#silverflinthamiltons

Flint finds Silver in the main room, curled up on the settee under a spare blanket. He sighs, leaning against the doorframe and just taking in the sight of him.

He understands, truly, why Silver must have slipped away in the night: they all of them have their demons, and often times not even sleep can keep the memories from haunting their dreams. It seems easier, often, to simply leave the others to rest while he fights with himself through the rest of the night. Though Flint feels that way at times, he knows it’s worse for Silver, who has yet to share with them the source of a great deal of his night terrors.

One day, Silver had promised Flint once, just the two of them sitting before the fire, I will tell you. When it doesn’t feel so close behind me, like it’s going to swallow me whole if I don’t keep the memories at bay.

Silver’s shivering, Flint realizes, and so he quickly makes his way over, crouching down until he can run his fingers through his mess of curls. 

Silver wakes slowly, and it warms Flint to his core, knowing he feels safe enough here to not have to leap to his feet, prepared to flee or run. He doesn’t think Silver’s ever really had a home, before this small, slightly ramshackle cottage in the Massachusetts territory. 

Silver hums at the feels of Flint’s hands in his hair, pressing into the touch like a cat seeking warmth. Flint smiles, tugging at it teasingly. 

“Come back to bed, Silver.”

Silver opens his eyes blearily, assessing Flint for a moment before he seems to decide that no, Flint won’t pester him about his nightmares for the moment, and lets himself be pulled upright.

Flint loves barely-awake Silver, loves the way he lets himself be half-carried to the bedroom, leaning against him and pressing his face into Flint’s neck. Once they reach the bed itself, though, Flint is abandoned, Silver essentially flopping onto the mattress and crawling between Thomas and Miranda. 

Silver would never admit to it, but he is in truth the most clingy and the most physically affectionate of all of them, when he lets himself. He doesn’t let himself nearly as often as Flint would like.

“Jesus Christ, John!” Thomas exclaims, no doubt complaining about Silver’s ice cold feet.

“Blasphemy,” Silver chides even as he burrows into Miranda’s chest, already beginning to doze and unaware of the pleased, surprised smile on her face.

“You’re Jewish, you smug fucking icicle,” Thomas mumbles, but he nonetheless molds himself to Silver’s back, warming the other man as best he can.

Flint climbs in behind Thomas, reaching over and tugging the blankets further up over Miranda and Silver’s shoulders.

“Technically you threw the first punch, and in an effort to avoid them pressing any kind of charges, we are escorting Charles to go and apologize, while you and I enjoy our lunch, john. If that’s alright with you.”

“As if I’d say no to lunch and free entertainment. You realize it’s just as likely that charles will just start round two while we’re there, don’t you?” John asked as they turned down the side street and headed for the bank of the river.

“If he wants to get laid in the next month he damned well better not.”

“I take it Ellie is equally as mad about this?”

The sheepish look on Charles’ face made it clear he hadn’t yet told his occasional girlfriend about it. “She’s busy with exams. Didn’t wanna bother her.”

“No so I’m just left to deal with you.” Jack finished his cigarette and tossed it. “It’s a good thing you’re a good lay, charles.”

John rolled his eyes, it was an old nonsensical performance the two carried on, that they only enjoyed each other’s company for sex. Even a complete and utter stranger could take one look at them and realize they were effectively joined at the hip till the grave, them and Anne of course, Jack’s sometimes girlfriend but always partner he’d known since childhood.

“Anne not partaking in your humiliation?”

“She’s got a photoshoot scheduled up in Cambridge today, won’t be back till after dinner. Otherwise she’d be front row with her camera ready to catch this idiot having to apologize for once in his life.”

“I still say they started it.” Charles insisted.

“What was it even about?” John asked.

“Haven’t got a clue.”

Having been present for more than one of Charles’ notorious bar fights, John could easily believe that the whole point of the argument had been lost in the fray. All it took was a couple extra shots and a poorly timed joke in bad taste and charles was ready and willing to answer it with a right hook.

