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The Captain’s Quarters were alive with conversation detailing the final plan for docking at Port Flint, but August attended to none of it. He bent over a sprawling map of the Atlantic arranging the sextant in increments as the chatter washed over him. It was vital to double check his calculations; there was a trick to this port. They were set to skirt the naval route and instead sail past rough cliff and scattered rock to a low beach. He remembered this beach well enough; it wouldn’t be too far a distance to town. The helmsman could manage it with enough warning. He annotated the trajectory on a separate parchment for the captain and helmsman. The ink looked a little shaken, lines less descript than he liked and a few spots smudged. He looked to the window and the mild sea beyond it, then to his hands, they were quivering. He hoped no one would notice it in his writing or would attribute it to the sway of the ship. Nerves were coming up from a place deeper and darker than a spot of tricky navigating. He took a slow breath to shove it down and steady himself before interjecting with his report.
“We’ll arrive in three hours’ time if favorable winds remain. If we sail north for half an hour at this mark, it will chart us safely to a low beach to dock away from the eyes of the Naval routes.” He pointed to a small blot of rock on the map as he explained. It would be enough for the helmsman to navigate.
“Thank you, August,” Captain Piers Finch nodded his way and angled to the other men. “Quill, waste no time to the rendezvous, the meeting with our intelligence draws close to the hour we disembark. Osceola, accompany Quill for added safety should it become necessary. Mal and August, in addition to the list of supplies, pick up something nice for the crew while you’re at it. We can afford it after our last acquisition.” Finch dismissed them with a wave of hand and glided out of the quarters to relay the route to the helmsman.
The others followed suit while August stood numbly. A riot of emotions and thoughts kept him rooted to the spot. The ship swayed gently on course and he with it. He counted six years since leaving his home town and in all that time they had never had need to come back until now. How many once familiar faces would recognize him? Would Oliver?
It sent a shiver down his spine and stopped his breathing cold. He couldn’t think about that right now, there were more pressing matters at hand and the crew relied on him to do his part. He told himself over and over, staring at the map, hand lingering at the locket tucked under his shirt. He took it out and flipped open the delicate metal, pressed safely within its border was his favorite portrait he had painted of Oliver. It peered at him placidly with tiny ochra blots for hazel eyes framed by loose waves of black hair. Staring at it now only made his hands shake more and he hastily tucked it back under his shirt.
By the time he got himself under control and emerged on deck, they were almost there. A high ridge of rock loomed seemingly impassable but they came upon a break in the wall and sailed through cleanly. The cliff was disconnected from the mainland, once they passed it, a wide cover and beach opened before them.
August watched it all while out of the way standing just outside the door. A fine mist of sea and beginning of drizzle sprayed him; there was no space untouched on deck. He adjusted his coat and tricorn to be better protected. It was much colder and wetter here than the Nassau but there was something in the core of his body that settled into familiarity of the weather, even as he detested it.
Quill called to him across the deck with a shout and wave to join the handful going to shore. He joined at the stored long boat, helping ready it as the ship moored. There were a few jokes shared between them as they lowered the boat into the water and rowed to shore, but largely they all settled into seriousness for the day ahead. August especially kept himself thinking only of the practical steps ahead.
Past the beach and over a ledge of stair stepped rocks, they came upon a few cottages nestled in a field of reeds. One had a collapsing roof and a door still half hinged and standing. They decided it would be good cover to use to meet back up. Uninhabited and something for cover should the weather get worse. Nearby down a footpath was a side entrance into town and a thoroughfare to the bustling docks.
Quill and Osceola parted ways before getting to the bustling streets. August and Mal continued closer to the docks. He looked over the list in Mal’s hand a final time.
“Nothing here out of ordinary for restock, should all be easy to barter for.” Mal said and selected a portion of the purse into August’s hand. “If you still remember this place, why don’t you focus on finding something we can’t get without local insight?”
“It’s been a long time but sure, I’ll dig into the real shops out of the basic thoroughfare. There’s some places that used to be around, let’s see if they’re still here.”
“You know where and when to meet, take your time on your search.” Mal winked, mischief and knowing in his crooked smile.
It occurred to him then, that his thoughts were more transparent than he’d realized. None of the crew were blind to what this excursion meant to him. He chose not to comment, instead giving Mal a look as he stashed the coins to a hidden inner pocket in his coat. They went their separate ways, Mal with a laugh and August a fretful scowl.
