The Bootstrap Paradox: Part 4

[mokuyoubi]

Jon was distant the rest of the day. Spencer didn’t really know what he’d expected from telling the truth, but he hadn’t thought it would be this. He was relieved when Ryan came to pester him, forcing him out of Jon’s bed.

“Please tell me you’re not having sex sex,” Ryan said, when they were walking the deck alone.

“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer said. He wasn’t really in the mood.

“I’m just saying,” Ryan persisted. “Pirates had all sorts of gross STDs.”

Spencer hadn’t really been thinking about that, but as soon as Ryan said it, Spencer felt his stomach flip unpleasantly. And seriously. What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d let Jon fuck him without a goddamn condom. He was not this stupid. Except, apparently, when it came to Jon.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” Ryan hissed. “You didn’t.”

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t fucking—It won’t happen again,” he said.

Ryan looked horrified. “I don’t think that the venereal diseases care how many times it happens.”

“I don’t really need this right now,” Spencer muttered. “Besides, I’m not sure it really matters, here, Ryan. It’s not like we can go get tested, or pick up some condoms at the convenience store. And don’t think I’ve missed you sizing up Brendon.”

Ryan bit his lip and didn’t say anything for a long time. Spencer let Ryan loop an arm around his waist. He laid his own over Ryan’s shoulders, laying his head on top of Ryan’s. “If you’re—I thought you looked happy, earlier,” Ryan said. “What happened?”
“I told Jon about us,” Spencer said. “I think he believes that I believe it, but I don’t think he thinks I know what I’m saying.”

“Well, can you blame him?” Ryan asked. It was a pointed question, about Spencer’s own disbelief, Spencer knew. He sometimes hated how well Ryan knew him.

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I couldn’t not tell him. I don’t know how long I can take this before I convince myself I’ve gone crazy—one second this feels natural, like this is where we belong, and the next it’s like jerking awake and everything’s wrong and horrible—I didn’t want Jon to think I was crazy, or a spy, or whatever.”

“Good job on that,” Ryan said, tone sarcastic and fond at the same time. It was a gift of Ryan’s, to manage to lace sarcasm with just about any other emotion.

Brendon came along shortly and drew Ryan away. Ryan gave Spencer an apologetic look as he went, but let Brendon take him. Spencer sighed, leaning his arms on the railing and watching the sea part around the bow of the ship. Good thing neither of them were prone to seasickness. This could have been a lot messier trip.

Tom came up alongside Spencer quietly, almost startling him, and copied Spencer’s pose. He looked out at the water in silence, and Spencer felt remarkably uncomfortable. “Hey,” Spencer said.

Tom looked at Spencer from the corner of his eye. “Brendon’s really sweet and innocent,” Tom said. “Everyone knows the only reason he made admiral ever—let alone at his age—was out of desperation and because of who his father is. And Jon’s smart, but he gets these feelings about people and lets himself be swayed.”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He got the feeling that like Frank, Tom wasn’t going to be convinced by anything Spencer or Ryan could say. He didn’t feel like wasting any more breath.

“But I’m not going to be charmed by you like everyone else,” Tom continued. “They might forget that you could be spies, but I won’t.”

Maybe a couple of hours ago, Spencer might have found it sweet. Tom was just being protective of Jon the way Spencer would be over Ryan. But since he’d told Jon, and got Jon’s reaction, Spencer wasn’t feeling very generous. He just rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze on the Mamba trying to make out the figures on the deck.

Tom glared at him, hard. Spencer could practically feel the weight of it. “Patrick’s no fool, either. You can hide behind Jon and Brendon for now, but just know that Patrick will see through your act.”

“Thanks,” Spencer said tightly, and walked off before Tom could say anything else. He busied himself helping out anyone and everyone who could use him, steering clear of Tom and Jon for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, he couldn’t escape them at dinner, but no one else had seemed to notice the strangeness between Jon and Spencer, and they carried on as though everything was alright.

Towards the end of dinner, Ryan elbowed Brendon sharply in his side and Brendon jumped. “Oh, right,” he said. “Jon, I was thinking we could switch our captives for the evening. You know. Mix things up.”

Jon looked from Brendon to Spencer and back again, blinking his eyes. He opened his mouth, but Ryan said quickly, “Awesome idea, Brendon. Jon, I totally want to hear more about your cartography.” Ryan widened his eyes imploringly at Spencer.

“Right,” Spencer said, catching on. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” He smiled at Brendon. Tom glared even more powerfully than he had earlier, and Jon looked confused, and maybe a little hurt. Yeah, well. Spencer felt it, too.

