Chapter Text
A warm, salty breeze rides the small waves of the ocean that lap against the side of a pristine ship. The Minnie gently rocks back and forth as a handful of mismatched seafarers gather on the quarterdeck of the ship, all eyes focused on a tall, lean man with windswept black hair who’s fashionable dress leaves him looking out of place.
Standing slightly behind him to his right is a woman with a long plait of red hair cascading down her back. Unlike the well-dressed man addressing the group before him—the ragtag pirates that comprised the crew of the vessel—she wears a stern look upon her freckled face. In efficiency and general seafaring know-how, First Mate Evans makes up for what Captain Potter lacks.
So she has to make up for a lot.
Her emerald eyes scan the crew as their captain, James Potter, speaks to the gathered crowd before him on the quarterdeck. His voice is chipper and encouraging, as though talking through plans for tea with an old friend rather than commanding a ship of pirates, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes at his ever-buoyant attitude. It was often painfully obvious how inexperienced he was at being a pirate, much less captain of a ship.
But a first mate is loyal first and foremost to her captain, and his lack of experience and her frequent irritation aside, Lily Evans is loyal. Unflinchingly so.
Captain Potter is beaming at the assembled crew before him as he speaks. “We’ll make port tomorrow at Tortuga. There, fingers crossed”—here he brings his crossed fingers up and wags them around—”we’ll be able to load the ship with enough supplies to last us halfway to Barbados. So turn in early after dinner and we’ll get started bright and early.”
James turns around and begins heading for his quarters, oblivious to the gathered crew still waiting for his dismissal. Lily lets her gaze flicker from the crew to the captain, only to see his retreating figure and exhales through her nose, looking towards the heavens for strength. She takes a step forward as she clears her throat, attention back to the gathered crew of misfits before her.
When she speaks, it’s different from the captain. It’s confident, commanding.
“Ready your weapons tonight so there’ll be no dallying in the morning.” At the sound of her voice, James stops in his tracks and turns, realizing that his crew had been waiting for a finality in his statement, something that his first mate had quickly and smoothly covered. He watches her effortless command with something akin to admiration as she continues.
“Captain’s orders are to play nice tomorrow, so no instigating any fights, aye?” She straightens her spine, piercing eyes roaming the apprehensive faces staring back at her. Lifting her chin, she’s determined to convey the confidence she knows she needs to project—knows she can project. “But remember: a pirate caught unawares in Tortuga is a blasted fool. So keep your heads down once we dock, but be prepared and keep your wits about ye tomorrow.” She waits for the affirming nods of the crew before returning a brusque nod. “Back to your stations.”
The crew disperses at once, some going back to their jobs while others head below deck, no doubt to begin preparing their weapons in anticipation of use. As they scatter to go about their business, Lily exhales, nodding encouragingly to no one but herself.
“Thank you for that, Evans, excellent work!” This voice makes her jump and turn on the spot, focusing on her captain, who had begun walking towards her. “But we’re just docking in Tortuga for a re-up on supplies, surely we won’t…need weapons?” There’s an uneasiness in his voice that she picks up on.
Her lips twitch as she takes in the totality of her captain, standing before her. Insufferable at times—most times, if she’s being honest—but undoubtedly good beneath the sizable bravado. An inexperienced sailor—a born-and-bred gentleman—taken to the seas with only the desire for exploration and freedom, willing to carve his own path and form a crew based on his principles. He’d caught her completely off guard when he had asked her to join his crew, and more off guard still when he appointed her second-in-command aboard The Minnie. It would forever strike her that in that brief initial conversation, he’d seen the promise of her prowess rather than the superstition surrounding her sex, and had unknowingly given her a chance she’d been waiting years for—to be a part of a crew again.
She'd been working as a barmaid for two years in the Republic of Pirates before James Potter—looking wholly out of place—stumbled into the tavern where she worked. Prior to her landlocked life, she'd crewed a few ships; some mercantile and some pirate, but always as Lawrence Evans. It had been a means of escape when she was sixteen, running away from the guardianship of her sister and the life Lily had no say in; a pathway to an existence that offered her freedom and opportunity, but came with secrecy and loneliness—always afraid to let anyone get too close lest they see through her ruse and cast her off.
