The atmosphere in the eerily quiet Noonans was palpable, almost as oppressive as the standoff had been, and all of it was thanks to Flints outing of Claras parentage. She knew why he did it, it was the only sure way to get Vane to back off, or at least stall him for the amount of time to get out of the whore house, but that did not mean Clara had to like it one bit.

No one moved, only sent each other stone hard glares, daring each other to do something that would kick everything off again. Well, everyone apart from Silver, who was in some sort of shock, eyebrows high and mouth flapping open to speak only to clamp shut a second later. If it weren't such dire circumstances, Clara would have fully soaked in and enjoyed the look playing on his face, when would be the next time she would see the silver tongued Silver quite so adamantly displaced and wordless?

The first to move was Flint, snatching her up by the back of her shirt and dragging her backwards, Clara stumbled along with his long strides as they made for the door of Noonans, highlighted by the boiling sun in the periwinkle sky, so bright was the light that Clara couldn't make out the outside world, only see the laughing shadows that passed by the blinding rectangular light.

Clara glanced back at the people behind her, the ones she could have died at the hands of. They were congregating around Vane, Anne and Jack pulling close to his sides as they whispered. Vane however was still looking at her, and she saw his mouth move, his words lost in the distance between them but Clara didn't need to hear them to know the words. I'll see you later. a threat, a promise, a poisoned gift wrapped in a bow. This wasn't the end of their impromptu fight, far from it, and a little part of Clara, the part that reveled in danger and arguments, the part she always tried to push back and lock down, liked the threatening promise of retribution. Let him try, Clara thought.

Silver too was moving, close by them as they made it to the door. His confusion was gone now, instead he was frowning as he eyed her and Flint, drawing comparisons and conclusions between the two people. Clara didn't like it, didn't want the parallels to be drawn. She was nothing like the man and Silver was wasting his time in trying to un-earth them. The blonde woman was also with them, not looking at anyone as she followed the trio out the door.

The small part of the crew that had followed Flint to Noonans parted as they pushed passed, closing ranks automatically as they passed by the big boned men. Obviously trying to portray a 'united' front to Vane and anyone else who held the thought of following the angry red-head, who resembled more of a rankled, spitting kitten then the terror of a growling tiger, and the more imposing and rageful Captain.

Flint led her down the busy road, his fingers still wrapped up tightly in her shirt. The blonde strode to Flints other side, only now choosing to watch the two of them wearily from the corner of her eyes, expression calculating and guarded. If Clara wasn't so disastrously tired, hurt and bleeding, had she been in the throes of her building anger, blinding her from reason, Clara would have tried fighting her way out from her dilemma. Away from Flint, away from Silver, and away from the blonde. But she was tired, she was hurt and bleeding and for once, fighting was on the last on her list of things to do.

"You can talk this out at my establishment. Better there than out in the public where god knows who can listen in."

The womans voice was punctual, even with the smooth English floral to her straightforward words that left no room for debate. Clara felt like this woman wasn't used to being told no. Flint didn't stop his frog march, or loosen the hold on Claras top that had seen better days long past, in fact, it made him march faster, hold tighter, but he did spare the woman a nod in her general direction.

"I'm sorry, but is no one going to answer my question? The one that's probably running through every ones mind right this minute? Clara is your daughter? When the hell did that happen?"

Silvers hushed but frantic voice brought Flint to a stop, and inadvertently Clara too. They had just turned to head down a side road, and Flint leveled a look at Silver that even had Clara grimacing for him. The kind of look that would have been able to melt brick or whither grass. Clara felt Flints fingers bind further into her shirt, digging into her back uncomfortably.

"I'm thought that it was self explanatory, surely I don't need to explain the reproductive system with you? What are you still doing here? Go back to Noonans, to the beach, or whatever place you want to dwell in, just make sure you're back on my ship by morning. Until then, I couldn't be less worried about your inane questions that do not concern you."

Flint didn't give Silver time to answer, most likely not caring for more questions that would follow, he pulled Clara down the road again, the blonde woman still dutifully following. Clara turned her head slightly as they skirted through the crowds, grasping the sight of a befuddled and annoyed Silver before he disappeared from view entirely, his hands on his hips as they made eye contact before it was snatched away from both of them by whitewashed buildings and flocks of dirtied men and sultry women.

Soon, Clara was herded into a new tavern, more men than women in this one, most if not all pirates, making her feel claustrophobic on top of the mirage of other emotions that were fighting to come out on top. Fear and anger were in the lead at the moment, but sadness could still pull through and win. Her chance of escape was gone, well and truly lost like rust in the wind. Did she even have freedom to begin with? Or was it all a construct she had painted in her own mind to make herself believe she had something to protect, to hoard, a goal to reach?