No one stayed up on deck after dinner. Ryan went directly into Jon’s cabin, as if daring someone to change the plan. Spencer lingered outside Brendon’s door, caught by the expression on Jon’s face.

“Hey,” Jon said, catching Spencer’s arm. “I—” he shook his head, and pushed up on his toes to press a quick, almost chaste kiss to the corner of Spencer’s lips. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Spencer said. He could see Ryan watching disapprovingly from the door, but whatever. Spencer bent for a longer kiss.

Jon’s grip tightened on Spencer’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, breath warm on Spencer’s mouth. Brendon shifted uncomfortably from behind them and Ryan cleared his throat.

“Shut up,” Spencer growled at his best friend.

“You don’t have to—we don’t have to,” Jon said, almost shyly. “We could just…talk some more. Spencer, I want to understand.” Ryan heaved a huge sigh and stomped out of Jon’s room. He grabbed Brendon, who sputtered in protest, and dragged him into his quarters.

Spencer followed Jon silently into his quarters and sat on the bed, watching Jon pace. It was the tensest he’d ever seen Jon, even when Jon had considered Spencer and Ryan potential spies.

“You have to understand, Spencer, we’re going to see Patrick tomorrow, and if you tell him something like what you told me—”

“The truth,” Spencer interrupted sourly.

“If you tell him that,” Jon said, not remarking on the validity of it, “he’s not going to believe you. He’ll think you’re either crazy, or lying, do you understand?”

“Well, what do you want me to tell him, then?” Spencer asked. “Because whatever else I might tell him will be a lie.”

“Brendon and I will think of something,” Jon said. “But just…please don’t say anything else about the…Your…” Jon waved a hand that could have meant anything.

Spencer sighed. His muscles ached and he felt tired and lonely. “Maybe we should have just switched, tonight,” he said.

Jon stopped pacing to stare at him. He sighed, too, and went over to the bed, kneeling at Spencer’s feet. He laid his hands on Spencer’s knees. “I’m trying to understand,” Jon said.

Spencer nodded. “I know,” he said. He let his hand drop to Jon’s head, fingers lacing through Jon’s hair. “I know,” he said again. “This isn’t any easier for me to understand than it is for you.” He traced his hand down Jon’s face, touch delicate. Jon tilted his face into the touch, eyes falling shut. Spencer had to kiss him.

Jon rose into a crouch, pushing Spencer back and Spencer let him, lying flat. Jon crawled on the bed, knees tight around Spencer’s hips. Jon deepened the kiss, but kept it slow. His hand trailed down Spencer’s chest and rose again, pushing Spencer’s shirt up as he went, fingertips rough on Spencer’s skin.

“I’m trying to understand,” Jon repeated. “I want to so badly, Spencer.” His kisses moved down Spencer’s neck.

“Jon, we can’t—” Spencer said, pushing at Jon’s chest. “We can’t again, like earlier.”

Jon pulled away, sitting back on his heels. He frowned down at Spencer. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?”

Spencer felt a ridiculous tug at his heart. He had to stop having that reaction to every little thing Jon did, no matter how sweet. “No, it was good, Jon, it was really awesome. But…” he drew a breath, not sure how to proceed. Jon already had his doubts about Spencer’s story.

“Look, I want to be honest with you Jon, and if you don’t believe it, okay, but I’m not going to lie. In my time there are diseases you can get, from having sex. You can get them now, too, but people didn’t know about them for a long time. In my time you never would have done what we did, not without protection.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “It’s alright,” Spencer said quickly. He smoothed his hands up Jon’s chest. “I just don’t think that we should…We can still…there are other ways we can…”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jon said softly. He pulled Spencer back until they were lying side by side, heads on pillows. Part of Spencer wanted to just say to hell with protection and safety, because he just wanted Jon so much. What were the chances that someone as sweet as Jon, so laid back about sex, had fucked enough people to get a vd?

But Spencer had been stupid enough for an entire lifetime. Besides, Jon got him so turned on, he didn’t really need a lot. “I want to,” Spencer said, reaching a hand in Jon’s pants. “Just touch me.”

Jon’s hand, hot and tight around Spencer’s cock was enough to get him off.



Port-de-Paix wasn’t quite the bustling centre that Nassau had been, but it was certainly lively. Brendon and Jon had a whispered conversation as the crew dropped anchor and lowered the rowboats. Tom insisted on coming along to keep an eye on things, and they were met at the shore by most of the crew of the Mamba, and Frank, who kept shooting vicious glares their way.

