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Something is wrong.
Mary knows this the moment Edward doesn’t return as promptly as he said he would. Gone off on an assassin contract, he has—a side mission to fill otherwise empty time. But he said he would be back by sundown to meet her for a few pints at the tavern.
He’s not here.
Mary kicks at the sand idly, sighs. She’s waiting on the beach exactly where he told her to meet him. And he’s not arrived.
She dares not think something may have gone wrong. Those contracts should be easy pickings for a man now as experienced as Edward is. No, he’s probably gotten held up, or distracted.
Mary sits down on the log in front of the fire and throws a stray stick into the flames. She’s dying for a drink. Maybe she should just go herself, and Edward will meet up with her. Maybe he did indeed get held up and he’s already there, expecting her.
She stares into the flames for a few more minutes pondering.
Edward’s a funny man, she thinks. She’s never met someone who can be read so easily. He tries so hard to mask his expressions, but he fails every time. She can effortlessly spot the glee on his face whenever the prospect of any kind of reward comes up; the disappointment when it’s anything but coin. His impatience. His anger. All of it—he wears every single emotion and seems to have no care to conceal them. A real danger, it could be, should he encounter the wrong person.
Though Mary knows he can handle himself, and he would probably give her a tongue-lashing if he knew of the thoughts she was thinking of him.
Edward is brash. He’s arrogant. He’s selfish.
And when he looks at her…
She can read that emotion, too. She’s no fool.
Something funny churns her stomach, an almost fluttering feeling. But before she can identify what it is, movement catches the corner of her eye. Mary’s up in a flash, turned towards its source.
She squints.
Then her eyes widen and she starts in a sprint, kicking up sand behind her, towards the bulky figure limping his way towards her.
Shit, but does this hurt a lot.
Edward keeps his hand clasped firmly over the gunshot wound to his lower side, limping awkwardly down the backshore towards the beach. He can see the glow of a fire a few yards away, and the figure sitting with their back to him, facing it.
He can’t help but smile. She really did wait for him.
This smile quickly vanishes and turns to a grimace, a hiss of pain escaping his lips. He presses both hands to the wound now. Blood seeps through his clothes, his protective armour layers. Christ, but was that an unlucky shot. Or lucky, if one considers the gunman’s point of view.
Well, at least he got the contract sorted.
Edward’s head is spinning so much that he doesn’t even notice Mary has moved from her position by the fire until she’s right in front of him, and even then it takes him a moment to register the familiar face suddenly in his vision.
His grin broadens. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What happened?” Mary all but snaps.
“Lucky shot.” Edward sucks in a breath, then laughs. “Or should I say unlucky?”
Mary takes his arm with one hand and with the other gently peels back his hand from the wound. She swears softly and covers it again. She says something about medical attention, but Edward’s not listening. Blood loss, he thinks absently, but that doesn’t matter. Suddenly, he’s too focused on how Mary’s dark eyes appear to glow in the moonlight. How her hair—which is done up in her usual masculine style with the bandana—hangs in her face and frames it perfectly. Suits her.
Suddenly he wants to kiss her.
Suddenly…
He’s falling.
Mary catches him before he hits the ground. “Don’t go swoonin’ in my arms, Kenway,” he hears her say from somewhere far away.
Edward smirks weakly, fingernails digging into James’—no, Mary’s arms as he sways on his feet. “Can’t help it,” he slurs. “You’re just so bloody gorgeous. As a woman and as a man.”
But Mary only frowns. “You’re delirious, Edward.”
“I am perfectly clear of mind!” And with that, Edward’s eyelids flutter shut and he pitches forward in Mary’s arms.
Edward comes to awareness slowly, raising one yet uncoordinated hand to rub at his eyes but just smacks himself in the face instead. He feels oddly heavy. Like his bones have been replaced by lead. His mind is strangely foggy, too. It doesn’t normally take him this long to wake up.
Finally, he blinks open his eyelids to find himself staring at a familiar wooden ceiling. Something in his chest unknots. The Jackdaw. He’s back with her. Back in his cabin.