He passed the outer town near the docks toward village proper, stepping from wooden planks to cobblestone. The best places that came to mind immediately were closer to the center of the town or at least further in. The buildings looked the same, closely packed together and rambling sizes spanning a nonsense network. It felt familiar and disconnected at once, full of ghosts of the past. The thick clouds of mottled grey and intermittent drizzle washed the colors of the hand painted store signs into muted tones. It all felt and looked a bit dull, too much grey and brown, save for the contrast of trees and flowers.
A few shops here and there, he recognized as promising to visit. A baker who boasted excellent meat pies, surely those would be quickly devoured by everyone. Oliver and himself used to go there as often as they could. He wondered if Oliver still went there, alone or with another man. When was the last time Oliver went there? The shop front went by as he pressed on without pause.
A long window of a frippery merchant caught his eye with their bright patterned ribbons. Girls certainly fawned over the shop throughout the year, the kind of place Oliver might take a wife if he married. He hurried past the windows avoiding looking into them. Imagination churned wildly all the same.
Like clockwork to his thoughts, he passed a family strolling on the same side of the street. A small child loudly clamoring about a doll. Oliver would surely have children by now if he had taken a wife. Would that lessen the loss? Did Oliver miss him like he did, or even half as much?
A old question struck him that he always pushed off. Was Oliver still here? There was no guarantee he would have continued living here. He may not even be alive. The very thought stilled him with icy dread. It would be the worst fate of all and he couldn’t bear to entertain it.
August’s feet carried him on through the street and past every person, his body seeming to have an agenda that he let takeover. When his steps stopped, he looked up to see a hanging sign read Merriwick’s Tavern above a painting of an otter in a waistcoat. Alarm jolted through him like lightning followed by numbness. It was Oliver’s family’s tavern. Naturally, of all the places to be drawn to in a daze it would be here.
For too long, he stood staring at the door. All the questions badgering him through town were louder than ever. Loudest of all was the question if Oliver was here at the tavern. Then again, what if he wasn’t? Dear Lord, this was the worst. His hand shook reaching for the handle and he chastised himself for being a coward. He took a deep breath and threw open the door, stepping in as though he belonged there.
It looked different but also the same. A little cleaner, seating rearranged, and walls painted, the main structure remained unaltered. Light filtered from the windows illuminated some of the tables but the sky was too clouded for it to reach the bar. Lanterns hung above on hooks casting a rosy glow on two people behind the counter tending to lively patrons. One, a woman with long light brown hair, spoke animatedly to a person leaning at the bar. The other, a man with black hair a little short to tie back, had their back turned reaching for something.
August hung back near a pillar and watched, wondering who it was. If it could be him. When the man turned his eyes were too shadowed to see clearly. He stepped forward closer to the bar until he could see the man’s face better in lamplight. Hazel eyes, like Oliver’s, but these eyes lacked luster. They held a dull sadness, a little hollow in his angular face, aided by the hint of scruff along his jaw that suggested he hadn’t shaved today. August was almost certain but couldn’t let himself dare to believe it. Chided it had to be a coincidence.
The man turned to acknowledge him, eyes going wide and complexion pale. Their lips parted to speak but no sound formed. The man cleared his throat and tried again.
“What can I get for you sir?” The voice was a little rougher, deeper perhaps, but it was Oliver.
It was a simple question, an ordinary question. He knew he had to respond and quickly. There was a lot to say that flooded his mind at once. A great many responses were ones he couldn’t voice publicly.
“A moment of your time,” he finally choked out. His breathing felt tight with how wildly fast his heart beat, it was a bit painful, like drowning. He wasn’t sure this was the right thing to say.
Oliver stuttered something he couldn’t catch and nodded. Oliver leaned over to the barmaid, speaking in a low tone before coming around the side of the bar to August. “In the storeroom,” Oliver said simply, taking a lantern and ushering him past the door of the stock quarters.
They were in very close proximity due to stacks of crates, barrels, and sacks piled all around. There was hardly a place to sit and the brim of his hat was getting in the way, so he removed the barrier to a barrel and stood almost touching. He studied Oliver, determined to map all the changes and similarities he could note in the glow of the lantern. Oliver stared at him equally intense with a series of emotions he couldn’t decode. Was that outrage or disbelief? Surely, Oliver felt some semblance of happiness.
