Chapter Text
“Come on, mate, it’s not like I was stealing it! I was—” Fairwind cast about for some better excuse. One that might actually satisfy Shaw. He held his arms out and said, “I was only having a look!”
That definitely wasn’t going to do it.
Lowering his voice so that only the spymaster could hear, he added more solemnly, “You’ve got my word on this, Shaw.”
The rest of the crew were watching as the confrontation unfolded. Shaw held the item in question in his hand, contained within a small, rather unremarkable leather pouch. As always, he considered the matter very carefully before making his decision.
For the second time in as many months, Flynn Fairwind had accompanied Shaw on behalf of the Alliance, undertaking a dangerous mission into enemy territory. Their objective had been far simpler this time, which was no great surprise; raiding a decrepit old loa temple—even one riddled with traps—was nothing at all like breaking into the Zandalari treasury. A shambling monstrosity birthed by troll magics was the worst they’d had to deal with, and Fairwind himself had dispatched the creature with relative ease once Shaw was able to destroy the source of its power. Nevertheless, the prize their efforts had won them was significant. Perhaps enough to shift the balance once and for all.
Fairwind had waited an entire day and half the night to sneak away and take a peek, as he put it. Now it was on Shaw to deliver a punishment that would suit his crime, and leave no question as to the order of things on his ship. If they had been sailing aboard a 7th Legion vessel he might not have felt it necessary to come down on Fairwind with both boots, but they weren’t, and it couldn’t be helped now.
As for his reassurances… While Fairwind’s word was more or less meaningless, Shaw knew he wouldn’t have actually stolen the artifact. After all, he had risked his life to retrieve it, and if he had wanted to steal it there were much better opportunities to do so and slip away without being caught. Opportunities that didn’t include very obviously breaking into the captain’s cabin and forcing the lock on the safe inside.
Unfortunately for Fairwind, the reminder of just how egregiously he had violated Shaw’s trust stoked the spymaster’s anger back to something much more like fury, and he grimaced to hide it. Maybe a harsh punishment was what it would take to finally make Fairwind understand how things were going to be. How they had to be.
“Ten lashes,” Shaw announced. He wanted them to hear it in the rigging. “And a night in quarters.”
“Ten?!” Fairwind exclaimed. He ran a hand down his face, drawing it over the point of his chin and twisting the hair between his fingertips. “Look, I know you’ve got to do something about this, but—”
“You’re mistaken,” Shaw interrupted smoothly. “I want to do something about it. It seems you’ve been laboring under a false assumption, Mister Fairwind, and I intend to correct you.”
For a refreshing change of pace, Fairwind didn’t object a second time. Shaw couldn’t help but wonder how often he’d received some form of corporal punishment that he would so easily accept receiving lashes for a broken lock. Despite his anger, the thought didn’t sit well with him.
Fairwind’s face remained impassive and drawn, his hair blown about him by the wind as he stared into Shaw’s eyes.
Damn him.
He knew Fairwind wasn’t a thief. The man could be a devilishly clever, silver-tongued miscreant at times, but he knew where the line was and he knew when not to cross it. His curiosity might have gotten the better of him, and Shaw could hardly claim he didn’t expect as much. But he’d been caught, and worse still, everyone knew. It put Shaw in the unfortunate position of having to make an example of him. For that one moment as he pronounced the sentence he had even felt righteously justified in doing so. Though, deep down even he could admit really didn’t want to—or need to, for that matter. A stern lecture and a few well-placed stretches of uncomfortable silence probably would have been enough.
Fairwind finally blinked and turned away, his empty gaze cast out over the endless expanse of black around them. All of the fight seemed to have gone out of him, and it was wrong. Shaw didn’t want to see him like this; he wanted him full of swagger and nerve, remarking endlessly on every thought that crossed his mind, and unafraid of the consequences.
Unafraid because, at least when it came to Shaw, he’d likely never thought these might be the consequences.
Shaw hadn’t really wanted or intended to cause him serious harm. He knew how to hold back, and he had every intention of doing so. But he could see it now, in the dull blue-green of his shadowed eyes, that Fairwind had no such expectations. He truly thought Shaw would hurt him. Really hurt him.
The thought pushed all the air from Shaw’s lungs in a rush, and in a very rare moment of indecision he realized he could not in good conscience go through with the punishment. Not the way he’d intended to, anyway. Certainly not out on deck, in front of so many eyes eager to see a man suffer.
“In my cabin, Fairwind.” A general murmur met the order, and he glared at the sailors in the rigging, hanging over the rails of the forecastle, and gathered about on the deck. “I think you all have something better to be doing, don’t you? Like sailing this vessel back to Boralus?”
They jumped at once, like startled cats. Suddenly the ship was alive with activity. Despite that, he was certain not one of them missed so much as a word that passed between the two men left standing in the center of the deck.
“Right. Let’s go,” Shaw said. He turned and started for the door that would lead them belowdecks. When he realized Fairwind wasn’t following, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder to see what was keeping him. Not that he didn’t have some idea.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Fairwind asked.