Her mind was swirling, jumbled pieces and half thought out thoughts she would rather not have in her mind, adding fuel to the bonfire that was her emotions. Clara was distractedly led into a slightly yellowed room, from age or paint, Clara could not tell you. A desk stood in front of boarded windows and a balcony, a model of an exotic building made from cherry wood was placed by the door, and before Clara could take in more of the room, Flint shoved her inside harshly. Her knees felt like ripples in a pond, the muscles getting tired of holding her up anymore. When was the last time she had eaten properly? Or slept more than two moves of the small hand on a broken clock?

"I'll leave you two to it. My office should be fine enough for... Whatever is to follow. Come find me later Flint, we have much to discuss. There's bandages and rum in the top left draw."

She sent Flint a look from the gilded doors entryway, one of those looks that represented a secret being passed between one precipitant to the other, hopeless for any outsiders to decipher its code. Clara wanted to tell the blonde she didn't give a fuck, not one care about whatever she found to be so important to drive the point home to Flint. They could talk about it in front of her if they wished it, and she would not register a single word. Clara was swept up in too much of her own failings, her own plans and regards to unfair circumstances to add whatever they planned to her own heady mix. She was so very, very tired.

The woman, both hands braced against their respective door handles, pulled the doors shut with a gentle swoop. So soft was the noise that Clara wanted to re-open them and slam the blasted things shut. This place, this island, there was nothing soft about it. No easy sounds to lull you under, no soft gestures from equally soft folks, no soft breeze for sun crisped and blistered skin. In her short time on the island, Clara knew that this place was harsh, brutal despite all its beauty. The weather, the land, more importantly its inhabitants that called it home, all harsh in their own ways and meanings. The soft noise of the door swooping shut did not belong, it was a lie to the senses, a lie to Clara. In her over exhausted state, the littlest things that normally wouldn't bleep on Claras radar, seemed to be the most foreboding.

"Sit down before you fall down."

Claras tongue felt heavy in her mouth, dry too, so much so she, Clara the ever mouthy and argumentative, couldn't bring herself to argue a moot point against Flint. Even if his tone was as harsh as a blizzards wind and his words clipped short. All of a sudden she was filled with such a longing, an gnawing desire to have Mary with her, her mother would have loved seeing her speechless, but then she thought of what Mary would think if she was here to see the blood crusting and flaking on her arm and humor arose in Clara.

The woman would have ate Flint alive for putting Clara in this predicament, then her equally hot headed mother would have likely hunted down Vane and skinned the bastard, saving Claras own ugly demise for last for getting involved in the first place. But Mary wasn't here, Mary was dead, and the real word took the humor away from Clara with a vicious tug. Clara fumbled at a carved, plushed velvet chair, flopping into it with less grace than a fish on land, nausea bubbling up in her gut at her thoughts.

She watched Flint cautiously, half believing that she had finally pushed the pirate too far and any second he would explode. Instead he walked over to the expansive desk, yanked the top left draw open and spilled out sterile bandages and a full bottle of rum onto a group of scattered papers. He went to pick them back up after shutting the draw, only to clock sight of her, stall, and slam his fists down onto the table with a resolute bang, eyes aimed at her like bullets, as cold and hard as the real rounded metal would have been.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Do you know what kind of men live on this island? What Vane would have done to you if I had not been told of what was transpiring? Jesus fucking Christ Clara!"

Claras voice was flat and monotone when she spoke, but as soon as the words passed her dry and cracked lips, did she want to suck them back in. This man, her supposed father, had saved her life from Vanes hands. She may not know pirates as much as other people did, but she knew his treatment of her, on his ship, on this island, was more than generous in the type of life he led. In some ways, she was lucky it was Flint who had commandeered Captain Ludfords ship, she knew this.

But he had trapped her, backed her into a corner, and like an animal she had reacted on instinct, to get the hell out of there. His main strike against his case was he had taken away her chance at fulfilling Mary's dying wish, the last thing a dying woman wanted, and for that and that alone, she could not and would not forgive him.

"What? Kill the crew I am with? Kill the Captain and his crew that had been nothing but courteous to me, when they needed not be? Shackle me and drag me to a place you find me so lacking to survive in? Because to me, that sounds all too familiar. Don't question what I was thinking, question what the fuck you were thinking."

