Chapter Text
This is the story of how Jimmy Solidarity ruined his life.
It begins in Porto Pancho, a little port off the coast of southwestern Spain. Nothing special - just a little place for the crew of the HMS Punctuality to offload their rubbish and stock up on some more supplies before their next voyage. The captain’s off making some deal with a merchant down the street, his shipmates busied with conversation between each other, because they never quite seem to have time for him, and Jimmy’s just… making himself look useful, mainly. He didn’t get this far in the Navy to be yelled at for dithering. (Not that he’s not been yelled at for a dozen other things this week.)
There’s nobody to look useful for, though, not really. The whole crew are busy. No thoughts spared for Solidarity.
Jimmy’s just about to lean up against the wall and light up a cigarette (he doesn’t smoke - didn’t - but he’s been trying to fit in on board the Punctuality, and they all smoke, so he’s been putting in his best effort to join in) when he spots somebody from across the port. At first it doesn’t look like they’re doing much at all, just people watching and occasionally twisting a ring of keys between their fingers, but then it happens.
Another stranger, someone in a military coat not unlike Jimmy’s own, crosses the first guy’s path, and the keys go flying. They land just to the other side of the military man, who pauses, pivots, and bends to pick them up.
By the time he’s standing again, and has turned to pass the keys back to the first man, there’s already a knife wound in his pocket, and a coin purse in the stranger’s other hand.
Jimmy frowns.
His first instinct, which he thinks is quite smart, actually, is to make a mental profile of the thief. They’re blond, brassy bleach-blond, and only a little shorter than Jimmy by his best estimate. They wave the military man off with a bright lilt, and turn back to their own business with an even brighter smile. It occurs to Jimmy that he might be better off following the military man, just to let him know that his money’s been nicked - but the urge to follow the stranger instead, to track down the culprit and bring him to justice, wins out. Jimmy has always wanted to be a hero (it’s why he joined the Navy!), and today he might just get the chance.
So he steals out of sight of the rest of his crew, over the cobbles and past the planks of the port, down the same alleyway that he saw the stranger heading for. It’s thin and cramped, but Jimmy is nothing if not a bit of a twig, so he manages to slip through the back streets just fine. When he comes back out the other side, it’s in a much less populated area - just the backs of houses and a much smoother stone path. This must be how they get deliveries through to the more civilian parts of Porto Pancho.
This is, also, where that same stranger is standing, rifling through the pouch of money and looking for all the world like a man who’s done nothing wrong.
Except he has. And Jimmy’s going to stop him, and tell him as such, and hopefully some respect will be measured in due time.
“Hey!”
The stranger looks up, and Jimmy can see their eyes widen for a split-second as they clock him. Not for long, though - it’s quickly replaced by a winning smile and a look that he can’t quite place. Jimmy’s not cowed, though. He’s dealt with rougher situations before. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I - you stole that purse.”
“Did I?”
“... Yes. I saw you do it.”
“So is there a problem?”
The question shocks Jimmy into uncertainty. Is there a problem? Yes, there’s a bloody problem! "Erm - well, you - you can't do that."
"Oh, really?" says the man, self-assured, smug and smarmy as anything. "Why not?"
… Okay, they’ve got to be messing with him. "It's against the law."
The stranger gasps, in such a blatant mockery that Jimmy can actually feel the disrespect needling at him from here. He was right - it’s contempt, is what it is, not ignorance. "I had no idea! I wouldn't want to be breaking the law, now, would I?"
He switches tacks. This is going nowhere good fast; he should try and regain his composure while he can. "No. No, you wouldn't. So just - hand that over, and let an Officer of the Crown handle this. I’ll make sure it gets back safe to its owner.”
They laugh, then. "The Crown? Goodness me, that's a high honour indeed. You must be a very important person."
"I am," says Jimmy - although he isn't, really, he's only a Private.
"Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you, eh?"
He frowns. It’s an odd thing to say, and worse paired with the comments before. "Of course no-"
And then the stranger clocks him round the head with something heavy, and that's the last thing he knows for quite some time.
When he wakes up, it’s with blurry vision and a hell of a headache. Concussion is - what do you do when you’re - when you have a -
He can’t remember this part of his medical training. He was listening and he knows he was listening, because he was so excited to be doing military training at last, but it’s gone out the window now. That’s bloody brilliant.
