Archive of Our Own ^beta

above board: On or above the deck; in plain view; not hiding anything.

If Will sees one more book of mediocre poetry that he somehow still feels obligated to shelve, it will be too soon. He’s got a whole stack of them piled up on a cart next to him, precariously wobbling every time he nudges it with his hip so he can move along down the shelf. He’s not keeping count, but— 

“Thirty-seven,” comes a voice from the other side of the shelf. “Thirty-seven bloody books about bird watching. What on earth could be that interesting about birds?” 

Will shoves some of his poetry books to the side, clearing a space; in the new gap between the books, Kim peers back at him from the other side of the shelves. His face is momentarily replaced by a dark green book, A History of Birds. “Who could possibly need a history of birds? They’re birds.” 

“Well.” Will folds his arms on the shelf, relaxing for a moment. “I would imagine that being able to spout off facts about magpies would be one way to avoid having to say anything remotely interesting at some awful dinner party.” 

The book thumps down on the shelf and Kim reappears. Even though Will can only see a sliver of his face, he knows Kim’s smiling: it’s in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his forehead relaxes, brows not knit so tightly together. “Are you saying that I need new conversation topics?” 

“No, I’m saying I need something to talk about other than books and the war.” He pokes at the pages of one of the books on Kim’s shelf with the tip of a finger. “Maybe I’ll take up birding.” 

Will straightens up and pushes the poetry books back together so he can finish his shelving — or, he tries to, but A History of Birds is suddenly jammed into his stack of books. “What now?”

Kim wiggles the book, pushing the poetry books aside so he and Will can see each other through the shelves again. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” 

Will snorts. “Christ, whatever it is, no.” He starts filling in the empty space on the shelf with more poetry books. “The last time you got to thinking, I couldn’t walk without a limp for a week.”

“That limp made you look very mysterious and rakish. The usual crowd kept asking after you and I had to simply deny any knowledge whatsoever, it was horrid,” Kim retorts. “And said escapade also taught us something valuable about your current level of flexibility.” 

Kim isn’t precisely wrong about that; Will feels a phantom twinge in his hamstring, remembering all of the lies he had to keep spinning to explain the sudden limp. “Fine, fine. What have you been thinking about?”

Kim’s shoved enough books aside that Will can see his whole face now; Will’s only a little bit irritated that he’s going to have so much work to do straightening up just because of this. “I think we need a holiday.” He grins, all teeth and charm. 

Will barks out a laugh. “Are you so exhausted by alphabetizing?” 

“No—” Will cuts Kim off with another laugh. “Fine, maybe a little bit. Look, Will—”

“If we’re going to talk about this,” Will says, feeling resigned to the fact that they are, in fact, going to have to talk about Kim’s wild idea for a holiday, “then can you at least come around to this side of the shelves so we can speak like actual people?”

Kim sighs, sounding very put-upon. “You have no sense of mystery, Will Darling,” he says, but the birding books all snap back into place and shortly, Will hears Kim’s shoes click across the floor. He rounds the corner, appearing at the end of Will’s row of shelves, clutching a book to his chest. 

“A holiday,” Will says. “Explain.” 

Kim taps his fingers against the cover of the book he’s holding. “Well, things have been—maybe not quiet, exactly, but they’ve been normal as one could expect given, well—” Kim gestures between the two of them with the book. “But the bookstore is doing well, it’s nearly all put to rights, you’re all healed up from that terrible escapade up at Etchil. I thought it might be nice to get away for a bit.” 

Will flexes the fingers of his left hand. It still bothers him sometimes—as much as he hates to say it, it feels the worst when it’s damp and cold, which in London is more frequent than he’d prefer these days—but Kim was right, he was mostly over their final, catastrophic run-in with Zodiac. Physically, at least. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been on holiday,” Will says absently, to which Kim gasps. “Oh, come on, you can’t possibly be surprised.”  

“Not surprised, just more convinced than ever that this is a situation we must rectify.” Kim turns the book around in his hands so that Will can see the cover; it’s a touring guide of Spain. 

Will narrows his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he says. “We are not haring off to Spain. That’s got to cost—” Will sees his hard-fought earnings from the store go flying out a metaphorical window. “Too much, Kim, I cannot possibly go on holiday to Spain.” He grinds out the last words like they are a wholly unfamiliar arrangement of syllables. 

“The cost is—” Kim flaps his hand vaguely. “I may be persona non grata to a significant portion of the usual society set, but I’m not destitute, Will.” 

“And the bookstore?” Will gestures at the mounds of books still waiting to be re-shelved. “It can’t run itself. We’ve already been closed all week to finish this inventory; you want me to close again for who knows how long so we can go and— and—” Will trails off as it occurs to him that he doesn’t really even know what people like Kim do on a holiday.  

“The shop most certainly can close again for a bit. It’s not as though we set sail tomorrow. Hang a sign, say you’ll be back in a few weeks, tell people to send their urgent requests through the post, et cetera, et cetera.” Kim thrusts the book at Will. “Spain, Will. Not a single care in the world other than wondering when our next meal is.” 

“I can think of several concerns.” Will takes the book anyway and begins flipping through it. The beaches look lovely, even if all he sees in his mind is a hazy memory of storming the beaches of France, the clatter of gunfire, a sick roiling of his stomach. He shuts the book, letting it tumble from his fingertips to the floor with a thump, then tips his head back, eyes closed. “First, how will you explain us going on holiday to anyone who decides to be suspicious about it?” 

Kim steps forward, closing the gap between them. He rests one hand on Will’s forearm, just the barest pressure of fingertips on Will’s skin. “Merely two friends and, most recently, colleagues in the world of commerce, taking a trip together to help soothe young, impetuous Lord Arthur’s broken heart after the cancellation of his impending nuptials.” Kim’s voice takes on that posh, distant tone that he uses when talking with the society set. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time a pair of friends set off for adventure after a spectacularly public scandal. Everything completely on the up-and-up. The sorts of people who go on holidays to Spain won’t even raise an eyebrow when we both retire early to our cabin after a delightful dinner service.” His fingers dance up Will’s arm, skate across his chest. Will swallows; Kim’s fingers trace the long line of his throat as it moves. “And,” Kim adds belatedly, “I know one of the captains, from, well. You know. Work. Or, that is, former work. The point is, there won’t be any trouble.” 

As if that solves anything, a boat captain with Private Bureau connections, keeping a hawk eye on Kim and Will while they set sail for Spain. The problem, Will knows, is that even if no one would look twice at the pair of them on some holiday tour, he’s still not exactly the sort to go on holiday to Spain in the first place. Granted, it’s not the first time in their tangled history that he’s felt utterly lost in Kim’s world. It’s not even the first time this week that Will’s had this experience. 

The other problem is that Kim’s hands are bracketing Will’s face, those nimble fingers sliding up into his hair; down to trace the tight set of his jaw. Will can feel the heat radiating off of Kim, he’s standing so close. It is, quite frankly, completely impossible to deny Kim anything when he asks like this. “You play dirty,” Will says, and Kim lets loose a small peal of laughter. 

“This, too, you already knew about me.” Kim presses a kiss to Will’s jaw. “Do you want me to beg? Because I will.”

Will opens his eyes and peers at Kim, who’s looking intently at him, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. With a smear of dust across his cheek, his collar loosened, tie abandoned somewhere around the third hour of sorting and shelving, Will is having a hard time saying no. “Fuck,” Will croaks. He turns his head, catching Kim’s hand with his lips and brushing a kiss across his palm. 

“Is that a yes?” Kim asks. 

“To what?” Will leans into Kim’s hand. 

“Either.” Kim’s stepped even closer, pressing their hips flush together. Will gasps at the friction against his suddenly very interested cock. “But currently, the begging.” 

Will works one hand up and folds it over Kim’s shoulder, pushing downward. “Yes,” Will says, and a triumphant grin spreads across Kim’s face as he lets himself be pushed down to his knees. 

Kim needs a few weeks to make all of the arrangements—it takes him away from his book sorting duties for a bit, a fact which he doesn’t entirely seem too broken up about—but sooner than Will was really prepared for, they’re standing on the dock with a throng of other passengers, waiting to board the Brittania. 

Kim practically thrums with energy as people mill about, porters darting this way and that with trunks to deliver to the ship. Kim had pressed some money into the hand of a willing boy earlier, making sure their trunks would be hauled aboard and stowed in their cabin. He made it look easy, effortless, waving his hand and getting people to just do things for him.

Will, meanwhile, was trying to take a series of deep breaths and failing miserably. There are far too many people at the port, and they’re all far too close; Will feels his breathing speed up, feels his collar grow damp with sweat.   

Almost like he can sense the anxiety rolling off of Will, Kim settles a hand lightly on Will’s back. “The port bustles with excitement,” he says, gesturing at all of the people who stream past them. “Not a soul paying us any mind.” 

Will tugs on his collar nonetheless. 

“We’ll have a grand time, you’ll see.” Kim’s fingers move in the tiniest circles. “Before you know it, we’ll be relaxing under the sun and you’ll be charming all of the locals with your atrocious Spanish and your roguish good looks.” 

The only reason Will isn’t perplexed at how casual Kim is being about all of this is because Will has seen Kim in action enough times by now to know that this is just how he goes through life. 

Kim had given Will the entire agenda of the trip—a reception and dinner this evening before the boat set sail, full meals three times a day, a band providing music for dancing in the evenings. Will had stopped paying attention some time around the description of the library available on the ship, which felt a bit excessive for a trip that shouldn’t take all that long. 

From the direction of the ship, a whistle sounds and passengers start pushing forward, preparing to board. Kim urges Will forward with the crowd, steering Will by a press of his fingers against his spine, left first, then cut right to avoid a family dawdling on the path, then straight ahead. Will sighs. “Tell me again how many times I’m going to have to pretend that all of this is normal?” He waves one hand at all of the bustle around them: the people restlessly queuing for the ship, the endless flow of well dressed men and women, making Will feel as out of place as ever. 

“The absolute bare minimum, I promise.” Kim sounds resigned to the fact that he isn’t going to get Will in fancy dress more than strictly necessary, but Will can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. “Meals. Perhaps sit a spell and listen to the band. You can spend the rest of the time in the cabin, if it turns out to be truly dreadful. I will, of course, sit quietly at your side, dreadfully bored, but that’s a sacrifice I’ll make only for you.” 

Will rolls his eyes at Kim’s melodrama. “Please,” he says, gently shoving Kim away, “as if you’ve ever sat quietly a day in your life.” 

Before Will knows it, they’ve been ushered onto the ship. Kim keeps up a meaningless but reassuring prattle, talking all about the latest society gossip that’s been filtered down to him third-hand, since his life has been more about pricing books than making his way through the party circuit as of late. Much like any conversation Will ever had with Phoebe, he finds it stunningly easy to let Kim’s nonsense wash over him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t recognize a majority of the names that fall from Kim’s lips; what matters is that Kim keeps up this chatter all while receiving their keys from a ship’s steward and guiding Will down this corridor and that until they were alone in front of a closed door. 

“Would you like to do the honors?” Kim presses the key into Will’s hand. 

Will coughs he hadn’t spoken other than making vaguely agreeable noises in Kim’s direction during his monologue. “You don’t want to see if you can pick it?” 

Kim makes a show of turning out his pockets. “And me without a bit of wire to spare.” He gestures at the door, urging Will forward. 

The heavy key slides into the lock with a satisfying click; Will pushes the door open for Kim before stepping through himself. Just as promised, their trunks had already been delivered, set at the foot of two small beds which were separated by a small writing desk. They have a sofa, a set of armchairs, a rack to hang their clothing on. A small round window gives them a view of the dock, with the promise of seeing the sea once they leave port. 

Will double checks to make sure the door’s locked behind him before he exhales, letting all of the tension out of his body. 

He notes that Kim is watching him carefully from his where he stands between the beds. “I’m thrilled to do some redecorating later,” Kim says, running his fingers along the top of the writing desk. “I think the desk should be closer to the windows, to take advantage of natural light, don’t you think? Pity we’ll have to move the beds closer together to do it, though.” 

Will nods slowly, his mind calculating whether or not that would look suspicious to anyone who sees inside their room. 

“You look exhausted,” Kim says carefully. He steps up to Will and runs his hands over the lapels of Will’s jacket. “What would you say about a quick lie-down before the reception?” Kim’s deft hands are already pushing the jacket off of Will’s shoulders; Will shakes it off as it slides down his arms and lets it fall in a heap on the floor.

One thing turns into another and Will and Kim find themselves scrambling to get into their evening dress before the night’s reception. Despite the fact that Kim’s outfit and styling needs are exponentially more complex than Will’s, Kim’s still ready first. He somehow manages to look brilliantly put together while Will struggles with the cuffs of his shirt and gives up entirely on his tie. 

“Let me,” Kim says, standing in front of Will and taking the ends of the tie in hand. 

“You know, the tie was fine before you wanted to get me out of it,” Will grumbles, though there’s no heat in his words. 

“Psh.” Kim’s quick hands have the tie knotted and settled at Will’s collar almost supernaturally fast. Like he’s been shoving himself into fancy dress his whole life. “I’ll delight just as much in getting you out of it a second time, once we finish with the reception.” 

He steps back and straightens Will’s lapels before patting his chest lightly. “A job well done, if I say so myself. Now, let us see the sights this ship has to offer, shall we?”

There’s nothing to be done to avoid it, so Will allows himself to be manhandled out the door and out to the grand ballroom that will host the evening’s festivities. Will and Kim fall into step easily, and Will breathes a little easier the more it becomes clear that no one’s looking at them any longer than one would look at any pair of passing gentlemen at a social gathering. Maybe, Will thinks, this won’t be as disastrous as he’s been imagining it. 

In the ballroom, once they’ve acquired glasses of champagne, Kim acquiesces to Will’s silent request to stay in the back of the room—a request made by Will planting his feet squarely on the floor and refusing to budge when Kim kept tugging on his arm. 

