly couldn’t tell what sort of expression she was making, but the concerned look from Captain Flint and the knowing look from Miranda had her attempt to school herself back into a neutral expression.
“Good to see you again, Captain. You make sure she has her fill of water rations,” Prim said to Flint, voice coming out a bit more hurried than she would have liked, “And if word comes to me that any member of your crew was untoward towards her, I will personally make him a eunuch.”
Flint blinked in surprise and Miranda’s eyes widened in shock.
“Prim, may I speak with you?” Miranda asked, detaching from Flint’s side and all but dragging Prim over to the stairs and a darker corner of the bottom floor, leaving the Captain watching with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.
Miranda’s face was stormy when she finally faced Prim. “What was all that?”
“Apologies,” Prim said, voice tight, “but knowing that the pirate Abigail was supposed to be going to Charles Town with is no longer taking her, I can’t help but be concerned that a Captain I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting except after a near death brawl is now her keeper.”
“James is trustworthy, you have my word.”
“Is he James McGraw?” Prim blurted out, unable to keep the question within her any longer.
Miranda paused for a moment, her face growing just a tad paler, then nodded. “Yes.”
Prim felt like the world was falling out from under her at the revelation. Had she been so blind, even when making what she thought was a dear friend on New Providence? Someone whose lover would be more than willing to brawl with someone she cared about over who the fuck knew what? She wanted to have words with Miranda, wanted to come up with something that would let the older woman understand the turmoil in Prim’s heart and mind…
But that didn’t come. She felt too raw, still too stretched to do much else but listen.
“You’re to accompany them?” Prim asked, eventually.
Miranda nodded. “Lord Ashe was a dear friend to me and my husband. We can trust him.”
Prim tried not to look somber as she embraced Miranda hard, burying her face into the other woman’s neck. She inhaled the scent of herbs and sun that came from spending afternoons picking and pruning plants.
“Be safe,” was all she could murmur, fearing that any other declaration would invite doom onto the voyage the older woman was about to take.
--------
Prim wanted to head straight for The Inn, but her feet led her down the road to the beach, then towards the road to the fort. Prim made it up the steps as fast as she was able, panting as she reached the wooden doors that lead to the fort’s interior.
Even beyond her haggard breathing, there wasn’t a sound she could hear past the doors. The night air had finally cooled around her as she caught her breath, but because it was too silent, her mind turned to what had already happened while she was at the tavern.
She didn’t care about Eleanor’s declarations and what they meant; she needed to know that Charles was alive. The rest could be dealt with later, once she’d slept, once she’d gotten this goddamn day out from under her.
She pressed against the wooden doors. There was no give beneath her hands and even the stone and wooden steps beneath her feet didn’t prove the proper footing for her to try to leverage herself against the doors.
Prim decided to knock, if only to see if anyone was still in the fort to answer her. Again, there was nothing. She pressed her ear against the wood in a futile attempt to hear if anything was going on that couldn’t carry above the door or through the thick wood, but there was still nothing.
For a moment, Prim felt herself drifting away, the sounds of the waves along the beach the only thing she could hear. But the beach was too far away, the rushing sound in her ears wasn’t the water. She felt her lungs screaming for air and she took a deep breath in, her focus returning to the world around her.
She was still up against the door, but her hands had tensed, curling into the wood. Prim blinked sluggishly, seeing small trails of blood dripping from where her fingers were curled into the wood. The pain wasn’t registering, her hands were numb. She could only tell that she was injuring herself from where she could see the splinters piercing her skin.
She took a step back, dislodging her hands from the door, then curled her hands into fists.
“LET ME IN!!” Prim screamed, frantically pounding her fists against the door, uncaring of the new splinters that caught against her flesh. If she made enough noise, someone would have to come out to see what the commotion was.
She couldn’t hear anything besides the sounds of her fists against the wood. There were no sounds of a struggle or men moving to and fro within the fort. It was as if Charles Vane’s crew had left without alerting the rest of Nassau to it. Or, if they were still there, they were holed up in the belly of the fort to stifle the violence against their Captain, taking to the cells to enact their retribution for losing the prize of a governor’s daughter.
Prim didn’t know how long she stayed at the fort’s doors, the futile banging of her fists against wood growing weaker and weaker by the minute, but when she finally left, the sides of her hands were bloody from the splinters of the untreated wood, leaving spots of blood against the sand.
Chapter 31: A New Name
Summary:
Been a bit but hiyo!!! Thank you all again for reading!!
I’ve been writing for other fandoms, but that doesn’t mean this fic isn’t getting worked on!! It’s now exceeded 300 pages in a Google Doc, so there’s a chance that the next few chapters are going to come out sooner because I worked on them already! Or, at the very least, I get around to revamping the earlier chapters (it was around this time last year that I had my dad read through a lot of the story, so there's def things that need tweaking).
I wrote the dialogue between Anne and Prim for a completely different reason, back when I was first developing this fic. The circumstances were still similar enough that I felt it still fit! You best believe Anne’s not accepting help so readily from someone she’s not very familiar with.
Chapter content warning: mentions of past abuse, violence, mentions of PTSD, reactive behavior, mentions of panic attacks and their aftermath
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Prim hid her bleeding hands as best she could from the other girls when she finally made her way back to The Inn, but someone had apparently seen her bloodstained dress when she made her way into her room. She was in the middle of attempting to pick some of the larger splinters from her fingers when Hannah entered, already carrying a bucket of freshly boiled water and a set of fresh bandages.
“Sweet dove,” she cooed, settling at Prim’s side on the cot, “what happened?”
Prim found it hard to speak, her lips in a tight line as she bit the inside of her cheek. She was afraid of what her voice would sound like after crying and shouting for so long and still felt too exhausted to even try to explain.
Hannah’s arm moved around her back, pulling her to rest her chin against the older woman’s shoulder. For a few minutes, Prim let her eyes slip shut, allowing Hannah’s warmth to hold her and anchor her. The weight of the day, with the two losses that she had to mourn, felt like too much. She was too tired to cry. She just wanted to sleep.
The other woman was saying something, but Prim felt like she was underwater, the sounds around her muted and muffled. Slowly, she dislodged Prim from her side and moved around the room, bits of light illuminating the space as she lit a few candles.
With her hearing muffled, the next thing Prim knew would go would be her sight. Bits of darkness collected around the edges of her vision, no matter how many times she tried to blink it away. Her chest felt tight as her gaze drifted to her hands.