What about himself? Did he feel happy? He felt a mess. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes; he might cry for the first time since the last death of a crewmate.
“August,” Oliver hesitated, as though testing the sound of his name. “You’re alive.”
“I’ve managed well to find my way and keep safe enough. It hasn’t been easy but there’s no known place I this world that would be easy on the likes of me.”
“Then, what brings you back?” There was something in the way Oliver spoke and the way he looked at him that held such a weighted expectation.
August swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat from the heaviness between them. He would explain the official reason for being here but he wanted to make it clear it wasn’t the sole reason and there were other pressing matters he cared for far more. Words began to dry up before he could speak them.
“I’m here to see you. Have you grown past need of me?”
Oliver uttered a sound between a laugh and a sob, quickly turning away from him. “Brash as ever. How can I possibly answer that as though I know you anymore.”
“I’m still me; there are things time hasn’t changed. Look at me Oliver, it’s been so long.” He leaned toward Oliver and turned Oliver’s face towards his, the sensation of stubble on his fingertips rough yet inviting.
“It didn’t have to be that way. You didn’t have to leave me on my own.” Oliver pressed his face into August’s hand, expression twisting into distress, and desperation in his eyes.
“Alone? What about the family you talked of having?” August searched frantically in Oliver’s eyes for the answers. The story of everything that passed in these years. “I thought surely…”
“It wasn’t a real plan, it was an idea.” Oliver pulled back, his whisper harsh. “I didn’t know what else to do to keep suspicion away from our relationship. It’s all pointless without you.”
“Why then did you insist upon going along with society when they’ve done nothing of good to us? It’s not worth it. It would have been cruelty to bring an innocent woman into a lie. I recall telling you that last time too.” August wrung his hands, pacing about however he could in the space.
“It’s safe and stable, why can’t you see that? You couldn’t then. Has that not changed too? Don’t you tire of being hunted as a pirate? Do you not fear public execution? There is safety in a lie. How can you still feel this way after living it?” Oliver gripped August’s shoulders tightly, eyes frantic, and voice harsh keeping a low tone to not be overheard.
“There’s freedom Oliver, and equality, more than we’ve ever had here. I see truly how I was right to fear a dead end life here, no prospects, no future, and only stolen moments with you. It’s not enough.”
“I always wished I would be enough for you.” Oliver’s voice dropped to a whisper but the words stuck as plainly as though they were shouted.
“If I could have just you, I would take you, but we aren’t isolated from this society. I can’t have you without everything else attached. I can’t return to this kind of life, not after all these years of knowing what it’s like to have better, to take better. Can’t you see, I’d rather die young as an outlaw than bide time with scraps and wait for a long slow death.”
“Then what are you doing here, really? August, why did you come in here today after silence for six years? Was it to reopen wounds and rub salt in them?” Oliver’s voice sounded choked and close to tears. When Oliver reached out he stopped pacing.
“No, never Oliver, never.” He pressed his forehead to Oliver’s and gripped his arms. “I set out to get something good for the crew and my feet carried me here. I had no idea if I’d see you again, I hoped…” He took a steadying breath and stepped back.
“I’m here, I’ve always been here. I kept wishing you’d return to be with me, that you’d be safe. I dared not hope too much or I’d never make it day by day.” Oliver looked no less distraught. His brows were fiercely furrowed, expression hard to fight tears welling in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have believed you were here for me.”
“That’s not fair, I’m right here in front of you because I wanted to see you, to be with you. I may have a secondary reason I have to attend but it doesn’t lesson that I sought you out. If I had sole say of where we sail, I would have returned sooner. Listen, I can’t tarry further. I have to get back.” August sighed deeply, frustration burned through him making the room feel stiflingly hot.
“You’re choosing them over me again.” Oliver’s harsh tone was another stab.
“It doesn’t have to be like that, forget all of this and join me.” He implored, practically begging in earnest for Oliver to agree.
“But there’s much that I manage here at the tavern. My parents still hold expectations for me. I can’t leave my life behind.”
He couldn’t take the halfhearted explanations, Oliver didn’t sound convincing though he knew well Oliver believed his blasted words. He slammed his palm on a crate and leaned close, breathing Oliver’s air for the last time he’d ever be able to.
“What life Oliver? From where I stand, you look miserable; I can see it hanging about you.” More than anything he wanted Oliver to see and understand this. How could he be so oblivious?
