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It was Flint that noticed the cat first. It was a gray, mangy thing, slinking through the bushes outside Miranda’s house- a flash of movement that caught his eye. They- Flint, Madi, Silver, and their men- had arrived only a few hours before, needing a safe place to rest before agreeing on their next move. Flint leaned back further against the top step of the porch, stretching his weary legs into the dirt. He tried to think of nothing- not of the dead woman whose house had once been his refuge and was now the center of the resistance, not of the dead man whose loss turned him into a crucible, smelting love and grief into rage and death, and definitely not of the man and woman through the door at his back, with their quiet murmurs and gentle eyes. Flint watched the cat.
The cat eyed him warily as it padded closer, stopping finally out of hands reach. Its prominent ribs rose and fell with a few quiet breaths as it weighed Flint’s presence. Flint couldn’t help but see Miranda here, on this porch, leaving out a saucer of milk and fat trimmings for this creature. He wasn’t sure what prompted him- he was exhausted, eyes gritty and limbs heavy, not in his right mind- but he raised an offering hand in the direction of the cat. A few heartbeats later, and the cat rose to its feet and silently returned into the bush. It was stupid, but Flint felt a stuttering beat of rejection surface under his exhaustion for the briefest of seconds. He huffed at himself, embarrassed, and got to his feet. He had given Silver and Madi a few moments of privacy, anyway, and it was time to focus on what tomorrow would bring.
Tomorrow, surprisingly, brought almost a full day of rest. Madi had sent some of her people out to gather the status of the various plantations of the interior. It was important that if they were to rise, they would rise as one. The scouts left just before dawn, and all that was left to do was to wait for their return.
Flint found himself sitting on porch steps again, staring at the sway of the long grasses in the wind. Silver, however, was sat next to him today, shoulder barely brushing his own. It was a rare moment for them- enjoying the silence comfortably, with no conspiring between them to drown it out. Silver was absently rubbing at his good leg and Flint- Flint was feeling something as close as he could remember to contentment.
“Look.”
Silver’s soft voice drew him out of his reverie, and he turned, eyes scanning the road for the scouts. Seeing nothing, Flint glanced back at Silver. The man had a small surprised smile on his face as the stray cat padded again out of the underbrush.
Braver today, the cat made a beeline for the pair, before pausing just to Silver’s left.
“Here, puss,” Silver called in a disgustingly friendly voice. Flint rolled his eyes, and leaned back unto his elbows.
“It won’t come,” he said. “It’s half feral and we are just in its way from raiding the mice in the larder.” Silver, however, chose to indulge in his favorite pastime of ignoring Flint and continued to sweet talk the animal. He cooed at it in a manner more befitting a child than Long John Silver, Pirate King. Flint watched, amused, waiting for Silver to get the claw for his troubles. To his dismay, the thing inched ever closer, until it was rubbing against Silver’s outstretched hand and purring.
“Oh God,” Flint groaned, burrowing his face into his hands. “Even the damned creatures want to listen to you.”
Silver laughed and scratched his fingers down the rough coat. The cat preened under the attention, flopping over in the dirt to show them its fleabitten belly.
“What can I say? I’m just that easy to love.” The cat, the damned traitor, chose that moment to chirp in what seemed like agreement. Flint glared at it, and made a noise of mock disgust.
“That’s all we’ve needed to win this fight. The hounds, mousers, and rats of Nassau to rise up and fight the British back with us. Perhaps even the sharks and fish will join in, scuttle their ships!” Flint turned to Silver, fighting to keep his smile off his face. “Thank god for you, Long John Silver, here to convince Mother Nature herself to take up arms against Britain!”
Silver, at the end of Flint’s tirade, had thrown his head back in a sharp laugh. The cat startled and bolted for the safety of the overgrown field, leaving the two of them grinning at each other like school boys. A movement in the window of the house behind them drew Flint’s eye, and he caught Madi watching them- no, watching Silver- with such a look of exasperated fondness, his breath caught in his throat. Silver either did not notice or didn’t comment on the brief flicker in Flint’s smile.
“If I didn’t know you better, Captain,” Silver drawled, “I’d say you were jealous.” Ah. Maybe Flint hadn’t gotten so lucky as to go unnoticed. Flint eyed Silver carefully, searching for signs that he was still talking about the cat. Silver’s head was still thrown back, his eyes narrow slits against the midday sun and watching Flint slyly out of the corners.
Flint licked his lips, and broke first, turning his gaze back to the fallow fields in front of them. He allowed himself the moment between breaths to acknowledge that he was jealous of Silver. He was jealous of the man’s easy rapport with the men and of his quick wits. Flint was jealous that Silver’s legend was one of leadership and heroism, while his was of bloodshed and fear. He was jealous of the way Silver’s hand would brush gently against Madi’s as they all leaned over maps together, of the joy he had seen on the other man’s face as she ran to kiss him. Flint was fiercely, grossly jealous, but he would survive this. He would survive John Silver.
A shout went up from within the kitchen, and Flint could see the dust kicked up from a rider. One of their scouts, returned with intel. Never before had he been so grateful for an interruption. Flint shot a grin over at Silver, and got to his feet. He knew better than to offer a hand up, so he instead clasped Silver’s shoulder.
“Never doubt,” he said, “That I am ready to follow our fearless leader, the Pied Piper, to our victory.” He dodged the half hearted smack of the cane Silver sent his way, and retreated into the safety of the house. Flint let the burst of activity after the spy’s removal wash over them, thankful that Silver’s scrutiny was reserved for the plot ahead of them and not himself.