As her months at sea turned to years and she hopped crews to avoid too much scrutiny, Lily grew weary of her disguise and more frustrated regarding the new type of confinement her supposed ‘freedom’ required of her; tired with living her life in disguise, beholden to some age-old superstition declaring women bring misfortune upon ships. Her fears manifested, however, when she couldn’t find a single captain in two years that would agree to bring her—seasoned, experienced, Lily Evans—aboard to join their crew, all either laughing or leering as they dismissed her.
Until James Potter, who himself had been laughed out of near every tavern in the area, had wandered in and asked her if she knew anyone looking to join a crew. His eyes had lit up as she regaled him with tales of her time at sea, breathlessly asking questions for more color to her tales. Never once did he bat an eye at her sex or voice concerns of “bad luck”—but instead heartily cheered upon her agreement to join his crew and saw fit to match her experience to a fitting position.
The gratitude she holds for James Potter means that she’s doing her damndest to be a steady and solid—if not put-upon—First Mate. Her brow furrows quizzically. “Captain, surely you weren’t planning on surrounding yourself with other pirates without any way to defend yourself?”
The silence before his obviously fabricated answer tells her everything she needs to know.
“Of course not, of course not. I just—don’t want to frighten the rest of the crew,” he fumbles.
Lily nods in feigned understanding. “Of course. Very kind of you, Captain.”
There are words on the tip of his tongue—that much she can discern. She waits for a moment, an awkward silence falling between them before she resolves to go ahead and speak to end this uncomfortable interaction and get about her tasks. “Well if there’s nothing else—”
“You know, Evans, it’s been…ah…it’s been a while since my last proper duel,” James finally blurts, eyes roaming over the ocean to his left, right hand flying to muss his hair in what Lily’s already pegged as a nervous habit.
“Oh?” A brow quirks as she scans his well-tailored appearance, handsome face, soft hands. Nary a blade’s mark to be found. The idea that this man has ever seen a proper duel is not one to which she gives any ounce of credibility.
“Yes, and I thought that maybe it would be possible to, you know, get a refresher. Just in case.” His eager eyes have found their way to hers and Lily feels her base-level irritation at his unpreparedness eroded away by a fondness she’s been trying to tamper down. He gives a nervous laugh. “I want to ensure I’m setting a good example for the crew, should it come to conflict.” She offers a tight, reassuring smile.
“Of course. I’ll see if I can catch Pete before dinner and send him your way.” She turns to begin her evening duties, locating their most skilled swordsmen now added to the top of her list, only to feel a hand grab her forearm. She snaps her head back around, surprised.
“I was actually hoping to spar with you,” James confesses, a hopeful look on his face that Lily desperately tries not to parse the meaning of. Instead, her green eyes jolt quickly down to his lingering touch, causing him to quickly drop his hand and clear his throat. Recognizing the vulnerability of the moment, he rolls his shoulders back, adopting some captainly swagger to cover such a familiar gesture. “The last thing I need is my rusty swordsman skills becoming the talk of the ship.”
She nods once, the corner of her lips twitching with the strangeness of the whole situation. “Good thinking. I’ve got a few duties to attend to, but I can meet you in your chambers in a bit.”
James eyebrows shot up. “My…er…chambers?”
She quirks a smile. “Aye—if you don’t want the rest of the crew knowing about your, ah, refresher , that seems to be the best place?”
Understanding washes over him and he nods enthusiastically. “Oh of course, yes— aye!” Lily nods at him silently one last time before dismissing herself to her duties, leaving the captain on the quarterdeck, unaware that hazel eyes follow her as she goes.
—
Keep it together, Potter, keep it together.
James paces around his quarters, hands making a mess of his hair. He walks towards the settee and fluffs one of the pillows, rearranges the draping of one of the blankets before he catches himself tidying his quarters for his first mate and groans, sitting down on the settee with an unceremonious slump of his shoulders.
Two months at sea and he was already in danger of ruining the dream he’d had for years because he had to go and fancy his first mate.
It was entirely unethical of him and the thought of everything blowing up in his face has made him rather sick (it could have been the choppier-than-usual seas, but James was pretty sure it was the former).
Upon meeting Lily in that tavern in Nassau, he’d immediately been drawn to her by the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of her time at sea—there was a fierceness there of someone who knew what it was to find a calling. She enthralled him with tales of her previous crews, her views on life at sea, and he saw in her someone he could trust to share his vision for The Minnie: a pirate vessel not for pillaging and plundering, but for living life unencumbered by societal pressures, in pursuit of the exploration of the world. She was the first person who hadn’t outright laughed in his face as he shared his aspiration earnestly, and knew right then that between her skills and similar ideology, she was exactly what he was looking for in a first mate.
And now he was bloody ruining it.
He’s not blind to the ramifications of what would happen if he lets his feelings slip out, what insinuations could be drawn. He feels his gut flip again at the idea that Lily would think that he regards her as anything other than a strong, capable sailor—that there would have been any other ulterior reason for her appointment.
James sees the hesitation flicker over her features from time to time. The deep breaths before or after addressing the crew in his wake. He knows she’s capable—he knows she knows she’s capable—but there’s a lingering doubt hanging in her mind about something that he wishes he could wipe away.
He never intended for this to happen—he never in his wildest fantasies of living at sea imagined developing feelings for his first mate. But somewhere in the past few months, he had. He tries to search his mind for the how and the when, but ultimately he knows it wasn’t a specific moment that had done him in. It was in the way she pushes back on him when his decisions aren’t thought out; the way she corrects him without making him feel like a complete simpleton; the way he knows she humors him, always in a gracious and good-natured way.
Lost in his thoughts and sitting on the settee, he doesn’t register the knock on his door, only jerked out of his mind by the creaking of the door. His attention is drawn to where Lily now stands in the doorframe, her eyes roaming around his cabin in wonder as she lets out a low whistle.
“So this is what the captain’s quarters look like,” she says. There’s an air of amusement in her voice. “It’s very…well-decorated.”
And it is.
James looks around his quarters, trying to see it for the first time through the eyes of someone who didn’t meticulously consolidate the important aspects of his life to fit into one room. There are a few shelves containing books on various subjects he’d shown interest in back ashore—law, metalworking, piracy. An ornamental desk sits against the far wall, the accompanying chair positioned for a view out the window were one to sit and write. The walls are adorned with a few of his favorite paintings, a few nautical trinkets, and a rack of swords.
As Lily moves further into the room, closing the door behind her, he stands, hand flying to his hair as he realizes that his furnishings must seem overly lavish to someone accustomed to this life. He feels his face reddening as he watches her mill about his room before her focus seems captured by one of the paintings next to his desk.
“Your home?”
“Yes,” he confirms, slowly walking to stand next to her, his attention drawn to the painting as well. A small smile touches his lips as he feels himself warm with the memories the familiar image on canvas elicit in him. “Well, I suppose it’s my parents’ home. My home is here now, on the ship. I had the painting commissioned before I left.”
She hums. “It’s lovely.” He sees her eyes travel down from the large painting to two small miniatures sitting upon his desk. She bends down for a closer look, plaited red hair tumbling over her shoulder.
“And these are your parents.” It’s a statement, not a question, but James nods anyway. He can see a ghost of a smile dance on her lips as her eyes flicker up to him. “You look like them.”
He shrugs. “So I hear.”
Her attention back on the miniatures, James registers the slight dimming of her eyes, a sadder expression taking hold briefly before she turns her attention elsewhere and runs a finger along the top of his chair, gathering herself.
Leaning back on the desk, she folds her arms and pins him with a mischievous stare. He doesn’t know why but he’s nervous—worried that she can see straight through him and into the nest of feelings he’s trying so hard to rein in.
“You commission a painting of your family’s estate, you bring miniatures of your parents…I’m surprised I haven’t seen a portrait of your sweetheart,” Lily quips.
James feels his whole body redden under her gaze, heartbeat racing. “Pardon?”
Her eyebrow quirks, smile widening as if enjoying his squirming. “The Minnie? That’s a dedication if I’ve ever heard one. Not a ship name you just stumble upon. Surely if you name a ship after a woman—”
“You think the ship is named after—” James cannot finish his sentence. As realization strikes him, all his nervous tension dissipates into a fit of unbridled laughter. Doubled over, he can hear Lily’s hmph of discontent—acutely aware that there is a joke she’s not privy to—and he wills his breathing to slow, wiping tears from his eyes as he grins and straightens, looking at his first mate.
“Minnie is not my sweetheart,” he states simply.
Her retort is tinged with ire. “Aye, I reckoned that much.”
He shakes his head, an amused smile still plastered on his face as he takes a few more breaths. “Minnie—Minerva—was an old family friend,” he explains. He folds his arms and leans on the back of the settee, eyes focused on somewhere far-off with a smile, lost in memory. “She lived near us…back home. A real spitfire, she was. Lived alone most of her life—her husband was a privateer and spent most of his time at sea, but sent all he could home for her before he died.”
James pushes off his perch and walks over to where Lily’s standing by his desk, reaching around her to open a drawer and draw out a worn and folded piece of parchment. He gently runs his fingers along the creases, all traces of amusement gone from his features, replaced by a fond sense of reverence. “As a boy, I spent most of my days at her house, helping with small things around the house. Not that she couldn’t afford to hire help, but I believe she liked the company.” A small smile. “My parents thought it good for me, too—learning to do things for myself, for others, without relying on staff.” A breath escapes his lips as his eyes raise to see Lily staring at him intently, hanging on his every word.
“When she passed—” he stops abruptly as his breath catches, clearing his throat as he tries desperately to retain his composure. He starts again. “When she passed…she left me a small fortune. Everything she had stashed away from her husband, she left to me.”
A silence echoes in the room as Lily allows this information to sink in.
“She knew I wanted to explore. Always knew I wanted to live life on my own terms; find my own way.” He shakes his head, looking down at the neat, tight script on the parchment in his hands with a wistful smile. “Barmy old woman.”
Another beat of silence lingers as James’ focus remains on his hands, gently folding the letter back up and placing it back in its drawer.
“That’s…really special, Captain,” Lily’s voice came quietly from his side, jerking him out of his reverie. His eyes find hers, soft and bright, and he knows he should rein in his emotions, knows he should keep that clear line of captain and first mate in tact, but the next words out of his mouth are stupid and foolish and full of danger.
“Call me James.”
He takes in her surprised look and quickly scrambles to regain control of himself. “Uh, I just mean—‘Captain’ is so formal sometimes, yeah? So uh…call me James. If you want. If that’s something you’re comfortable with.” He knows his face is flushing and turns his attention to something across the room, walking away.
Lily is silent for a beat before observing, “You are…very open about your life.”
James turns at the sound of her voice, blinking as if caught off-guard by her sudden change of topic, heart twinging slightly at her total disregard of his ill-timed request. “Oh. I suppose I am.” A beat as his brows furrow. “Is that a bad thing?”
She assesses him from across the room, eyes sweeping over the person and the artifacts adorning the suite that are a material manifestation of his passions, of his essence. They lock on him once more, considering. Her voice is slow when she speaks, carefully selecting each word. “I don’t believe so. I just worry that you trust too easily.”
He knows there’s a bigger conversation going on, but his mind focuses on a single word.
Worry.
James lifts a brow, a hint of a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “You worry about me, Evans?”
He swears he sees the hint of a flush rise on her neck. “These seas can be unforgiving, and the people on it, conniving,” she warns. “I only mean that you might consider guarding yourself more closely, until you decide if you can truly trust someone.”
“Can I trust you?”
Her back seems to straighten as her chin raises ever-so-subtly, eyes smoldering with a fierceness James had only seen once before—back when she presented herself to join his crew.
“Yes. On my word.” There’s no hesitation, no room to interpret doubt or uncertainty in her voice. It’s unwavering. A promise.
He nods, imperceptibly, taken aback by the seriousness of her declaration and the turn this conversation had taken. He’s not quite sure how to decipher her intensity. Logically, he knows her loyalty is to the ship and the crew, himself among those as captain. But something in her eyes, in her , seems to be speaking from someplace deeper, a more personal connection. He brushes this off as wishful thinking, influenced by the feelings he’s desperately trying to keep down.
As a heavy, brimming silence falls between them, Lily seems to realize the effect the intensity of her commitment has had on her captain and her eyes flit nervously around the room for a distraction. She focuses on the swords hanging on display and clears her throat, voice affected by a forced casualness.
“You said you wanted to spar?”
He’s jolted out of his dangerous thoughts by the reminder that while yes he’s got to figure out what to do about these feelings ( Nothing! a voice shouts in his head, You’ll do nothing! ), he’s got the more immediate issue of making sure he’s prepared to land in Tortuga tomorrow.
“Oh! Yes.”
It will, he realizes, be the first time he leads a crew ashore in such a pirate-ridden port, and he needs to ensure that they appear strong enough to not be seen as targets for more meddlesome crews. Selecting a sword on the smaller side from the wall, his mind races distractedly through the crew, parsing out a landing party.
“Tomorrow”—James started, looking across the room at his first mate—“is it customary for everyone to come ashore once we make port?”
Lily purses her lips, thinking, as she draws her sword from its sheath. “It varies based on how long we plan to be here. If we’re planning to make port for a half-day, I think it’s best you assign duties and let the rest do as they please.”
“Yes that makes sense,” James agrees, nodding. “I’ll go with Sam, Fabian, and Lupin to grab the bulk of our supplies from the inn tomorrow, and the rest of you can enjoy your day.”
“That’s very kind, Captain,” Lily began, lifting her sword as an invitation to begin the spar. “Might I recommend something?”
James brought his sword—smaller, less-worn—to meet hers, locking eyes across the way. He sees a glimmer of hesitation there and he’s unsure if it’s regarding their impending match or a worry of overstepping. “I value your input, Evans—please.”
“I’d suggested assigning some men to guard the ship tomorrow.” Her blade moves in a slow and deliberate swipe that he easily blocks. That move alone tells him her apprehension had nothing to do with their conversation and everything to do with her assumption of his swordsmanship. He fights the mischievous grin he feels forming on his lips as she continues. “Including Lupin—it’s good thinking to keep the doctor aboard in case there are any injuries.”
James steps forwards and quickly swipes his blade, meeting her block and her shocked expression. He grins as he says, “Excellent call. Peter can go in his stead, and Lupin and Roberts can man the ship. Everyone else is free to go about.” He swipes again, putting her on the defensive.
He sees the flame in her eyes before he feels it in the way she imperceptibly shifts her stance. She takes a step forward, swinging her blade, meeting his block, and parrying until he’s forced to cede the step he had gained. Blades crossed and the room humming with tension, he looks into those green eyes, glinting with something between surprise, amusement, and indignation, and raises his brows. “Were you going easy on me, Evans?”
As he knew it would, that sentence seemed to set something off inside of her. Her next moves come fast and he’s prepared to meet them, the sound of clashing steel filling the cabin as they deftly move about the room. After working himself out of a corner, James manages to push her back a few steps out of his perimeter, breathing heavily.
Lily’s sword is still poised for another attack or block, but she pauses, bewildered. “I thought…where did you learn this?”
James shrugs, running a hand through his now sweat-damp hair. “Honestly, the day-to-day life of a barrister’s son is dreadfully boring. I needed a hobby.” He chooses this moment to strike again, meeting her counter attack.
Incredulity in her voice. “And this was the hobby you chose?
“It seemed useful.”
“‘Useful’ he says,” she mutters with disbelief, stepping to the side, shaking her head as she considers his stance. “Unbelievable.”
His grin only grows wider as he watches her process this talent he’s been harboring. He moves forward and she meets him, weapons connecting in between their gaze.
“You told me you were rusty,” she grumbles indignantly.
“I am!”
They break apart, contemplating one another. James feels some of the tension leave his shoulders as he lets out a calming breath. “All my practice—it’s been just that. When it comes to an actual fight, a duel, I can’t say I’d know what to do, how to… you know… end it,” he emphasizes, brows furrowing.
Lily nods, watching him. “Aye, that’s not something you can teach,” she rubs a hand on her neck, grimacing. “It’s just a feeling, in your gut.”
James throws his head back, letting out a frustrated groan. He doesn’t hear Lily’s silent footsteps cross the cabin, doesn’t sense her until she’s in front of him, blade pointed at his neck. He feels true, genuine fear coursing through his body as he stumbles backwards until his back hits the wooden walls.
Logically, he knows Lily wouldn’t actually hurt him. But logic is nowhere to be found—the primal fear of feeling the cold steel of a blade flush against your neck is the only thought consuming his mind, a ringing noise filling his ears. Distantly, somewhere, he’s aware of the warmth of Lily’s proximity, her eyes burning into him with a fierceness and an anger he’s curious to place. But all he can focus on is the terror.
After a few seconds, he realizes the blade isn’t hurting him. She’s pressed—actually just lightly placed—the flat side of the blade against him. He feels the terror’s grip on him slowly release, the ringing in his ears fading. He only just realizes that Lily’s been speaking intensely the whole time, her tone frustrated and unnerved.
“—a damn fool. I don’t care if you think the fight is over, never let yourself get distracted from the fight at hand and never let your guard down like that. Understand?” At his silence, her hand comes up, balling the lapel of his coat into her first to draw and focus his attention down to her as she steps closer, effectively closing the remaining distance between them. “Tell me you understand, James.”
There are a few seconds where the deafening silence in the room is only broken by shaky breathing. Lily slowly and carefully lowers her blade, eyes still searching his for some kind of confirmation that he’s heard what she’s practically shouted at him. He’s returning her gaze, intensity matched, her words slowly processing in his brain as his focus shifts from the feel of the cool steel of the blade to the warmth of its owner.
The fingers on his free hand twitch, aching to push an errant red strand of hair from her face, to caress her cheek and sooth the worry he now identifies in those simmering eyes.
Worry.
“You worry about me, Evans?” he murmurs. This time there is no smirk, there’s no raised brow. It’s a genuine question. Her breath hitches and before he can gather the nerve to give in to those twitching fingers, she’s releasing his coat and stepping back from him, letting the air of the room fill the vacuum she leaves in her wake.
He tries not to stare at her as she sheaths her sword, obviously flustered by whatever had just transpired between them. He doesn’t know if he truly expected or wanted an answer to his question, but when it becomes clear she’s not going to say anything, he clears his throat and speaks again.
“I guess I don’t, ah, have that gut feeling you spoke of,” he admits half-heartedly, free hand flying to bury itself in his hair.
Lily’s attention follows the hand as she speaks. “It takes time, believe me. Tomorrow we’ll make sure you have backup should you run into any trouble at port.” Her gaze flickers from his hair to his eyes and she seems to hesitate before taking a step towards him, her face softening. He stills as her hand reaches up to meet the one ruffling his hair, and pulls it away.
“Your tells…they make you an open book,” she warns. James grimaces at this, looking away in frustration. She calls his attention back with a squeeze of his hand, and when he looks back, her eyes are searching, brows furrowed. “You don’t have to be nervous with me.” Her voice is frank, but there’s a gentle current beneath the words. She squeezes his hand once more in reassurance before dropping it and stepping away.
All at once, James feels the breath rush back into him. “Thank you,” he manages, the words heavy, loaded. He grins, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His mind is racing with too many thoughts—of Lily, this whole encounter, tomorrow.
Her voice quells the thoughts, if only for a moment. “You’re more ready for tomorrow than you think you are,” she declares. “I’ve no doubt that in a fight you can hold your own against any pirate we come across tomorrow.”
And he knows she means it. This compliment, this declaration, is absent of the good-natured humoring he knows so well. In its stead is something akin to pride. He nods his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Evans.”
“Lily,” is all she says.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Thank you, Lily.” She dips her head in acknowledgment. A comfortable silence hangs in the distance between them.
“I’d best get to,” she starts, making for the door. “There’s a few more tasks for me to check before bed to make certain we’re ready for tomorrow.” As she reaches for the handle, she twists to appraise him one last time, expression fond even as her voice is firm in her directive. “It’s still ‘Evans’ in front of the crew, aye?”
James lets out a chuckle, but nods. “Of course… Lily.”
Her eyes roll heavenwards at the mirth in his voice. “Get some rest, James,” she shoots back, a smile ghosting upon her lips before the door closes behind her.