Summary: Carver goes looking for something to erase an image from his mind.

a/n: Filled for the Friday night DADrunkWriting on 5/19. Thanks to motherofgriffins for the prompt.

In the Firelight

What an idiot! Should have known better,Carver thought as he pushed through the door of the Hanged Man. "One," he said to the bartender as he approached the bar with a single-minded determination. The tumbler barely touched the thick wooden bar before he drained it. As he dug a few coins out of his pocket, he gestured at the cup for another round. By the third, he caught sight of movement in his peripheral. Someone slid into the seat next to him, but he chose to ignore them for the moment.

"Well, well, well." The buttery tone of her voice grated his nerves. He grimaced, more at the company than the sketchy booze burning in his gullet. "What brings you here?"

"Nothing," he snapped, pointing at his glass again.

Isabella narrowed his eyes at him. "Carver." Her hand laid on his wrist before he could lift the newly filled cup. When he looked at her, she saw that he looked a little pale. "What happened?"

"It's nothing. Really." He slammed a third shot back. "And I don't really want to think about it, let alone talk about it." With a deep exhale, he closed his eyes.

A blaze of orange and yellow crackled in the fireplace. It cast flickering shadows over the books that filled the shelves of the library. The reflective shimmer of a familiar pair of gleaming gauntlets caught his eye. It drew his gaze upward—too far up, he realized too late. Her pale skin flashed in the fire light and his glowed—his bare ass, her leg wrapped around his waist.

Carver stood there frozen, wanting to back out of the room, but he felt rooted to the spot. At least, until his sister's head dropped back with a low moan that reverberated off the stone. That sound shattered whatever held him fast and he bolted, like a kid caught doing something they weren't supposed to. He sprinted out of Hightown then wandered through Lowtown before finally finding his way to the Hanged Man.

Carver's eyes popped open and he tapped his cup on the bar. The image of them and the sound of his sister's voice in the throes of passion haunted him even as he stared at the dingy, dusty floor of the bar. "Just leave the bottle," he said. Coins tinkled off one another as he dropped the cost of the cheap rum and a stingy tip onto the bar.

"Wow. Must have been good," the pirate crooned.

He glared at her, grabbed his clay cup and the grungy glass bottle, and crossed the room to fall heavily into a chair at an empty table in a shadowy corner.

Isabella leaned on the bar and stared at him. She let him get settled and swallow another shot before she swaggered over to join him.

"I'm not telling you anything."

"I didn't ask," she said, setting an empty glass next to his. Carver looked at it, then up at her before he finally filled it.

The two of them finished that bottle and got halfway into another before he finally spilled it.

"That's not what a library is for," he grumbled in a near whisper.

"If it's great, anywhere is a good place," Isabela reckoned, leaning back in her chair with a knowing demeanor.

"But it was my sister."

Isabela smirked. "Mhmm."

Carver shook his head. "Ugh!"

"So, he had her up against the bookshelves, right? Was she facing him or looking away?"

"I'll never unsee that and you're sitting there imagining it," Carver said, clearly annoyed as he watched the pirate rock back and forth in her chair with her eyes closed.

"C'mon." Isabela opened one eye and peeked at him.

"I'm not that drunk yet." Carver lifted another glassful of rum to his lips.