There were still fresh trickles of blood coming from the cuts and pierced skin near her joints and wrists, the flow strengthening with the smallest movement she made. Most of what was on her hands had dried. The slivers and splinters that pierced her skin were more of a discomfort now rather than being too painful to bear. There was a strange numbness that came with her study of her hands that spread through each individual digit, working up her wrists, then arms, until it finally settled in her chest.
How could she take on patients with the damage she’d done do herself? She was useless.
“ You are useless. You bring death. You bring suffering. I will make sure that you understand your place now, you usele- ”
There were hands on her cheeks, lifting her face up to meet Hannah’s steely gaze.
“Eyes on me,” she said, her voice far firmer than Prim had ever heard her sound, “Prim, I know you’re sinking. We need you here and now. You’re on dry land, the waves can’t reach you here. Come back.”
Prim blinked slowly, working to center herself. Hannah was not letting her focus on anything else but her face. This close, she was able to see the flickering candlelight reveal faded scars along Hannah’s left cheek, a half dozen small marks that extended from near the corner of her lip to just shy of the crease of her eye.
Prim moved her hand towards the scars. Hannah let her run her fingers against them, bits of dried blood flaking off.
“Had the pox,” Hannah explained, letting go of Prim’s face, but still keeping her place in front of where she sat, “There’s more around my chest, but I felt lucky it didn’t reach my face.”
“I have more scars on my back,” Prim said, her voice cracking and hoarse, “I know you saw part of them, right below my brand, but they go all the way down to my hips.”
Hannah wasn’t looking at her with pity. There was something else in her eyes and Prim felt able to take a full breath in without her chest feeling tight. She exhaled and dropped her hand. Hannah moved to rest her hands on Prim’s knees, even though there was already a good deal of still drying blood on the fabric.
“Do you need to talk about what happened this afternoon?” Hannah asked, “Is that what brought this on?”
Prim shook her head. “This didn’t happen because of Anne and Charlotte. But I know I’ll have to speak about it, but I can’t. There’s too much that happened today.”
Hannah let out a soft hum, tilting her head to the side. She cut a beautiful figure in the half shadows cast by the candles, her face fully illuminated while the fabric of her dress made her look as though she’d walked out of a painting.
“There was talk around the tavern about the Man O’ War heading out this evening with most of Flint’s crew. There was talk about some upheaval of power on the beach as well. Lots of moving parts, lots of people involved. Where do you fall in all of that?”
If that was what had already reached the brothel, Prim knew that it was only a matter of time before rumors started to spread. The least she could do was give what she knew; let the girls do with it as they pleased. With Flint’s crew off the island, it meant that things would be back to normal come sunrise. Ships would feel safe to dock in the harbor, the fort wouldn’t be a threat, and the customers would flood in after the delays that kept them away from Nassau.
Anything she said wouldn’t matter, not in the grand picture of the place. Max would certainly want to know more, but Prim would save that discussion for later. For now, let Hannah be the one to pass along the information, if she wished to.
So, Prim began to explain about Abigail Ashe. About the plan that Charles had, how Eleanor had another plan for the young girl, how Flint was siding with Eleanor to get Abigail back home in hopes of doing something for Nassau. How Abigail was taken under Charles’s watch and what that meant for his survival. She didn’t go into detail regarding the extent of how she shared the last moments she had with him, but did tell Hannah about his promise.
“He’s either dead or suffering,” Prim whispered, “I’ve heard the stories of what crews do to Captains that fuck up that badly. There was no one in the fort when I tried to get in, I couldn’t hear a thing. They either took him down into the tunnels so no one could hear him or his entire crew took him out to sea to end him on the open water.” She took a breath in, finally allowing her gaze to fall somewhere else. She looked towards her shelves and saw Charles’s scarf nestled between jars of mint and sage. She closed her eyes, the visions of her fears already making their way into her mind’s eye.
“But he and Eleanor…they shared a night together. Most likely his final night together. How do I reconcile that? How can I accept that what he’d said to me ultimately meant nothing because Eleanor was always going to be the one he chose?”
Prim hadn’t realized that Hannah had been using the time she was talking to pick out the slivers and splinters along the sides of her hands until Hannah squeezed them gently. There was pain now, but that gave Prim another thing to ground herself with. Hannah moved from in front of Prim back to the cot, reaching into the freshwater for a cloth to start wiping away the blood. The water had cooled significantly, but Prim could still see it doing its work on her hands.
Hannah worked the stubborn bits out with a practiced hand, making sure not to squeeze too hard, humming as she worked. The tune wasn’t familiar to Prim. She thought it could be a lullaby or a drinking song that some of the clients would come up with when they were far in their cups, but with Hannah’s soft tones, she wasn’t sure.
Once she was finished wiping off as much blood as she could, Hannah unravelled the fresh bandages she brought with her. “I’ll need you facing me, dove.”
Prim scooted herself so she was sitting crisscross on the cot. Hannah began to wrap the bandages around her tender flesh, pausing to test how hard she was pressing against the wounds that were reopening under pressure.
“I had a husband, did I ever tell you that?”
The admission took Prim off guard. “No, I didn’t know that.”
Hannah smiled as she worked to wrap up Prim’s left pinky finger without making it unable to move. “It’ll be about five years since he passed come winter. Lovely man, maybe not the brightest, but when he had advice for you, you listened.” Her smile turned fond as she looked up to meet Prim’s eyes.
“There was something he’d always told me: ‘The world is never all right or all wrong, but a mixture of both. Righteous men can falter and horrible men can do wonderful things.’”
The meaning was clear to Prim and she nodded in understanding as Hannah moved to her right hand. “There are times when I forget that these Captains, these men lauded by their crews and have their tales stretched in the pamphlets to the colonies, they’re only human.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t still be angry at Vane for what he did,” Hannah chimed in, “but reconcile that he was a man. A man who may have or may not have made a mistake before the end. You won’t ever know; worrying about it won’t do you any good. But know that it is going to be a bruise that you’ll prod every time you think of him fondly. That’s all you need to understand.”
It made sense and Prim felt herself uncoil from how tightly she’d felt wound up by the day’s events. As Hannah finished tying off the bandage on her right hand, Prim could finally feel the exhaustion from the day finally settle on her. Hannah got up from the cot and worked to shimmy the covers out from under her as Prim lay down.
Hannah smiled, settling a soft kiss against Prim’s forehead. “Get some rest, dove. I’ll keep the clients away tomorrow so you can sleep in.”