“Fine,” Kim says, sounding a bit put out, but the smile playing at the corners of his lips tells Will otherwise. “I will simply have to narrate our cast of characters from here.” He launches into a long-winded introduction of all of the figures he knows in the room already, of which there are far more than Will is strictly comfortable with. 

“There’s Lizzie Nickerson,” he says, pointing out a pale blonde woman, a mess of curls spilling down over her shoulders, “once betrothed to the now very late Baron Sykes, who, if rumor holds true, was found in flagrante delicto with his very own valet, and then promptly expired on the spot upon discovery.” Will’s eyebrows creep up; he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be impressed or scandalized.

Kim’s series of identifications continues, pretending, much like Phoebe, that Will has any reason to recognize any of these names. There’s Posey Henderson, Griffith Thomas-Young, a Marquess de something-or-other, more young Lords and Ladies than Will could ever remember, and one handsome young man who makes Kim take in a sharp breath and turn away. “He can’t see me,” Kim says, angling himself to face away from the man. “I’ve absolutely forgotten his name, it’s something horribly Biblical, Emmanuel or Matthew or Sebastien, and he’ll never let me hear the end of it if he realizes I don’t remember anything about him other than his face.” Kim pauses and tilts his head to the side, considering. “Anything that I can repeat in polite company, that is.”

“You are absurd,” Will says fondly, allowing himself to become a shield to keep Emmanuel-or-whatnot from seeing Kim. “Anyone else I should be hiding you from?”

Kim lifts one hand up to obscure the side of his face. “Several very old women will probably come up to me throughout the night and lambast me for breaking Phoebe’s heart,” he admits. “I will have no idea who they are, but I will, of course, deserve the tongue-lashing. It’s best to just let it take its course. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to endure all of that.”

Will isn’t about to argue with Kim on that point; he still rather thinks that Phoebe will come around eventually, knowing how well she and Kim both felt their previous arrangement suited them. But that was an argument they’ve already had four times since Phoebe had silently handed Kim back his ring, and Will didn’t think a fifth time would go any better. 

From the front of the room, there’s a smattering of applause, and when Will looks up, he sees two men in crisp black uniforms descending the staircase. They couldn’t look more opposite one another, which Will finds vaguely amusing. One man is shorter, stocky, fair-haired and with a ruddy complexion; the other looks like a racehorse come to life, tall and long-limbed, his long dark hair tumbling artfully across his brow and down over his ears. 

“Ah, the captains,” Kim says, gesturing at the men, and Will snorts. 

“I’d’ve guessed, yes,” he says. “You don’t just clap for any random gent coming into a room.” 

“Maybe spontaneous applause for your average gentleman is something that happens on passenger ships like this,” Kim teases. “How would you even know I’m lying?” 

Will snorts and elbows Kim lightly in the ribs. “I think I’ve got all your tells down now.” From the corner of his eye, Will sees a tiny smile tug at Kim’s lips. “Tell me about the captains, then. Which is the one you sweet-talked into getting us on the boat?” 

“The one on the right,” Kim says, and he inclines his head towards the taller of the two men. “Percy Bainbridge, late of the Royal Navy, did some heroic thing or other in the War, then promptly retired once he returned home. Pottered around a while before he, ah, fell into the same line of work that previously occupied my time. We crossed paths on a few jobs here and there. Smart fellow, a bit chatty, though.” 

At the foot of the stairs, Captain Bainbridge waves and smiles at the gathered passengers. His smile is all teeth, a little too pleased with the attention. He mouths little hellos and how do you dos at passengers who he appears to recognize. Navy man or not, Will finds something about his over-the-top charm off-putting. Will fixes his face into something that he hopes passes for neutral, but is rather certain it’s more of a grimace despite his best efforts. Bainbridge carries himself exactly like every smug commanding officer Will’d had in Flanders who kept telling them they were fighting for glory while leading them straight up to death’s door. 

“Is he still, you know—” 

Kim lifts his shoulders. “Classified, I’m sure. Truly, I’ve no idea. It’s been ages since we’ve crossed paths.” 

“And the other?” Will fixes his gaze on the other captain, who simply offers curt nods to some of the passengers, one arm folded behind his back, the other at his side, fingers curled into a loose fist.

“Also Royal Navy, got out around the same time as Percy. Owen Murray, quiet fellow. Never a bad word about him as a sailor, but then again, no one ever has anything useful to say about him otherwise. Dropped off the face of the earth, or near enough, for a few years, then he turned up working cargo ships out of Dublin Port. Percy got him on here for a change of pace. A bit easier than freight, at least.” Kim pauses to watch while Bainbridge and Murray lean close to have words with one another. 

“Is he one of—well, not you, not you now, but—” Will fumbles for words, trying to find a nice way to describe Kim’s ex-occupation. “Was he also, ah, a former colleague?”

Kim shakes his head. “No, no. Or if he was, I certainly never knew. I’ve never met him, but Percy chattered about him constantly. That type of work doesn’t seem like it would suit him.” He pauses, then looks between Murray and Will. “From what I know, you and he are rather alike, come to think of it.” 

“Trapped on this ship against his will?” 

“Tut-tut, Will, come now.” Kim nudges Will with his shoulder. “I was going to say stubborn, but whatever suits you, I suppose. Look, now, they’re going to grace us with wise, sea-faring words, and then we’ll be free to get very drunk.” 

Will can’t argue with that sort of sentiment. At the foot of the stairs, Captain Bainbridge is holding up his hands for silence. He looks like a carnival showman ready to reveal his next trick. Will still dislikes him immensely. 

“Please, please, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. Slowly, the noise dies down, and Bainbridge smiles. “Thank you, thank you. I’m so pleased to welcome you to the Brittania, where we will all spend a few pleasant days together en route to sunny Spain.” He sounds exactly like Kim does when he’s talking to his society friends, that plummy, posh accent that always leaves Will feeling vaguely unsettled. “Between Captain Murray and myself, you’ll be in the best of hands as we set sail. Now, I’ve been told we’ve a whole bevvy of activities to keep you occupied. I’d like to ask our wonderful concierge, Mr. Stanley Wellington—” 

Will stops listening immediately once it’s clear that there’s nothing useful that’s going to come out of that man’s mouth. Instead, he scans the room, looking at faces to see if there’s anyone he recognizes. There are a handful of men who Will would peg as ex-military, what with their posture and the taut way they hold their bodies even at rest. A few faces that Kim had pointed out earlier who he’s probably crossed paths with at some fancy society thing he’d been dragged to. No one who Will served with, from what he can tell, neither among the passengers nor the crew members circulating with trays of champagne. 

Another round of applause draws Will’s attention back to the present. The concierge shakes hands with Bainbridge, having finished his explanation of the ship’s amenities, and then disappears back into the crowd. 

“Now, we’ll allow Captain Murray to close out the formal part of our gathering.” Bainbridge nods at his fellow captain, who looks—well, Will knows that face, the pinched brow, the tight jaw. It’s the face of a man who has to do something that he absolutely doesn’t want to do. 

Murray scowls at Bainbridge, who flashes him an encouraging smile. “Welcome to the Brittania,” he says. “If you have any difficulties, bother Captain Bainbridge with them, not me.” Murray’s words have a gruff Irish lilt to them and he looks terribly put-upon to have to spend time addressing the passengers when he could be doing whatever it is that captains of passenger boats do these days. 

Bainbridge beams and claps Murray on the shoulder, as if getting him to speak two sentences to the assembled crowd was actually a great achievement. “Most excellent,” he begins, and Will gets the feeling that he’s gearing up for another monologue, which he has no desire to listen to. 

“Come on,” he says, setting his hand just above Kim’s elbow. “Let’s get another drink and then disappear.” 

Kim casts one last look back towards his—friend? Coworker? Will doesn’t quite know and doesn’t feel any interest in examining it right now—and then turns back to Will, flashing his own brilliant grin. “Let’s,” he says, leaning into Will’s touch for just a moment. 

Will had counted on several things before stepping foot on the Brittania.

First, that he would feel utterly out of place among the set who took holidays to Spain.

Second, that he would have no idea what to do with the sudden amount of free time he had. 

And third, that he thought that having to look at Kim in formal dress so often but having to wait to get him out of the formal dress was, quite honestly, just abject cruelty. 

One thing he did not count on, however, was Kim getting seasick as soon as the boat hit open waters. 

“I thought you said you’d been on a boat like this before,” Will complains to a closed door. He kicks the door lightly, rattling it in its frame. 

“I have,” comes a weak voice from the other side. “They just didn’t—” He pauses and groans forlornly. “They didn’t sail.” 

Will leans his forehead against the door. “You mean to tell me all of your sailing experience was on docked boats yet you insisted on going on a holiday that involves the open sea?”

“Don’t be mean,” Kim moans. “There was all the champagne, and then, well, how was I supposed to know that I’d—oh, God—” His voice trails off as he retches. Will flinches away from the door and the terrible sounds coming from the other side of it. 

Will steps back and leans up against the wall opposite the loo. It’s a long few minutes of pretending not to hear Kim’s insides staging a revolt against him, but eventually Will hears the sound of splashing water, followed by the click of a lock.

The door swings open, revealing Kim sitting on the floor. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then slumps against the wall, his head making a dull thud when he makes contact. His collar’s open, shirtsleeves messily pushed up, jacket crumpled in a heap in the corner. Kim’s lost all color, deathly pale against the stark white of his shirt, and his hair hangs limply in his eyes. Will’s never seen Kim look more disheveled, at least, not in a context that wasn’t entirely intentional, and it feels like Will’s seeing something too private, even for his eyes. 

“You look wretched,” Will says.

Kim cracks one eye open and glares as strongly as one can with only one eye open. “I said, don’t be mean.” 

Will sighs and relents. “Can I get you anything?” He leans in and brushes Kim’s hair back, pushing sweaty strands back into place. “Water? Nick some bread from somewhere for you?”

Kim’s stomach makes an unpleasant gurgle. “Absolutely not.” He leans into Will’s hand. “Just leave me here to die, it’s fine.” 

“Well, then, if that’s the case, I’ll make sure to send your regards on to your friends,” Will says with a chuckle. “If you need anything burned back home before someone comes in to divvy up all your belongings, just say the word and I’ll take care of it.” 

“You’re a star.” Kim smiles weakly, then starts inching his way forward, back towards the toilet. “Now leave. I’d prefer your last memory of me not be—” He waves a shaking hand in front of him. 

Will has learned over time which battles he wants to fight with Kim, and sitting around to make sure Kim doesn’t asphyxiate on his own vomit is frankly not a battle Will wants to fight. “I’ll go take a walk around the deck.” He ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of Kim’s head before he can lodge a protest. “Maybe when I’m back, you’ll be settled? It passes, for most people, in a few hours.” 

Kim frowns. “When you come back, I will have shuffled off this mortal coil, I’m certain.” 

“Well.” Will slides his fingers through Kim’s hair one last time, pushing it back from his face. “As long as you’re sure.” 

“If you don’t leave now, I’m going to ruin your shoes.” Kim casts a pointed look up at Will, who takes a very big step back. “Don’t get into any trouble without me.” 

Once Will’s backed himself out of the room, Kim nudges the door shut. The lock clicks back into place and Will realizes that he’s going to be at loose ends for as long as it takes for Kim to emerge from hiding. There aren’t many options for entertainment at this hour, Will is pretty certain, so he decides to go up top and at least get some fresh air. People-watch. Normal activities for a normal man on a normal boat holiday, he’s sure of it. 

What he’d really like to be doing, though, is sitting with Kim. Even if some scrap of Kim’s modesty meant they could only talk through a closed door, Will would rather be there. He knows he doesn’t have much that he can provide Kim with; it’s not like Kim has any want for money or material goods, and even if he did, what Will could provide would be half-rate at best. All Will ever has to offer Kim is himself: his strength, when that’s needed; his body, when it’s pleasure they’re both after. The least he could do would be sit with Kim and keep him company while he feels ill, but Kim wants to weather this, too, on his own, leaving Will adrift once more. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Will doesn’t notice a man heading towards him in the corridor until they collide. The man’s a good bit smaller than Will, and his shoulder catches him right in the ribs. Will wheezes and bites back on several colorful curses as he stumbles. 

“Alright there, mate?” the man calls, pausing for a moment to cast a look back at Will. He’s slight, all harsh angles and a severe jaw hiding behind a patchy ginger beard. Like he hasn’t had a good meal in a while, Will thinks. The man’s trying to hide it with a too-big overcoat, and by the way he bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for Will’s response, he’s full of far too much nervous energy. Will feels tired just looking at him. “In a bit of a hurry, I am.” 

Will does not care at all about why this wiry little man is running across the ship. He does care about not getting nearly tackled when all he wants is a quiet stroll. He offers the man a dismissive wave of the hand. “Just watch where you’re going next time, all right?”

The man grins, and there’s something unsettling about it, like it’s a gesture he doesn’t make too often in a meaningful way. “Had to run an errand for the missus, in a hurry to get back before she decides she’d rather go to sleep. You know how it is.” He winks, and it takes everything Will has to avoid sneering at him.

Will decidedly does not know how it is, but he’s not interested in hearing more. He presses a hand against his ribs, which are going to be sure to ache tomorrow. “Like I said, just be more careful.” 

“You’ve got it,” he says. The man knuckles his fingers to his forehead, offering a truly terrible salute to Will before turning on his heel and hustling away.

Will sighs. He just wanted a nice, quiet night, with no one talking to him, while he waited an appropriate length of time to return to his room. Now his ribs ached, he was annoyed, and Kim was going to be emptying the contents of his stomach for quite some time still and would be in no mood to hear Will’s complaints.

Maybe they were still passing out champagne at the bar. That wouldn’t solve everything, but it was better than stewing in his annoyance all evening. Will cast one last look down the hallway at the strange man’s retreating form before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading in the direction of the bar.

The next morning, Will is nursing a slight hangover and Kim has already complained repeatedly about the fact that he still feels rather like he was struck down by an automobile, but they make it to breakfast reasonably on time. They’re both getting settled at the table as the concierge, Wellington, walks to the front of the room and rings a small bell to get everyone’s attention.