Right. Stay calm, think logically. Jimmy blinks as hard as he can to try and shake away the fuzz, and it works, for the most part. He lets his limbs lift and drop one by one, testing his motion, and finds that while they’re heavier than they should be they’re not restrained. He thinks he might have been drugged, actually, after they knocked him out; that would explain why it feels like so much time has passed. A blow to the head shouldn’t take you down for hours, and it’s almost definitely dark outside.
He tries to stand, and succeeds, mostly. There’s a numbness still pooling in his extremities that he really doesn’t like. But the bed he was placed on doesn’t appear to be… messed with in any way? Not that he knows how it would be?
The door, however, is a different story, because it’s locked.
Jimmy rattles it experimentally a few times. Pauses - heaves a little harder, with the strength he’s got, because it’s not done coming back to him. No luck. Then he slams himself against it just to be sure. Nothing.
Either it’s a pull door and he can’t get a good grip on it, or he’s been locked inside.
Great. He’s in big trouble now. Because this is definitely not what the sleeping quarters on his home ship look like. If he was anywhere safe, he’d be familiar with it.
Obviously.
… He needs to be thinking smarter right now. He needs to be thinking about escape. Because if he can’t escape, then he can’t get back to where he’s meant to be, and he’ll be in even bigger trouble with his commanding officer if he’s late back to -
Footsteps, outside. Jimmy freezes.
Takes a step back, so that if they are going to open the door on him, they won’t smack him in the face.
Stumbles, because of course he does - tries and fails to find his footing - hits the floor, ungainly, still oddly weighted from the numbness in his toes, and feels rough wood splintering slightly under his fingers when he tries to break his fall. Oh, gosh, he’s about to make the worst impression.
At least it’s the man from before who opens the door on him, blinks down at his fallen form, squints like they can’t quite make out what they’re looking at. “Stay back,” Jimmy spits, because he’s got to have some edge in this exchange.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” they practically croon. “Did you sleep well?”
“You drugged me.”
“Well, we weren’t going to be able to get you anywhere fast if you were struggling, were we? Much safer that way.”
“We?”
They laugh. “You can’t have thought I didn’t have accomplices. Come on, Officer, aren’t you people supposed to be trained to deal with pirates?”
And that’s - oh, dear, that’s a cold shock straight to the veins. Pirates. He’s talking to a - “You’re gonna take me back to the dock right now.”
“Now why would I do that?”
Jimmy scrambles to his feet. “Because - because if you don’t, I’m gonna -”
He shoves forward, launches himself towards the gap behind the pirate (oh, god, the pirate) that’s between himself and freedom - but he’s still weak and weighted, and it’s more of a stagger than an attack, and the stranger grabs and restrains him easily. He doesn’t even have a weapon. Then they press the tip of something sharp and cold to the side of his throat, making it evident exactly how easy it would be to end his miserable life right here and now if they felt like it.
(But they won’t, some small and feeble but hopeful part of his brain reminds him. He’d just be dead if they wanted him dead. They must want something.)
“Ah-ah-ah,” his captor chastises him, “we can’t be having that. Besides, we’re already at sea. it’s not like you’re going anywhere - unless you plan on going overboard?”
Jimmy tenses in their hold. He wants to thrash and shout and break himself free. But he also knows that he is not the one with all the power here.
He forces himself to relax. The blade at his neck pulls away.
“That’s what I thought. Now, settle down, Officer. Maybe we ought to have put in a couple more measures of restraint… but, in my defense, I thought you’d be asleep for longer. I was actually in the middle of something when I heard you banging yourself against the door, and of course I had to come check on you after that - didn’t even have the time to grab a proper weapon!”
He steps back, and - “That’s my - is that my sword?”
“It’s very nice,” they say, appraising it in the dim light of the hallway, “but it’s not very interesting, is it? Nothing like my usual.” They swing it in a lazy circle, pushing Jimmy another step back into the room. “And a bit small.”
“Oi,” he mutters, out of force of habit.
“Ah - I’m sorry, Officer,” they grin, “I don’t mean to tease. It’s just that I’m quite excited for the windfall here.”
“Oh yeah? So what’s your plan?” Jimmy swallows, embarrassingly louder than he’d hoped it would be. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Nothing unusual. Just hold you for ransom - I’ve done it before. You’d be surprised how quick the Navy can be to put a price on their men’s heads… and quite possibly even more surprised to know how low that price tends to be.”
