Chapter Text
When Tommy was smaller, he had played - by himself, of course - on the ship that would one day become the JONAS. Then, it was called the Wanda, because Tommy's father had loved a woman of that name once and produced a son from it. The name was unlucky, because ships were only ever named after dead crew, it was tradition. Pietro had never been one for tradition, though, so the name stayed and the ship stayed cursed.
Anyways, when Tommy was a boy he played pretend that he was the most feared and important pirate in the universe. He played that he killed the evil men that enslaved his mother, and defeated the Coalition, and liberated the slaves and outer colonies, all on his own. The first mate of the ship, a man that very few people liked called Logan, saw him playing these games by himself, and gave him a very valuable lesson.
"Kid," he said, his strange large hands moving too quickly for Tommy's liking, "you have spunk. You're smart and ambitious, and with some training you could be a decent fighter, from what I saw. But any man that wants to take on the Coalition," he paused, making sure Tommy was looking him straight in the eye, "that's a man that needs a crew."
Tommy was not old enough to know what 'crew' meant outside of 'people that are paid to do work and be nice to Tommy', and he was more focused on asking, "Will you teach me how to fight, Mr. Commander Logan?" in the cute and demanding way that only kids can.
Logan sighed. "If your dad clears it," Logan said, "yeah. I will. Just so one day you don't get yourself killed. I won't have you dying when I could have prevented it."
So First Mate Logan became Combat Teacher Logan, and Tommy learned how to fight very well in a variety of ways - with swords, with his fists, with old-fashioned guns and new-fashioned laser guns.
When Tommy was a bit bigger, the navigator died in a Tragic Piratical Accident. The new navigator was fond of literature, and when she heard about Tommy's Quest (as Logan had taken to calling it) she insisted that he also be taught about philosophy (though when she taught about it, it was always Philosophy) and Morality, and Ethics. He learned it, just like he learned the lessons his father set out for him, but what he learned best is that giving people what they want is usually a better tool than money.
When Tommy was no longer allowed to be called small (as he was larger than Mr. Commander Logan) but not yet allowed to be called big (as he was still a head and a half shorter than his father) the Tony (renamed after the dead navigator) got a hail from a small, and in all honesty insignificant, planet called Margarita. The woman who his father had fallen in love with a million years ago, Wanda, had found them. And she sent a request.
XXX
Eli is not easily scared. He is scared now.
The reports have been announced: when the crews of Coalition ships don’t stay down, don't fall asleep, they die, it’s that simple. There’s blood and arrows on the floor of at least of thirty percent of the Coalition's fleet - seventy five percent, in this sector.
The blood? It belongs to the soldiers, the people who were brave and stupid enough to think they could take these pirates down, if they could be brave enough, if they could be smart enough, if they could be strong enough, fast enough, daring enough.
(It hasn't happened yet).
The arrows? They belong to the Pirates. They are almost always black shafted and very rarely without blood - or so has been reported. Their tips are of an alloy, strong enough to cut though bone - if the pictures with the reports is anything to go by. The infrequency of a miss is enough to make the best afraid - if common sense is to be applied.
So, when the Noise starts signaling the Pirates' imminent arrival on board the ship, Eli does as he has always done: denied his fear. He puts in earplugs (that he takes out as soon as his comrades are down for the count; the pirates have not been one to put their own in more danger than necessary - if the survivors of the attacks are to be believed), and hides under his desk until he can get an advantage over the people moving very near to silent through the corridors of the ship.
(The only reason Eli can hear them is because he knows that they're there).
The Pirates come into command, and Eli can't hear them over the pounding of his heart. There are two, dressed completely in black.
“As acting commander of this ship, I order you to stand down,” he stands behind the captain’s chair and raises a phaser, and an ease that he can't understand settles into his shoulders.
“As second officer of the pirate vessel JONAS, I order you to fuck off and put your hands behind your head,” a snarky male voice says from the shadows.
"No," is all that Eli has time to authoritative deny before an arrow shoots through his hand, making him drop the gun. He shrieks in pain, crouches in it, and can just make out the same snarky voice saying, “Finish the job, Kate.”
“Tom,” a female voice says, pleads, behind the other console.
“We need to get back, Kate, finish,” apparently Tom says. That kind of snark would be beaten out in less than a week, Eli thinks through bright flashes of pain in his hand. He clutches it to his chest and closes his eyes, though it doesn't help.
“We need to take him back, Tom. Billy’d want to see this,” she says. Eli vaguely hears her cross the small deck to the other side of the Captain's Console, ostensibly to look at him, but it seems distant. He can't hear anything over the blood in his ears.
“If Billy had wanted to see anything on this damn boat, he wouldn't have abandoned us to do take it on our own,” Tom says, crossing to stand next to her. Eli opens his eyes to see the pair standing there, no discernible difference in them, back lit as they are by the few console lights that remain on from when they cut the power and the stars outside the windows. They look like two grim reapers ready to dole out his fate, and it's a good thing he can't be superstitious. "It'll be easier and less messy for you to do it Kate, it's too much effort for me."
“Yes, there’s a reason you don’t get a weapon on raids, Tommy,” she says, not really paying attention to her argument, “Just trust me for once, Billy isn’t going to want this kid killed.”
Tom sighs, and Eli know the argument was won, that he’d live for now at least. “Fine, let me tell America. And you’re taking care of it, Kate.” They talk too fast for Eli to get a word in edgewise, not that he would.
“Understood,” she says, quietly, and jumps over the console to crouch in front of Eli. Up close, he can see that she has kind eyes and dark hair, and he's momentarily distracted by a bit of bang escaping from her black hat. “How bad is your hand?” the girl asks, lowly. In another context it might be sexy.
Eli shrugs, his training working against him. Enemy, enemy, kill, his mind directs him, more insistent than any scream could be. He doesn’t, though, makes no signal of what he’s being told to do, and he doesn’t know why. The adrenaline from the fear has faded, replaced by the simple brutality that he knew he signed up for. But he doesn’t know why he’s not scared anymore. The mantra of protect the ship and kill intruders fades a bit when she pulls him up with gentle hands, and leads him forward by the elbow, stays behind him as they begin walking out. He see a knife in her hand and knows it’s for him. There's no reason for him not to be scared, or not be trying to kill the both of them and escape, but there's something stirring in his chest.
There’s a long suppressed part of him, deep in his chest, that thinks it’s finally home.