“Here we are, now behave charles or so help me-”

The Walrus looked, at face value, like every other hundred year old pub in the city, with the worn and re-painted wood framed windows and moulding around the door, a few iron tables and chairs sat outside to look across the street at the river and the opposing bank.

“Did you actually bother reading up on this place before dragging us out here jack?”

Jack huffed indignantly. “Yes I read up on it, I’d not pick a place without at least skimming the reviews. They’ve got nearly four stars on every possible review and the staff is gorgeous.”

“I’d care more about the food.”

“Well they said the food was good too.” Jack nudged Charles inside and waved John in after him.

It was a cozy setting, dark wood and white washed walls, old nautical art pieces hung here and there on the wall amidst old trophies and antiques, like many of the pubs along the river. It had the benefit of large front windows that made the place feel airy, instead of the cave like atmosphere of so many other places. Twenty tables or so were scattered about the room, the large oak bar extended to offer both kitchen side seating and barside.

The man at the bar looked up when they entered to greet them, but the moment he caught sight of Charles his put upon smile faded.

“Uh-”

“Hi we’re looking for a man named Flint?” Jack asked, as John settled into one of the empty tables in the window.

“What for?”

“My friend here caused him a bit of trouble last night and wanted to apologise.”

The bartender seemed to doubt that very much but nodded and turned to the kitchen. “Hey flint! You’ve got a visitor!”

“I’m not here.” came the gruff and uninterested reply.

“I think its the guy who decked you last night.”

John startled when a mountain of a man leaned against the kitchen door frame, apron slung around his hips and a healing split lip turned up with a smile. “Yeah it's him, flint. What do you want then?”

Charles glared at him until Jack sighed and shoved him forward to the bar.

“To apologise, and make sure there’s no hard feelings.” He said, ignoring the sour look Charles gave him.

The mountain blinked in surprise, and looked back over his shoulder, no doubt to where this Flint was debating whether or not to accept. Apparently he was willing to hear the apology, after a muttered reply, the mountain huffed and waved charles behind the counter.

“Flint’s got his hands a bit tied up, c’mon back.” He said and Charles followed after Jack again pushed him forward.

“I swear to god if he starts another fight I’m going to scream,” Jack said on a sigh, dropping into the seat across from john.

“If he does, at least the place’s is pretty quiet.” Aside from them, only two regulars sat at the bar, and half a dozen patrons at the tables further away. Hardy enough to cause a frenzy if a fight broke out.

“No need to worry, Flint won’t start a fight in his own house,” The bartender said, coming over with a trio of water glasses and menus. “If I’m honest I was surprised he got in a fight at all last night.”

“Is he not normally a hotheaded man then?” Jack asked.

“Oh he is, just the type more likely to jump you outside the pub rather than in. Wasn’t there so I dunno what was said but it must’ve been something.”

“I’m normally there but I had a deadline last night, couldn’t go out, thought Charles might be capable of coming home in one piece but here we are.”

“Ah well, we can only do our best with em can’t we? I’m Muldoon, lemme know when you want to order or if you want any drinks.” He was a short, genial looking man, with clever eyes and a well trimmed beard. The heavy brogue in his accent made John smile.

“We’ll take two of whatever cocktails you make best,” jack told him. “I’m going to need a few once this affair is over.”

“give me five minutes, they’ll be right up.”

“Did your deadline not go as well as you hoped?” John asked, when the bartender was back at work.

Jack waved a hand. “Who the hell knows, its submitted and the publication can decide whether or not its fit to run. With my luck I’ll have it sent back to me drowning in red ink and chunks of black out.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t write so many pieces on back door deals the whitehall bastards make, or how fucked the cops are, maybe then you’ll get more work published.” John pointed out, even though he knew the answer he’d receive. Jack was as invested in his journalism as John was in his novels, and the day Jack gave up his life of ruining rich and powerful people’s lives, would likely be the day they buried him.

“Ah but then, what kinda man am I, to ignore truth in exchange for a fat paycheck?” Jack chuckled. “Besides they’ve enough useless reporters amongst the london press, and when have I ever been one of the flock?”

“Never. They’re still giving you a few articles to work on outside of your pet projects aren’t they?”