“I hope he’s going to announce that they’ve found a way to keep the boat from moving quite so much,” Kim whispers. He still looks a bit green, which Will is not too proud to admit that he takes a small amount of satisfaction in. 

Will looks at Kim over the top of his cup of tea. “Maybe we’re diverting course and going even further out to sea.” 

“You’re a horrid man.” Kim nudges Will with his shoulder; Will hides his smile in his tea. “Just for that, I’m going to make you go to another social function on the ship.” 

Before Will can register his disgust, Wellington speaks up. “Ladies and gentlemen, I dearly hope you’re enjoying your morning meal. I do have some updates on this afternoon’s entertainment, but first, I would ask all of you to please keep a watch out for a diamond necklace. Mrs. Collins has misplaced it, and it is very dear to her.” Wellington indicates a sour looking woman sitting a few tables away from Kim and Will. At Wellington’s introduction, she wraps her pashmina tighter around her shoulders and scowls down at her uneaten breakfast. “A reward, of course, will be offered for any information which assists in the location of Mrs. Collins’ treasured possession. That said—”

Will looks over at Kim, prepared to make a joke about Mrs. Collins’ inability to keep track of her very expensive possessions, but he pauses when he catches a look at Kim’s face. He’s wearing an expression that Will knows well as the face he takes on when he’s trying to solve a stubborn problem. 

“Kim,” Will hisses. “What’s that look for?”

Kim pointedly looks down at his breakfast, delicately shifting the food around on the plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, mostly to the uneaten sausage in front of him.

“You absolutely do.” Will nudges Kim’s side with his elbow. “What are you thinking about?”

Kim looks around, clearly gauging how many people were within earshot, and then leans closer to Will. “Why, nothing other than getting you back to the cabin as soon as breakfast is over.”

A distressed noise escapes Will’s throat, but he shakes it off. “No,” he says, then pauses, because he knows Kim. “Well, yes. But also no.” Will stabs a bit of sausage on Kim’s plate and transfers it to his own. “You want to find the necklace.” 

“Me?” Kim presses a hand to his chest. “I would never suggest such a caper.” He tries to look offended, but mostly just flutters his lashes. “Why would I do such a thing? I don’t need the reward. I can buy my own jewels, thank you very much. There’s no need to go skulking about a ship in search of a needle in a haystack.” 

“It’s not about the reward,” Will points out. “It’s about the fact that you’re very bored.” 

“And I can think of dozens of different ways to alleviate that which do not involve sleuthing. But.” Kim pauses, fork raised mid-air. 

“Kim, no.” 

“But. If I did, perhaps, happen to ask a few questions of our fellow passengers while passing through the various social events…” 

Will ponders the viability of flinging himself overboard. 

“I’m merely pointing out that we—”

“We?”

“We could simply ask a few questions simply to ensure that if we do see Mrs. Collins’ lost necklace, that we will know that that is indeed what we are looking at.”

“I thought we were going to try to blend in, Kim.”

“And we will!” Kim picks up a slice of toast, looking very satisfied, even though Will hasn’t agreed to anything yet. “Just after we ask a few questions.” 

Will presses his fingers to his temple and sighs. “Fine,” he says, and Kim laughs in delight. “Just promise me you’re not going to get all you about it.” 

“I’ve no idea what on earth you mean,” Kim says, like a liar. “Now, could you pass the salt?”

After the dishes from breakfast are cleared away, Kim and Will remain at their table. While they sip slowly at their tea, Kim scans the room. He looks casual, at worst like he’s trying to find a friend in a crowd, which would be unexceptional here. Despite the relaxed air he’s putting on, Will knows that, for Kim, this isn’t just a curious glance around the room. This is the first stop in putting a particularly tricky puzzle together. 

“Anyone catch your eye?” Kim asks.

“Me? You’re the—you know.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You have astounding instincts. Shall I ask again?”

Will takes another look around the room and then exhales. “I thought about the crew first. Handful of ex-soldiers, looks like. Not as down on their luck as some of the boys back home, but they’re still here.” Will tracks one of the workers as he makes his way through the room, picking up abandoned, half-eaten plates of food. He wears the same plastered-on smile as all of the rest of the workers, but there’s something weary and hard in his eyes. It’s a look Will recognizes. It’s a look he used to wear with much more regularity before he settled into his life as a bookseller. “There are worse jobs a man could find himself with. You wouldn’t risk losing a position like this on jewels that everyone now knows have been stolen.” 

Kim makes an appreciative noise. “So a passenger, then?” 

“Mm-hm. As you said, you can afford your own jewels. So can most of the other people on this boat. I don’t know, are there any rumors of someone in a tight spot? Or is there anyone who doesn’t fit in with your usual lot? Who looks like they’re pretending?”  Many of the passengers had already left the dining room, but a handful remained, including Mrs. Collins herself, who had amassed quite a queue of well-wishers at her table. “Or maybe someone who wanted to hurt Mrs. Collins specifically.” 

Kim’s quiet for far too long, and Will worries that he’s said something stupid. But when he turns back towards Kim, the look on Kim’s face is one of delight. He looks rather like he’s just seen an unexpected shooting star, or perhaps a very rare piece of art. 

“What’s that face for?” 

“You,” Kim says, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

Will shakes his head, waving off the praise. “Please,” he says. “It’s just observations. Tell me who catches your eye.”

Kim taps his fingers against his nearly-empty cup and his eyes narrow as he scans the room. His gaze keeps turning back to the men and women waiting to talk to Mrs. Collins, when he finally speaks. “The ginger man there, waiting his turn to speak.” He gestures with his teacup. “There’s something I don’t like about him.”

Will’s nearly ready to tease Kim for relying on hunches, when two thoughts strike him.

First, Kim’s hunches have usually been correct, even if he hasn’t gone about confirming the hunch in the most efficient way. 

Second, Will’s seen that ginger man before. 

He’s slight, wrapped in a suit jacket that’s at least a size too big for his frame. The man’s all angles, Will thinks: all elbows and shoulders, sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. And the last time Will saw him, the man was retreating down a hallway after nearly knocking Will down. 

“I came across him last night, you know,” Will starts. “When I left the room while you were—”

“Yes, yes, we don’t need to recount that part.” 

“In an absolute bloody hurry, he was. Bowled right into me, not even a sorry, now that I think of it.” Will retells the story of their encounter; Kim watches the man the whole while. By the time Will’s done talking, the man’s finally made it up to Mrs. Collins. He leans in close to speak to her, one hand on her forearm as they converse.

“Too casual,” Kim remarks, cutting off Will in the middle of his story. “I don’t like it. Where did you say he was coming from?”

“I’d stepped out of our room and was headed towards the stairs, to go up top.” Will moves around some of the utensils left over from breakfast service, creating a makeshift map on the table. A knife and fork stand in for the length of the hallway, a salt shaker to represent Kim and Will’s cabin, napkin rings to indicate Will and the shifty ginger man. “I didn’t see him come out of a room, don’t remember hearing any doors open or close. Just ran right into me, like he’d appeared out of nowhere, then kept right on going past me.”

“From around the corner, then,” Kim says, dragging his finger up perpendicular from the end of the fork, indicating the turn in the corridor. “Unless he’s especially sneaky.” 

Somehow, Will doubted it. 

“Do we know where Mrs. Collins’ berth is?” Will shakes his head. “Hm.” Kim taps his finger at the end of that imaginary corridor, where the man could have possibly been coming from. He’s silent for a while—long enough that Will knows it means he’s getting an idea, and that Will isn’t particularly going to like it.

“Stay here, if you like,” Kim says, rising abruptly from his chair and straightening his lapels. “I need to go speak with Mrs. Collins.” 

Will doesn’t even have time to object before Kim saunters off, making a beeline for the dwindling queue of passengers waiting to speak with the woman.  

As Will watches, Kim and the ginger man cross paths; the smile the man directs at Kim doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Like the smile Will gives an especially difficult customer at the shop when they’ve finally concluded their purchase and Will is hoping desperately that they leave so he can enjoy the quiet again. 

The man continues towards the exit, hands jammed in his pockets and walking with the same hurried, purposeful stride with which he bumped right into Will previously. When he catches sight of Will, he slows for just a second, a hitch in his step, as they lock eyes. 

There’s something cold, a little dead, in those eyes, and Will barely avoids shuddering. 

Will blinks, and the moment is broken; the man resumes walking, not a single acknowledgement of what had happened. 

“I think we should start questioning our fellow passengers,” Kim says as soon as the door to their cabin is shut. 

Will pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why? If you have suspicions, why not take them to that concierge chap? Or to your Captain friend.”

Kim claps Will on the back lightly. “It’s like you’ve never worked a caper like this with me before.” He slides his arm around Will’s shoulders then, pulling him close. “I think we both have the same hunch here, but I’d love to see if anyone else has noticed something afoot before I start involving other people.”

Displaying an enormous amount of restraint, Will does not mention that this is exactly what turned the entire mess with Capricorn into something that ended with a coroner’s inquest and a broken engagement. 

“We don’t have to get involved with this, Kim.” Will steps out from under Kim’s arm and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t even have to reach for Kim to draw him near; Kim comes of his own volition, stands between Will’s spread legs. As he talks, Will picks up Kim’s hands, keeping him in place. “We’re not the police. You’re not Private Bureau anymore. I’m just a man with a bookshop, and last week, you were organizing all of the books about needlepoint, for God’s sake. This isn’t our problem.” 

Kim sighs and lifts their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to Will’s curled fingers. “No one else is doing anything about this, and we both agree that little man is very suspicious, do we not?” 

Will feels his resolve weakening with every press of Kim’s lips against his skin: his scarred knuckles, where his thumb meets wrist, the soft skin hiding underneath the cuffs of Will’s shirt. 

“I need to feel like I’ve done something good for once, Will,” Kim admits. “Everything lately—other than you, you’re magnificent—has been a string of errors and missteps and hiding in the shadows, and just this once, I’d like to feel as though I helped without causing a catastrophe.”

Since they started trying to be something a little less destructive to each other, all Will had ever asked for from Kim has been honesty, and so when Kim lays himself bare like this, Will’s helpless to say no. “Okay, Kim. Let’s find those jewels.” 

They have a plan for dinner: Kim will circulate the room after the meal, striking up conversations. Idle chit chat, if you’re not particularly observant, but if you’re Kim, all of the questions are driving at a specific set of facts. Will, out of his element when asked to socialize in general, and even more so at making small talk in particular, will merely talk with the other people at their shared table. Despite Will’s reservations about this whole escapade, he knows that staying at their table is the best way for him to remain inconspicuous. 

In the dining room, a glass of red wine in one hand, Kim looks like a natural as he circulates. He’s all smiles and charm as he tips his head back and laughs as the ladies at a table across the room all fawn over him. Will doesn’t know how he does it. Even knowing all that lurks beneath the surface for Kim, knowing that he’s not wholly the frivolous society man he portrays himself as, Will still finds himself in awe of how easily this world opens up for Kim. 

Will has a job of his own to do, though, so he pulls his attention away from Kim to survey the people remaining at their table. There’s a trio of young women, all dressed fashionably in a way Will wished he’d ever be able to accurately describe to Maisie, with their hair styled all in the same dark bob. They chatter amongst themselves, finishing each other's sentences. When they laugh, they all do it in unison, the same breathy giggle erupting from each woman. Will can’t decide if they’re sisters or a group of friends taking a holiday or something else, but he is fairly certain that they’re not the jewel thieves. 

There’s an elderly couple across from him, both clad in furs and jewels of their own. Will squints at the woman’s necklace, but it’s sapphires, not diamonds, not that he thought the thief would be so brazen as to wear the jewels so publicly. He couldn’t imagine these people, both slowly sipping at cups of tea, like they’ve nothing else pressing to do before the boat docks in Spain, as thieves.

One other person remains at the table, a man who looks to be around Will’s age. Unlike their other dinner companions, this man had been alone the whole evening, making him somewhat of a rarity on the ship. Hardly said a word, too, not even in the face of Kim’s natural talent for keeping a conversation going.

Now, the man keeps his eyes trained on the tablecloth in front of him, his hands clasped tightly together on the tabletop. Despite the somewhat hangdog look on his face, his posture is impeccable: back straight, shoulders square, body sat squarely in his seat. All through dinner, he had moved with a neat sort of precision, an economy of movement that spoke to years of needing to be as efficient as possible. It was something Will understood all too well.

Well, Will thinks, there’s no better place to start than with him. 

“What brings you on board?” Will asks without preamble. 

The man looks up and glances around, trying to see who else could be being addressed. 

“Friend of mine’s had a rough patch,” Will continues, once he’s got the man’s attention. “Thought we’d have a holiday, get his mind off things. What about you?”

The man is silent for a moment, then clears his throat. “Mate of mine left for Spain after the War.” His voice is deep, rough around the edges. “Kept in touch and since I don’t have anything else going on, thought I’d finally take off for a bit and go see what that sort of life’s like.” 

“Nice to imagine something different, isn’t it?” Will asks. “It took me a bit after I got home in ‘19 to find my footing. Down to my last shilling, wondering where the next meal was coming from, more times than I’d care to admit. Life got better, but I’m not stupid. I know I’m one of the lucky ones.” The man stares openly at Will now, looking as if he’s trying to place him from a ship or a trench or a battlefield somewhere. “Getting away from it all for a while? Can’t say I blame you.”

“Where were you at?” the man asks, bypassing Will’s entire line of conversation. 

That was fine, though; Will can go down this path better than most other conversational options that would come up, somewhere like this. While Will didn’t always like to think about what the war turned him into—a man with a body count that he forced himself to remember on the daily—he could still easily slip into conversation with a fellow soldier.

“Flanders.”  The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise before he nods in recognition; being there—and the fact that he made it back—wasn’t a thing Will ever found he had to elaborate on to another military man. “You?”