Spencer’s stomach had been doing flips since he first woke, early in the morning. Jon had stirred with him, pressing kisses in Spencer’s hair and rubbing his back soothingly, but it hadn’t helped. Finally Jon had got up with him and they’d sat sharing Spencer’s headphones, watching videos and listening to music.

“Who is this Patrick guy?” Spencer asked.

“We weren’t going to take you to him, at first. Officially, we’re supposed to report any potential spies to Brendon’s father,” Jon said. “Patrick has a lot of money and a lot of information, but he isn’t really part of any chain of command.” Spencer didn’t know if it was better or worse, being taken to Patrick as opposed to being taken to Brendon’s father. He trusted Jon, though.

Patrick’s home was a large, sprawling mansion on a hill overlooking the city. Banana trees lined the way, men and women working to harvest them. They didn’t look like slaves, which Spencer thought was maybe a good sign.

They were led into a study, and the man behind the desk didn’t look that intimidating. He had a thin, pale face framed in strawberry blonde hair and pale green eyes. A smile lit is face when his guests entered. His eyes darted over Ryan in his borrowed outfit and his smile wavered slightly, but when his gaze fell on Spencer, his eyes went wide and he shot to his feet.

“Are you wearing jeans?” Patrick sputtered.

Spencer’s heart started beating faster and he turned to look at Ryan, who was already staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “Yes?” Spencer said hesitantly.

“Please, please. I’ve been here over three years. Tell me something, anything,” Patrick said.

His words didn’t make any sense, but Ryan seemed to understand. “Um. Barack Obama is our 44th president,” he offered.

“Oh my god, holy shit,” Patrick said. “That is so fucking awesome. How did you—when did you?”

“Just a few days ago,” Ryan said in a rush.

“How?” Patrick said. He scrambled around the desk to go to them. Spencer could feel Jon watching them, but he couldn’t look away from Patrick. “How did you get here?”

Ryan shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know,” Spencer said. Patrick looked at him again, eyes darting over Spencer’s shirt and jeans. “There was a storm and we woke up here with you friends.” He gave a pointed look to Frank.

“A storm?” Patrick frowned. “Frank, put down the fucking knife, Jesus Christ,” he said dismissively. “There was no storm when I came.”

“So you’re…you know we’re not fucking spies?” Ryan said.

Patrick laughed. “They can get paranoid. You know. Revolutionary war. I’ve tried to tell them it will all work out in the end.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Frank growled, “but The Black Infinity never showed up for their rendezvous. And if they aren’t here and they weren’t in Nassau…”

“We saw them,” Ryan said to Patrick. “Pete, and Greta and Gerard. They were there in 2009.”

“2009,” Patrick echoed dully. “Fuck. Three years. It was 2006 when I disappeared.” Spencer couldn’t imagine being gone that long. “Do you think they somehow went forward?” Patrick asked.

Spencer shook his head. “Bill and Travis were there, too, but they’re here now,” he said.

Patrick shook his head and muttered something to himself. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, louder. “There’s some way back…” He went back to his desk, pushing papers over the surface. “There’s some way back.”

“Patrick,” Jon said.

“You found them near Nassau?” Patrick asked him.

“Yes. I recorded the coordinates, near to where we were supposed to meet The Black Infinity…Patrick, what’s going on?” Jon asked.

“We need to get back there,” Patrick said. “If The Black Infinity went missing near where you came through…I never knew where I came through. I was unconscious, and by the time I came to, I’d been moved away. Fucking Pete never making any goddamn records…”

“He didn’t think you were a spy?” Spencer asked, shooting a look at Brendon and Jon.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “He’s still convinced I’m a goddamned merman,” he said. “Fucker’s always trying to throw me in the water, convinced I’ll grow a tail.”

Ryan let out a wild, hysterical burst of laughter. “Sounds like Pete,” he said.

“We thought we were going crazy,” Spencer said.

“You might get home,” Brendon said softly, speaking for the first time since they’d met Patrick. He stroked Ryan’s arm as he said it, face hesitant and sad. It occurred to Spencer that Ryan must have told Brendon the truth, too.

Ryan looked at Brendon and back to Patrick, mouth working without making a sound. “Brendon…” he finally managed to whisper.

“Either The Black Infinity went missing due to this rift, or they went missing due to foul play. Either way we should investigate,” Patrick said. “I’d hate for something to happen to Pete.” His tone was sarcastic, but Spencer thought maybe he meant it, anyway.

Spencer looked cautiously at Jon, who was already watching him. The look in Jon’s eye said he maybe finally believed what Spencer had said, which was nice, but a little insulting, that Jon hadn’t believed until Patrick had confirmed it.