But…
He can’t remember how he got here.
Edward frowns and sits up, the blanket which has been tucked up to his chest sliding down to pool around his waist. He’s shirtless, and there’s a bandage wound around his stomach.
He blinks.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Mary!
Oh, hell…
He buries his face in his hands and groans. The things he thought—the things he said—while half out of his mind with blood loss… He’s certain he can never show his face around her again.
Nay, that’s a cowards thought. A real man would have owned his feelings a long time ago. Because the truth is—it has been that long. Before he even found out that James was Mary, something about the person he thought then was a lad had drawn him in. Beyond the mysterious knowledge he—she—possessed. Something more personal.
But it’s wrong, is it not? He’s married. And yes, his wife is estranged, and perhaps one could count him estranged from her as well. But… if it were so wrong, would it not feel such?
Edward drops his hands into his lap and is about to get up when the door to the captain’s cabin abruptly opens and in strolls none other than the woman who must have brought him here.
For a moment, Edward stares dumbly, mouth hanging agape like a fool. He snaps back to himself quickly and clears his throat. “Kidd.”
“Drop it, Edward,” are Mary’s first words to him. “There’s no charade to keep up.”
“…Mary.” The name weighs heavy on his tongue.
Mary folds her arms. “Better.”
“You brought me back here?” Edward decides on asking.
She nods. “Aye. Not an easy feat, mind, but I managed.” She sighs. “Got you patched up with your quartermaster’s help while you were unconscious. Made it easier, honestly. I can’t stand when they squirm.”
Edward stares at her, unsure of what to say.
Mary starts to stroll about the small cabin. “You botched the contract, then, eh?”
“Not botched,” Edward corrects. “I got the man. Ah… One of his men got me afterwards.” He places his hand gingerly against his side.
“I see.” Mary nods. “And you still decided to come back to our meet-up spot afterwards, instead of seeking help?”
Edward shrugs. “I banked on you waiting for me.”
Mary looks at him, her gaze piercing into his soul. She opens her mouth, seems to want to say something, then apparently decides against it with a small shake of her head. “You got damn lucky,” she says.
“I know that well,” Edward murmurs.
Silence hangs in the air for a long moment.
Edward finally gets to his feet, slowly. He groans softly. “I should thank you. For bringing me back here. For…” He gestures vaguely at the bandage.
Mary’s eyes flick to meet his then return to gazing out the small porthole. “Don’t mention it.”
“And…”
Mary glances at him again, her gaze holding this time.
Edward rubs the back of his head, looks away. He wonders what he should do. Apologise? But the words won’t come—his mind is strangely empty.
Christ, but why is this so hard?
Maybe he should just pretend it never happened. That would probably be easiest, right? Sweep it away, never to be discussed. Mary would probably appreciate that.
He opens his mouth, but Mary beats him to it.
“Edward, has anyone ever told you that you’re a very easy man to read?”
Edward’s head snaps up, his brow furrowing. “I beg your pardon?”
Mary drops her arms and walks closer to him. “Every emotion you feel, I can see. Maybe it’s the Sense, but I think it may just be that you’re terrible at wearing masks.” She moves even closer, holding his gaze all the while. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I’ve known for a while, Edward.”
“Known what?” Edward asks.
“Don’t play dumb, man. Not now.”
Edward swallows.
“I’ve had some time to think, while you were out. And you know…” She eyes him up and down. “I could certainly do a lot worse.”
After a beat for the words to sink in, this surprises a nervous laugh out of Edward. “I daresay you could also do a lot better.”
“Aye, I could.” Mary pauses, and an open expression of total sincerity falls upon her face. “But I don’t know if I want to.”
Edward’s lips stretch into a disbelieving smile. He half-expects himself to wake up from this dream at any moment—because that’s what it must be: a dream. Certainly, right? For there is no way this could possibly be happening.
But when Mary leans forward, closing the final gap between them, her lips on his feel more real than anything.