Oliver shoved him aside with a small push. “You show up one afternoon and think you’ve seen what I’ve been through? You left. You have no right. Just go back to your ship.” Oliver turned away, grabbed a sizeable bottle of alcohol, and shoved it to August’s chest.
He stumbled back, catching hold the bottle, stunned, and scrambling for words. “If that’s how it’s to be then.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and slapped a few coins down by the lantern. He snatched his tricorn and strode out of the supply room, donning it as he walked through the tavern, obscuring his face from strangers until he got outside. His raging emotions were for no one, save for Oliver, to see. He didn’t feel calmer by the time he got outside but he could mask it.
The walk to the abandoned cottage began to blur in a bleak haze. He walked through the streets heedless of everyone and let them get out of his way. It felt far longer to leave than it did to arrive at the tavern, in part to blame with how his stomach churned from his thoughts. He could scarcely believe seeing him went as horribly as it did last time. His one chance to see Oliver again dashed by insistence of belief. If he hadn’t have tried to convince Oliver to join him and instead have enjoyed what scant time he had, maybe he could have at least made a nice memory to hold onto. Was it so impossible to have a nice moment to part under? He kicked a rock roughly down the street and marched on. More arguments to haunt him into the grave. He couldn’t stop himself back there, even as he recognized the old ground they were treading.
Dark thoughts shifted to a different kind of tension upon arriving to the cottage. Mal and Osceola were standing close and talking in low voices. Quill was nowhere to be seen. He looked about for him but found no immediate tell.
“Where’s Quill?” He asked the lot, keeping his voice low.
“Ah, there you are, I’ve been waiting your return.” Osceola said. His expression was serious but unworried. “Quill is held up at his meeting point we’ve received signal that our contact is delayed at the governor’s estate. We estimate it could take into the night before the meeting is done. I need to get back to him; it may take a few hours but be ready at any time.” With that, Osceola left.
August stood silently processing the news; it was a lot to take in. The anxieties of Quill’s wellbeing melted to relief that it was simply a delay to meet. That meant there was suddenly more time, a second chance to his second chance. Maybe he could get his lesser wish granted, not Oliver by his side but a nice conversation to keep safe in his memory. If he gathered the bravery to act on it and try again. His chest fluttered painfully with nerves yet something akin to hope roosted in.
“That all you brought?” Mal broke the silence motioning to the large bottle August carried.
“It won’t go very far will it?” He held it up, studying it for the first time. A handwritten label in Oliver’s script read Brandywine and a date. It was his choice drink, certainly that was no coincidence. Guilt jabbed him again for the way they parted.
“Not with this crew, what were you thinking?” Mal laughed good naturedly.
“I left in a hurry.” August said, heat flaming his face and up to his ears. “I should take this time to get a proper amount. Here, hold this, where’s the supplies you got?”
“In the shanty. I’ll take it, I’m waiting there under what’s left of the roof, there’s a chair and table forgotten.” Mal collected the bottle from him and grasped his shoulder with a crooked smile, eyes alight with mischief and hidden meaning. “You best get more. There’s no big rush now to bring back enough for all of us.”
“As you request,” August chuckled and clasped Mal’s wrist on his shoulder affectionately before breaking away.
His hand itched to touch the locket, hovering where it rested under his clothes. Retracing his steps felt lighter this time, however infinitely more intimidating. Oliver would likely be angry to see him back or at the very least confused. He could deal with either but he worried about losing his temper again, that he could never forgive himself for. The best chance was to accept Oliver’s choice in remaining here. Simple take some time to appreciate seeing him again, he was lucky enough to have even that much. It was easier said than done.
The tavern door stood before him once again. This time, he barged in pulling on confidence while striding straight to Oliver behind the bar.
“August? You’re still here.” Oliver looked up from cleaning the counter, there was hope in his eyes and a stifled smile.
“There’s a delay. I came back…for more brandy.” He leaned on the counter and beseeched Oliver with an intent look, hoping he would notice the hidden meaning in his eyes.
Oliver sighed, face dropping, whatever answer he hoped for wasn’t given. “I have a box in the back, help me carry it.”
Oliver didn’t sound thrilled but he was getting a chance at another private conversation and that was something. Instead of the stock room, Oliver led him closer to the family quarters, out into the back garden behind the tavern. It was a small space and presently didn’t look like it was growing anything other than weeds. When they were little, there used to be herbs and a few vegetables tended by his mother. There was better privacy here than the stock room and gave leave to speak plainly.