“We should get back to the ships, then,” Brendon said. “My father is waiting for the information Pete was bringing. When Pete didn’t show, I was sent to collect it myself. You know how impatient my father can get.”

“I have his information,” Patrick said, and there was just something about the way he said it, biting and sardonic, that just confirmed Patrick was from their own time. It was such a relief to hear that tone coming from someone other than Ryan right now. “It is time sensitive, though, you’re right.”

Frank, silently fuming until now, burst out, “Patrick, I want to know what the fuck is going on!”

Patrick touched Frank lightly on the arm. “Don’t get too worried yet, Frank,” he said. “If they say they saw Gerard, then he should be fine.”

“If they saw Gerard,” Frank repeated. “I don’t understand why we’re believing them.”

“Frank,” Patrick said. He didn’t look much older than Spencer or Ryan, really, but there was something in his face and tone of voice that made him sound like a parent who’d had to put up with too many unruly children. Spencer supposed being around Pete and these others could have that effect on people. “They aren’t spies.”

And that was that. Patrick sent one of his servants to gather some of his things, and went along with Spencer and Ryan back to the ship, walking a bit ahead of the others. Brendon kept close to Ryan’s side, though, unquestioning of anything they said, and though Jon was a few steps behind them, Spencer knew he was listening.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your names,” Patrick said.

“Ryan Ross and Spencer Smith,” Ryan said. “How did you end up here? Why didn’t they think you were a spy?”

“Good timing, I guess,” Patrick said. “It was the beginning of the war, people weren’t as suspicious of everything and everyone. Plus it was Pete who found me, like I said. And I paid pretty good attention in history classes. By the time it became a question of where my loyalties lay, I was able to give information to help the Americans and French against the British.”

“I told you being an English major was useless,” Spencer said to Ryan.

“Yes, because your Computer Engineering major has helped us out a lot, back here,” Ryan said wryly. For the first time, it felt alright joking about this, like there was an end in sight. Except…Spencer looked over his shoulder at Jon.

“And you just want to leave?” Spencer asked Patrick. “I mean, you’ve been here three years. You’ve made friends, right? You just want to go back?”

“You want to stay?” Patrick countered, dubious.

“I—” Ryan said, and stopped, blinking.

“Maybe,” Spencer said, almost a whisper.

“Seriously?” Patrick asked. “You told me Obama just got elected right? That guy is awesome. I mean, I could understand if you were going back to more Bush or Cheney, or whoever the Republicans put up against Obama, but are you seriously going to tell me you’d rather stick around for the fucking Revolutionary War than go home?”

“There are other things,” Ryan said defensively, and grabbed blindly for Brendon’s hand. Brendon laced their fingers together.

Patrick flicked a glance at them. “Would you just leave Pete back here?” Brendon asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the town around them.

“Maybe we should focus on getting my information to your father,” Patrick said, which wasn’t exactly an answer.

On the ship, Patrick cornered them to the captain’s cabin, Jon and Brendon watching silently from the sidelines. “Tell me everything I’ve missed,” Patrick said. “What about the war? Israel, Pakistan? Hurricane Katrina, all of it.”

Ryan was eight different kinds of useless when it came to news and current events, so Spencer answered the questions the best he knew how, outlining all the major events he could remember over the past couple years. It was random, stream of consciousness, leaping from one topic to another—telling about the forced evacuation in the West Bank, the death toll from the war in Iraq, the natural disasters from earthquakes to volcanic eruptions.

“You make it sound like there’s been nothing but tragedy,” Ryan interrupted, rolling his eyes. Which, coming from Ryan, Spencer thought was pretty rich. Ryan was hands down the most pessimistic person he’d ever met.

Ryan fished around in his bag for his iPod and Patrick’s eyes got big and wide. “Please,” he said, “music,” and made grabby hands for it.

Spencer got up and went into Jon’s cabin and wasn’t disappointed when Jon followed close on his heels, shutting the door behind them. Either no one noticed, or no one cared enough to protest. Spencer sat in one of the chairs because he didn’t really feel up to being distracted, which he probably would be if he sat on the bed.

“If I say I believe you now, you’re going to think it’s only because of Patrick,” Jon said.

“Yep,” Spencer agreed.

Jon laid a hand on his shoulder. “I thought you said you were where you wanted to be,” he said.

Spencer had to think about how to answer that for a long time. He’d said it because it had been true, and he’d been so caught up in Jon that he hadn’t thought about it before letting it slip. But they’d only really known one another a few days.