His fingers dug into the glossed wood, and then he lashed out, flinging his arm in an arching swipe across the desk, sending papers, quills and books tumbling to the floor. Then he looked at her once more, and he must of seen something on her face or in her eyes, the regret of her words, her tiredness, her bloodied arm, it didn't matter because his anger dissolved instantaneously and he sagged into the skewed high back chair of the desk, his elbow leaning on one arm as he rested his hand over his closed eyes.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, non if it. We were meant to be back in Wiltshire, Miranda reading to you next to a lit fire place, bows in your hair and pretty silk dresses. Me watching while Thomas..."

He choked on the last word, sounding to much like a broken whisper than the name Clara had heard, but hear it she did. His hand moved away from his eyes, clenching firmly as he brought it over his mouth, peering at her as his knuckles turned white from the pressure. She didn't know these people, didn't even know the man in the very same room as her, didn't know the full story.

"Then tell me! All you have done is tell me you are my father, and then leave. No words, no explanations. Nothing. You say I shouldn't have ran, but how could I not when I don't even know anything apart from what you did to Captain Ludford and his crew. I refuse to be a prisoner. Not by you or any one else."

Not when Mary had done all she had to ensure Clara had a happy future, even if by now it would never come to pass. That caused a lump to swell in her throat, blocking her breathing. That's what this had all been, she knew it was unlikely she would fully escape from this island, it was a last ditch attempt, half dreamed up to fulfill the dying wishes of the person who was, and forever would be closest to her. Clara had failed, she had failed Mary. That left a sour and spoiled feeling in her mouth and core of her being. The lump grew but Clara refused to shed any tears. If Mary was here, in her shoes, she would not cry and neither would Clara.

Flint heaved himself out of his chair, plucking the knocked over bottle of rum and bandages up as he walked around the table and made his way to her, half way there, he dragged the other chair closer to Clara, and once close enough, sat down. Reaching over, Flint picked up her hurt hand, he ripped a part of the bandage off, doused it in rum and pressed and swiped it along the wound decorating her fingers. Clara hissed and tried to pull her hand away, but he held steadily. Once finished with wiping away the massed blood and cleaning the wound, he rapped her hand in the gauze, knotting it tightly, but once finished completely, he did not let go, instead he ran his thumb gently over her hand, deep in thought.

"There is someone you need to meet. Someone you would have already gotten your answers from if you had not foolishly ran off. You were never my prisoner Clara, not for a second. The same can not be said if Vane or anyone else on this island had managed to get a hold of you. I would remember that next time if any thoughts of running off cross your mind. Come."

Clara didn't want to move, her bones ached and her eyes were drooping, but the curiosity, the chance to find out the answers to the riddles that plagued her had her moving with him towards the door. Answers first, sleep later. They left the yellow room and made it half way across the tavern and nearly to the exit before they were intercepted by the blonde woman, now an angry frown marring her pretty features when she spotted were they were headed.

"Where are you going? We need to talk Flint, I need to know about the schedu-"

"Later."

Flint didn't spare the woman a glance, but Clara did. She saw the way her cheeks heated in anger at being re-buffed so easily and coldly. Saw the flash in her eyes that promised of hot insults. That's when Clara knew what kind of person she was. The blonde, she wasn't like Vane, Flint or Silver, Clara could read this woman easily enough. She was self important. She believed she deserved respect, and maybe so, Clara did not know her.

But Clara had seen that face before, seen that glimmer twinkling in her eyes, that stance of squared shoulders and heated cheeks of indignation. Clara had seen it on the pompous Lords and ladies that would pass her in the dingy streets of London. The ones who believed they were above all else, that things had to be done their way, self centered, egotistical in a sense of their own self worth.

Clara did not blame the woman, she had been on the island a day, she knew not how long the blonde had been there, but a place like this? To live in it, to survive, you needed thick skin. But Clara was smart enough to also know that this self importance, this demand to have everything her way, would no doubt lead to troubling problems for the woman. For these men were pirates, and pirates did not listen when someone told them what to do. Something Clara and the pirates had in common, as grudgingly Clara would admit.

Clara almost felt sorry for the woman, if she had not sent such a vicious glare at her and Flint as they carried on walking out of the tavern without another word. Yes, either that woman would be a problem to herself, or she would be a problem to someone else and Clara hoped it would not be her. She already had to juggle Flint and Vane. God knows where Silver fit into everything, he was in a category all on his own.

Claras feet dragged as she obediently followed Flint to a stall of some sort, poles dangerously tilted and fence in shambles, ropes tied to the fence leading to the neck and reigns of neighing horses. Flint stopped in front of it, fingers deftly untying a horse in black reigns, still holding the rope he went to untie another, and Clara found herself speaking in a squeaky voice. She did not like outing her own weaknesses, voicing her inabilities, that was no secret. But in this case, she would have to swallow her pride to save herself from a fall.

