#silvermiranda

He often wonders why they’re here at all: when he’d written to Madi disclosing where he’d settled (if she should ever want to see him again, he’d left unsaid, though implied), the last thing he’d expected was the eventual arrival of these three fugitives from Savannah. True, there had no doubt in his mind that Miranda and Flint would escape from the plantation with Thomas, but he’d spent months trying to cope with the knowledge of their assured hatred for him, even from afar.

To have Flint and Miranda - his fearsome, beloved Captains (for what was Miranda if not one half of Captain Flint?) - stand before him, angry and yet somehow willing to try, had been far more than he’d ever expected, or deserved.

“Is the news from Madi truly that dreadful?” Miranda asks, and Silver is pulled abruptly from his maudlin musing, blinking them away as he takes in the three slightly concerned looks being sent his way.

“Apologies, I was simply lost in thought. Madi is fine: the new camp is flourishing, thanks to Max’s aid and her own ingenuity, and her mother is in good health. There’s a page or four here intended for the three of you, you know. I haven’t read them.”

Thomas makes an interested sort of sound, and so Flint gets up and walks over to take the letter. He pauses, however, as their hands brush, giving Silver a thoughtful, concerned look. Silver gives him a flirty smile, waggling his eyebrows, and it seems to do the job; Flint rolls his eyes with a small chuckle, and returns to the hearth, concerns assuaged for the moment.

Thomas takes the letter and begins to read aloud. “First I must say, to Miranda and the Captain, how very much I have grown to miss their company. And to Thomas, though our friendship has lived almost entirely on the page, I’d much prefer you in person to mere words. I think of you four often, of course, especially on those days when I very much wish I could just shoot my adversaries and be done with it. I’m sure James, especially, understands this desire. I do hope you’re all keeping John in check, for he does so love to ruffle feathers.”

Thomas looks up from the letter, giving Silver a fond smirk, and Silver suddenly cannot bear to hear any more. He stands abruptly, mumbling something about firewood, and heads to the yard. He sits heavily on the steps of the front porch, staring at the slowly rising moon.

“James is always so hesitant to speak with you when you get like this,” comes Miranda’s voice, and Silver startles. He hadn’t realized she’d followed him out. She sits next to him and takes his hand in her own, pulling it into her lap. Evidently, she does not share Flint’s supposed hesitation. “He never knows what’s haunting you - if it’s something of our making, that we can help soothe, or something from your past, something you won’t speak of even with us.”

She squeezes his hand.

“But I know that expression, my dear. More often than not, you look at the three of us like some lost puppy, afraid to be kicked out into the rain.”

He glances up at her then, cheeky grin pasted in place. “Not at all,” he lies. “It is my house, though I’ll admit you did the bulk of the decorating.”

Miranda huffs. “Of course I did. You only had a mattress and a table, John. This place looked barely lived in when we arrived. Where you got this utilitarian - ” she pauses, then scowls at him. “Stop trying to distract me.”

Silver shrugs. “It was worth a try.”

She’s quiet for a time, simply taking him in. He hates it when she does this; her dark eyes are always so knowing, like she can tell exactly what he’s thinking. It’s no wonder the idiots back on Nassau thought she was a witch.

“There were times, back in London, in which I felt like an outsider. Like I was merely a footnote in Thomas and James’s great love story.”

Silver hastens to reassure her, because one of the first real things he ever truly knew of Flint was that he loved Miranda. She raises a hand, and he falls silent.

“I’m trying to make a point, here, John,” she says, giving him a stern look. She continues, then. “I know that Thomas sometimes envies James and I for the time we had together, when we lost him. I know he envies you, for you have seen parts of myself and James that we cannot bear to have him know. For that matter, James and I sometimes envy you, watching you discover Thomas the way we once did.”

Silver stares at her, taken aback. “I - really?”

“Yes, of course. Any relationship with four people - five, if you count our dear Madi, ever in your mind - is bound to be complicated. But, John, you have to understand: Thomas, James, and I know this. We talk to each other. How can we soothe your insecurities if you don’t share them with us?”

He sighs, staring down at their joined hands. “I know that you and Flint care for me. I do. You needed a third, someone to stop you from spiraling out of control, and I served that purpose, for a time. But now you’ve found him again, your third, and - well, it seems as though my use has run out. You were three before, and - surely it might be easier to simply be three once more.”

“And leave you alone?” Miranda asks. She reaches out, lifting his chin until his eyes meet her own. She kisses him gently, cupping his face in her hands and running her thumbs along his cheekbones.

“I love you,” she says when she pulls back, smiling sweetly. “James loves you. Thomas is well on his way to loving you, and it’s only been a few months. I know you have doubts. I know you worry that you don’t belong here, with us. But how can you not, when we love you so?”

“Is John being broody again?” Thomas says suddenly from the doorway, peering down at them curiously.

“Yes. It’s really quite endearing, how much he worries,” Miranda says, still smiling as she plays with one of his curls.

Thomas hums thoughtfully, walking over and pulling Silver to his feet with laughable ease. Silver likes how much bigger Thomas is than him, likes how strong these years of labor have made him, and the ass knows it. “Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to suck your odd, beautiful cock, if it’ll cheer you up some.”

Silver squawks indignantly, but Thomas kisses him and he loses his train of thought completely. It’s only when Thomas breaks the kiss and picks him up that Silver remembers his indignation, scolding him even as he wraps his legs around his middle for support.

“It’s a cultural practice, you prick, it’s not odd! Besides, it’s not as if I had a say in the matter!”

“I never said I didn’t like it! Did I or did I not call it beautiful? James, don’t you think John’s odd cock is lovely?”

Miranda laughs behind them, a twinkling thing, as James agrees readily. John groans and buries his face in Thomas’s neck, half-annoyed and half-amused.

There are worse ways to ease his worries, he supposes.