“I made myself vulnerable to you enough, already, I think,” Spencer said.

Jon made a frustrated noise, moving around to face him. “Do you think I haven’t made myself vulnerable to you?” Jon asked. “Brendon and I didn’t have any reason to trust you—you and Ryan fought us every step of the way, and we were just trying to understand—but we trusted you anyway. I would have protected you from Patrick if I’d had to.

“And I don’t know what you think about me, talking about diseases, but I actually don’t sleep with every attractive person who will have me. In fact, despite the best efforts of a lot of my friends, I hardly sleep with anyone at all—let alone any men. I didn’t have sex with you just for entertainment.” Jon was so generally laid back that seeing him angry was frightening and a little exciting.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, and didn’t shy away when Jon touched his cheek.

“I am, too,” Jon said. He leaned close, nudging Spencer’s nose aside for a kiss.

“I wasn’t lying,” Spencer said, “when I said I was where I wanted to be. But I meant—I didn’t think there was a way to get home. I don’t even know if there is now.”

“That changes things?” Jon asked. He looked so hurt.

“Before I really understood what was going on here, I thought how lonely it must be here, without all the technology and entertainment we have in the twenty-first century,” Spencer began. “Forgetting everything else, if I had to pick between living now and living then, I’d pick then. But, believe it or not, I don’t just sleep with anyone, either.” He sank his hand in Jon’s hair and pressed another kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t just want to leave you behind.”

“We couldn’t just come,” Jon said. “The war—”

“I know,” Spencer agreed. “I know. But Patrick’s right, you know. You don’t have to worry about this war. We win it.” He didn’t want to think about what their involvement might do to that. What might happen if Jon and Brendon and the others did go home with them…

As far as Spencer knew, the Revolutionary War hadn’t really been won in the Caribbean, but for all he knew, the Sea or the Mamba might have intercepted some important British ship, or something. Or maybe it wasn’t anything quite so big. Maybe taking them out of their time would change something small, but significant. Didn’t all the time travelling movies warn about changing the timeline? Preventing one’s own birth?

“We don’t even know there’s a way back,” Spencer said. He didn’t know if he was trying to pacify Jon, or himself.



The trip back to Nassau went more quickly than the journey to Port-de-Paix. The wind was in their favour, blowing northwest toward Florida. Spencer would rather it go more slowly, give him more time to think about things, and what he would do if Patrick really could find a way back to 2009.

Jon kept Spencer in bed as much as he could, just talking, asking question after question, much like Patrick’s, only about the span of three-hundred and forty years between them. Spencer figured the damage was already done, having shown and told Jon the things he had. He answered everything Jon asked him, as best he could, though he was no historian.

“It isn’t fair that you shouldn’t be able to see these things,” Spencer said. Jon’s painting was still on his easel, showcasing his interpretation of twentieth century technology.

“I want to see them,” Jon said.

And after two days, he said, “I’d go with you. I will, I mean. If there is a way back, I want to go with you.”

Spencer stroked a hand down Jon’s cheek and pulled him into a kiss. He wanted Jon inside him again, or to be inside Jon, just to be as close as they could be. He settled for their hands and sharing Jon’s breath between hot kisses, tangled in the sheets.

“I wouldn’t want to be there without you,” Spencer admitted, mouth pressed in the sweaty skin of Jon’s shoulder. He wasn’t good at making declarations—being friends with Ryan Ross hadn’t made him the most emotionally healthy person in the world—but being close to Jon made him want to be better at it. And yes, he realised what a trite motherfucker he was turning into.



Patrick had made all sorts of notes in the three years he’d spent in the past. It hadn’t been easy, Spencer could tell. Without the modern conveniences of libraries and the internet, finding out information was a difficult task. Patrick had hired translators and travelled to several native encampments to gather his data.

There were plenty of legends surrounding the area; Spencer wasn’t surprised. They were loosely within the Bermuda Triangle. Spencer had never bought it, but Ryan had been intrigued by the theories as a child. Now, Spencer had to reconsider what he knew with all that he’d heard and experienced.

“There seems to be a pattern, as near as I can tell,” Patrick explained. “Those who speak of having disappeared, of going to strange worlds with fantastic beasts—they are never gone more than a few hours or a couple days at most, before returning. Because of this, most people don’t believe it is an actual, physical transportation.

“The natives at Talio believe these incidents to be a form of spirit questing. They have a lot of stories, which led me to believe that the point must be close to their island. But considering that it is something of an honour to experience the transition, a lot of the stories could be faked.”