“Gallipoli, mostly. Royal Marines.” The man presses absently at his ribs. “Didn’t last long. Got shot, that was the end of that.” 

“But at least you went at all, right?” Will offers the man a knowing smile, the same look he turns on other soldiers who want to talk about the double-edged sword of their sacrifices: the terrible nobility of it all, the very idea of giving up your life for the greater good, crossed with the bitter disappointment of coming home and being immediately forgotten by the country you’d been prepared to lay down your life for. 

The man lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Would have preferred an honest day’s work at the end of it instead of another couple medals you have to—”

“Pawn to be able to eat, right?”

He nods vigorously, then sticks his hand out to Will. “Frederick Lloyd,” he says as they clasp hands. 

“Pleasure to meet someone else who’s been through it.” Will introduces himself in response, and it’s easy to forget himself for a moment, to think that he’s back with an old war buddy in London. But he’s got a job to do, he promised Kim he’d at least try, and Frederick here is his most viable option. 

“You know, I thought this would be a nice, relaxing trip, but did you hear at breakfast what happened with that one woman’s jewelry?” 

Frederick’s jaw clenches and his eyes cut away from Will’s face to a spot somewhere past Will’s left shoulder. Interesting. “No. Was there an incident?” Frederick’s voice is pinched now, not nearly as casual as he was just a few moments ago. 

Will puts on what he hopes is a mournful expression. “There was a robbery last night, some sort of necklace, I think. Like robbing your own granny, it’d be, to take something from an old woman who just wanted to go on holiday.” 

Frederick’s fingers fidget with the table linen, rucking it up before smoothing it back down. “A real shame, that.” He clearly tries to force his expression back to something neutral and is only mildly successful. “People can’t have nothing nice anymore.” 

“Whoever did it must be incredibly—” 

“Brave?” Frederick interrupts. As he says it, his eyes twitch back at that spot over Will’s shoulder. Once could have been nothing, a nervous tic, but twice means there’s something or someone back there who’s caught Frederick’s attention. Will absolutely needs to know what’s there. 

Will lifts his hands up. “I was going to say stupid, but I suppose you could put it that way.” 

Catching sight of his near-empty wine glass, Will suddenly realizes how he can gracefully make an exit from the table. He lifts the glass, drains the rest, and then stands. “I think I’ll head back to the bar. Do you need anything?”

“Oh, no, no,” Frederick stammers out. “In fact, I should probably be on my way. Nice to meet a fellow vet here, Darling.” He stands abruptly; when he does, Will realizes Frederick is even taller than Will himself, and broader, too. He sticks out his hand for Will to shake once again; his eyes never quite meet Will’s though, as he keeps scanning the room instead. 

“Hope we cross paths again.” Will shakes Frederick’s hand briefly before they part. As Frederick steps away, he makes eye contact with someone and offers the tiniest inclination of his head before heading for the exit.

Will makes himself count to five before he turns to ostensibly go back to the bar, but mostly to see who had caught Frederick’s attention, and truly, it’s a very good thing that he has years of practice of trying to keep his feelings off of his face. 

Leaning up against the bar is Kim, of course, all smiles and casual charm as he gestures at something with his wine glass. He’s engaged in conversation with that same man who’d nearly knocked Will over the night before. Standing right in the spot that Frederick had been staring so intently at. 

Will must have lingered for too long, or moved too quickly when he turned, because Kim turns to look at him; when he’s spotted, he’s graced with an easy smile from Kim.

“Ah, Will! Come, join us.” He beckons to him with his free hand, and Will is powerless to do anything other than step forward, towards Kim and that suspicious looking man. 

When Will’s within arm’s length, Kim reaches for him, settling one hand on his shoulder. His hand curls a little tighter than necessary, almost as if he’s imploring Will to stay right there with him. 

Like Will could be moved from that spot by anything in this world.

“This is my new friend, Mr. Edmund Chapman.” Kim waves his wine glass in the direction of the ginger man across from him. “He’s off to meet an old friend from the war in Spain, see what life is like there. Maybe settle in for a change of pace, isn’t that right?” 

It takes every bit of composure Will has to not let his eyebrows inch up on his face at the familiar beginnings of this story. “Ah, you served?” 

“Aye, sir,” Edmund says. “Royal Marines, did a couple years that ended when I got shot by a sniper in Gallipoli. Went straight through me, it did. Lodged somewhere in my guts.” He presses one hand to his upper arm, then moves it to his side, indicating the path of the bullet. “Could have killed me, but the good Lord above must have been watching out for me. Back on my feet again right quick, but got sent home anyway. Could’ve been worse.” As Edmund speaks, Kim’s fingers dig into Will’s shoulder. Will couldn’t say for certain, but he would bet that Kim finds something suspicious about this, too. 

“Could have, too right,” Will agrees. 

Edmund tilts his head then as he looks at Will. “Were you there too with us in Gallipoli? Only it’s that you look awful familiar.” A flicker of a smile crosses his face, a knowing, sly little expression that makes Will want to shiver.

“Not in Gallipoli,” Will says. He nearly comes out with his own war story, but something tells him not to give that to this man. “France, mostly. Hell of a time on the Somme, you know.” 

Edmund gives a low whistle. “Hell of a time. Shame we didn’t cross paths, then. You seem like you would’ve been good in a trench.”

Will smiles tightly. “I suppose I just have one of those faces.” 

“You do, Will, it’s true.” Kim finally lets go of Will’s shoulder to take the empty wine glass from Will’s hand. “Well,” he starts as he turns to the bar, setting down the empty glasses and pushing them away. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, but I’m afraid Will and I agreed to a game of cards with some friends, and we’ll be nearly late if we don’t start heading that way.” 

Edmund doesn’t look too troubled to have the conversation end. “Well, see you around then,” he says with a little wave that Will only barely sees as Kim starts to usher him towards the exit. 

“Keep walking,” Kim says under his breath. “I’ll explain as soon as we’re up top.” 

Will’s not going to argue; he just matches his strides with Kim’s. They walk in silence out of the dining hall and up the stairs that lead to the deck. Some of the tension gradually leaves Kim’s body—or is forced out by sheer determination—the further they get from the dining room. By the time they’re on the deck, Kim is all smiles again, his arm casually threaded through Will’s. Kim manages to make it look natural, like something best friends do, rather than something that would cast suspicion on them. Still, Will remains silent as Kim steers them to the very back of the boat, where they both lean up against the railing and look out at the open sea. 

“What did you think?” Kim asks in hushed tones.

“Well, first thing, I’ve heard that Gallipoli story before,” Will says instantly.

“Me as well.” Kim drums his fingers against the railing. 

Will doesn’t dare cover Kim’s hands with his own, but he does nudge him with his smallest finger. “You talked to Frederick Lloyd, too?” Will was a little disappointed, really, to know that his one lead of the evening had already been discovered by Kim.

Kim’s fingers stop drumming. “Should I know who that is? No, the Gallipoli story is Percy Bainbridge’s.” 

That stops Will short. “Wait. What?”

“Well, Percy wasn’t at Gallipoli, that bit must have been borrowed from else. But the shot from a sniper, that’s Percy’s. Involved in some offensive something-or-other, I don’t know, but he tells the story to anyone who sits still long enough. I swear I spent three days working with him once and heard that story six different times. Almost killed him, but he insisted on going back out as soon as he was healed up.” Kim clutches tight at the railing. “Got a bunch of medals for it and served right up until the end, same as you. And now, here is Edmund Chapman, on Percy’s boat, with a story about that exact same gunshot wound?” 

“The man I was talking to after dinner, the Lloyd fellow. He had the exact same story. Not quite the same dramatic flair as Chapman there, but still: Gallipoli, gunshot, got sent home.” Will casts a brief glance at Kim. “I didn’t think anything of it; he carries himself like a soldier who took the war back home with him, you know?”

Kim nods. “Yes, I know that look well.” He lets his hand come to rest on top of Will’s for just a second before returning it to the railing. 

“So a real soldier, probably, but pawning off a, what, third-hand story as his own? And what’s more, he kept looking past me the whole time we talked, then made a quick exit all of a sudden after I offered to go up to the bar to refresh our drinks.” 

Kim stays silent for a while, his fingers resuming their anxious beat against the railing. “Let me guess,” he says. “He was looking right at Chapman.” 

“Well, he didn’t seem the type to be taken by you,” Will says, prompting a tiny smile from Kim, “and there was no one else between us and you two, so.”

“So.” 

“Lloyd got cagey, too, when I asked him if he’d heard about the necklace. Called the thief brave. Walked right into it, no hesitation on that one.” 

“Hm.” Kim’s anxious tapping extends to his foot now, toes tapping against the deck. He’s quiet for a long while, mulling things over in his head. Will is smart enough to leave well enough alone; Kim will share his next thought as soon as it’s fully formed. 

“Well.” Kim stands up abruptly, stepping away from the railing. “I think it’s time I get a message to Percy. We’re going to have a chat with the captains.” 

“My esteemed guests, may I have your attention please before we begin breakfast service?” Wellington stands once more at the front of the dining room, a small bell gripped tight in his hand. The room slowly grows quiet until there’s only the clicking of spoons swirling around in teacups. “I hope you had a most restful evening, and that you are prepared for more delightful activities during today’s sail. I would ask you all to be so kind to keep an eye out for a splendid pocket watch, or a pair of gold cufflinks, or a woman’s diamond ring. I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Addington have had some items go missing on their journey and we’d so like to be able to return them before we make port.”

Will and Kim exchange glances. “Shit,” Will mutters under his breath. It looks like the theft from Mrs. Collins’ room was just the beginning. 

“Well.” Kim lifts his napkin to his mouth, politely dabs at the corners. “It certainly is a good thing that we have a meeting with the Captains after this.” 

The rest of breakfast passes in a blur. Will barely tastes the food spread out in front of him but he eats anyway, more out of sheer muscle memory than anything else. 

The trio of young women from dinner are back at their table, but the rest of the occupants have changed. No Frederick Lloyd, not at the table or, in fact, anywhere else in the dining room. 

“Do you know who I haven’t seen this morning?” Will asks, as casual as you please. He doesn’t feel the need to be secretive about it; any man can ask after a new acquaintance he’s made on holiday, after all. 

Kim surveys the room, then huffs out a little laugh. “Our friend Mr. Chapman.”

“Or Mr. Lloyd,” Will adds. 

“Curious. I do so hope they haven’t gotten into any trouble since we last spoke.” And that’s that—Kim turns to the woman sitting next to him and strikes up a conversation about the pattern on the wrap she has bundled over her shoulders. Will can’t even pretend to fit in that world, so he just picks at his breakfast and waits for the meal to be over.

Kim leads Will to a door tucked away on the main deck, so nondescript that the only way you’d know it houses the officers of the ship is by the gold anchor that serves as a door knocker. Kim knocks once and the door swings open almost immediately. 

Percy Bainbridge stands on the other side, looking less like a sea captain and more like a fellow who worked at a library or, hell, sold books. Out of the dress uniform he appears at meals in, he’s in a worn knit jumper, looking for all the world like he’s one of the wealthy passengers who just happened to wander into the captains’ quarters. 

“You don’t even send a letter to say hello, Kim, and now you show up on my ship like this? Has anyone ever told you that your manners are atrocious?” Kim at least has the grace to look chagrined; Will has the sense to not agree with Percy out loud. “Owen and I were very curious about your message. Please, come along.” 

Kim steps through the doorway first, falling into step alongside Percy. Will takes a moment longer, feeling the squish of his shoes into the plush carpeting, taking note of the artwork and elegance of what he suspected was not standard decor for captains’ quarters. 

Up ahead of Will, Kim and Percy keep up an easy patter of conversation, like two old friends catching up. He only catches bits and pieces of it, but it’s all half-finished sentences and names that Will thinks he’d recognize more if he read any of Maisie’s society magazines. 

Looking between them, it’s almost like Will’s seeing a different version of Kim. Older, more world-weary. Went to war and came back home, even if he likely left too many of his men to lie at rest on sandy beaches or deep beneath the water. They have that same cultured laugh, a smile that lights up their faces, the same infuriatingly posh way of speaking. One Kim, Will knows, is more than enough; the fact that there are essentially two of them on this ship would honestly be a recipe for trouble, if they weren’t already knee-deep in it with this mess with the jewel theft. 

Percy stops in front of a door, which he raps with his knuckles. He doesn’t wait for an answer from inside before he opens it and ushers Kim and Will into the meeting room. If the ostentatious hallway matches Percy, then this room matches Owen perfectly. The meeting room is plain, but lived in, overflowing with bookshelves, scuffed-up armchairs, and a massive table at the center of the room. There are maps spread out, battered books lining the shelves, discarded tea cups littered on every possible surface, paintings of warships dotting the walls. Will doesn’t need to ask to guess that they’re probably the ships that the captains served on during the war. 

At the head of the table, Owen Murray sits, scribbling notes on the margins of one of the maps. “Sit,” he says, not bothering to look up from the map. 

Will casts an awkward glance at Kim, who merely lifts his shoulders before pulling a chair out to sit. Seems like they aren’t exactly being given an option, so Will follows suit. 

“Honestly, Owen, not even a proper hello to our guests,” Percy chides. He slips behind Owen’s chair to get to the other side of the table, hands resting briefly on Owen’s shoulder as he passes by. 

At this, finally, Owen puts his pen down and looks up. “Captain Bainbridge has told me all about you two,” he says. “You two and your little heist you think you’ve uncovered. So, out with it.” 

Will’s more than used to a brusque man in a position of authority; it was most of the commanding officers he’d ever had.  And, honestly, it was Will himself, any time he found himself in the unfortunate position of having to tell someone else what to do lest they all get themselves killed. He feels almost compelled to speak, and gets as far as opening his mouth before Kim pipes up. 

“You have a jewel thief, Captain,” Kim says plainly, “and we think we know who it is.” 

“Hm.” Owen arches an eyebrow. “You think, or you know?”