---------
Prim felt wrung out when she woke up the next morning. She hadn’t overslept, but the sun was higher in the sky than it normally was when she’d start her day.
She sat up, wincing as she used her hands to support her. The bandages had held throughout the night, but she could see bits of red from where a few of the cuts had reopened. She’d ask Hannah to replace them later; going a few hours with just blood speckled bandages wouldn’t do her any harm.
Prim got up and immediately stripped off her dress. Wth how much dried blood was on it, she wouldn’t be able to wear it again. She changed into a high collared, tan dress and took a moment to reflect. Her scars were sore from how she’d slept the night before, there were aches in her hands from both the cuts and what would most likely be bruising, and she could feel her throat was scratchy from how hard she’d screamed.
But beyond that, she was awake and alive. For the moment, that was enough.
Before she headed out of her room, Prim made sure to wrap Charles’s scarf around her neck. She would need to think on the advice Hannah gave her, but for now, she wanted the comfort of something of his against her bare skin. She headed towards the door, knowing that she would need to report to Max on what she’d learned.
Max was tucked away in her office. When Prim entered, the Madame looked surprised to see her.
“Hannah had told me not to disturb you today,” she said, setting down her quill. There were several long documents spread out on the desk, along with crumpled up pieces of parchment that had found themselves on the floor. “Is everything alright?”
“I might need to take the day to recuperate,” Prim said, holding up her bandaged hands, “There was…an incident.”
Max didn’t speak, but Prim knew that Hannah had probably told Max what she knew about what occurred. It was Prim’s time to set the records straight. “But that’s not why I’m here. I need to speak with you about what happened last night.”
Prim told her tale, leaving out much more of her encounter with Charles. She spoke of what she knew of Flint and Eleanor’s plan, how Abigail Ashe was going to be a bargaining chip for something regarding Nassau. And how Charles’s loss of such a chip most likely led to his death or soon to be death.
“And you're certain that the fort was empty last night?” Max asked. She hung on every word, drinking in the information like freshwater after being in the sun all day.
“I pounded on the door, but no one answered. I heard no noise from inside.” She paused. “Was there movement afterward?”
“I heard that there were lights within the fort close to midnight,” Max said, “There were people going in and out, but no one could say who they were. If the fort had been emptied of Vane’s crew, then they may have returned at that time instead of just abandoning the fort.”
Prim tried to quash the small bit of hope that welled up within her. There was a chance Charles was alive, but he probably hadn’t been for long.
“What you’ve told me is valuable. It seems the next few days will be interesting as the power on the island shifts. To know who is still in play is necessary for what I hope to accomplish.”
That got Prim interested in what Max had to say. “I have a feeling you’re planning something.”
Max gave her a cheeky grin. “I’m preparing for a new venture which will require many eyes in many different places. A network that will provide information on the comings and goings of ships and trade.” Her grin faltered slightly. “The goal is to be able to operate without the need for Eleanor Guthrie to feed us information. We will be both the source and the supplier.”
Prim crossed her arms. “Removing Eleanor entirely might not go over well with her.”
“From what you’ve told me, she seems to have her thoughts on other things. I plan to take advantage of her blind spots.” She looked down at her desk, moving a few of the documents out of the way. “I have things to send as well as people to move. For the time being, there will only be one person I’ll be sending out to look for leads. After that, who knows?”
“I hope I’m not a part of this at the moment,” Prim muttered. The last thing she needed for her peace of mind was to be sent away to who knows where while there were people on New Providence that needed tending to.
“Anne will be heading to Port Royale in the afternoon,” Max said, “With what occurred yesterday, both she and the girls need to be away from each other.” As usual, Prim marveled at the Madame’s decision; she wondered if the idea for information gathering had become a viable option after what Anne had done the day before or if Max had been waiting for some excuse to get Anne out of the brothel while Jack was away and uninformed.
“As long as you’ll be the one to tell Jack that she’s gone, if he gets back after she leaves,” Prim said instead, “I’d rather not be there when that levee breaks, so give me the courtesy of knowing when you’ll be telling him so I can go shopping.”
The Madame merely nodded. “As you wish.”
Prim bobbed her head and headed out of the office and back to her room, shutting the door behind her.
If Hannah was going to keep clients away for a bit, she would take the opportunity to check her inventory. Her bag was cleaned out of balms and bandages, so she could spend part of the afternoon working on infusions and then try to scour the street for shops that she could get new items from. She doubted any of the ships that had been waiting outside the harbor for the Man O’ War and fort situations to subside were already back in Nassau, but she’d at least give herself a few hours before she started her search in earnest.
The door to her room creaked open, but Prim couldn’t find the fear or expectation of a new client to make her quickly turn. She merely peeked over her shoulder to see who it was, a bit surprised at her guest.
“Alright, Anne?” she asked.
Anne Bonny stood in the doorway, stock still, her stance no different than if she was standing guard. Her hat’s brim was covering her face, so Prim couldn’t see what expression she was making.
For a moment, the two women just stood, not moving an inch.
“You gonna expect payment?” Anne finally asked, voice hoarse.
Prim’s brows furrowed and she turned to fully face the other woman. “I’m sorry?”
“For me. For what the fuck happened. What do I owe you?”
Prim shook her head. “There’s nothing to be paid. Consider everything sorted.”
Anne growled, face still masked by her hat, but her stance grew taught. “There’s always a price. A debt to be paid. Don’t be stupid with me.” Lifting her head, Prim could finally see that Anne’s face was screwed into a snarl. Her hands were on the hilts of the blades at her hips, ready to strike. The lethargy from the day before seemed to have completely left her, leaving Anne acting as she usually did.
Even when facing someone who was skilled with a blade, Prim didn’t feel frightened. “I mean no disrespect,” she said, “but it wasn’t for a fee.”
“Bullshit.”
Prim raised her hands in surrender, unsure of what else to do. Anne didn’t seem like she could be reasoned with. With her hands as bandaged as they were, she knew she couldn’t grip her shears tightly enough for an attack. If Anne decided that she was a threat, how long would it take for her to try and call for help from someone in The Inn?
She let out a shuddering breath, thinking of Charlotte collapsed on the floor, tacky blood puddling beneath her. Instead, it was her own body crumpled on the ground with a pool of blood blooming beneath her.
Was today the day she’d die?
For a moment, the thought gave her comfort; the idea of a release from everything she’d gone through over the past few weeks. To be able to see someone that she’d learned to love once more, who was waiting for her on the other side…
To have one last bit of hurt before oblivion…it was tempting.