“That was partly an excuse, thank you for granting us privacy.”
“Out with it August, you’ve taken a lot out of me already.” Oliver angled away from him, staring at a fixed spot adjacent to him.
“It’s true there’s a delay and I need more Brandywine, but it’s far more important to speak to you again. I can’t bear to leave on the same note as last time. I don’t want to argue, your life is yours to spend how you wish. I shouldn’t have pressed you to follow the same path as I.” He took Oliver’s hands in his and brought them together in front of him, holding them gently. “I accept your choices. I love you all the same.”
Oliver looked at him then, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Why couldn’t you say that in the first place?” Oliver squeezed August’s hands and grimaced, swallowed back more tears.
“It’s…not easy. Damnation this is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.” His voice shook as he fought to keep himself together. He’d never be able to pick himself back up if he broke now.
August brought a hand up, gently wiping away Oliver’s tears, pausing to feel the smoothness of his upper cheek in contrast to the stubble on his jaw.
“I’d just like a moment to remember your face as it is now.” I have a locket with a painting of you. I’ve painted countless portraits of you over the years, trying to capture your likeness.” A lock of Oliver’s hair had come loose obscuring his face, he swept it back, gazing into Oliver’s hazel eyes, still tearful. He traced the straight bridge of Oliver’s nose and stroked the curve of his dark brows.
“Sit with me while it’s still light out. I don’t want to rush back, they’re fine in there without me.” Oliver kept hold of his hand and they sat on covered barrels. He didn’t take his eyes off of Oliver, still holding his hand, one of their knees touching in close proximity. “I didn’t know you painted.”
“I picked it up along the way. I couldn’t bear to be parted from you and it was a way I could keep you close.”
“I’ve felt similarly. I still have a lock of your hair that I always keep on me.” Oliver had a small smile that looked wistful. Oliver reached into a pocket and pulled out a pendant. “How close in likeness is the portrait?”
“I’ll show you.” August regretfully let go of Oliver’s hand to unclasp the locket and exchange it for the pendant.
The pendant was a different style of locket. It was a gold oval frame with engraved designs too worn to understand. The centerpiece had a gentle glass dome sealed over dark fabric and a simple circle of his hair. It made sense to keep his hair in a mourning locket, but at the same time made him feel like he failed somehow by becoming a ghost. That feeling combined strangely by the deep reverence in seeing his love reciprocated in a similar way. Perhaps, that was how his locket came across to Oliver. He wiped tears from his eyes and looked to Oliver, he seemed as heavily affected. He took a few slow and deep breaths to collect himself until Oliver acknowledged him.
“How long do you plan to be here?” Oliver asked quietly and passed the locket back. August traded it for the keepsake.
“Sometime in the night, it’s unclear but I should go back by evening.”
“Is it far? It’ll mean we have less time.”
They both looked up to the overcast sky slowly getting darker. It was not easy to tell when evening would be by way of the sky and he had no watch.
“Not far, I’m going to the series of cottages outside the east of town; I shouldn’t push it too much though. I’ll need to bring enough Brandywine for the whole crew to enjoy and they can drink a lot.”
“I’ll gather a box for you, that will do you better than a single bottle.” Oliver rose and looked at the various crates around them.
“I’ll help you and I’ll pay you better.” August rose as well, relatching the locket and retrieving the coin purse out from his coat.
“No need.” Oliver said with a dismissive wave.
August ignored that and sectioned out a fair payment. He pressed it into Oliver’s hands with a stern look, receiving no insistence this time.
He trailed Oliver back to the main hall with an empty box. Oliver packed it full of bottles from the storage room with regretful efficiency. The box was hefty and awkward to vary but feasible. He briefly considered asking Oliver to help, but he’d never be able to turn Oliver away if he followed him to the beach. Better to part at the tavern and recollect himself on the walk.
“Are you able to carry it all on your own?” Oliver asked, eyeing him skeptically, not looking at the alcohol.
“I can handle it well enough.”
“You’re stronger than you used to be.”
“I’ve had to be, building strength happened naturally.” He smiled at Oliver, shoving his emotions in a box of their own as he adjusted the hold.