Kim is unfazed by Owen’s apparent criticism. “Well, we don’t have definitive proof, we’re still working on that. But the thief gets more brazen, and it is the obligation of my position to do whatever I can to stop him.” Kim sits up straighter as he speaks; Will, meanwhile, tries not to let out a little noise at the obligation of my position, given that Kim’s current position is, well, bookseller.

“You’ve worked with Captain Bainbridge before,” Owen says. It’s not a question. 

“On several occasions, yes.”

“This isn’t the kind of work your lot usually gets mixed up in.” Owen looks at Percy, not Kim, as he says it. Percy arches an eyebrow and inclines his head towards Will and Kim.

“It’s not official work as such,” Kim says smoothly. “We truly were just hoping for a holiday. But, well, I’ve certain skills, and Will too, here, and it’d be a shame to let more people get hurt just because I’m not on the clock, as it were. I take it you don’t have any men of the law on board, even off-duty?"

Percy shakes his head, then steps away from the table to prepare two cups of tea. “None on the payroll,” he says as he pours hot water into what are perhaps the last remaining clean teacups in the room. “We’ve never had need of it before. If there are any here as civilians, we’ve not been told.” 

He collects the teacups and turns back to the table. Owen doesn’t look back at Percy, just holds up his empty cup, which Percy takes away and replaces with the new one. It’s a move well-synchronized enough that Will knows they’ve done this exact same shuffle and dance around this cramped room probably hundreds of times before. Will didn’t exactly have friends out in the trenches, but there were men who he’d fought beside so often and so closely that they never needed to speak when they were in the thick of it. You learn very quickly how to navigate around another man when any moment could be the difference between life or death.

“What do you need from us?”

“Information,” Kim says simply, spreading his hands out, palms up, in front of him. “It is, of course, the main currency that men such as myself deal in.” He extends a hand towards the stack of maps and other papers in front of Owen; when no reprimand comes, he starts flipping through the corners of them, stopping on one that looks to be a diagram of a ship.

“Let’s say there’s another robbery. The next most logical thing for you and your officers to do is to start tossing rooms. The passengers will be upset at the intrusion, no doubt, but surely with a compassionate explanation, ah, well, they’ll realize you’re just trying to right a wrong. A momentary breach of privacy in order to set things to rights.” Kim pulls at the paper with his first finger and thumb, trying to wiggle it out of the pile. “A good thief, then, knows there is always the risk of a search.”

Percy laughs. “A good thief wouldn’t ply his trade on a boat, where he will eventually run out of places to hide.” 

Kim inclines his head towards Percy. “Which brings me to my question: if you wanted to hide something on this ship, somewhere less likely to be frequented by others, where would it be?” 

“Not quite as many spots as on a warship, I can tell you that much.” Owen lifts up the other papers, allowing Kim to remove the ship blueprint and replace it on the top of the pile. “Most of the room here is given to cabins for passengers. There are storage rooms and closets, yes, but—”

“They would be too easily discovered in a search,” Percy finishes. He stands up and moves to stand behind Owen, leaning over him to get a closer look at the map.  As he bends down, a lock of hair tumbles from behind his ear, swinging gently against Owen’s face; once again, without even looking, Owen reaches up and tucks it back into place. 

Will feels extraneous here, with Kim and Percy bonding over spycraft, and Percy and Owen having the type of comfort with one another that speaks of long hours at sea with only each other for company. Who is Will to even be here, on this boat surrounded by wealthy people, en route to a holiday he couldn’t have afforded even if he saved every penny he made from the bookshop for the rest of the year.  

“Will?” Kim’s voice—Kim’s hand laid gently across his forearm—brings him back to the present. 

He blinks rapidly, pulling himself out of the beginnings of a bad mood of his own making. “I’m sorry, I must have—”

“It’s fine,” Kim says, squeezing Will’s arm. “The architecture of a ship isn’t exactly thrilling, I know.” He leaves his hand on Will’s arm, fingers moving absently against his sleeve. “But we think we may have something.” 

Owen taps the lowest level of the ship with his pen. “Guests don’t often manage to get lost down here, but an enterprising fellow could find his way in.”

“It's all storage there,” Kim says. “An endless hall of nooks and crannies someone could hide, perhaps, a diamond necklace in.” 

“Who has access to this?” Will asks. 

“Us, the officers, stewards, cooks,” Owen says. “Anyone who’d have a need to bring up extra linens or restock the bar.” He taps a few spots on the map; Will realizes he’s marking the points of entry. “Of course, this isn't the first ship, and won’t be the last, where some of the crew enjoy picking locks, or where a door gets propped open from time to time. Some of the crew have been known to sneak down there.” 

“Usually for the standard set of reasons why a sailor or two would be skulking around a blind corner in a cargo hold, of course,” Percy adds, a hint of a laugh in his voice; Owen shushes him. 

Kim presses forward. “With your permission, I’d like to go down and investigate for myself.” He pauses. “For the stolen items, that is.” 

Will turns abruptly to stare at Kim. This wasn’t at all part of what they’d discussed. They wanted to make sure the captains knew their suspicions. They wanted information to mull over in order to come up with a proper plan. Kim skulking around a ship’s cargo hold alone wasn’t part of that plan.

And then, everyone speaks all at once:  

“Kim, absolutely not,” Will snaps. Kim snaps his head around to gawk at his protest. For just a moment, he looks furious. 

“Perhaps,” Percy says. 

“Absolutely not,” Owen counters, echoing Will. “Mr. Darling has the right of it.”  

Kim takes a deep breath and looks away from Will. “And if one of you escorts me?” Kim asks. 

“Still no. We will increase the regular sweeps we do of all restricted areas of the ship.”

“It’s not foolproof, Owen.” Percy plants his hands on his hips. “As we’ve discussed, we have no legitimate lawmen on this ship to conduct such a search. Our crew, they’re not trained for this.” 

“And you two are.” It’s not a question. Owen lets out a very resigned-sounding sigh. He leans back in his chair, laces his fingers together and rests them on his chest; Percy sways back out of the way, but remains standing, curling one hand around the back of Owen’s chair. “I have great concern that this matter is going to escalate. I need to know everything that is going on on this ship.”

“I can take him down there, Owen,” Percy says, tapping his fellow captain’s shoulder. “If you need to know, then Kim is right. It’s better to have one of us with eyes on the situation, and you know it.” 

Will grows increasingly concerned that this is actually going to happen. “Kim, can we talk about this first?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about, Will,” Kim says. His voice has taken on that same airy, detached tone that Kim used during all those terrible conversations where he lied directly to Will’s face. Will hates it, hates the sound of it, hates every single memory it brings back for him. “Just a quick walk around. It’s not likely we’ll even encounter anyone. I’ll probably be back to the room before you even start to miss me.” 

Will bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from starting an argument, here of all places. “Fine,” he grinds out. 

To be fair, a look of dawning horror passes over Kim’s fine features, like he finally realizes what he’s done. “Will,” he starts, before cutting himself off. He’s silent for a long while, just looking at Will, as if he could have this conversation with his face only, instead of his words.

Suddenly, Will is just so very tired. He shakes his head at Kim just once, then turns away, staring hard at a painting of a sailboat. 

Kim sighs. “You’ll of course get a full report, Captain Murray,” he says, still in that same haughty tone. “If there’s anything afoot down there, I’ll find it.”

Owen huffs out an irritated breath. “If someone is cavorting around, making the storage their own little private playground, if someone is up to no good down there—” 

“And, let us be clear,” Percy interjects, “of the types of no good someone could get up to down there, we care least about the buggery sort of no good.” Owen interrupts him with a laugh. Percy rolls his eyes, and presses on. “We do care about the thievery sort of no good. We care very much about that. We’ve had two brazen thefts now, and that is two more thefts than I’ve ever had on my ship before.” 

“Fine. Go after dinner service.” Owen says. “Percy, your absence would be noted if you went now, and I won’t have anyone asking questions about it.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Kim says. “Percy, I’ll meet you here after everything from dinner’s cleared away?” 

“That will do,” Percy says, and Kim beams with satisfaction. Will usually loves to see that look bloom across Kim’s face, but right now, he wants nothing more than to get out of this room. 

It’s a long, silent walk from the captains’ quarters to their cabin, and Will feels an old, familiar itch in the back of his mind, the drive to pick and tear at this until there’s nothing left. Will knows he’ll go along with most of Kim’s whims—he is  here, after all, en route to Spain—but his tolerance ends right when Kim starts getting cagey again. 

Will silently unlocks the door to their cabin and pushes it open, holding it so that Kim can go first. He meets Will’s eyes as he passes through, but he looks like a man walking to his own execution.

Good, Will thinks.

He steps inside after Kim, but pauses for a moment before locking the door. He desperately wants to not blow up his entire life in the next five minutes, but he also thought he and Kim were on the same page with their expectations for each other. 

Will exhales and turns around. Kim’s standing in front of the desk they’d moved to sit under the tiny porthole; he’s got one hand curled around the back of the chair. For balance, Kim probably wants him to think, but he also knows exactly how much Kim’s hands shake when he’s nervous or afraid. 

Kim’s mouth opens, like he’s ready to talk, but it snaps shut as soon as he catches the expression on Will’s face. 

After a long moment of silence, Will begins, picking each word out with caution. “I need you to listen to me. Before you try to argue or plead your case, I just need you to listen.” 

Kim nods slowly. 

“I agreed to this, I know I did, to looking into this theft, to talking to passengers. I agreed, and I went along with it, even though I didn’t want to at first, because you have a point: someone needs to do something other than stand around and be sad that another sweet old granny got robbed.” Will resists the urge to start pacing the floor; the room is too small to keep him out of Kim’s orbit, and Will knows he won’t be able to keep this resolve up if Kim so much as reaches for him. 

“I didn’t agree to you deciding to go haring off alone—”

Kim starts to protest. “I’m not going—” He stops himself abruptly, jaw clicking shut as he appears to think twice about arguing. 

Still, Will changes his approach. “I didn’t agree to you deciding to go skulking around in some storage hold in hopes of, what, entrapping a thief? Who could be armed, and then what?” Will clasps his hands together behind his back, trying to keep still. “Kim, all we were going to do was get information, and we did. We did. And we gave that information to people who can do something about it. And we should be done with it, wipe our hands of the whole damn mess, and just enjoy the rest of the trip. But it can’t ever be that simple, can it?” 

“Please, Will—” 

“No,” Will snaps. “No. How long have you been thinking to yourself, ‘ah, yes, I know, I’m going to catch the thief red-handed and bring him in myself’? I thought we were done with the half-truths. You said you wanted to feel like you did something good for once, and I get it, I really, truly do, but does something good also mean putting yourself in danger? Again?” Kim’s mouth works silently, and Will flaps a hand at him. “You can answer that.” 

“It wasn’t—” Kim’s voice cracks and he pauses to clear his throat. “It wasn’t a lie, I didn’t go into this thinking that I so dearly wanted to chase a thief all around a ship. Please, I promise. I didn’t think of it until I was saying it, until I realized it was the quickest solution to the problem: to investigate myself.” 

“And you didn’t think to even mention it to me? To pull me aside for a second and say, ‘Will, I think I’d like to chase after someone who could possibly be desperate enough to kill me, but it’s okay, you can stay in the room and wait for my return’?”

“I didn’t think—” 

“No,” Will laughs, “no, you absolutely did not.” Will does step forward then, closing the gap between them. He clutches at Kim’s biceps, shaking him a bit. “I thought we were in this together. I thought we discussed, no more lies, no more half-truths, no more dangerous fucking ideas that you just come up with on the spot and forge ahead on, without even a second’s thought to the consequences.”  

Kim sways forward ever so slightly, leaning towards Will. “I didn’t see it as—there’s nothing dangerous about this. It’s truly just a walkabout to see if there’s anything suspicious. I’m not trying to deceive you, Will, I’m really, truly not. You are right, we did discuss this, and I promised, and I tell you, this is not the risk that you think it is.”

The longer Kim speaks, the more Will feels his resolve crumble. He loosens his grip on Kim’s arms, and Kim immediately tips forward the rest of the way, resting his head on Will’s shoulder. 

Kim’s fingers curl in Will’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says. Will doesn’t actually know how many times Kim’s ever said that to him before. 

“But I think you still don’t understand,” Will says, mostly into Kim’s hair. Pressed against him, Kim goes very still. “I have killed men before to keep you safe, and I would do it again in a fucking second, but I really, really would rather not be put in that position again. And now you’re going off by yourself—”

Kim pulls back and glares at Will. “For God’s sake, Will, I am not going alone.” 

“Oh, yes, because two of you Private Bureau types are better than one? Like you lot don’t make a hash of things on the regular?” Will may have found himself slowly getting over the initial misgivings he had about Percy Bainbridge and his stupid, posh accent, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to put Kim’s life in a stranger’s hands. 

“That’s not fair,” Kim protests. “You don’t know—”

Will laughs then, a little bitter, and lets go of his hold on Kim’s arms. “I would throw every last person on this boat overboard for you, if I had to.” By ways of romantic declarations, it’s certainly not the most elegant, but it is the most truthful for Will. “Do you not see that?”

He shakes his head and steps back, away from Kim, until his back hits the door of their cabin. “Go, have your little investigation, and by Christ if I have to come and get you out of some mess—” Will trails off and shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m going for a walk,” he says. “Get some fresh air.”

Kim starts to say something, stuttering over his words, but Will doesn’t wait around to hear him out. 

Will had meant to just go for a walk around the ship to cool off, before he said something he didn’t actually mean, but half an hour turned into an hour, two, more. He investigates parts of the ship he’s previously ignored: the library, the seemingly useless gymnasium, all sorts of sitting rooms and smoking rooms, rooms for gentlemen to gather, rooms for ladies to sit and have a moment’s peace. Before he realizes it, he’s walked the ship from bottom to top, finishing his investigation on the top deck. 

He finds that he actually has a fairly good handle on the ship itself, after all of that. He also finds that he’s increasingly agreeing with Kim’s theory that, if one is hiding some pilfered goods on the ship rather than on one’s person, then the storage hold is probably the most reasonable place to try to do it. 