But as Prim took a breath to center herself, the thought of living was far more appealing. She finally had her freedom, finally had a place that knew her for herself and not for a persona she had to create. As much as it pained her to think about never seeing Charles again, she knew he’d have things to say to her if she found herself at the gates of St. Peter before he allotted time.
She wasn’t going to end everything now.
Anne wasn’t backing down, her stance widening and her hands tightening on the hilts of her swords.
“How the fuck did you know what to say? How the fuck did you keep me calm when I wanted to fucking gut you!?”
“Because I was you,” Prim said, taking a full step forward towards Anne, keeping her gaze steady. The other woman didn’t step back, but leaned away from her advance.
“Wha?”
“I was you” Prim repeated, taking another step forward and was not surprised when, in the blink of an eye, one of Anne’s swords found itself at her throat. She took a deep breath, surprised at how close the blade was against her neck, the pressure digging into the fading remnants of her bruises from Low’s men.
Anne remained still, her blade bringing a bead of blood to Prim’s throat.
“I know what it’s like to be in a place where all you can rely on is yourself. Where you’re not sure who to trust or how to make sure that you’re safe,” Prim continued, every word bringing a few more trickles of blood from her wound, “I know what it feels like to be hurt and not expect someone to help you heal that hurt. I know how much trust it takes to allow someone near you who can offer that help and understand that they truly mean it.”
Anne’s eyes bored into Prim’s, as if she was just waiting for the wrong word to escape her mouth so she could slice her throat open. Prim allowed herself a deeper breath, feeling the blade bite harder into her skin. The pain grounded her to the present, kept her out of more distracting thoughts.
Prim wasn’t sure Anne would be so forthcoming if she slipped into memories of the past. She needed to be present, in the moment, and ready to speak.
“I was in servitude since I was twelve,” Prim said, moving her left hand slowly towards the collar her dress. Anne’s eyes followed as her hand tugged down her collar to reveal her brand. It was the first time Prim had revealed it to someone without them noticing it first.
It was strangely freeing, but the look on Anne’s face made her wonder if it was the right decision. Anne’s expression didn’t change, her eyes still intense as they stared at her scarred flesh. Prim continued.
“Ten years I was with the Tennents, an entire decade where my freedom had been ripped away. It was in the house of the man who branded me that made me relearn what it meant to trust others, to understand that goodwill still existed despite what I’d endured.”
She dropped her hand, feeling a few of the shallow wounds on her fingers open up. She tried not to grimace.
“There were people, just like me, who had fallen into despair and found their own ways to rally against it. To keep their hope alive for the day they’d be free from their servitude. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I had the chance to find myself at sea, my captor dead in the brig of a slave ship. To find myself free after a decade.”
She reached towards her neck with her other hand and gripped the sword, pushing it away from her throat. Anne’s eyes followed the blade’s path. Prim was glad for the bandages, but could feel more of the cuts beginning to reopen beneath the cloth. That didn’t matter.She kept her focus on Anne’s face.
“If not for the men and women who cared for me before I got on that ship, I wouldn’t be here right now,” Prim said, softly, “I would have never made it to the ship that would become my deliverance.”
Even now, she could see the faces of the servants and slaves from the plantation who had cared for her and befriended her throughout her time at the plantation. Tula, who had told her about how herbs could be used for healing as well as nourishment. Thomas, who’d cared for her like he was her own father when he’d arrived, making sure she was well and surviving as best she could. Rebecca, who’d held her each night after Mr. Tennent came to her room, singing songs to lull her to sleep. Yang, who had risked his life to try and keep Prim hidden before the Spartan left Savannah.
They were the ones who kept her alive, the ones who she wished to honor by surviving each new day in Nassau. She was not going to let Anne take that from her now.
She was not going to die here.
“Regardless of how my experience shaped me, I survived,” Prim said, echoing the words that Charles had told her the first day she met him, “And you’ve done the same, alone and also with people around you to help you, whether you wanted their help or not. I only wanted to show you the same care that I wanted when I was adrift in my own head.”
Prim took a step forward, pushing Anne’s blade down further and closer towards its sheath.
“Jack and Max care for you. Even if it’s in a different way, I care for you too. The girls who are still wary towards you are looking out for you regardless of what you’ve done.”
Anne’s mouth was open, not frowning, but more like she was ready to ask a question. Prim gripped the sword tighter, pushing its tip back into its sheath.
“Anne, you are not alone.”
For a moment, the air seemed charged. Prim could see Anne’s posture shift, even with Prim’s grip on her sword, ready to attack. She knew she couldn’t dodge whatever Anne planned to do.
Very slowly, Anne ducked her head and reached out for Prim’s hand, releasing it from her blade, finger by finger. Prim swore she could see a small smile under the shadow of Anne’s hat, but decided it was merely a trick of the light, letting her fingers drop from the blade one by one.
Anne sheathed her sword, backing up a few paces out of Prim’s space. The brim of her hat covered her face completely now, leaving her expression a mystery.
Prim turned back to her table for some fresh bandages, already seeing the rising red from both of her wrapped hands. She prayed that travelling to one of the storehouses would get her as many clean bandages as she could pay for, but that was a visit for later. The tension between the two women was slowly dissipating, Prim feeling much safer in her own room.
“I do wish you luck on your journey, Anne. Safe travels to Port Royale and I hope your endeavor is a sound one.”
There was silence from behind her and Prim thought that Anne had left through the open door.
“You must be a witch,” Anne muttered, just loud enough for Prim to hear with her back turned, “Weavin’ words so freely. Makin’ things seem right when they should be wrong and wishing luck on things that shouldn’t be lucky.”
“Are you joining the group that still assumes I cast spells on my patients, then?” Prim asked throwing a look over her shoulder.
“Fuck off,” Anne muttered and Prim couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I might as well lean into the remaining rumors,” Prim said, “Make it a title or something like it. ‘The Brothel Witch’, maybe. Or perhaps ‘The Witch of Nassau’? I’m not sure which one sounds more catchy.”
There was another beat of silence. After a moment, she could hear Anne head towards the door, footfalls heavy even as they moved away from her.
Before the doors creaked shut, Prim heard Anne let out a small mumble, catching it just before they closed.
“Like the last one. Makes you sound like a part of the place.”
Notes:
Seriously, though, thank you guys for sticking with this. So many people have read this!!! I'm blown away?!?! Thank you!!!!