Shaw was confused for a moment, but only a moment; a whip, he realized with disturbing clarity. Fairwind was waiting for it, already anticipating his punishment and clearly livid that he would be forced to endure it. Reminding Shaw that he would need the whip to deliver those lashes was probably his way of exerting control over the situation. Or else he was simply too angry to think clearly. Shaw knew he needed to get them both inside before it got any worse.
“Your concern right now is being obedient, Fairwind. But since you asked,” he added casually, “I’ve got the proper tools to punish you in my cabin. I suggest you follow me there.”
Fairwind hesitated, but at last he relented, picking his feet up off the deck with a muttered curse. He marched after Shaw, following him into the shadowy interior of the ship. The captain’s cabin was locked again, would be for the rest of the voyage, though this time Shaw had every intention of keeping the artifact on his person until he handed it to Wyrmbane. He unlocked the door and let it swing on its hinge in the rolling trough of a wave. When it stopped he pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped inside, Fairwind on his heels the whole time.
“If you need a drink I’m afraid I don’t—” He turned around to find Fairwind already working to divest himself of his long coat and shirt. The latter was up around his shoulders before he apparently realized Shaw had stopped speaking.
“Apologies, sir,” Fairwind said, lowering it again. He had a dark scowl on his face, matched only by the fury in his eyes. “Would you prefer I left it on? You could leave it in bloody tatters on my back if you wanted. Make a real show of your handiwork.”
“Your insubordination is noted,” Shaw said, “Your melodrama, however, is not required.” He poured himself some water from a decanter and used the glass to gesture to the door. “Lock it again, if you don’t mind.”
“Certain you don’t want to leave it open? They’ll hear better that way.”
Shaw was quickly approaching the limit of his patience. He set the glass down on the sideboard with more force than was strictly necessary, making a loud sound in the small cabin. With a there-and-gone glare for Fairwind, he stomped over to shut the door himself. When he slid the bolt into place it made an audible, heavy thunk against the wood, and from the corner of his eye he caught sight of Fairwind going slightly pale.
He really did not like that.
Rounding on Fairwind, he asked, “What sort of man do you imagine I am, Captain?” It was the first time he had referred to the pirate by his self-appointed title since they boarded the ship. He refused to let the man claim it while they were at sea; this was Shaw’s vessel, by order of both the king and the lord admiral, and it would remain so until such time as they sailed back to port with their prize safely in hand. He had no intention of leaving any doubts as to who commanded the men aboard. All of them.
“A decent question,” Fairwind returned. He was making an attempt to sound flippant, but Shaw could hear the slight quaver that undercut the bluster. “At the moment I imagine you’re the sort who would relish an opportunity to make good on a grudge. I knew you never liked me, but this is a bit far even for you.”
Shaw eyed him coolly. “You’re mistaken yet again.”
“Am I? You really think ten lashes is a fair trade for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“You’re mistaken,” Shaw said slowly, “for assuming this is about some sort of grudge.” He poured another glass of water and offered it to Fairwind. “For thinking I don’t like you.”
Fairwind crossed his arms. His snort and the eyeroll that accompanied it said more than any words might have done.
“Have I ever struck you as a liar?” Shaw asked.
Fairwind stared at him, and Shaw could see he was struggling to deny the truth. Finally his shoulders slumped and he breathed out a defeated sigh. “No,” he admitted. “But I never thought you cruel, either.” Most men might have taken that as a challenge, but Shaw knew it for what it really was: a last-ditch plea for mercy. Made without ever uttering a single word that might wound his own pride. Fairwind really wasn’t a fool, even if he had gotten it all wrong this time.
“Do you see a whip?” Shaw asked.
Fairwind seemed puzzled by the question. “Pardon?”
“Do you see a whip in my hand, Captain Fairwind? Am I reaching for one?” He tried to smile, but had a feeling it didn’t quite hit the mark. “For such a clever man, it seems you can be rather… unobservant,” he muttered into his own drink.
Distracted now by the abrupt shift in tone, and the apparent upending of his expectations, Fairwind reached blindly for the offered glass. His eyes were still locked on Shaw’s, his wind-weathered brow furrowed in confusion. “What is this, then?”
“Water. I don’t keep liquor at sea.”
Fairwind frowned at him. “If you don’t mind, my nerves are a bit shot at the moment.”
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything stronger.” Shaw knew what he was really getting at, of course, but it was too satisfying not to toy with him a little longer. He had broken into the cabin, after all. And the safe.
“You’re—you’re an infuriating man, you know that? Get on with it, whatever it is. What’s my punishment?”
The leather pouch was still weighing down one of his pockets. Shaw fished it out and tossed it onto the sideboard with a thunk. “Enduring half an hour in here with me isn’t enough?”
Fairwind reeled back. “You’re not going to do anything? Outside you said—”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you how important it is that a ship’s crew has no cause to question what their captain might do in the event of disobedience.”