So of course it follows that the next step is to do a walk-through of the storage, to see if anything is amiss. 

Will stalks to the side of the boat and curls his hands around the railing. “Fuck.” 

He knows he needs to make his way back to the room and apologize to Kim for being impatient, for jumping to conclusions. It’s not a conversation he’s looking forward to having.

Lost in his own thoughts, Will doesn’t notice he’s being approached until there’s a solid form next to him. 

“So we meet twice in the course of mere hours, Mr. Darling,” Captain Murray says. “How strange.” A smile flits across his face, enough to let Will know that he is, in fact, making a joke. 

“We likely haven’t crossed paths previously because I’ve been busy trying to make sure Kim doesn’t get himself tossed overboard.” Will matches Owen’s smile with one of his own; the captain, meanwhile, laughs, loud and deep.

“Ah, well.” Owen slaps one hand lightly against the railing. “That seems almost like a full-time occupation.” 

Will nods, his smile turning into something a little more melancholy. “It has been.” 

Owen looks at Will for a long moment. Will can practically see the gears turning in his head as he works out what to say next. Owen sighs and turns to face Will. “Listen. I know what Secretan is, but you’re not Private Bureau, are you?” The way Owen says it, it’s less of a question and more of a request for confirmation. 

Will’s mouth hangs open, he can’t help it. It took ages for him to pry that information out of Kim, and here, this man talks about that sort of work with such ease. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to acknowledge that he knows what Kim used to get up to—or if he can even get through the conversation without revealing the fact that Kim, currently, finds himself out of that particular game, apparently unbeknownst to the captains.  

“You don’t have to dance around it, Darling,” Owen says gently. “I’ve been around long enough. I’ve helped on jobs here and there. Know just about all I need to know.” He props one arm up on the railing and looks at Will for a long moment before continuing. “Besides, Percy can’t keep his mouth shut about anything if it’s fucking interesting enough. The compromise is that he tells me so he isn’t tempted to chatter to the first person who walks in a room.” 

That is by far the most words that Will’s heard Owen string together since that terrible attempt at a speech of his at the opening reception. Will’s struck by how fond he sounds when he speaks of having to be a sounding board for Percy in all of this. Given all this, Will knows there’s no reason to lie. “I’m not,” he says. “Kim and I crossed paths while he was investigating something, one thing leads to another, and now apparently I’m part of a scheme to try to find a jewel thief on a ship for a holiday I didn’t even want to take in the first place.” 

Now that he says it all at once, it does sound patently ridiculous.

Owen’s quiet for a while, seemingly weighing all of this knowledge. “You could just absolve yourself of this. You don’t have to go along with this all because he’s gotten an idea in his head.” 

Even though that was the exact same argument that Will had made repeatedly to Kim, he finds that he doesn’t want to let this go, doesn’t want to step away from what Kim’s started. “I— I don’t think I can step away from it, actually.” 

“Why?”

The words are out of Will’s mouth before he can think better of it: “If anything happened to him, I couldn’t forgive myself.” Will breathes in sharply after he says it, surprised that he put that out there so plainly. 

Owen hums, considering. “I think you know even better than I: that young man can handle himself. I seem to recall a fairly recent, ah, how did Percy put it?” A sly smile tugs at one side of Owen’s mouth. “A ‘spectacularly magnificent exsanguination,’ I believe he said.” His soft Irish lilt drops away for a moment as Owen slips into a pitch-perfect imitation of that irritatingly posh accent of Percy’s and Will can’t help but laugh.

Will finds himself suddenly glad that Kim is out of the clandestine game, because apparently it means that complete strangers end up knowing his business. “We’ve both had to take some actions that don’t usually play well in peace-time, I’ll say,” Will explains. “But I just sell books. Christ, he sells books now. We shouldn’t still be getting dragged into the middle of these sorts of things.”

“Old habits die hard. Some of us bring a war back home and take years to get out of it, while others, well—others do what your Kim does. Like a dog with a bone.” Owen reaches out and pats Will's arm. “He’ll be fine.” 

If only Will could convince himself to believe that. 

Will sighs and looks out at the ocean; Owen turns and props his elbows up on the railing too. Will can almost pretend that they’re just two ordinary fellows looking at the sea before they go their separate ways. 

But there are precious few people with whom Will gets to talk about Kim—the unvarnished truth of Kim, that is, all of the dangerous, stupid things he does mixed with all of the dangerous, stupid reasons that Will can’t ever convince himself that it’s better to stay away. 

“Kim might think this is his burden to bear, but I can’t let him bear it alone.” Will looks straight ahead as he speaks; he’s afraid that if he looks at Owen, his face will give too much away. 

“Ah.” Owen grips Will’s shoulder, gives him a little shake. “Well.” 

Will chances a look over; Owen’s offering him the most calming smile. It changes his whole face, lights him up, and for a moment Will can imagine what he was like before the war, presumably, made him have to grow a very tough shell. 

Owen slips a pocket watch out of his pocket, thumbs it open to check the time, then glances back over his shoulder at the door to the captain’s quarters before turning his attention back to Will. “It is a lonely life, that sort of work, but it doesn’t always have to be. None of you have to be alone. You find ways to get through it.” 

In the distance, the door to the captain’s quarters swings open and Percy emerges. He looks around for a moment, searching for something, but when he sees Will and Owen, he gives a little wave and makes a beeline for them.   

“Incoming,” Will says as Percy approaches. 

Owen looks back over his shoulder; Will can’t see his face, of course, but Percy’s face breaks in a brilliant grin as he nods at Owen. 

When he reaches the spot where Owen and Will have posted up on the railing, Percy reaches out to shake Will’s hand. “Mr. Darling, what a surprise! Twice in just a few hours. How delightful!” Will laughs at the fact that the captains are apparently so attuned to one another that they even make the same comments in greeting.

Having done the polite thing and addressed Will, Percy then leans in toward his counterpart, one hand planted on Owen’s back. “Everything’s set for the watch change. I just put a fresh kettle on for you; can you please try just this once to not use every teacup in the quarters?” 

“I will promise no such thing,” Owen responds. “Mr. Darling, a pleasure to get to speak to you without your chattier counterpart.” He tips his head towards Percy, and smiles; so that’s the both of them who think that Percy and Kim share an increasingly large number of similarities. “Think about what I said, will you?”

Will nods. “Of course. Thank you for the conversation, and, uh, advice. Captains, enjoy the rest of your day.” He turns on his heel and heads away. He needs to go find Kim.

Kim isn’t in their cabin. Okay, Will thinks, that’s fair. If the roles were reversed and Kim stormed off in a huff, Will certainly wouldn’t have sat around like a kicked puppy, waiting to see if there were different results next time. 

Will slips out of his shoes and stretches out on his side of the bed. He can wait. Kim will eventually get tired of roaming the ship or schmoozing with the rest of his society set, and he’ll come back. 

Will waits. And he waits. And he waits some more. At some point, he nods off, then jerks awake when he nearly rolls off the bed. 

Still, no Kim.

Fine. Will is used to this, knows this well. He knows exactly how Kim gets when he’s angry or frustrated and it usually involves some amount of freezing Will out. 

So Will scribbles a note to Kim, just in case he returns, and then roams the ship again for the second time that day. He hits all of the spots he thinks Kim would be likely to frequent: library, smoking room, dance hall, every spot on the ship with an open bar, the dining room.

Nothing. Kim is nowhere. 

Will tries to ignore the churning feeling in his gut, the instinct that says something’s wrong. 

Of course Kim is gone, Will reasons. They quarreled. Why wouldn’t Kim want to find somewhere else to be? They’d managed to go months without arguing over anything more significant than Will’s preferred strategies for sorting books, so it was a surprise to find those old habits rearing up again. And here, of all places: on a boat, where they won’t be able to stay outside of each other’s orbit for too long. 

A blessing and a curse, really. They can’t retreat to their respective corners to sulk. Will isn’t going to go months without hearing from Kim; he’s got to come back to the room eventually. 

Except: Kim doesn’t. 

Will remembers his conversation with Owen earlier: Kim can take care of himself. And Will knows that, even deep down in his bones he knows it’s true. He’d know even if he hadn’t seen just how resourceful and, quite frankly, dangerous Kim could be if pushed far enough. 

Still, though, he wishes he knew the cabin locations of any of those people Kim had pointed out as old friends, acquaintances, or however Kim would actually think of someone who’d crossed his path. He could at least knock some doors in hopes of finding Kim hiding out in a friend’s room, waiting until he thought Will had cooled down. 

Hell, Kim’s friendly enough with Percy that he probably eventually found his way to the captain’s quarters. He’s sitting in the meeting room, going over blueprints of the ship. He’s got a cup of tea and he’s listening to the captains bicker over maps or who put the log book away in the wrong spot or whatever it was that they found to chide each other about. 

That has to be it, Will thinks. Because if it isn’t, if that isn’t where Kim is, well. Then he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Kim still hasn’t shown up by dinner time and Will is having a harder time ignoring that feeling in his gut that says that something isn’t right. 

He goes through the motions, though, dressing and walking to the dining room as if everything was normal. Will sits at their usual table, makes small talk with that trio of young women who keep turning up. He picks at his meal, getting less and less hungry with every minute that Kim doesn’t walk through the doors with some sort of fabulous excuse as to why he’s late. 

As he mostly pretends to eat, Will takes a look around the room. There’s the usual sea of familiar faces, the people who he’d been forced to have awkward conversations with while Kim spun some entertaining story for the rest of the group. Nothing looks out of place, except—

Edmund Chapman takes a stroll past the captains’ table, glass of champagne in hand. From across the room, he locks eyes with Will, and then he smiles. There’s something terrible in that smile, the way he bares his teeth. Like a fox in a henhouse, Will thinks. 

Will sets down his fork and knife and gives up on pretending to eat. 

Edmund holds his gaze, then winks at Will before turning away, heading back to his table. 

Suddenly, Will is reconsidering his lack of interest in having to murder anyone else, for Kim’s sake or otherwise. 

Taking another look around the room, Will realizes there’s one face missing: Frederick Lloyd. Will thinks about the pair of them, Lloyd and Chapman, and how mismatched they are. Chapman’s wiry frame, radiating sheer energy like one of those nervous racing dogs, and Lloyd a big, intimidating presence, a man with the carriage of a soldier, even if what he’d told Will before was an outright lie. A man like Lloyd, who seemed to look to Chapman for approval or direction that first night, who would probably do just about anything if he was guaranteed a cut of the profits. 

“Shit,” Will says suddenly. 

A server passes by the table and Will flings out an arm, catching hold of the man’s jacket before he can get too far away. “I need a pen and paper,” he snaps. “Immediately.” 

The man startles, pulling back from Will’s grasp. “Excuse me?”

Will pinches the bridge of his nose, then fishes in his pocket for his billfold. He plucks out the first bill he finds, heedless of how much money it actually is, and shoves it into the man’s hand. “A pen and paper,” Will repeats. “Now. Please.” 

 “Um.” The man opens his hand, looks at the money, and then swiftly tucks it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Right away, sir.” 

Based on the way the man’s eyes went wide, that was probably too much money, Will realizes, but that’s the least of his problems if he doesn’t figure out where Kim is. 

The server returns almost immediately and hands the materials over to Will. “Stay,” Will says before the man can scurry off. “I need you to deliver this.” 

Will scrawls a note—Kim missing since morning. Not with you? Then where?—folds the paper up, and hands it back to the server. “Take this to the captains.” It’s easy to let that old authority creep back into his voice, which at least makes getting what he wants a little easier in this particular circumstance. 

“Of course,” the server says. He slips the note under a saucer on his tray and heads off. Wil openly stares at the man as he makes his way across the room: a quick stop at the bar to pick up another round of drinks, a pause here and there to deliver a new glass of wine or clear away empty plates, and finally, finally, the captains’ table. He clears away a few empty glasses and—very slyly, honestly, Will is impressed—slips the note to Percy, who flicks his eyes across the room quickly before landing on Will’s face. 

Will watches as Percy holds his hand up to the server, clearly requesting him to wait. He leans slightly away from the table, keeping the note out of the line of sight of the other officers seated nearby, and reads. His mouth turns down into a frown as soon as he deciphers Will’s handwriting. Percy reaches over and taps Owen on the shoulder, getting his attention. The two lean close to each other; Percy holds one hand up to obscure most of their faces as they talk. 

A decision is made fairly quickly, apparently, because Percy pulls a pen from his pocket and scratches out a response of his own. 

Will’s eyes track the server the whole way across the room again as he makes his rounds: empty glasses, order for refills, clean up a spill here and there. The man stops back at the bar, picks up a new tray full of drinks, and then heads Will’s way.

Without a word, the man deposits a glass of whiskey in front of Will with the note tucked underneath it. Oblivious now to anything else around him, Will unfolds the note, desperately hoping to learn that Kim’s avoiding him instead of actually being in danger. 

Not with us, the note reads in Percy’s ridiculously ornate handwriting. Will suddenly feels nauseous. Meeting room, immediately.

At the front of the room, Owen stands up, exchanges a few words with the officer sitting on his other side, and exits the room.

Will picks up the whisky—top shelf, he knows immediately, by the smooth burn as it goes down—and drains it in one go. 

The only reason the captains’ questioning doesn’t feel like an interrogation is because both Percy and Owen look so concerned as Will recounts what happened since he and Kim had left their meeting in the morning. Percy slides a fresh cup of tea in front of Will; Owen pushes a plate of biscuits across the table at Will. If they’re in this room much longer, Will’s concerned someone’s going to wrap a blanket over his shoulders. 

“I know Kim can take care of himself,” Will says, nodding at Owen, “but this wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten himself in trouble. Lloyd wasn’t anywhere in the dining room, and Chapman looks like the cat that ate the canary.” Will takes a deep breath. “We need to check the storage hold.” 