Chapter 32: The Last Night
Summary:
Heyo! Still at the end of season two, but this is the first chapter in what I deem the ‘speculation’ chapters. There’s bits of time missing with characters going this way and that, travelling in various places to be where they need to be by the finale, so there’s a few things left up in the air as to how their days are spent. I’m still sticking to timelines, but I get to play around a little!
Again, this might be headcanon at best, but Vane isn’t one to just take advantage of someone unless there is a reason to (there are things to be said about his season 1 behavior that I don’t have the writing prowess and insight to attempt to untangle all of that. Remember, my dears, this is a fanfic). However, there does need to be consent on the other person’s side before he does anything. So, if you were looking for Prim to be taken advantage of in a vulnerable moment, this ain’t the place.
Also, surprise bit of backstory? Get a bit more into Prim and another OC~
Chapter content warnings: Dissociation, mentions of violence, mentions of sex, clothed sex
Notes:
As you have probably seen, I’ve been doing a bunch of editing. I’ve been putting it off for a few months, but figured with the 1 year anniversary of this fic having just passed, it should be in tip top shape (and my beta reader has a few chapters to catch up on, so it'll be a nice refresher for him to read this fic with his suggestions already implemented).
As of today, all of the chapters that my beta has read have been updated and edited!
Also, also of today, I'm heading for a much needed vacation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Whereas the day before passed as though it was never ending, Prim found that the present afternoon was passing quicker than usual.
Hannah helped her change her bandages throughout the day, quickly arriving every hour to check if they were clean or if they were sticking to her skin. She was methodical and didn’t linger long once she finished, giving Prim the space she needed to continue with her work. Each time, the bandages were thinner, assuring Prim that although the wounds had bled heavily, the cuts were minor. She knew she’d have a new collection of scars, even with the care Hannah was taking to clean the cuts out and rub one of Prim’s salves on them.
Prim remained content with staying in her room, happy to have a free few hours to organize her tinctures and start new ones. She was even able to make a proper list of supplies she’d need, which she hadn’t had much time for over the past week. She planned a trip to the warehouses in the morning and then a stop at Miranda’s cottage, just to make sure no one had pilfered her porcelain or tea.
As the afternoon worked into evening, she headed to the tavern for dinner. None of the girls stopped her or followed behind her to ask what had happened, which she was grateful for.
With the Man O’ War gone, the tavern was filled with unfamiliar faces of new crews sharing their first meal on dry land. Eme was quick to notice her and had her sit at an empty two person table before Prim could head into the kitchen for food. Prim took a seat, nearly sagging into the wooden chair. She knew she looked a mess. She felt drained and knew that the bandages on her hands were causing a few people to look over and stare. No one approached her, another blessing.
Eme was at her table a few minutes later, dropping a bowl of stew, a piece of bread, and an apple for her meal. She fished a mug out of a pocket on her skirt and filled it with freshwater. Prim took a grateful gulp and gave herself a moment to settle and tuck into her meal, savoring each bite.
“Oh ma chère. Are you alright?”
Prim looked up to see the surgeon who’d assisted her during the attack on the fort. Mathieu stood a respectable distance from her table, but she could see the worry in his eyes. She hadn’t expected to see him again and, for a moment, there was silence hanging between them.
“Apologies,” Mathieu said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal-”
Prim gestured to the empty seat in front of her. “Please sit. It’s fine.”
The older man hesitated, then slid into the chair across from her. Eme approached, setting down an empty mug and filling it with more freshwater. She looked to Prim.
“A refill?” she asked, but her eyes moved between Prim and the older man, as if making sure that Prim was not in any distress.
“Yes please,” Prim said, holding out her cup, “And if I could get some more stew? Mathieu, have you eaten yet?”
“ Non , I’ve only just made it here from the beach. Whatever you have on hand, ma’am, I would be most grateful to partake in.”
Eme nodded and, in another whirl of her skirts, was heading towards the kitchen. Mathieu settled his hands on the table, his dark eyes scrutinizing Prim.
“I do apologize if I’m being too forward, but are you alright? It’s been mere days and it looks as though you’ve had weeks without rest.”
Prim was a bit taken aback by Mathieu’s concern; they’d had an afternoon of handling injuries together and that was all of the interaction they had. There hadn’t been time for pleasantries or polite conversation when you were attempting to sew up wounds.
“The days have been long, truly,” Prim said, “I must ask, sir, we’ve only met once, but you seem to have some concern for me. I appreciate it, but I must confess I’m at a loss as to why.”
Mathieu’s brows furrowed. “You…you truly don’t remember me, do you?”
Prim took a long look at Mathieu’s face, pausing only to thank Eme when the other woman brought their food.
From the gray in his hair and the wrinkles on his face, he seemed to be close to his late forties or early fifties. He was French, his accent not so thick that he’d recently learned English. He had said when they first met he’d been on a ship, the dark tan from frequent sunburns along his cheeks and on the backs of his hands not causing her to think that was a lie. She tried to think if she’d ever seen his face before he’d arrived in her room, but she couldn’t place it. There wasn’t even a niggling feeling of recognition in her mind, she just didn’t know him.
“I apologize,” she said, feeling a bit bad when she saw his face fall, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Mathieu sighed and looked down, beginning to pick at his stew. “I understand. It’s been years. That day when I came to The Inn, I’d heard someone on the beach say that a witch whose last name was Enfield was treating patients.” He looked back up at her and gave her a soft smile. “I benefited from one of your father’s farms outside of Philadelphia. We’d meet often, sometimes in your home. You were young, I’m sure meetings between your father and business partners were the last things you wanted to be a part of.”
Prim took a moment to let his words sink in. While she’d been with the Tennents, she’d tried to dwell on the happy memories she had with her father and mother, but in the last few years of her enslavement, she had a hard time recalling them. It was just another thing that Mr. Tennent had taken away from her and she’d tried not to dwell on how hard it was to remember what her father and mother looked like.
Yet, Mathieu’s description stirred up a memory from a corner of her mind. She’d finished a lesson and had been tasked to try and write a letter to someone. She wrote one to her father and was excited for him to read it, so she’d bolted towards his study to give it to him. That day, her father hadn’t been alone in the room, there’d been another man with him. That didn’t stop Prim from holding out her letter excitedly to her father, the other man chuckling at her enthusiasm. She remembered she’d seen him visit a few times before, speaking to her father in his study and their drawing room about animals.
Prim looked at Mathieu again. “I…fourteen years ago,” she murmured, “My father was meeting with someone about what sorts of animals could be brought onto the farmland. You were a butcher who raised cattle. ”
He smiled. “ Oui . In another life, I was working with your father to find members of his other farms that needed assistance with their animal husbandry or had need of a butcher.”