“Yeah some nonsense about the men’s fashion expected at the next royal wedding or some shit. This is what happens when you’re the only fucker in the building who knows how to dress properly, they stick you with all the fashion editorials.”

John laughed at the disgusted look on Jack’s face. “To be fair, you have kind of brought it on yourself. How many times have you lectured your coworkers on their lack of fashion sense?”

“Look if these straight men want to get fucked then they need to dress better than a fucking-”

“Drinks, gents. On the house.” Muldoon set the glasses down with practiced ease, timing his interruption well.

“On the house?” John asked.

“To commemorate both Flint’s getting his face broken and your man getting his face broken, and yet being civil enough to apologize.” Muldoon said. “Or because you’re the most interesting part of my day thus far.”

“I may fall in love with you sir.” Jack smiled up at him.

“Sorry love, gonna have to take that up with Billy.”

Jack tilted his head and looked to where Muldoon nodded- The hulking blonde still leaning against the doorframe, his back to them. “Ha! In that case my dear it will be a chivalrous love from afar.”

Muldoon laughed, a bright burst of sound that caught the attention of the blonde, Billy. He glanced over his shoulder, at first with a curious frown, but one that easily melted into a fond smile as he watched them. He glanced back at the kitchen and seemed satisfied that hell wasn’t going to break out, so he turned and round the bar, coming to join muldoon beside their table.

“You’ll be glad to know your man’s behaving himself,” Billy said with that same wry smile he wore earlier.

“Thank fuck.” Jack groaned softly. “You were the other one weren’t you, last night?”

“I was yeah, though to be fair it was just a misunderstanding. Neither of us hold any ill will towards- charles was it?”

“Vane yes, charles vane. I was honestly worried you might press charges.”

Billy scoffed. “Flint would rather fight him ten times over then get the cops involved, don’t worry.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A few guys was bothering a couple of kids in the pub, being general shits. Flint had already started getting involved, before I could really stop him. Your man escalated it to a fight, or tried to, Flint tried to stop him, the guys who originally started the fight got a couple shots in and bailed by the time the three of us and finished causing trouble.” billy shrugs. “Like I said, a misunderstanding.”

John laughed softly. “Yeah sounds like charles.”

“Hes otherwise a great drinking mate though, I’d happily end up in a brawl with him again-” Billy looked up at the ding of a bell, the kitchen calling him back. “Sorry, duty calls.”

“Well at least it wasn’t something genuinely awful, I feel a tad bad about being so cross with him.” Jack mused, after muldoon had taken their orders.

“Nah, I’m sure he half expects it these days.”

They swapped stories of the work week, little things they’d forgotten to share via text while they waited for their food. As neighbors and close friends, John was always surprised how much they had to talk about, as he and Jack saw each other nearly every other day, unless work ran them down. Of course it helped that Anne’s girlfriend was John’s sister.

Charles rejoined them just after their food had been set out, looking dazed and uneasy.

“What happened?”

“I… think I got a job?” Charles said after a moment, as if he wasn’t sure.

Jack choked on his drink. “What?”

“He… he said he needed help at the bar, and was willing to teach me kitchen shit if I was willing to learn. And I just… said yeah why not?” Charles currently worked for his so-called father figure, as part of the security detail the company employed after hours. It didn’t take a genius to sort out how unhappy Charles was there. “Teach cut my hours a good bit recently, I’ve got the time, and the pay’s better, actually.”

The two stared at him a moment, before John started to laugh. “Only you could fucking deck a dude and get a job out of it, jesus christ.”

“I- I can’t even begin to process this but- that’s good? I think? Or at least a much better outcome than I’d expected…” Jack shook his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you…”

Charles smiled as brightly as he could with the plaster on his face and snatched the pickle off Jack’s plate. “No doubt you’ll think of something.”

They saw nothing of this Flint during their lunch, though they did get to chat a bit more with Muldoon and Billy before leaving. All John saw was a flash of red hair through the kitchen doorway as the man passed, red hair pulled up in a high messy bun and freckled arms.

But that, and his reception of Charles, was enough to pique his and Jack’s curiosity.