“I’ll take you,” Owen says immediately, at the same time that Percy says: “I’m coming with you.” 

The two men exchange looks: it’s a conversation held entirely without words, Will realizes. It’s the quirk of Owen’s eyebrow, the severe downturn of Percy’s mouth. The inclination of a head. A sharp exhale. It’s not the kind of conversation you can have with just anybody. 

Will looks away. It feels too close, too intimate to watch them communicate like this. 

Finally, Percy speaks. “I’m not your second here, Owen,” he says, and that settles it.

Owen tosses up his hands, admitting defeat. “Fine. Just be careful. Take the pistol, and raise the alarm if anything—”

“Owen,” Percy snaps, and that stops Owen from going on like a stocky Irish mother hen. The captains stare at each other for another long moment. Will feels like he’s walked into the middle of an argument that these two have been having for years. Decades, maybe. 

Will continues to look away; he is suddenly very invested in trying to read the titles of the books that line the shelves. Still, though, he sees movement from the corner of his eye: Owen settles one hand on top of Percy’s, the briefest slide of a thumb across knuckles, before withdrawing. 

Percy slides his chair back—Will finally looks fully back at them when he hears the chair scrape across the floor. “Come, Darling,” he says, sounding far too cheerful. “We’ve a manhunt to begin.”

Will tries to act normal as he and Percy wind their way through the ship en route to the lowest possible level. Will, of course, would much rather be acting like he was planning a raid in the dead of night, but instead he has to keep up a cheerful patter of conversation and act casual so no other passengers get alarmed. Christ, this has all gotten so out of hand. 

Will’s already run out of thoughts on the weather (excited for the sunshine in Spain), food (impressed by the meal choices on the ship so far), automobiles (no idea what he’d do with one, quite honestly) and football (absolutely done with everything about Aston Villa, which Percy had thought was a type of wine). He doesn’t exactly think he wants to talk about Kim as they wind their way down secluded stairwells, the metal steps clanging underneath their shoes. He’s only got one topic of conversation left.

“Say, have you met that Chapman fellow before?” 

Percy looks over at Will. “Is this an accusation, or is this about something else?” His tone is as light and flippant as nearly everything else Will’s heard him say, but a hard, serious look settles across Percy’s face. 

Well, Will probably could have phrased that better. “Ah, no, no, it’s only that Kim tells me that Chapman’s passing that story of the time you got shot off as his own. Lloyd, too, but frankly, Chapman tells it better.” 

“That little shit,” Percy mutters. “The absolute nerve! There was an evening reception for officers and crew the day before we set sail. We just used the front room of a restaurant near the port. No reason to hold it somewhere private, we thought. Just a group of friends gathering, sharing stories before going to sea again. I remember seeing a man at the bar who matches your description of Chapman. He stared at us all night, but I thought he was just, well, a little odd, rather than looking to, apparently, plagiarize my life.”

“Well, if you need another reason to want to catch him, there you have it.” Suddenly, Will remembers something else Kim had pointed out to him about Lloyd and Chapman’s stories. “Any of the men there serve at Gallipoli?” 

Percy freezes mid-step. “Owen did.” He pauses, as if he’s weighing the next thing he’s going to say. “Lost his ship there.”  

What a fucking rotten thing for Chapman to do, to steal the worst moment of a man’s military career for a story to hoodwink others with. As gently as he can, Will says: “Chapman’s nicked that too, then.” 

A disgruntled noise bubbles up out of Percy. “I am going to throw him overboard the first chance I get.” From the determined look on his face, Will actually doesn’t doubt him. 

They walk in silence then, Percy quietly fuming the rest of the way. “Next level,” he says as they approach another door that Percy has to unlock. “Are you much of a shot, by the way?” He gestures at the pistol holstered at his side, which Will waves off. 

“Good enough,” he admits, “but more of a knife man, myself. And barring that—” Will lifts up his hands, flexes his fingers. “This will do.” 

Percy lifts an eyebrow. “So I’ve heard.” 

“You know,” Will grumbles, “for a bunch of people working in the shadows, you still do happen to hear a lot.” 

There’s no retort from Percy, who instead pauses on the stairwell. “When we go through this door, we’re in. Swing to the left, and we’ll go aisle by aisle and see what we see. The storage cages provide enough cover if we need it.” 

Will nods. This—a raid, essentially, under cover of darkness—is something he knows how to do. 

As soon as they step into the storage hold, Will sees exactly why Percy found himself in with the Private Bureau. He slinks along through the rows of storage cages as swiftly and silently as any man Will had ever raided a trench with. Will’s own breathing, the thud of his heart in his chest, feel loud in comparison. 

Suddenly, somewhere off to Will’s left, there’s a clanging noise and a muffled shout. Either someone’s chosen a terrible time to have a stolen moment in storage, or they’ve found Kim. 

Will and Percy both go perfectly still and look in the direction of the noise. There’s another noise, like the rattling of a cage, and Will has absolutely had it. Will gestures in the direction of the noise, and Percy gives a curt nod. Will leads the way this time, heading towards the noise and hoping that Percy’s close behind. 

Will only needs to check two aisles of storage cages before he doesn’t need to search anymore. 

At the end of a long row of cages stuffed with pillows and linens and all sorts of cast-offs from the boat, Frederick Lloyd stands with a knife in his hand and a grin on his face. 

Will only barely registers his presence, though, because the hand that isn’t holding the knife is fisted in Kim’s shirt, holding him upright. From the squirming he’s doing, Will’s guessing he’s at least mostly okay. Still, though: he has a grimy scarf shoved into his mouth to gag him, his shirt is torn and bloody, and he is handcuffed to the fucking storage cage. 

Kim’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Will emerging from the cages; there’s a set of footsteps behind him and Will knows that Percy’s joined him, too. 

“Hi, Frederick,” Will says, flexing his hands at his sides. “Missed your charming conversation at dinner today.”

“Ah, you’re just fucking everywhere, aren’t you?” Lloyd spits. “The both of you, sticking your noses into things what ain’t your business. You could have left well enough alone.” Lloyd waves the knife around, shakes Kim for emphasis. “All you had to do was look the other way, and when we got to Spain, no one would ever see us again. You just had to play pretend coppers, though, didn’t you?”

Will expects he’s supposed to feel threatened, especially since he has stupidly come down here unarmed. Mostly, though, he just has a headache. 

“You know,” he says, “I have had a lot of knives waved at me, and somehow you’ve managed to be the least threatening knife-wielding prick that I’ve ever met.” 

“Shut up!” Lloyd shouts. “I’ll gut him, I’ll do it!” 

God, Will wants to get Kim out of this mess and then sleep until they dock in Spain. 

“Is antagonizing the enemy something they’re teaching in training these days?” Percy mutters. Will thinks about kicking him, and decides that it’s a triumphant display of level-headedness that he doesn’t.

Besides, the more pressing problem is figuring out how to deal with Lloyd. Will wonders if he could move quickly enough to charge at Lloyd before he could react. There’s nothing else close to hand he could use as a weapon, just his own body, so he’s already keenly aware of the disadvantage he’s at. Ah, well, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Suddenly wish I’d taken you up on that offer of a gun,” Will says to Percy. 

“Oh, things would have been so much more fun if you had,” comes a new voice from behind Will. 

Slowly, Will and Percy both turn to see Chapman at the end of the aisle, loosely holding a gun at his side. “You really do just keep getting in my way, you know that? From the very first night, you’ve done nothing but interfere, but that ends now. Isn’t that right, Fred?”

There’s the sound of a fist driving into flesh and Will whips his head around to see Kim doubled over, his shout muffled by the gag in his mouth. Will’s itch to hurt someone grows even harder to ignore. 

“That’s right, Fred. We were going to go to Spain, start a new life. No one would know us. Clean slate, we just needed a little bit of capital to help pave the way.” Will wants to look back at Chapman—after all, the man has a gun—but he looked away once and Kim took a fist to the gut for it. Will won’t make that mistake again. 

Percy’s at Will’s back, though, looking straight at Chapman. It’s probably for the best that way, what with Will bringing fists to a knife fight and all. 

“I had it all planned out. Decorated war hero quits England, gets himself a life on a beach instead. I could have created a whole new life for myself. I’ve already got a whole arsenal of stories I could tell to make myself look special.” Chapman laughs. “Thanks for sharing such detailed memories, Captain. Really helped me piece it together.” 

From behind him, Will hears Percy growl. “You can absolutely just shoot him,” Will mutters. “Self-defense. The inquest afterwards isn’t so bad, really. You seem like a good talker, that’ll be helpful.”  

Percy doesn’t respond, but there is a pressure at Will’s back, pushing him forwards. Percy’s shifting backwards and taking Will with him, putting distance between them and Chapman, who is still prattling on about how he’s going to become rich and famous and live like a king in Spain. The best meals, the best wine, the best women, all financed by ransacking as many cabins on this ship as he could. It’s all so much nonsense that Will’s all but tuned him out.

Suddenly, in one swift move, Percy shoves Will to the side; Will stumbles and hits the floor, hard. “What the fuck—” he yelps, shocked that maybe he’s going to have to fight Percy, too, but the rest of his complaint is cut off by the sharp crack of a gunshot. 

Will’s ears ring after the blast and it takes him a second to be able to focus. When he’s finally able to take in his surroundings, he sees Percy in a low crouch on the other side of the aisle, Edmund Chapman face down on the floor, and Owen Murray taking up the space Chapman had recently occupied, sliding his pistol back into its holster. 

“Christ,” Will says, taking in the scene. Chapman’s in a slowly expanding pool of his own blood, and while he’s groaning in pain, he also isn’t going to be getting up any time soon. 

“Did you kill him?” Lloyd shouts. “Did you fucking kill him?” Kim makes another muffled shout as Lloyd gets an arm around Kim’s neck. His face starts turning an alarming shade of red as Lloyd does his best to pull Kim away from the storage cage to use him as a shield—no easy feat, considering how tall Lloyd is. 

Will casts a look back at Owen and Percy. Unless they’re crack shots—which, honestly, at this point, would not surprise Will in the slightest—then there’s too much risk. Trying to shoot Lloyd would mean putting Kim in too much danger. 

Kim, still struggling against Lloyd’s grasp, makes eye contact with Will. He’s not frantic yet, but he’s getting there. 

“Oh, fuck all of this,” Will mutters.

Holding Kim’s gaze, Will points to his left, towards the cage that Kim’s handcuffed to. He makes a tiny shooing gesture with his fingers, like he’s trying to push Kim up against the cage. 

Kim’s brow furrows, trying to translate Will’s gestures into actions, but Will doesn’t have enough time to make sure Kim understands. He just has to go. 

Will springs up from the floor and charges at the mass of limbs that is Kim and Lloyd and, hoping desperately that he doesn’t get himself stabbed in the process, launches himself directly at Lloyd. 

Kim, bless him, seems to have parsed Will’s series of gestures, because he stomps down on Lloyd’s foot. Kim actually fighting back takes Lloyd by surprise, and he loosens his grasp on Kim enough so that Kim can twist away and flatten himself up against the cage, just in time for Will to drive his shoulder into Lloyd’s gut and tackle him to the ground. 

Everything else passes in a blind rage for Will, and before he knows it, his knuckles are bleeding and he’s sprawled on the floor with  Lloyd in a headlock, wheezing and thrashing against him. Lloyd may be the bigger man, but he doesn’t have the same sense of irritated fury that’s driving Will now. Sure, he and Kim argue and know exactly the right ways to anger each other, but that doesn’t mean that Will wants to find himself without Kim, now or any time in the future. Will and Kim have faced down so much worse than this terrible imitation of a competent thief. How dare he think he can lay a single finger on Kim? 

Will’s entire world narrows down to the man whose windpipe he’s slowly working on crushing, when he hears his name in a shout. There’s authority in it, and Will thinks for a moment that he’s back in the war, being barked at by his commander. 

Owen repeats his name loudly and Will shakes his head, then finally looks up. “You can let him go now, Mr. Darling.” Will blinks and realizes that Lloyd’s gone limp against him. Still breathing, which he supposes is good, but certainly not conscious anymore. 

Will lets go of Lloyd and unceremoniously shoves him to the side, where he stays motionless on the floor. 

With that issue dealt with, Will looks up to survey the carnage. Owen’s nudging Chapman with the toe of his shoe, who makes a raspy, wheezing sound. So, not dead, at least. 

Kim’s slouched up against the storage cage. The grimy scarf that had gagged him has been discarded somewhere, though Kim is still silent, clearly working on breathing through the pain he’s in. Percy’s crouched behind Kim, working a piece of metal into the lock of the handcuffs. 

Will manages a laugh at the absurdity of it, a decorated Navy man turned pseudo-spy turned passenger boat captain kneeling on the filthy ground, twitching pieces of metal together to spring a lock. “Can all of you fucking do that?” 

“Yes,” Owen says before Percy can respond. “And it’s honestly such a nuisance.”

Percy snorts. “Please, Owen, it’s not like you’ve ever had reason to complain about this before.” Owen chuckles softly and goes back to prodding Chapman’s limp form. 

At somewhat loose ends without an actual task for once, Will goes to Kim, taking his weight instead of letting him slump up against the storage cage for support. “Are you alright?” Will asks. He pushes Kim’s hair back, trying to put it somewhat vaguely to rights.

Feeling so relieved that Kim is at least standing, relatively uninjured makes Will’s breath catch in his throat. Will forgets himself for a moment, forgets that he’s surrounded by two ex-Navy men and two thieves at various levels of consciousness, and cradles Kim’s face in his hands. 

“Well,” Kim says, and his voice is rough, raw from his useless shouting against the gag. “I’m certainly not presentable enough to go for a nightcap after all of this excitement. Other than that? Tip-top shape, Will.” He cracks a tiny smile and turns his face to the side, pressing a kiss to Will’s open palm. 

Will breathes in sharply, realizing exactly whose eyes are on him. Will does a quick look around. Owen doesn’t appear to be paying them any mind as he starts going through Chapman’s pockets. Percy, meanwhile, has one of the lockpicks clenched between his teeth, yet somehow still manages to look smug as he works at the lock. He looks back down at the cuffs as soon as Will meets his eyes. 