Ryan and Patrick had a grand time recounting their knowledge of the Triangle, Patrick from the past, Ryan from what he remembered of the present. Spencer was sure how much good any of it would do them, if they really wanted to get home.

“All I can figure,” Patrick said, “is that there are two sorts of paths—the direct path, where any one point in time is connected to some other specific point in time. These are the paths used when travelling through the first time. From then on, it seems like there is a second path—when returning, you are taken to the time from which you left. So I would go back three years ago, and you would go back a week ago.”

“How can you be so sure?” Spencer asked. “I’m not opposed to going home, but I don’t want to end up in some other time.”

“The natives are the best source of information I’ve been able to find,” Patrick said. “And those who don’t disappear forever come back within hours of having gone out.”

“But you said yourself that those stories could be lies,” Spencer argued.

“I’m willing to risk it,” Patrick said. “I’m not going to be just another story of some unexplained disappearance in the Caribbean. It might be a good idea to bring your ship along, though. I think it might work as a connection between the two times.”

“The ship isn’t going to do us much good,” Ryan said. “It’s completely dead.”

“We could probably tow it back with us, though,” Brendon said. “We got it to port without a problem.”

Spencer didn’t really see the point. “It was Greta who rented it to us,” he pointed out.

“I’d watch out for Greta,” Brendon teased. “She might kick your ass for losing her ship.”

“I’ll protect you,” Jon said, squeezing Spencer tighter in his arms. They were at the bow of the Sea, watching the sun dip ever lower on the horizon.

“My big strong hero,” Spencer said dryly. He noted the way Brendon and Ryan were sitting close, but not quite touching anywhere except their hands. Ryan’s finger occasionally brushed over Brendon’s. Ryan wasn’t usually the coy sort about things, but he seemed to be playing that role with Brendon. If Ryan wasn’t such a jaded, emo dickhead, Spencer would think it was sweet.

It wasn’t until they were signalled by the Mamba and Sisky came down from the nest to tell them there was British ship on the horizon that Spencer even remembered there was a war going on. It had been said enough times, but there hadn’t been any real proof of it.

They had passed a few ships on their way to Port-de-Paix, but they had all been American and French vessels. There had been one unmarked vessel that had stood down when approached by the Sea and the Mamba and had turned out to be an individually owned pleasure ship.

Jon disentangled himself with one last kiss pressed to Spencer’s temple and he and Brendon hurried down to Tom, who was talking with Sisky. The Mamba was slowing and it only took a few moments for the Sea to draw up alongside it.

“What’s going on?” Ryan demanded. Spencer just hung back, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

“You’ll stay here with Michael and Patrick,” Brendon said dismissively over his shoulder.

“Wait, what?” Spencer said, hurrying forward. “You want us to stay here?”

“They’re heavily armed,” Jon said, quick and distracted. “The Mamba is better armed than the Sea, and without the Infinity, it’s better if we leave the Sea behind. You can get away, if necessary.”

“Get away?” Ryan asked, voice going high-pitched. “We don’t want to get away. What do you mean, get away?”

“Ryan,” Brendon said softly, catching his hands. “Just listen to what Patrick and Michael say.”

Ryan shook his head frantically. “This is stupid. You can’t just expect us to wait while you go off to fight them. And who tries to pilot ships this size with eight fucking people? You can’t just…there are sixteen of you! That ship probably has hundreds of men.”

If Spencer hadn’t been nervous before, Ryan’s little tantrum would have definitely done the trick. Brendon brushed back Ryan’s hair from his face and leaned in to lay a soft kiss on his lips and Ryan’s breath caught on whatever else he was going to say. Spencer turned away, feeling strange watching it. Jon caught his hand.

“Tell me you’ll do what Patrick and Michael say,” Jon said.

“Is Ryan right? Will they have that many men?” Spencer asked.

Jon smiled. “It won’t matter how many men they have,” he said, and he sounded confident, not like he was just trying to pacify Spencer. “We have Frank and the Butcher, and the grapeshot on William’s ship will do most of the work for us.”

Spencer didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t really have time to ask. Jon kissed him quickly, on the corner of his mouth, and darted off for the Mamba. “I don’t—I don’t know what that means,” he said softly.

Ryan grabbed his hand, drawing him nearer. “This is so stupid,” he was muttering. “I don’t care how amazing any of them are, the odds just aren’t in their favour. Loading cannons take manpower. The Mamba could have the best cannons in the world, but if they can’t get them loaded in time…”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Patrick said. “They are good at what they do. They have been in plenty of battles. Do you think they’d still be travelling in parties the size they do, if they weren’t good at it?”