She needed another moment to wrap her mind around what he was saying. “You knew me…before.”
“ Oui. ”
A sharp laugh bubbled out of her. “And we’ve both found ourselves here.”
Something softened in his gaze as he looked at her. “True, but for vastly different reasons it seems.”
Prim didn’t want to tell him what she’d gone through and there seemed to be hesitation in Mathieu’s shift in professions. She held up a hand, another giggle coming out of her. “I don’t believe I’m ready to explain the fourteen years that brought me here and something tells me you don’t wish to either. What I will say is that it’s wonderful to meet you again, Mathieu, and I hope this won’t be the last time we get to speak.”
Mathieu nodded. “As you said, the days have been long. I admit, there was another reason I approached you today.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather bound journal and passed it across the table to her.
“What’s this?” Prim asked, setting her hand on the journal. The leather cover was soft from constant handling, bits of the once dark brown material faded and spotty near the spine.
“My ledger on wounds that I’ve treated while at sea. I know you have knowledge of how to treat different injuries, but when we spent the afternoon together, you left much of the surgery to me. I figured that, if this is a profession that you wish to continue, more knowledge wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
Prim looked down at the journal and opened it up, flipping through a few of the pages. There were pages of notes, some anatomical diagrams of muscles and bones, and records of how quickly wounds healed based on treatment. She had to shut the book or she knew she’d never make it back to The Inn without reading the entire thing in one sitting.
“This is…it’s too much,” she said, voice full of awe, “If I could borrow this for a few days to copy down some of your observations, that would be more than enough.”
“Please, Primrose,” Mathieu said, pushing the journal a bit closer, “keep it. I have the luxury of travelling out with my crew to get new books while you’re only able to get whatever is traded on the beach. I don’t know when the Rose D’or will make port here again, so consider it a compromise if something like a few days ago should happen again.”
Prim didn’t bring up returning the journal again. Instead, the rest of her meal was spent speaking with Mathieu on what his crew had planned for their next venture. Prim wanted to press more about his past, still marveling about how a man went from being a farmer and butcher to a member of a pirate crew, but respected how he hadn’t pressed her for what occurred in the fourteen years between their meetings.
With a belly full of food and an evening of conversation, Prim felt content enough to head back to the Inn and get some rest. Hannah was waiting for her with fresh cloth bandages, satisfied that Prim’s hands were scabbing over.
“Probably won’t need these come tomorrow morning,” Hannah said, tying off the last bit of fabric, “but you can let me know if you need them re-wrapped.”
Prim nodded. “Thank you for doing this today. I don’t know if I would have been able to do it myself.”
Hannah gave her a wink as she headed towards the door to the lower floor. “No trouble at all, Prim. Get some good rest tonight, alright? You need it.”
Prim waited for the doors to close completely before she began her nightly ritual. She lit a few candles, the light of the day fading. She cursed as her fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her dress and she thought about calling Hannah back in to assist.
Then, there was a thump at her window and Prim stopped moving. The sun was setting, but the shadows of the alleyway made it hard for her to see if there was someone standing outside. She listened and she heard it again; one soft knock against the glass.
She heard a clicking noise as the latch opened. Instead of turning towards the window, Prim ran to her pack and grabbed her shears, turning to ready herself for whoever it was that was coming through her window.
She thought it was a trick of the lights when Charles scrambled through the window and straightened himself up next to her cot, but the lanterns’ light was bright enough that she could see him plainly.
Charles’s face was shining with sweat and he was breathing heavily. His hair looked dirty, the braids and leather tie that had held his hair back now gone. There was dirt and streaks of drying blood on his clothes.
But he was standing before her, alive.
Prim dropped her shears to the ground with a clatter, making them both flinch. She didn’t want to move further, afraid that if she did the vision before her would disappear.
Charles made the first move, taking a step towards her. Prim focused on his arms, seeing that not just his clothing was stained but his hands all the way up to his elbows were caked in blood, the copper smell thick in her nose. That all but assured her she wasn’t hallucinating and it took her two strides to get to where Charles stood. She grabbed his hands, already searching for wounds.
“Are you-”
“It isn’t mine,” Charles said, his voice rough.
Prim sighed in relief, looking up at him. “Your crew? Or someone else?”
Charles let out a huff of breath. “The crew wouldn’t dare. This was the result of a debt come due.”
She wanted to fetch some freshwater to clean him up, but she didn’t want to let go of him. He was solid beneath her fingers, skin and bone and real. He was alive. Her body understood that he was standing in front of her, but her mind needed a moment to catch up.
She’d wept over him, cried and shouted into the open air at the thought of him being tortured and killed, but now, he was right in front of her. Charles Vane was alive and unharmed and he was standing in her room. And she still didn’t know what to say about that.
“What happened to your hands?” he asked.
It took Prim a moment to remember that her hands were still wrapped in cloth, her mind more focused on the man in her room. The scabbed cuts throbbed from the pressure of how tightly she was holding onto him, the foreign blood from Charles’s hands staining the fabric.
“I…” She couldn’t think of how to explain what had happened. How the emptiness of the fort made her hands tense in fear, how she’d howled as she beat her fists against the door. Broaching the subject felt like she’d be admitting to something far greater than what the two of them had spoken about regarding their relationship. There was the connection that Charles had admitted to a few days before, but with everything that had happened in between, Prim wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“I got carried away,” was what Prim settled on, dropping Charles’s hands to hide hers in her skirt. She ducked her head, afraid of what he would be able to see on her face and hoped he would leave it at that. There were tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn’t want to try and dab them away.
Silence stretched between them.
“That was you at the door,” he said, wonder in his voice.
That got her to look up. His expression was unguarded, surprise clear as day.
“It was,” she muttered, “No one answered. I’d thought the worst.”
“And,” he whispered, “what’s the worst?”
“I thought you were dead,” Prim said, the tears held back now falling freely as she focused on his widening eyes, “Fuck, Charles, I know what happens to Captains if their crew isn’t satisfied. No one answered when I called out, how was I supposed to know you were alive?!”
She was gripping his arms tightly, feeling how wet her bandages were getting, but she didn’t care. She needed to keep talking.
“I had to hear from Abigail and Eleanor about what happened after I left the fort. When no one answered, I resigned myself to mourn you. And now you’re here and I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you or tell you to get the fuck out of here.”