The finality of parting ways sunk in and he stood frozen in place and hesitating. He had to move, he knew that. Saying he accepted Oliver’s choice and facing the reality of it was setting out to be another matter entirely. He studied Oliver a final time under the golden glow of lanterns. Oliver looked somber and sadder than when August first walked into the tavern early in the day. He felt the same soul deep ache in his chest.
“It’s with me always.” He tapped his chest where the locker rested.
“Until death I carry you with me.” Oliver’s hand was in his pocket where he last hid the pendant.
August turned and left, hefting the box with him through the tavern door. The box was easier to carry through the streets, less obstacles to weave around and less people at this hour. He wasted no time in walking back, keeping vigilant while focusing on not thinking about anything. Regardless, thoughts and feeling flowed centered on the day’s events, swirling endlessly in mind. The guilt and anxiety that had plagued him diminished in intensity. He supposed he should feel happy about that, at least his wish for a tender moment with Oliver had been realized. There shouldn’t be so much grief, his heart shouldn’t ache as it did. But he wanted more. He wanted a lifetime with Oliver freely together and he couldn’t help that. It was selfish and he longed for it all the same.
The abandoned cottage entered the horizon shadowed by reeds in the last slivers of light. He shouldered the door ajar and edged into the house. From what he could tell, most of the interior was one open main room, at least it seemed that way from a segment of the roof collapsed in and obscuring walls that may have been. In the half that wasn’t caved in, Mal sat at a table with a lantern and a few chairs around. Some other furniture set about that had various stuff piled on it. When he shuffled in, Mal jerked up to attention then relaxed upon recognizing him.
“Just you? The others’ are taking their time coming back. Any signals of alarm or warnings?” August asked, setting the box next to their supplies, notably the only sack unweathered in the neglected menagerie.
“None, I’ve been on lookout. With luck, they won’t be long now. I’m ready to get back to the ship.” Mal stood up from the table and inspected the contents of the box. “Looks like you’ve brought enough back this time. I was wondering if I should have been worried about you too.” Mal’s large hand clapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin.
“Couldn’t let everyone down back on the ship since there was time to spare. Made the most of it today.” August caught his hand hovering near the locket by reflex.
“Should I ask?” Mal noticed and waggled his eyebrows knowingly.
“No,” August replied, nearly cutting Mal off. Make immersive Mortification heated his face and the last thing he wanted to do was speak on it.
Mal laughed loud, “Very well.” Mal went to a window checking the distance.
August joined, peering out to the dark. A few lights from houses dotted the dark, almost out of sight was a steady light in the direction he was certain Quill’s rendezvous was. It was a prior established signal, if the light extinguished, there was trouble.
“All’s well, assuming so. I wonder how long they will take.” August sighed.
“Anyone’s guess. Join me for dice and perhaps we can dip into one of the bottles.” Mal’s tone was half serious.
“Dice yes, drink will wait until we’re on the ship and away from here.” August admonished with a chuckle. He took a less rickety chair and joined Mal at the table. A bit of gambling would pass the time and occupy his mind. As he was now, his chest constricted mutinously, threatening an emotional breakdown if he sat too long in thought.
They played a few rounds of Hazard, Mal lightening his mood as they went on. The banter and gambling helping. He contemplated giving in to Mal’s suggestion for drink when the door creaked open. They snapped to attention immediately, readying for possibilities, when Quill entered. He was alone and rushed toward them. Tension did not recede.
“Osceola is outside. We’ve been followed through the outskirts of town.” Quill spoke in a harsh whisper. “Osceola is following behind the tail. We’ll not leave loose ends, be ready.”
August and Mal exchanged glances and nodded. Silently, they took up different locations from the door and watched. Mal drew a pistol and August unbuttoned his coat resting a hand on his pistol.
A moment later, the door creaked open and a dark cloaked figure stumbled in, identity obscured and formless. They moved in halting stiff steps with hands out and open in surrender. Behind them Osceola loomed though he wasn’t taller by a lot. From where August was angled he could see a dagger pressing to the cloaked figure’s back, gathering the cloak inward. Osceola dropped a leather travel bag beside the door and shut it without yielding the knife. The creak of the hinges grating in the silence of the room.
“Remove the cloak and state your business.” Osceola’s tone as sharp as their blade. He spoke quietly but it carried in the air all the same.
August’s grip tightened on the butt of his pistol. The figure’s arms moved cautiously to the hood and removed it with the haste once the edges were in hand.