“Kim, as glad as I am that we found you, we are absolutely not going for celebratory drinks, or dancing, or a stroll around the deck, or whatever you’re thinking. Once we’ve dealt with this mess, we’re going straight back to the cabin and—” 

Will’s speech suddenly grinds to a halt as Kim kisses his palm again, still in full view of at least one extraordinarily nosy captain. 

Kim huffs out a laugh against Will’s hand. “Well, I should probably bathe first, but after that, you can—very gently, mind you—have your way with me.” 

There is no other explanation for the sound Will makes other than: horrified choking. He always knew Kim was prone to not thinking things through, but this sort of carelessness seems excessive. 

Of course, he’s only been abducted and threatened with a stabbing, if not worse. He’s maybe entitled to be a bit brazen.

From behind Kim, Percy laughs, loud and delighted, and whether it’s at the horrible noise that just bubbled up out of Will, or if it’s because he’s finally triumphed over the handcuffs, Will can’t exactly say. 

Percy hauls himself up and pats Kim on the shoulder. “There you go, now,” he says while he twirls the now loose handcuffs in the air. 

Kim rotates his wrists, sighing in relief to finally be free. The skin’s rubbed raw there, which explains the blood soaking through Kim’s sleeves, and Will is furious that this happened at all, that he couldn’t stop it before things got this far. Will tugs a handkerchief from his pocket and starts trying to clean Kim up: the blood seeping from the wounds from the cuffs, a long scrape up his forearm, a smear of dirt and grime across his face. He doesn’t think he’s fixing anything, exactly, but the way Kim’s eyes go soft as he watches Will work is worth it. 

“Thank you,” Kim says, sounding exactly as weary as he looks. “This has certainly been more adventure than I’d counted on.” With some difficulty, Kim raises his arms and drapes them over Will’s shoulders. He lends forward and nestles his face against Will’s neck, letting Will take all of his weight. 

It’s a good feeling, and Will wishes he didn’t have a fucking audience for it. 

Awkwardly, Will wraps his arms around Kim. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He pats Kim on the back, aiming for something that looks brotherly, perhaps plausibly deniable. It probably looks, Will thinks, like he’s never embraced another human being before. 

Kim makes an irritated noise and pulls back so he can actually look at Will. A deep scowl settles across his face and he sighs. “For God’s sake, Will, I don’t know how much more clear I could have been to ensure you knew that you—we—didn’t have to worry around them.” 

Will blinks in confusion, trying to process this new information. Kim lifts his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Will to catch up. 

Understanding dawns quickly, and a quiet “oh” escapes Will as he looks back at Percy.

“Oh, there you are, then,” Kim says, patting Will’s cheek affectionately as Will stares, a little slack-jawed. 

Percy leans up against the storage cage as he searches through a keyring. He pauses in his quest and levels a look at Will, a melancholy expression settling across his face. “There’s a reason people like us find our way into working in the shadows. We’re all so very good at becoming whatever we need to be, no matter who’s watching.” 

It would be a touching moment except for Lloyd suddenly sputtering back to life, groaning as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows. 

"Oh, excuse me a moment,” Percy says, and with just a few swift steps, he’s back on the ground, one knee pressing into Lloyd’s back, keeping him pinned in place. The handcuffs that had previously tethered Kim to the storage cage find a new home around Lloyd’s wrists, which only makes him thrash more.

Percy sighs, and it’s the most put-upon sound. He unholsters his own pistol and presses it to the back of Lloyd’s neck. “I strongly suggest that you do not.” 

Lloyd, in yet another incredibly stupid decision, continues to try to buck Percy off of him. “Ah, very well,” Percy says, sounding resigned to the situation at hand. He switches his grip on the pistol, leans back a moment, considering, and then brings the butt end of it down on Lloyd’s skull. 

Unsurprisingly, Lloyd finally stops thrashing. “Honestly,” Percy mutters. “I warned him.” He slides off of Lloyd’s back and into a crouch next to him, letting his hand linger on Lloyd’s back; when it’s clear that he’s still breathing, Percy lifts one shoulder in a bored shrug, then stands back up. 

Will lets out a low whistle. “Jesus.” He doesn’t have an argument against the violence—he would have done the same, only without bothering to check to see if Lloyd was still breathing at the end—but he finds himself surprised that for once, it was someone other than himself that lost patience and took matters into his own hands.   

From his blood-soaked position on the floor, Chapman groans again. “Darling,” Owen says as he looks down at Chapman, prods him again with his foot. “The keys to the crates?”

Will cocks his head, confused. “I don’t—” He doesn’t even know if he has his own room key on him, come to think of it, let alone anything that would help in this scenario.

A set of keys arcs through the air, landing neatly in Owen’s outstretched hand. 

Will turns to look back in the other direction—at Percy, now sans keyring—and all of the pieces of the puzzle finally click into place. The realization must show on his face, because Kim laughs and swats at Will’s shoulder. “Will, honestly, did I need to draw you a diagram for you?”

“How was I—” Will would be exasperated if he wasn’t busy being fascinated. It was enough of a stretch for him to quickly adjust to the new knowledge that had been dumped on him about Percy. Realizing that all of those silent conversations and synchronized movements he saw from the captains wasn’t because they had the familiarity of a long-standing working relationship, but rather because they were together made Will’s brain grind to a halt. 

“We’ve been as good as married going on six years now,” Owen says as he unlocks the storage cage. 

Percy laughs. “It’s eight and you know it, you awful man.” 

Owen raises his hands, palms up. “Every time, the same bloody argument,” he says as he turns his attention back to unlocking the storage cage. The door swings open and Owen reaches inside, tossing out boxes of supplies behind him. Extra linens, boxes of candles, an entire bag of napkin rings all comes spilling out of the open cage as Owen starts to empty it out. 

“We were at sea the first two years,” Owen says as he emerges from the cage, apparently deciding to continue their good-natured bickering anyway. 

Percy chimes in and both men’s voices overlap, proving that this really is an argument that they’ve rehashed any number of times: “We saw each other maybe three times in all of that, so it doesn’t even count.” 

Percy shakes his head. “Yes, yes, I know, but you’re still wrong.” 

The captains continue their gentle bickering as Percy helps Owen dig out from behind the pile of boxes he’d just created. They seem so comfortable to Will, the easy way they move around each other, always knowing where the other is, working nearly in unison without even needing to speak. 

Will stands there, holding Kim gently in his arms, watching the pair of as-good-as-married men continue to tease each other, even in a situation which is, to be kind, a complete fucking mess. He watches and he wonders if this is what his life could be like. Could he have this, or something even close to this, with Kim? Suddenly, Will has a thousand questions: how do they navigate life outside of the confines of their berth on the ship? How do they manage? Do they live in fear of being caught out, or have they stopped caring? How did they know this was something they could actually have? 

The desire for a life like that comes upon Will all at once. The idea of staying in Spain, where they know no one and have no responsibilities and could pretend, even for just a few weeks, that they could live their lives without interference or the constant need to obfuscate—all of that suddenly seems incredibly appealing to Will. 

Kim’s fingers curl lightly around Will’s jaw, guiding Will to stop staring and look at Kim instead. “I told you,” Kim murmurs. He presses his fingers to Will’s lips briefly, then drops his hand away, curling it in Will’s shirt. 

Feeling helpless and overwhelmed, Will presses a kiss to the top of Kim’s head and holds him. 

While Will works through his own existential crisis, Owen and Percy clean up the mess, dragging Chapman and Lloyd’s limp forms into the storage cage. Before Percy locks the door, he leans into the cage and turns out Chapman’s pockets. To no one’s surprise, he holds out Mrs. Collins’ necklace, followed by Mr. Addington’s pocket watch, and the rest of the stolen items, including a few that hadn’t been reported yet. Owen takes them, tucking them into the pocket of his jacket, and lets Percy slam the door to the cage shut, locking the thieves inside. 

“Well,” Kim says, “I believe a thank you is in order, given that I—” 

“We,” Will interjects. 

“Given that we solved your little theft issue,” Kim finishes. 

Percy shakes his head. “You have created so much extra paperwork for me. That negates the most exuberant thanks I could give you, old friend.” 

“Do you remember,” Kim says as he settles against Will, his back pressed against Will’s chest, “all of the reports I had to write after that incident with the counterfeiter?”

“I remember that you only wrote half of the ones you were supposed to,” Percy points out. “The rest, I had to stay up all night to finish because you—”

Will relaxes and lets the sound of Kim and Percy launching into a story wash over him—a story which they’ve both clearly told a number of times, with each man adding his own embellishments. Thieves and abductions aside, the scene is one Will didn’t think he’d ever experience in his life. A man he cares for deeply, safe in his arms. The comfortable patter of conversation between old friends. A pair of men who had successfully managed to navigate their own complicated waters—former Royal Navy men with distinguished careers, lots of medals to prove it, who could casually admit to a long-running sort of relationship that could easily have them tossed in jail—and came out, whole and functional and good and happy. It would have seemed absurd to Will even just a day ago, and now? 

Now Will had something to aspire to. 

If there is one downside to Will’s relationship with Kim, it’s the sheer number of times he’s found himself explaining some decidedly suspicious events to the police. But this time goes just as smoothly as the rest—the rest! Will hates that this is a pattern—and Will watches as Chapman and Lloyd are both led away.

Well, Lloyd walks off under his own power, escorted by a policeman. Chapman exits whilst cuffed to a stretcher, a bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulder.

At least he didn’t bleed out. That probably would have been several more forms that someone would have needed to fill out. 

Will and Kim watch this unfold from the top deck. They’re the last passengers off, which suits Will just fine. The mass of people swarming around the port, looking for transportation or trying to find a loved one in the crowd, makes Will feel deeply uncomfortable. 

Having Kim next to him makes it almost bearable. 

At the gangway, Percy and Owen shake hands with the investigator who’d turned up along with a whole bevvy of policemen. The captains see the man off the boat, waiting until he’s stepped back on solid ground, and then they make their way over to Kim and Will. 

“All well?” Kim asks as the men approach. 

Percy offers a quick shrug. “Well enough,” he says. “They didn’t seem too impressed by our problem-solving methods, but there’s nothing to be done for it now.” 

The four of them fall into a silent line together, all posted up on the deck railing and looking out at the hustle and bustle of the port. 

“So, what will you do next?” Owen asks, breaking the silence. 

“Well, try to have a relaxing holiday,” Kim says, “though we haven’t exactly started out so auspiciously.”

Alone as they are on the deck, high above anyone wandering through the port, Will curls one arm around Kim’s waist, his hand settling lightly on Kim’s hip. Even though no one else can see, Will still feels a thrill go through him at being gifted with even one moment where he can simply exist as a man on holiday with his boyfriend and have that be completely unremarkable. 

Percy leans around Owen to look at Kim and Will. “When do you return home?” 

“Uh,” Kim starts, then casts a questioning look at Will. “Two weeks?” They’d argued about this for days, with Kim wanting to stay longer, to truly get away from everything that had gone so wrong for them both in London. Two weeks had been the compromise.

Now, though, Will was beginning to see the benefits of a true holiday. He shakes his head. “Make it three.” Kim breaks out into a brilliant grin; at his side, he covers Will’s hand on his hip with his own. 

“So you haven’t booked return passage yet?” Percy asks. 

“No,” Kim admits. “I was rather hoping Will could be persuaded to stay longer once he realized how much he was enjoying himself, but I also fully expected him to decide after two days that he hated everything about Spain.” 

Will can’t even argue with that. 

Percy hums thoughtfully, then pulls a small notebook from his pocket. He searches the rest of his pockets for something to write with, without success. Without comment, Owen plucks a pencil from his own pocket and hands it over. 

“While I hesitate to invite you onto my ship again,” Percy says as he scribbles something in the notebook, “lest you create another catastrophe around yourselves that I will then have to clean up after, I’ll set your passage for you.” He flips the notebook shut, sliding it back in his pocket, along with the pencil Owen had handed him. “But I’m serious. Owen here will never forgive me if I have cause to say ‘that has to be filled out in triplicate’ to him again.” 

“I swear I will get my own ship if you make me do this again,” Owen says mildly. 

“I think that probably also involves a lot of forms to complete,” Will offers. Kim beams at him—a joke, a moment of casual indulgence with people who Will supposes he could consider friends now. 

“See?” Percy says through laughter. “You’ll never be rid of me.” Owen just shakes his head and pats Percy’s hand fondly. 

It’s so much for Will to take in. He doesn’t want to leave the cocoon of this boat, but before he knows it, the four of them are exchanging handshakes and goodbyes and promises to not try to catch any more thieves. 

Kim and Will stroll off the ship, Will’s hand still pressed lightly against Kim’s back. The port has largely cleared out, though there’s an automobile waiting for them, with Kim and Will’s trunks sat next to it.

“So, darling,” Kim says, and Will feels a sort of secret thrill go through him, knowing full well that he wasn’t using Will’s last name but rather being affectionate, “ what shall we do first?”

On firm ground in Spain, starting out a holiday that he is now determined to thoroughly enjoy, Will feels the sun beat down on him. He loosens his tie and collar. He wishes he’d brought a lighter jacket. He hopes that the lodgings Kim booked for them aren’t too far from the port. 

“I think we should find where we’re staying,” he says, “and then not come out of the room again unless the building’s on fire.” 

Kim laughs and sways close to Will so he can speak directly to his ear. “We can arrange that, though, you know, it is a pity we didn’t get to keep those handcuffs.” 

Will feels his face flush red, and Kim throws his head back with laughter. He looks brilliant like that, with a smile on his face, with—for just a moment, even—not a care in the world. He looks sun-kissed, like he’s glowing. 

Like he’s finally come alive. 

The journey to get here, to being able to casually share a joke in a Spanish port, was harder than Will had expected, but he wouldn’t trade a single second of it.