She took in a sharp breath, still watching his expression. Charles still looked surprised, but he hadn’t interjected yet. She moved in closer, feeling the heat of his body against her. Prim lowered her head, resting it against his shirt. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, allowing it to soothe her.
“I know you were with Eleanor,” Prim said, “I know you have a past with her. I don’t want excuses, but I need to know that what you said at the fort was true. That we’ll talk about what we are to each other. At least give me that peace of mind or tell me that it was all a lie so I can move on.”
She released her grip on his arms and Charles immediately wrapped them around her back, pulling her close so that she was flush against him. His heart was hammering in his chest and she knew hers was too.
“Eleanor and I share a past that spans a decade,” Charles began, his voice rumbling through her as he spoke, “I thought we knew each other. Her thoughts on what to make Nassau with whatever comes from Abigail’s return has made her actions unpredictable. She was aware of what awaited me if Abigail was taken from my crew. And I thought nothing of it when we fell into bed.”
Prim felt new tears running down her cheek, but Charles kept her in his embrace even if he felt them soaking into his shirt.
“I regret what I did. It should have never happened. So if this is where we part, then I leave that decision to you.” He gently pulled her away, cupping her chin so that she was looking up at him. His expression was one she’d never seen on him before, an openness that nearly took her breath away.
“I am who I am,” he breathed, “Are you willing to accept that?”
Prim took his hands in hers, the drying blood on his fingers flaking off with each press of her bandages against them.
“You are Captain Charles Vane,” she whispered after a moment, meeting his steady gaze with her own, “I wouldn’t ask you to be anything less.”
The air shifted between them. Prim inhaled, focusing on Charles’s scent beneath the coppery tang of blood in the air; seasalt, sweat, and spice. She focused on how his eyes shone in the dim light from her window and the lanterns, the blue deepening in the shadows of the fading day.
Charles surged forward, crushing his lips against hers.
He kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do, a desperate action that had Prim moving against him like it would be the last time she would hold him. She clung for purchase against his skin and his shirt, feeling the low growl that came as her nails dug into his shoulders.
His lips moved against her own, chapped and tasting like the cheroots he smoked. There was a hint of blood she could taste as she flicked her tongue against his teeth. He opened his mouth to her and she let out a soft sound at the feeling of being so entwined in him.
Charles gripped her tight, pulling her as close as she could go against his body. His warmth engulfed her and she felt consumed, moving her arms to wrap around his shoulders to hold him just as tight as he was holding her.
They took quick breaths of air between kisses, never breaking their hold on each other. Prim had moved her hands again, one bunched in the back of his shirt, the other against the back of his neck. Charles had started near her shoulders, then moved his hands towards her hips. His touch was heat, igniting a flame of arousal in Prim’s gut.
She moved one of her hands to work its way from the back of his neck to his shoulder, feeling the muscles relaxing under her touch. She ran another hand down his spine, the hard line of his back, gripping into the fabric of his shirt to keep herself steady in his arms.
They broke apart, Prim resting her forehead against Charles’s, both of them taking in each other’s breath.
Charles’s hands were careful, even though calloused and toughened by years of working on ships and under a slaver’s whip. They held her gently, but there was still a firmness there that let her know he could do more to her than he’d already done. Charles knew his own strength and chose to temper it for her.
For the second time in two days, Prim could feel a heat curling in her stomach, arousal bleeding into her skin. She wanted Charles. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, wanted to know what he sounded like when he’d enter her, wanted to see his face when he came inside of her.
And yet…
She tilted away from him, missing the contact, but the heat within her grew when she saw the raw hunger in his eyes. She tightened her grip on him just a hair, nails biting into the meat of his shoulders, dipping her head to hide her face in Charles’s neck. She was on the precipice, teetering right on the edge of a decision, but her mind was starting to betray her.
Prim could feel herself slipping, ready to drift off from the overwhelming sensations she was feeling. It was new and new meant dangerous. The man who held her was not like the others that had taken her. He was not holding her down, not using her hesitance as acceptance to tear her clothing off. She felt good settled in his grip and the wetness between her thighs was a testament to it.
This kind of arousal was foreign to her. This wasn’t her body reacting to the actions placed upon it; she was taking part in the experience.
And that was terrifying.
“Prim.”
Charles’s voice was low against the shell of her ear. Prim sucked in a breath and lifted her head, watching as Charles pulled back to look at her. His eyes were nearly black, but he made no move to touch her further, keeping her steady against the bookshelf.
Prim leaned in, wrapping her arms tight against Charles’s neck as she kissed him again. It wasn’t as deep as before, but she knew he could feel the warmth between her thighs from the low sound he made in his throat when his knee shifted. She could feel his prick twitch against her leg, hard and insistent.
Charles broke the kiss first, moving his head to rest against her shoulder. She could feel his mouth moving against the fabric of her dress. His lips ghosted over where her brand was and she let out a whimper, feeling herself grow wetter at the feeling. Oh god, would she come undone by just a knee against her?
Prim tensed. Charles felt it.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, voice husky against her collar, “Tell me to end this and I will.”
“Cha-”
“I will not have you drift away from me if I get my hands under your skirt.”
Prim could feel her cheeks heating up at Charles’s admission. She reached to cup his face, pushing him away from her neck. This close, she could see dried bits of blood against his cheeks and chin. His skin was hot to the touch, a blush already forming that moved from his high cheekbones down to his neck. His eyes were nearly black. The want of having him take her completely, leaving her undone in her room, was itching at the back of her mind.
But a more prominent thought willed its way into her mind: Was he lying? Would he take his pleasure from her, then leave?
No, he’d stopped when she didn’t have the words. He’d felt her and told her. Why did she still feel fear?
The times were few and very, very far between, but Prim hated the hesitance that came with her episodes. She knew she was safe, she knew she was with someone she trusted. And yet, her mind tried to tell her to leave, to push away.
She kissed him softly, trying to put less of the heated passion she had felt minutes before and instead replace it with the affection she wanted to show him for caring for her. Charles met Prim just as softly, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing soothing circles near her ear. She felt like she could melt against him, not in arousal, but in comfort.
When they broke apart, he looked a bit more collected. She could still feel his need against her, but he was making an attempt to not move his thigh.
“I made you a promise to talk about this,” Charles whispered, “And we will once I return.”
That took Prim by surprise. “You’re still leaving?”
“Flint owes me a ship and I intend to collect while it’s in Charles Town’s harbor.”
“Don’t do anything too insane,” Prim muttered. It seemed like she missed something further between his and Captain Flint’s conversation in the tavern.