“O-Oliver?” August gasped, alarm and shock rising in an entirely unexpected reason. He rushed forward heedless of everyone else. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not letting you leave,” Oliver said, voice catching and stopping August in his tracks. Oliver swallowed visibly and opened his mouth to speak again. “Not without me. I can’t go on living as I have, seeing you today made that clear. I’ve been lying to myself and it took this evening to really understand that. Society be damned, August, it’s not done me any favors.” Oliver’s voice rose until he declared his piece.
There were so many things August could say and simultaneously nothing at all. He closed the space between them, took Oliver in his arms, and kissed him fiercely. Oliver enfolded into his body easily, feeling solidly real and sweet. His most covetous desires solidly real before him.
“You changed your mind?” He asked breathlessly. “Why? How? What did it?” He pulled back only enough to search Oliver’s face for answers.
“It was our last conversation that made me think differently. Maybe it was all the conversation today after so long. You were almost like a phantom to me for years, our memories a sweet dream. I know I would never see you again after today and all of the feelings came up anew of just how important you are.” Oliver’s face was flushed. “I started thinking, am I really vital here? My parents will miss me, surely, but their livelihoods continue and there’s competent staff who can be trained to take over. What would happen to you if I don’t go.” Oliver cupped August’s face in his hands, thumbs rubbing August’s cheeks. “How would you fare?”
“Poorly,” August said with a laugh, vision blurring with welling tears.
Oliver kissed him then with a confident passion, knocking him back a step in surprise. He breathed into Oliver, feeling tension and every horrible feeling relax for the first time. A part of him would live in this moment for eternity, drinking it in to sate starvation.
He recognized the moment in reality couldn’t last forever and drew back to acknowledge the others in the room and explain anything they hadn’t already put together. He felt the heat in his face rise as he looked at each man. They regarded him patiently, kindly, and with some level of amusement.
“I thought he looked familiar. So, this is Oliver huh?” Mal said, giving Oliver a hearty clap on the shoulder.
“I’m relieved we don’t have to kill anyone here tonight. Nicer to have a little reunion and new recruit.” Quill approached, looking over Oliver with evident satisfaction.
“Welcome aboard, or soon to be, we’ll find a use for you yet.” Osceola had circled around to be face to face.
“M-Many thanks,” Oliver stammered with a half bow. Oliver looked a little overwhelmed being surrounded by strangers having witnessed August’s and Oliver’s passionate confession and then accepted by them.
“I’m sure you’ll get on well with the whole crew in no time.” August clasped Oliver’s shoulder and rubbed it fondly, becoming pleased with the idea he could casually touch him at any time and reaffirm his realness.
“So, you all know about me?” Oliver asked, turning to each man.
“We all learned of you at some point. Hard not to when your face has been August’s favorite subject to paint. I’ve never seen a man pine so ardently.” Mal laughed and patted August’s shoulder.
August couldn’t seem to get the heat to calm from his face. “No more of that,” he chided without weight behind it.
“We’ll see about that,” Quill smirked and picked up a sack.
“If you lot are ready, let’s take our leave, we’ve been here long enough. I want to see what August bought us all, that is, unless you were too busy gadding about.” Osceola gave them a wink, handing Oliver’s luggage back.
“Don’t worry about that, Oliver helped me secure plenty for the crew. You won’t be disappointed.” August collect one end of the box of Brandywine with Mal taking the other. “I anticipate Captain Finch will be pleased to meet you and have you on board.” He smiled at Oliver, feeling impossibly light.
“I should hope so, he won’t be able to get rid of me as long as you’re around.” Oliver smiled back, looking unburdened for the first time August could readily recall.
Between all of them, it was an easy task to cart the acquired supplies down the rough stone steps and across the deserted beach. They loaded the supplies and themselves into the stashed longboat, pushing off into the ocean with a mad dash. Black choppy water lashed at the creaking boat as they rowed further from the shore, waves still mild enough to be unconcerned.
August settled on a bench close packed next to Oliver. Quiet conversation filled the air around them as they passed the time. Oliver’s hand rested atop his and August leaned on him looking up to the clouded sky. The moon was visible in pale haze, casting faint light on them as they neared the ship. Oliver’s hand was warm on his, conversation of his friends, his family, a jovial comfort. His two worlds bridged together in what he could only call home.