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“Well,” Tim says, “this is it.”
There’s more space in the cottage than Jason thought. The bedroom is kind of small, though, a bed and a single dresser its sole occupants.
The bed is big enough for both of them to sleep comfortably on, though, and Jason likes that thought more than he ought to. He puts down his knapsack and turns to Tim, spreading his arms. Tim steps into his embrace without hesitation, and it’s like they’re twenty again and yet nothing like it.
Tim’s kisses are more careful now. His hands aren’t as calloused, but they still elicit shivers when they roam over Jason’s back. In turn, Jason knows that he has never held Tim so carefully before, like he’s an illusion that could vanish any moment.
As the minutes (or maybe hours) pass, they become more sure of themselves. Tim chuckles when Jason finds a ticklish spot on his ribs and retaliates. When they fall into bed, it’s with laughter, not breathless desire. Jason’s fingers can’t stop running through Tim’s hair. It’s longer, now, than he’s ever seen it before. He takes out the tie, watches as the hair frames Tim’s face, smiles. “It suits you.”
Tim, in turn, barely startles when he finds out one of Jason’s feet is made out of wood these days. He just asks how to take it off, and when Jason shows him, he kisses the scars around the stump with something close to reverence.
They learn each other’s bodies again that night. It’s not sexual, not really, even if Jason’s hard against Tim’s hip and Tim comes, at some point, shuddering through climax just to go back to touching Jason.
When they fall asleep, it’s hand in hand, heart to heart, Tim’s breath ghosting across Jason’s shoulder. Jason can’t remember the last time he’s felt this safe.
Ostensibly, this a transport ship for England’s upper- and middle-class. Just families trying to make a new life across the pond, as you do when you can afford to. Nice, moderate people who get the shock of their life when their ship gets boarded by pirates.
Some of them go for jewelry, some for the people. Jason hates that part, so he doesn’t look. That’s not why he’s here. He’s going for the ship’s underbelly. Here, he finds a very different class of people: England’s poor and her captives from her colonies, crammed into a tight, damp space. They’re not even chained. There’s no need to; hunger and cold would’ve taken the fight out of them long ago.
Well, Jason intends to change that. His picks make quick work of the lock to the cage, and he opens it triumphantly.“Get out,” he hisses at the prisoners. “There’s a ship waiting for you.”
No need to tell them twice. They rush past him, trying to keep quiet, but the way they touch his shoulder as they pass him speaks volumes.
Yes. This is what he left Bruce’s ship for. The feeling that he’s not just doing something, he’s doing enough.
He waits until the last of them—two elderly women, way too old to be sold as work slaves—have left the ship’s underbelly and made it to the deck. Then he goes to check out the rest of the room. There’s the usual amount of storage. Food, mostly, and the idea of the prisoners having the piles of cured meats and crates of pickled vegetables right in front of them while they starved only fuelled his righteous fury.
Something moves behind the pile he’s staring at. Jason steps closer, his knife drawn and ready, and sees—a boy. He can’t be older than twelve. His blue eyes are wide with fear, but he’s not crying or saying anything.
Jason considers the situation. The prisoners must’ve seen the boy hide. None of them said anything.
“Stay down here,” is all he says. “We won’t burn the ship, but—stay here.”
Then he turns and leaves. He’s got a job to do.
The sound of the waves is so loud, Jason almost thinks he’s back on his ship when he wakes up.
But no. The sea doesn’t sound like this when you’re sailing. There’s the distinct splatter of sea spray hitting the rock, the sucking sounds of waves rolling off sand, the cry of seagulls nesting. The bed Jason’s laying on is soft and still. Artemis isn’t shouting at him from the deck to get up already.
Another hint that he’s not at sea: Tim’s arms are locked tightly around his middle. Jason puts his hands on top of them and smiles at nothing for a moment.
Nature’s calling, though,
When he’s done, Jason pads to the kitchen. He tears off a few pieces of day-old bread and chews. Some years ago, he almost fainted in battle because he didn’t eat in the morning, and his crew has never let him forget it. Since he doesn’t know yet how long Tim will sleep, he thinks it’s better to be prepared.
Funny. They know so much about each other, but Jason has no idea what Tim’s routine is like.
A glance into the bedroom confirms that it doesn’t involve getting up any time soon. Jason decides to go for a walk.