Fairwind visibly relaxed then, but not all at once; his shoulders slumped and he breathed out his relief, turning around and sitting heavily on the edge of Shaw’s bed. The only real bed to speak of on the ship, meant for an actual captain. It was only slightly larger than his bunk aboard the Wind’s Redemption, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. Too much room. He couldn’t ever seem to get comfortable.
“You really thought I would enjoy hurting you?” he asked.
Fairwind’s look was answer enough. More than.
“I suppose I can’t blame you for that.” He sat down on the other corner of the bed, less than an arm’s length from Fairwind. “I might have made a good show of it.” If he had gone through with it at all. The part of him that had been so angry he’d considered such a punishment fair had long since faded. In its place only Shaw, and his guilt, remained. He ran a hand through his hair to brush back a few stray locks. “I am not given to wanton cruelty, Captain. Try to remember that.”
“For next time?” Fairwind asked. There was a hint of his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, and Shaw found himself unexpectedly relieved to see it there.
“Next time I’d like to think you might exercise a bit more discretion.” He gestured to the pouch lying atop the sideboard. “You could have just asked to see it, you know.”
Fairwind scoffed, obviously entertained by the very notion. “Where’s the fun in that?” he said.
“You really thought this was fun?”
That put an end to his amusement, and the smile dropped from his face like it was attached to an anchor. He searched his hands for whatever it was he wanted to say, eventually landing on, “I probably don’t need to tell you that this wouldn’t have been my first time. Learned the hard way that it’s easier not to fight it. Doesn’t make it any less galling, of course.”
Shaw was quiet for a moment. He was starting to wish he had something stronger than water in his hand. “You’ve been whipped before.”
Fairwind huffed something like a laugh. “You might say that.”
It didn’t strike Shaw as the sort of punishment one grew accustomed to, no matter how many times it was done. “I could have chosen something different. Something more… appropriate. I—” It wasn’t in his nature to second guess himself, but he was feeling uncharacteristically ashamed of his overreaction. Even if he had never intended for it to be carried out cruelly. Fairwind had broken the rules, he had openly flaunted Shaw’s command, but he wasn’t a problem.
That he could admit as much, even to himself, came as a surprise.
“I apologize,” he said at last.
Although Fairwind’s eyebrows all but crawled to the top of his forehead, he nevertheless managed to compose himself swiftly. Politely hiding a cough behind his hand, he said, “It’s a better option than most. Can’t deny a man food and drink at sea, and we’ve no real brig to speak of aboard this vessel. I would hope you might save keelhauling for something truly heinous.”
“Keelhauling?”
“Oh, mate, you really are new at this.” Fairwind shot him an affectionate but slightly condescending smile. “It’s when you tie a rope around a man and toss him overboard—”
“That’s more than enough information, thank you. I can… extrapolate the rest from context.”
Fairwind snickered, but thankfully he made no attempt to continue despite Shaw’s objections. A comfortable silence settled over the cabin after that, and Shaw finished the last of his water.
“Have you ever…?”
“That’s—” Shaw began. He took his time, finally settling on, “That's confidential, Captain.” Which, he supposed, was an answer itself. It was also the only answer he would ever give.
Fairwind nodded slowly. “So, no alcohol while at sea? You might find yourself facing a mutiny just for that, you know.”
“There are barrels down in the hold. I don’t keep any up here.”
“No easy way to blame your mistakes on the drink, I suppose?”
Shaw smirked. “No temptation to try.”
Fairwind watched him for a moment, and Shaw found himself uncharacteristically bereft of anything to say, searching for ways to fill the awkward space that seemed to have formed between them. At least not until Fairwind filled it with himself. He leaned in and pressed his lips—dry and chapped from the wind, rougher than any lips Shaw had ever kissed—to Shaw’s. He made no attempt to press for more, thought it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if he had, but he didn’t pull back again, either. Not even when Shaw failed to reciprocate.
“You should leave,” Shaw said quietly.
Fairwind abruptly broke the kiss. His eyes were too wide, and the flush of his cheeks stood out against his tanned skin, gone pale once more in the face of Shaw’s rejection. Was it embarrassment he felt, Shaw wondered, or fear?
Did it matter?
“Now.”
“Right.” Fairwind stood. He seemed to have forgotten how his own legs worked, and remained rooted to the spot. “Right,” he repeated. “That was a—can we maybe forget that happened? No? Probably not, I’d imagine. I didn’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, and his callused fingers became tangled in the back. He shook them free with a grimace. “I’m not sure why I did that, to be perfectly honest. This is where a drink might’ve come in handy,” he laughed.
Shaw wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t.
“I’ll go,” Fairwind said. And after only a moment more of awkward, uncomfortable shuffling, he finally did.
After he was gone, when the only sound in the cabin was the distant lap of the waves against the hull, Shaw slowly pressed a hand to his own mouth and held it there.
He didn’t leave his cabin for the rest of the night.