He smiled, giving her a peck against her lips. “No promises.” He moved his hand down to her throat, fingers drifting along where the bruises from Low’s men had been. The touch was feather light, almost reverent.
He moved his hand to rest against her breast and Prim couldn’t help her that her heartbeat sped up. He kept his palm above her dress, but the tips of his fingers settled against the bare skin above her collar. Then, he moved his head down just above where his fingers rested, his breath a brand against the skin of her collar.
“Can I ask something of you?” His voice low, rumbling through her very being from how close he was.
“Of course.”
“Dunno what this voyage will bring.” He moved his head towards her neck, teeth grazing just above where the bruises had been. “Know that regardless of what happens, I am coming back to you. Only you.”
Prim’s heart skipped a beat.
Charles’s breath was hot against her throat and she let out a small squeak, distracted. She could feel the rumble of his laughter move through her.
“There are things that I need to sort out on my own when I return here. Would you wait for me until they’re in order?” Charles asked, lips resting against the column of her neck.
Prim didn’t hesitate to answer. “Of course.”
“Then I have one more question.”
“Yes?”
Charles’s breath felt like a brand against her throat and Prim let out a soft sound as his left hand trailed up to the back of her neck.
“Can I show Nassau that you’re mine?”
Prim’s body tensed and Charles’s hold on her eased. She knew that if she wanted to, she could break out of his grip.
But God, she didn’t want to.
“Please.”
She let out a whimper and felt his lips move lower, towards the junction of her neck and right shoulder, teeth grazing against her skin. He bit right where her neck met her shoulder and sucked hard, Prim letting out a whine at the feeling, the heat reigniting and pooling down towards her core.
She writhed against Charles’s thigh. He didn’t pull away from her neck, maneuvering his leg just enough so that she wasn’t catching herself on her dress. His teeth worried against the skin of her neck and she rolled her hips, closing her eyes and moaning softly. The friction against her cunt spread her slick against the fabric of Charles’s pants. Prim gripped the back of his shirt as she rode his thigh, finally letting the pleasure within her build to its precipice.
“I-I…” she gasped out, “So g-good…Cha-aaah!”
Charles licked a stripe just above where he’d marked her and his lips found her ear, voice gravel rough. “Take what you need.”
Prim came undone at his words, keening as she ground herself against his thigh to chase her orgasm. She let out a few weak gasps, her hips twitching as she rode the last of her pleasure before it became too much. She’d closed her eyes at some point and when she opened them, it was to Charles with his eyes shut, chin tipped down and a grunt on his lips.
“Did you-?” she began to ask, but Charles leaned back up and kissed her soundly to silence her. The hardness she’d felt against her leg was gone, her bare shin feeling a dampness spreading beneath his pants.
She broke the kiss with a soft sound, Charles staring at her with half-lidded eyes. They were both panting and they held each other as they came down from their respective climaxes. The lanterns around the room were beginning to go out, casting them both in longer shadows.
“Don’t you dare get yourself killed,” she said, releasing his shirt and running her fingers through his hair.
He gave her a wolfish smile as he rested his forehead against hers and Prim knew she’d never be able to get enough of this man. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Notes:
It seems unreal that I’ve been writing this fic for over a year. I still can’t believe I’ve kept at it for this long, regardless of stresses and the general hecticness of life. The fact that it's officially over 100,000 words has me at a loss; I've never written anything this long.
For the 4,000+ people that gave this fic a read, I thank you from the bottom of my heart! You’ve kept me motivated with just the fact that you clicked on this fic. Those who leave comments and kudos, thank you for involving yourselves in my motivation and letting me know what you liked about what I've written. Anyone who interacted with this, I love you all to bits!!
This fic now has a playlist that's being updated regularly. These are just songs I use for inspiration or to get into a mindset, so it is a little eclectic. Still, enjoy~
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28JutLPUtEGwfCkU9Z2h7L?si=unkSm8sxT0qqp_Mx2v6o7A
Pages Navigation
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 7 Sun 09 Jun 2024 05:20PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 7 Sun 09 Jun 2024 06:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
Squire sly (Guest) on Chapter 8 Wed 17 Jul 2024 04:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 8 Wed 17 Jul 2024 11:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 9 Tue 11 Jun 2024 02:50PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 11 Jun 2024 02:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 9 Tue 11 Jun 2024 10:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 11 Thu 13 Jun 2024 05:27AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 11 Thu 13 Jun 2024 07:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 12 Sat 15 Jun 2024 07:22AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 12 Sat 15 Jun 2024 11:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
kyliEisMC2 on Chapter 12 Thu 20 Jun 2024 02:22AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 12 Thu 20 Jun 2024 10:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 14 Fri 28 Jun 2024 09:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 14 Fri 28 Jun 2024 05:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
Mama2carebear (Guest) on Chapter 15 Tue 02 Jul 2024 01:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 15 Tue 02 Jul 2024 02:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 15 Tue 02 Jul 2024 05:56AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 15 Tue 02 Jul 2024 03:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sadoriel on Chapter 15 Fri 05 Jul 2024 03:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 15 Sat 06 Jul 2024 01:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
mickd1025001 on Chapter 17 Mon 15 Jul 2024 12:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 17 Tue 16 Jul 2024 01:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 17 Thu 18 Jul 2024 01:04AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 17 Fri 19 Jul 2024 01:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 17 Sun 21 Jul 2024 03:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 17 Tue 23 Jul 2024 01:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ronnie (Guest) on Chapter 17 Fri 16 Aug 2024 05:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 17 Fri 16 Aug 2024 09:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 18 Sat 05 Oct 2024 03:16AM UTC
Comment Actions
TheYoungestGorgons on Chapter 19 Tue 27 Aug 2024 05:18PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 19 Thu 29 Aug 2024 07:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 19 Sat 05 Oct 2024 03:37AM UTC
Comment Actions
mickd1025001 on Chapter 21 Sun 08 Sep 2024 12:23PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 21 Sun 08 Sep 2024 02:54PM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 23 Mon 05 May 2025 08:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 23 Mon 05 May 2025 11:02PM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 28 Fri 09 May 2025 04:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 28 Fri 09 May 2025 05:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Silence133 on Chapter 30 Sun 16 Mar 2025 09:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 30 Mon 17 Mar 2025 12:10AM UTC
Comment Actions
SquireSly on Chapter 31 Thu 15 May 2025 01:13AM UTC
Comment Actions
Livikun on Chapter 31 Fri 16 May 2025 02:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation