Chapter Text
There were many things about that fateful day that would stick out in the mind of James McGraw when he looked back on it later. Things he’d remember fondly, that he would regret, that he’d wonder why he had not paid closer attention to at the time.
He would remember how warm Thomas was that morning when they woke up together. How he had curled around the other man’s long, lithe body and wanted to stay there forever. He’d remember how Thomas had felt. How good his lips had tasted. How he had moaned when James had taken him and united their bodies as they’d done so many times before. He would recall how cold the floor had been when he’d finally forced himself to get out of bed. He’d regret that he had not lingered longer, that he hadn’t kissed Thomas at least once more before he left for his meeting with Admiral Hennessey.
He would question why he had not questioned certain things -- like why the Admiral had wanted to meet at his home instead of Whitehall. Why had he not noticed the distance in Hennessey when they had shook hands in the drawing room? Why hadn’t he questioned more why the Admiral’s home was so quiet? Surely he should’ve found it odd that Jenny Hennessey and their daughters were not present for his first visit in over three months. Why had he finished the brandy Admiral Hennessey had given him despite the slightly odd taste it had?
Yes, he should have paid closer attention to it all that day. The day that Lieutenant James McGraw had been committed to Bethlem Royal Hospital.
He had been too distracted was the answer, of course. They had been so close to achieving Thomas’ dream, their dreams. In retrospect, he would realize the trip to Nassau was the beginning of their end. It begun when the pirate captain Edward Teach and his protégé, Charles Vane, had assembled a mob, took the governor’s home, and killed the man’s family. James had returned to London with grim news of how the pirates now ruled that island and controlled the fort.
Peter Ashe had declared their plan dead. Thomas had insisted it could be salvaged still. And he himself had refused to give up. Not on Thomas’ dream, the one that had become his own as well. Not on the life he imagined for the three of them -- him, Thomas and Miranda -- in Nassau. He had seen their future the moment he laid eyes on the island. The vision he had in his mind had been so clear and strong it had nearly brought tears to his eyes. He was not prepared to lose it yet. He’d suggested he try to rally the Sea Lords to their cause. It was their best option.
And he had believed he could do it. He’d assured a worried Miranda of it. Promised Thomas he would see it done as he left their home that morning. He had rehearsed his speech to Hennessey over and over in his mind on the ride over. Oh, how he had believed it could be done. Right up until the moment Admiral Hennessey led him to the door of his study and sadly stated, “I tried to warn you about becoming involved with those people.”
The door had opened to reveal Lord Alfred Hamilton. It had taken a moment for James to register the older man’s presence. A dull ache had started in his head and he had trouble focusing his attention.
“He came to visit me yesterday,” the Admiral explained. “He told me of what you have done.”
“Admiral, I do now know what he’s said to you--”
“Of course you do,” Hamilton interrupted. “Did you think I would not know? That I would not find out what you have been up to in my own house? How you defiled it? What you attempted to do to my son? Thomas has always been impressionable and you took advantage of that.”
James turned to his mentor then, desperate to have himself heard. The dullness in his head had grown worse as had his ability to think clearly.
“I try to tell myself that every man has his demons, his torments that haunt him. But not this. This is too loathsome to not respond to with swift measures.”
James tried to defend himself, to defend Thomas but the room swayed around him and he had to grasp the door frame for support. He felt as if he’d been drinking for hours but he hadn’t. All he’d had was the one brandy the Admiral had given him upon his arrival. Realization dawned on him then. “You drugged me,” he accused Hennessey in a voice laden with betrayal. It didn’t sound like his voice, though. It sounded like it came from somewhere else, someone else.
“Please, do not fight this, son,” Hennessey reached out to support him. “I am doing this for your benefit.”
Others surrounded him then. They seemed to appear from no where. Two large men took firm hold of his arms and held him upright as the world continued to spin.
“What . . .? I don’t . …understand . . . I . . .”
“Bethlem,” Alfred called out, fully aware that the mere word was enough to strike fear in many a heart.
“No,” James tried to resist. “No, Admiral, please . . .Please, you cannot do this.”
The look of sheer sorry in Hennessey’s face registered through the cloud of his mind. “You are finished, James. You are summarily discharged from the service. Lord Hamilton has agreed to not see you publicly disgraced. He is allowing me to find you treatment for this illness of mind and soul that plagues you.” Hennessey moved to stand inches from him. He lowered his voice as he finished, “This is the only way I could keep you off the gallows. Dr. Ellison is waiting for you at Bethlem. I beg you to let him help you.”
James opened his mouth to argue but the words couldn’t find their way past his foggy mind to his lips.
The Admiral turned from him and addressed Hamilton, “I will see the carriage brought to the front. Have your people bring him out in a moment.”
Alfred nodded his agreement. He waited until Hennessey had left before he stood from his seat. James tried to lunge at him but the men who held his arms easily stopped that. His limbs felt heavy, his body unable to move despite how he willed it to.
He watched helplessly as the old bastard walked to him with a mocking smile on his face. “You are not the first for my son, you know. Oh, I’ve known for years. He’s always had his dalliances. Some have worked to my advantage for they were weak men who easily bent to manipulation. But you . . .You are the most insolent one, that I will say for you. And for that I will see you broken. Take him to the carriage.”
James tried uselessly to resist but the drugs had taken full affect. He felt himself half-led, half-dragged down the hallway, taken outside and then shoved into a carriage. The ride passed in a blur as he lapsed in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of being removed from the carriage. He saw Bethlen Royal Hospital as it rose before his eyes like a formidable beast that he was soon dragged into the bowels of. He was stripped of his uniform and boots and clad in tattered rags before taken to his room.
The two men who had seen him from the Admiral’s home were there still, employees of the asylum he realized. The largest of whom he would come to know as Hardy over time. He was a big man, well over six feet with sandy blond hair and cruel eyes. Hardy roughly threw him onto a bed of straw and sneered, “Not as nice as Lord Hamilton’s bed, I’m afraid.”
They left him alone in the cold, dank room then. His head spun mercilessly. That combined with the smells of his cell made his stomach lunge. He heaved violently and expelled his breakfast into the corner, an unfortunate event that only added to the rank stench of his new prison. He moved back to lay on the straw, closed his eyes and allowed sleep to find him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
James wasn’t sure how long he had slept. Minutes, hours, it could’ve been days perhaps. When he finally woke his mind was clearer in spite of the nagging headache from the drugs. He struggled to his feet and took in his surroundings for the first time. The walls and floor were made of cold, unforgiving stone. One barred window rose high on the wall, too high for him to look out of it. All he could see was a glimpse of sky. It was dark outside. His bed was a pile of straw. A bucket nearby to relieve himself in. Shackles hung from the wall.
It was freezing, he realized. He rubbed his arms for warmth but found none. The rags they had dressed him in were threadbare and provided little protection from the bitter cold that seeped in from outside. The bottoms were too small and stained by their previous wearer. The shirt was too large and riddled with holes in the elbows and near the wrists. He was barefoot; his feet literally ached from the freezing stones beneath him. He moved to the bed of hay and laid back down on it.
Belatedly, he realized it was infested with fleas but it was the only protection he had from the cold. There was no protection from the storm inside his mind though. If this were being done to him, then what horrors did Alfred Hamilton hold in store for Thomas and Miranda? Helpless, he curled up in the straw and waited.