It’s sunny outside. The wind’s blowing strong; Jason’s pretty sure that’s just par for the course around here. He likes what he sees: The sea, stretching out endlessly in three directions; hills on the other side, sandy and sparsely green from constant winds and the salt of the ocean.
The rocks themselves are barely visible from up here, where they are on top of them. Jason likes that, too. Easily defensible terrain with excellent visibility; Tim always made smart choices.
After his round, he stands on the porch for a long time, just breathing in the air and listening to the sounds. The sea will always sing to him. That’s okay.
Jason gives it a wave, then he heads back inside and into the kitchen. If he knows Tim at all, there is one thing he can prepare for him.
Tim finally wakes up as Jason slides back into bed. His eyes blink open slowly, but he lights up when he sees Jason. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Jason smiles back and hands him his coffee.
Jason is not surprised at all that Bruce has found himself a new adjutant already. He himself had been taken in when Grayson had barely left the ship; why would his replacement be different?
Admiral Wayne is a busy man, after all. He needs an assistant.
Honestly, there’s nothing personal about this. Not that Bruce will believe him, but Jason really only led his crew here because there were rumors of a new slave-trading ring operating from the island. Either that had been a trap, or Bruce got there first. And the navy vessels had started to fire at Jason’s ship, so really, he had no choice but to return it.
Bruce, of course, has to make it about himself. “Jason! Stop this madness!”
“Excuse me, who attacked first, old man?” Jason yells back. Their ships are locked together, now, close enough that canons are useless.
“The Navy has the right and duty to defend these waters. Piracy is a scourge, bringing violence everywhere it goes.”
Bla, bla, bla. Jason’s heard it all before. “As if the Navy isn’t just as guilty! Standing by, watching as cooperations trade people.”
“It’s not!” the young man next to Bruce calls out unexpectedly. He’s just a boy, really. Jason doesn’t care about him.
Still, he’s taken aback when his casual look is returned by burning blue eyes. The kid looks familiar. It takes Jason a second to connect this slim young man to the scared child on that ship years ago.
He sees the same startled recognition in the other’s eyes. Well, damn. Jason always knew his good deeds would come back to bite him in the ass.
Bruce sees his glance and misunderstands.
“You can still come back, Jason,” he tells him in that voice that Jason would’ve once followed to the ends of the earth. The one that promised him a home; that promised him justice.
The one that lied.
“No, Bruce. I can’t.”
The first time they visit town together, Jason feels weird.
It’s just… everyone seems to know Tim. Makes sense, he’s lived here for a while, now. They also keep calling him ‘Admiral,’ which Jason feels decidedly conflicted about. And while they don’t bat an eye at the stranger that has moved in with their local hero, he’s always worried that someone will recognize him. He is a wanted man, after all. A pirate. Nothing like Tim, who they seem to admire so much.
Jason will never fit in here.
Tim notices, of course. “You should go visit the port.”
“Well, yeah. I want to buy some fish, remember?”
“Good. Make sure to stop by the tavern, while you’re at it.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. Tim just waves him off, though, so he shrugs off the weirdness and goes, glad to have something to do.
The fishmonger is easy to find if a bit too expensive for Jason’s taste. Whatever. He can afford it, he reminds himself.
It’s pretty obvious which building Tim was referring to by ‘the tavern,’ if only because that was actually the name of one of the establishments. ‘The Tavern.’ How original.
When he enters, it looks like any other run-down bar to Jason. Still, he’s hungry, so he heads over to the counter and orders himself some grub. The decoration is interesting, at least, he muses as he waits—plenty of paintings of ships. None of them look like they belong to the Navy.
“I used to be with Teach,” the man next to him says out of the blue. “Been a while since I’ve seen a familiar face here.”
“Routes have shifted,” Jason replies, “less smuggling to be done here these days.” He holds out a hand. “Jason.”
The other man shakes it. “John. What brings you here?”
“Ah, you know, settling down. How about you?”
“Same, same. Not a bad place at all to do it.”
“I’m starting to think so, too.”
The barmaid comes over and puts down steak and potatoes in front of Jason.
He looks at it in disbelief. He ordered a simple stew.
“We know who we owe our freedom to,” she tells him. “This one’s on the house.”
Jason blinks. “Thanks.”
As he eats, Jason glances around the room a second time from a different angle. These are his people, he realizes: the ex-convicts and sex workers, the escaped slaves and downtrodden poor, the women who refuse to stay down and the men who don’t know how to hide who they love.
He smiles and spears another piece of stake with his fork. Maybe he’s not that out of place in this town, after all.
Jason can’t stop staring as the cell door opens.
“Get out,” Bruce’s adjutant hisses, and this feels very familiar. Jason doesn’t move an inch.
“Is this a trap?”
The young man’s eyes briefly glance heavenward. “No. It would be a stupid one.”
Jason considers that and finally get up. “True.”
“Follow me, and for the love of God, stay silent. Patrol’s right above us.”
Figuring that he doesn’t have anything to lose, Jason follows his instructions and doesn’t speak until they’re outside.
“Walk North,” the adjutant says. “Your ship was last seen at Golden Turn. You can catch up with your friends there.” And then he turns to go.
“Wait.”
The kid sighs but does.
“I knew you were a do-gooder,” Jason says, “but this goes a bit far, even for you. Surely you know that even if I didn’t commit this particular crime, there’s been plenty of others.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” the young man snaps. Then he seems to remember himself. “Anyway, I owe you, right? Consider this a debt paid.”
“Kid. I know you haven’t been in this business as long as I have, but I gotta tell you: Not killing someone is not the same as saving them.”
“Then consider yourself in my debt.” The other seemed quite pleased at his ingenuity, blue eyes lighting up. “To be repaid at the time of my choosing.”
“Oh, no,” Jason laughs. “That’s not how this works. I never asked for you to save me.”
“Technically, neither did I.”
“Hmm.” Jason considers the figure in front of him and likes what he sees. He’d like it even more if he could take that uniform off. “How about I reward you right now instead?”
A flush creeps up that pale neck. “That’s not what I meant!”
Jason sees the way the other man’s gaze lingers on his lips, though, and smirks. “Are you sure about that?”
Forty years later, they will still argue about who kissed whom first. At the moment, Jason does not care a wit. He’s too preoccupied showing this young buck what he’s missing out on on the prim and proper side of life.
At least he finally learns the young man’s name that night. Tim.
Once a week, the post arrives. Jason is the one to greet the postman—he does more of the outdoor work, anyway, and tries to look out for him to spare the poor man the climb up the cliffs. Each week, there are at least half a dozen letters, distributed equally in who they are addressed to.
Jason doesn’t open them right away. That comes in the evening when he and Tim sit together by candlelight. It’s their quiet time; the hour where the ship settles in for the night and, baring a storm or an attack, you try to get in as much rest as you can.
As always, Jason opens the thickest letter first. He chuckles when he sees how many pages Roy sent him this time. The other man’s letters are a stream of consciousness mostly revolving around his grandchildren and whatever new invention he’s come up with now. Apparently, he’s this close to building Jason a wooden leg that will ‘blow his socks off, hahaha.’
Tim’s shoulder nudges his. “Share?”
“Just Roy’s rambling. Lian’s eldest must be what, ten now? But she’s still the ‘single most gorgeous baby you have ever seen.’”
Tim laughs. “You should go visit them.”
“Hmm.” Jason’s thought about it. “Would you come with me?”
“Would you want me to?” Tim looks surprised.
Understandable. Jason has never even told him where Roy lives, now. Unlike Tim’s friends, his don’t put a return address on the envelopes.
“It’s quite close to where Conner settled down, actually,” Jason says. “We could make a tour of it.”
Tim smiles and cuddles in closer. “Sounds good.”
“It’s a plan, then.”
Jason doesn’t regret the path he chose, and neither does Tim. However, there are no reasons for them not to merge now.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Tim whispers before he kisses Jason.
“I know,” Jason tells him as he undresses him and then belies his own words by sucking a mark into Tim’s neck, high up where Bruce will have to notice it even if Tim wears his uniform. He keeps pressing kisses to Tim’s soft skin when he’s done, slowly moving down to kiss his pink, pink nipples.
Tim groans and pulls him into another kiss, teeth clashing, lips dry. Jason can’t help but press closer. Their groans mingle as his dick rubs against Tim’s, their precum easing the way. Tim’s hips jerk up, Jason’s down, and soon they’re rutting against each other mindlessly, chasing that pleasure they only ever seem to find in the other.
It’s over quickly, as the first round tends to be. They don’t see each other often enough; have to make do with their ships coincidentally being in the same ports, and even then, their schedules don’t always allow for a secret tryst. When they do manage to secure a shared bed for the night, their passion burns all the brighter.
“I mean it,” Tim whispers. His arms are still around Jason, though, and he looks amazing like this, all fucked-out and hazy-eyed. Jason can’t get enough of it, of knowing that it’s him who made Tim look like that. So he kisses him again until all the words are gone from his tongue and thought vanishes to make room for the sheer amount of feeling.
But in the morning, Tim turns to him and says again: “We can’t keep doing this.”
That’s when Jason knows he’s serious.
“I never asked,” Tim says carefully, “but how did you lose your foot?”
Jason must’ve looked surprised because Tim immediately backpedals. “Sorry, if you’d rather not talk about it—”
“Tim, it’s fine. My whole ship knows—knew,” he corrects himself. “It was kind of stupid, anyway.”
Tim smiles. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”
“It was… ten years ago, I think. We stumbled upon a village that was under attack by Admiral Smith—maybe you know him?”
“That prick!” Tim hisses, and Jason grins.
“Yeah, that’s him. Apparently the villagers refused to surrender a wanted man to him, so he decided to shell them.”
Tim looks outraged. It’s one of these things. For two people who spent their lives on different sides of a war, their morals are very similar.
“Anyway, we went to distract him, he fired at our ship, and then a mast fell on me.”
“Ouch.”
“That about sums it up.”
There are things he will never tell Tim; about his childhood, about some of darker days, about his lovers. About what happened between him and Bruce. He knows that there are similar gaps in his knowledge of Tim. It’s okay if they’re never filled, yet he treasures every single one that is.
Like the day that he washes Tim’s hair and feels the uneven patches of it, the rough skin. Jason doesn’t ask, but Tim tells him anyway: “Had a run-in with the Smiling Terror.”
Jason snorts. “That nickname is way better than he deserves.” His hands run through Tim’s hair again, feeling for the patches. He thinks they’re burns. “What happened?”
And Tim tells him. By the end of it, Jason wishes he could kill the crazy-eyed bastard all over again. However, that’s not important here, so he pulls Tim closer to him instead and presses a kiss into his wet hair, right over the worst of the scars. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah, well.” Tim clears his throat the way he does when he’s embarrassed, but he’s leaning back against Jason’s chest. “Keep washing my hair for me and I’ll do other things, too.”
Jason hums and doesn’t move an inch.
Pirates love giving nicknames. Jason’s been known as the ‘Red Hood’ or the ‘Red Menace’ for almost two decades now, thanks to his hat. His current first mate is ‘Arsenal’ for the sheer amount of deadly things he manages to invent in a year. Not to mention ‘Starfire,’ the beautiful bringer of death in the night.
And they don’t stop at their own, oh no. Admiral Bruce has been ‘The Dark Knight’ and ‘The Bat’ for years now, though less kind speakers might choose ‘The Batty Man’ instead. (No one said the puns are good.) Admiral Grayson, who seems to be everywhere at once and fights in the air like one of their own, is ‘Nightwing.’ And Tim… he’s simply ‘the Drake,’ like the serpents of old.
(Jason knows that some circles refer to him as ‘The Duck Admiral,’ instead, and it never fails to make him laugh.)
They each have their own fleets now. Tim’s is his by the value of his rank. Jason’s… it’s more complicated than that.
He’s not a pirate king, no matter what the rumors say. Pirates don’t have kings. The ships in his fleet could abandon him on any given day, and he wouldn’t judge them for it. He earns their loyalty through his actions. Landlubbers and the Navy never got that, thinking that pirates only stuck together for profit or out of obligation because that’s all they understand.
In reality, a pirate’s life is about freedom, but there’s freedom in community.
Today, they’re fighting for both.
Jason is calm and devoid of regrets as he gives his commands. That alone is enough to know that Tim was right. They’ve moved with their lives without the other, to other comrades, other goals, other loves, even. This is more important; there’s nothing less than the right to exist at sea without Royal approval at stake.
Both fleets are in formation now. It’s only a question of who will fire first.
Jason might hope that his cannonballs will miss Tim’s command post, but he’s not going to stop them from flying toward him.
Tim’s eyesight is failing.
They don’t know what’s causing it. Maybe it’s a life spent in the harsh glare of the sun. Perhaps it’s genetics—it’s not like his family lived long enough for Tim to find out.
Or perhaps, Jason thinks as he watches the other squint at the page, it’s just age.
It doesn’t change their lives much. Tim is still the one to climb and light the lighthouse every night. He can spot ships through the binoculars just fine; it’s just anything nearby that becomes frustratingly blurry. Jason’s doing the cooking, anyway, so there’s no need to worry about Tim chopping off his own finger or anything. He quietly takes over the small, fiddly repairs, too, after Tim accidentally gets his hand full of splinters once. At least their nightly game of chess isn’t affected; neither of them really needs to look at the board.
Other things are more complicated. When Tim has to ask Jason to read his letters out loud for him, they both struggle with invading his privacy. For a while, the problem can be solved by Tim’s friends switching to writing in comically big letters. Eventually, it gets too bad even for that.
They get used to it.
Books are out of reach for Tim, now, too. That one is easier to adjust to. Jason kind of likes it, actually; he’s always loved reading, and this is a way of sharing it with Tim, cuddled up together by the fire and experiencing a much-loved book together.
Eventually, he also starts telling him stories. People he’s known, places he’s visited, worlds he’s dreamed of; yarn from other sailors that Jason spins anew, just for him.
Tim closes his eyes and listens, content with his head in Jason’s lap.
Occasionally, though, Jason looks down and sees Tim gaze back up at him, something like awe in his eyes. “What is it?” he asks once.
“Nothing,” Tim says and pulls him down for a kiss. Jason gladly gives it, and when they part, Tim’s eyes are wet. “Continue.”
“What the fuck were you thinking,” Artemis says as she closes the wound on Jason’s side none-too-gently. Behind her, Biz is hovering, wringing his big hands as he watches his captains bicker.
“I was thinking that the soldier was about to stab me in the chest,” Jason explains very patiently and tries hard not to wince. “So, I turned to the side and stabbed him.”
“You’re getting old,” she grumbles.
And. Maybe she has a point. Jason would’ve been able to dodge that knife easily five years ago. As it is, he’s lucky he got away with his life today. He’s seen what happens to other pirates when they got slow. The lucky ones get to retire; the other ones… well, the waves embrace all of them, sooner or later. Life at sea doesn’t make for old men.
Hell, even Bruce gave in years ago, though rumor has it that Grayson had to lock him into the house for the first six months of his retirement.
And if Jason is honest, his heart is just not in it anymore. Sure, he’s won most battles he’s ever been in, but the war is over. They all know it.
It wasn’t for nothing, he tells himself. There are people walking the earth as free human beings today that wouldn’t if it wasn’t for Jason. There are still enclaves holding out against the trading companies, islands of freedom and hope. There’s still a fight worth fighting.
It’s just not Jason’s fight anymore.
“I think I’m going to retire,” he says.
There’s a moment of silence in the cabin, but no one looks all that surprised.
Finally, Artemis sighs, looking incredibly put-upon. It’s not very convincing. “I suppose I know where to find you.”
“Yeah.” Jason cracks a smile.“Yeah, I guess you do.”
Jason climbs up the steep hill without really taking in his environment beyond one thought: Of course Tim would choose to live by a lighthouse. Always wanting to help others, that man, even if he retired his sword two years ago.
Jason has left his own sword behind on the ship. The only weapons that he carries with him are his pistol—a gift from Roy—and a knife—the first and only thing he ever stole from Bruce. Other than that, his knapsack mostly contains some cold coins and his clothes, since he knows he won’t be able to borrow Tim’s without looking ridiculous.
There’s a crate of books and maps waiting for him at the harbor. Jason will fetch these once he finds out whether he’ll be allowed to stay.
He doesn’t know what Tim will do when he sees him. Maybe he doesn’t even live alone; has moved on a long time ago, giving his heart to another man to keep. Someone who has not left him again and again for a life Tim does not understand and does not approve of.
If that’s the case, Jason will leave. It’ll shatter his heart, he thinks, but he will also be glad for Tim.
Despite the uncertainty, he’s not nervous at all. Showing up here, at Tim’s doorstep, and giving them one last chance is the right thing to do. That’s all he’s ever cared to do. It’s all he can do.
In the end, Tim sees Jason—older, now, with a prosthetic leg and wrinkles from the sun; a far cry from the idealistic boy who once spared his life—and smiles.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”