“I don’t care!” Ryan snapped. “This is stupid. I want to go home.” He put his face in Spencer’s neck and Spencer drew him close.

“Michael,” Patrick called, “take us northeast around Long Island.”

“Wait,” Spencer said. “They said we could get away if necessary.”

“It is necessary,” Patrick said calmly. “They’ll meet us at Black Point. They’ll be fine.”

Spencer meant to argue the point, but there was a deafening crack of cannon fire and he ran to the stern of the ship instead. The Sea was turning, cutting away from the Mamba, but they weren’t so far off.

“The Mamba is faster than them,” Michael said. “They’ll be fine.”

Ryan stood at Spencer’s side as Spencer tried to make sense of what was going on. The other ship was still so far away it was hardly a speck on the horizon. Certainly that particular shot couldn’t have reached it.

“Grapeshot is really good,” Ryan said after a long time. “It should take out a lot of the other crew before they’re close enough for the other ship to get them. As long as the other ship doesn’t have any grapeshot of their own.”

“You’re doing a great job cheering me up, Ross,” Spencer said. He tried to sound joking, but was afraid it mostly came out strained.

The night grew darker, making the view more difficult, and the intermittent cannon fire grew closer and closer together. “I’m ready to wake up back in 2009, now,” Spencer said.

“That was the first time Brendon kissed me,” Ryan murmured.

“It won’t be the last,” Spencer said, with more conviction.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, blandly. There was another loud crack followed by popping sounds, like fireworks, and then a flare of light lit up the sky.

Spencer didn’t actually believe they were leaving until an island loomed closer, cutting them off from the battle altogether. He decided he didn’t like Patrick. All concerned about getting home, no matter what it meant for everyone else.

They waited at Black Point until the early hours of the morning, Ryan held tight to Spencer’s chest as the sun began to rise, painting the water orange and red and yellow. “We have to go back for them,” Spencer said to Patrick, who had the good grace to look nervous and guilty. He didn’t argue the point.

It didn’t do them any good. The water near where the battle had taken place was foaming and littered with planks of wood and bobbing barrels. There were almost a dozen bodies floating among the wreckage, and Spencer’s heart got lodged in his throat as Patrick dropped a row boat to go around and check them. He didn’t feel much better to know none of them were his friends. They were still dead people, and this was so fucked up. Spencer didn’t want to think about people dying.

“This means they won, then,” Spencer said decisively. No one said anything, but Patrick’s grim look and Ryan’s paleness spoke volumes.

“We should go get your ship,” Patrick said.

“I don’t care about our fucking ship,” Spencer snapped. “You can have it, okay? Go home, what the fuck ever. We’re not going anywhere, especially until we know what happened to Jon and Brendon.” Ryan squeezed Spencer’s hand tightly in solidarity.

Patrick’s expression softened. “Look, I’m not…I might be able to figure out what’s wrong with it, and searching for the Mamba would be a lot easier with that ship than with anything we can get here. And besides, Nassau is their home port these days; Brendon’s father is there. If anyone came to their aid, that is where they would have been taken.”

Spencer still wasn’t sure he liked the guy, but he gave in for now. “If he can fix it,” Ryan said under his breath, after Patrick and Michael had gone off to take care of setting the course or whatever, “I say we take it and leave him there. Look for them ourselves.”

It almost felt familiar, watching Nassau draw ever closer. The sun had finally risen entirely and in the distance the water along the docks shone almost blindingly. There was no sign of the Mamba, which was larger by far than any of the ships in port.

Patrick had a quiet conversation with a young boy at the docks, when they disembarked. “I don’t know how much I’ve messed up, giving information like this,” he said, looking vaguely worried about it. “But I also don’t know if maybe I’m supposed to give them this information. Like maybe I always came back in time and helped…”

Spencer might be concerned except Patrick had been back here a while and the future had seemed just fine when he’d left it. It was a sort of conundrum that Ryan no doubt appreciated trying to figure out, but just made Spencer’s head hurt.

“I have to go speak with Brendon’s father,” Patrick said, “and then we can take a look at your ship. It’s docked to the southeast. I’ll take you there when I get back.” He was distracted, maybe something to do with the big, hulking man in uniform eyeing him expectantly.

Ryan was practically vibrating with tension, and as soon as Patrick had disappeared into the crowd, he sprang into action. “We should see the boat for ourselves,” he said, tugging on Spencer’s arm.

Spencer didn’t take much persuading, letting Ryan lead the way down the shore. Michael jogged after them, looking concerned. “Patrick’s not going to be too happy about this,” he said, but didn’t try to dissuade them. Spencer figured he was probably pretty worried, too.