“What?”
“Still fairly high, of course, or I wouldn’t do this, but for a government organisation… I mean, if you’re really a high-ranking Officer, I assume the payload will be a fair bit better.”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything. His life now depends on that little exaggeration. Why is he so stupid?
“But they are technically after me at the minute - of course they are, they know me well enough - so with any luck I’ll be out of your hair before too long. Or you’ll be out of mine, I suppose.”
“We -” They know me well enough?
… Is Jimmy supposed to know this guy?
He frowns, flexes the fingers on one hand behind his back. They’re coming back into themselves now. He’s feeling a bit more in control of things. “Good. But don’t hold your breath about the cash. The Navy’s not just gonna bend to one little ship for one of their men back.”
“Oh, they have and they will,” the stranger laughs.
Jimmy swallows again. “Well, not for me, they won’t.”
“That’s a silly thing to say.”
He twitches at that, reaching for a sword he knows he doesn’t have. “Don’t call me that.”
“What, silly? I mean, sure. There’s plenty of other words for the same purpose.”
“Well, don’t use them.” I’m a smart man and I get things done, he affirms to himself. And, quieter, I promise.
“Either way, it’s not worth keeping your hopes up. Just keep yourself to yourself and my men will do the rest of the work.” They start to mess with his sword again, a silent threat to go with their words of caution. “And don’t go slamming yourself into that door again, alright, or I’ll have to get the ropes - and that won’t be a good use of anybody’s time.”
“I - who are you?”
The pirate’s eyebrow flicks up. “Oh. This is that kind of a situation. That’s fun.”
“Don’t play games with me, pirate,” and his fists clench beside him, even though he knows he’s outgunned, “just tell me who I’m dealing with.”
“Alright, I won’t make it too difficult for you. Just - think about it a minute. As I’m told, I’m pretty high priority on your list of threats, so you shouldn’t have to think that far.”
He scans them again. Blond, pale, roughly his height. None of the public enemies he can remember match that description. So he thinks again - people can change the way they look, after all, and those shoes might have lifts. He needs to go for impact, for -
Danger. For the person who poses the most danger to random soldiers; the person whose sightings are usually followed by deaths or disappearances in multiple. The one person that privates like him are cautioned to stay the heck away from if they can help it.
This is when Jimmy finally understands. "You're the Major," he breathes.
"Ding ding ding," chuckles the criminal - the outlaw - the enemy of the Crown that's currently twirling Jimmy's cutlass in his hands, "we have a winner. And here I was wondering if you were ever going to figure it out. Don't they put up wanted posters for me?"
"Yeah, well - they told me to expect blue hair."
"Why on earth would I be running around with blue hair after the navy had it down as one of my identifying features? To make a statement? I'm not that stupid." The Major leans forward and takes Jimmy's chin between his finger and thumb, tilts his head so he can't help but stare directly into the eyes of the man who holds his life and liberty at knifepoint. "You, on the other hand, are making a very strong case for the inverse."
“Let go of me,” Jimmy says through gritted teeth. The Major is - he’s said to be one of the most skilled combatants that any friends of friends of friends of Jimmy’s have gone up against. Legend goes that he’s been rising through the ranks of the pirate community for almost a decade, gaining a reputation for ruthlessness and ambition, and that he ensures the diehard loyalty of his crew by slitting the throats of any who show dissent and throwing their bodies off the side. It’s not like Jimmy knows if that’s true, necessarily, but he does not want to take any chances.
The Major raises his eyebrows, like he’s surprised that Jimmy’s being mouthy. Which is fair enough - he’s never been particularly good at shutting his mouth and letting people work. He’s also never been in a situation nearly as dangerous as this, and he supposes it shows. “Alright,” and he does, and Jimmy takes the opportunity to step back into the room and keep his distance again, “as you were. I’ll send somebody else by later to give you your rations. Don’t expect a feast.”
He doesn’t reply, and the Major gives him one last appraising look before he shuts the door and locks it.
In the silence, Jimmy lets out a breath weighted like an anchor with fear and anger. He's - the Major has no right to treat him like this. To make him feel small, make him weak and helpless under the cold steel of his own blade… It's not right. It's disrespectful, is what it is.
(The ghost of rough fingers pressing firm against his chin lingers for a while, until long after some surly-faced sailor has slid some hard tack through the door and dipped silently away.)