The boat was at a small, quiet dock separated from the other by a line of tropical trees and overgrown bushes. It was probably for the best. Anyone could see that the boat didn’t belong, metal glistening under the sunlight. There were three men in a small shed guarding the dock, but after Michael spoke to them, they waved Spencer and Ryan ahead.

“They’ve repaired your sails,” Michael told them, “and all but the superficial damage to the hull. There were some questions about what was found in the cabin…”

“I bet,” Spencer remarked dryly. He led the way down the steps. The cabin smelled musty and sour and the bed was a mess of mouldy, rumpled sheets. Unsurprisingly, the electrical components were useless, but Spencer remembered Bill saying something about an auxiliary power source than ran on gasoline.

“No wonder they thought you were spies,” Michael said softly. Ryan shot him a sharp look and Michael held up his hands. “I’m just saying that this is really strange. What is all of this?”

Spencer looked to Ryan who shrugged. “I promise I’ll explain it all sometime when we’ve got everyone back safely.”

“So…what you looking for?” Michael asked. “The sails are good. We could take this out, as soon as Patrick get’s back.”

“There should be a container somewhere,” Ryan said. He gestured with his hands, approximating the size. “Red, with a spout.” Then he added sidelong to Spencer, “Did they have gasoline in the 18th century? Could we find some?”

Spencer was pretty sure they didn’t have any, and even if they did, he doubted it would be in the form they needed to power the engine. He didn’t say as much. “There should be some around here somewhere.”

They searched in silence, tearing apart the lower cabin and bedroom area, pulling drawers out of the dresser, going through the built in cabinets lining the walls, searching under the sink in the bathroom. There wasn’t anything useful to be found—lots of extra blankets, first aid kits, and rations, but nothing that would pilot the boat.

“What are you guys doing?” Patrick’s voice called from the deck. He sounded annoyed. “I told you I’d bring you myself.”

Spencer pushed off his heels to his feet, giving up his search in the drawers under the bed and went to the stairs. “We’re not particularly interested in your help,” Spencer said. Ryan bumped against Spencer’s shoulder and shot Patrick a glare.

Patrick sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m worried about them too, you know.”

“Could have fooled us,” Ryan snapped. He stomped up the steps. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. This thing is dead. You can’t use it to get back.”

“Hey, is this what you guys were talking about?” Michael asks, coming up the stairs, gas canister in hand. “I think it got moved around in the storm. It was lodged between the wall and the table.”

There was a moment of silence and Spencer glared at Michael. “If this ship is going anywhere, it’s going to look for the Mamba, not your damn time rip or whatever.”

“Fine. I said we would,” Patrick said. He didn’t look happy about it, a pissy look twisting his mouth. “But I still don’t understand why you want to be stuck back here.”

“I don’t understand how you can be such a heartless asshole,” Ryan shot back. “Fuck, you’ve been here years. These people are your friends.”

Patrick’s nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything. He spun on his heel and stormed away from them, crossing his arms and staring out over the horizon. Michael shifted uncomfortably, holding the gasoline canister at his side.

“Okay,” Spencer said, and took a deep breath. He turned to Michael. “If they’re not here and they’re not at Black Point, where else could they be?”

“There’s a place on Long Island. To the northeast. It’s really small, a lot of pirates use it as an outpost,” Michael said. “I don’t know if they’d risk taking the Mamba there, but if they were badly damaged, they might not have had a choice…”

Spencer felt lost without someone else calling the shots. He was used to making decisions and being in charge in his own time, but here he had no idea what he was doing. It had been easy, up to this point, to leave it up to the actual sailors.

It wasn’t as though he had any choice, though. Ryan was a step away from hysterics, Spencer knew, and Patrick wasn’t going to be much help. “Okay,” Spencer said, and took a deep breath. “Okay, so, let’s go there.”

Michael looked dubious. “You want to take this ship there? Do you have any weapons?”

“No, we don’t have any fucking weapons,” Spencer snapped. “What do you want us to do? Take the Sea? Even if you and Patrick know how to load weapons and steer or whatever, we don’t. I think we’re better off with this. It’s smaller, and it’s faster.”

“He’s right,” Patrick said. He turned back to them. “We’ll look for them. But at some point I’m going to use this ship to get home.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, because he supposed it didn’t need any further discussion. They’d find Jon and Brendon and the others and then Patrick could have the fucking boat, for all he cared. He just wanted to be back in Jon’s cabin on the Sea with Jon, and nothing from the future seemed very appealing on comparison.



Part 5