"I can't... I've never ridden a horse before."

She felt like a child in this place, surrounded by all sides by people who had done things, lived through things she had never dreamed of. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one she hadn't felt in a long time, being shoved back into the tight skin of a miscreant child. But here, she knew she would face that a lot, face it until she did learn, she did do the things she had never dreamed of before. Like killing the cook, like running away, like that fight with Vane. One day and Clara realized she had changed so fundamentally that it jarred her. Who would she be in a weeks time? In a year if she was still breathing and on this god forsaken island?

Flint glanced at her, something storming in his eyes before he pushed it down, gave her a sharp nod and only pulled out the chestnut horse with the white splodge on the underside of its neck.

When the horse was on the other side of the fence, front leg pushing and stomping into the sandy floor in excitement, Flint turned around and with no warning, lifted Clara up by her waist and pushed her towards the front of the horse, one she had mentally named Humbert, forcing her to lift her leg and slide on. Then with a flick of his long coat, and a pull on the reigns, he swung himself behind Clara and settled on the horse.

His arms came around her, pulling her closer so she didn't fall off and with a pull of the reigns, Humbert turned right and they were off. Clara bounced in her seat as they took off, the back of her thighs hitting into strong fury muscle. The pain in her body heightened at being jostled so much, but her mind was taken away from it when they came out from the crowded buildings and picked up speed.

Her hair, as red as a little robins chest, danced in the wind. She clutched onto Flints arm that was held in front of her. With the wind in her face, the golden sands transforming to dewy grass that was greener than any she had spied before, and the abyss of blue skies made her feel like the hawk she had spotted once back home when she was eight, watching aptly as it took flight, wishing and later pretending she could take off just like that animal to where-ever her heart desired.

Clara was able to hold back the laugh, but not the smile that threatened to split her cheeks at the seams. Closing her eyes, she let herself pretend that she was that hawk, that she was flying to where she wanted to, back to the bakery and back to a healthily flushed Mary. Then, like all the small pockets of bliss Clara could get her hands on, it was taken away from her when Humbert slowed down and Flint was ushering her down and off the horse.

Her feet met grass with a soft thump, and Clara took her time to look around her. The house in front of her was big, a lot bigger than the one she had back in London, a stone well standing tall outside the home. Well, what she thought was a home. Then she remembered what she was doing there, getting answers that could change her more than she had already been changed. And once again, it was Flint that was leading her to this transformation. For a moment, she wanted to run, but she pushed it away. She had decided to come, she needed this, needed to know why this had happened, give reason, as flimsy as it could be, to why Marys wishes would go unanswered.

Clara walked with Flint to the house, and without knocking, Flint twisted the shiny brass knob and pushed the wood open. He strolled in, but it took Clara longer to will herself to walk, afraid of what she would find pass the threshold. But enter she did, and she was met with comfortable furnishings, clocks, books, a sparse painting here and there and rugs that looked ten times better then the 'Persian' rugs some of the merchants down at the docks would try and peddle. Clara guessed these were real Persian rugs from the vivacity of their colors. Then anger flared to life in her. One of these rugs could feed her and Mary for months, let alone the orphans that littered London prolifically.

Other peoples wealth always was a sore spot for Clara, especially when she knew how bad it was for the truly poor, not her family, but the skinny skeletal children and beggars she would see in Londons gutters, palms held up to snubbed nosed courtiers. Wealth in Claras eyes meant callousness, the wealthy didn't care, not for anyone 'lesser' then them. So while, in Claras eyes, the furnishings were a lavish beauty she had the privilege of seeing, it did not bode well for the type of person living here.

"Miranda!"

Clara jerked towards Flint at his shout. Miranda, she had heard that name when he was rambling back in that tavern, speaking but not truly to her. Out of a splintered off hallway, where Clara believed the kitchen would be, came a lady. She could be nothing else by the way she held herself, poised footsteps and head held high. She was drying her hands off on a soiled rag, eyes smiling just as much as her pearly mouth. If Clara had to describe one word to the woman, it would be warm. So very warm.

The woman saw Flint first, making quick steps towards him until she stopped when she saw Clara in front of him. Her smile dropped, and Clara thought it was because of the state she was in, torn bloodied shirt, hair wild, sunburnt and dirt smudged. Clara doubted the woman had seen anyone quite in Claras position before, ladies tended to shy away from such things. But Clara was wrong, and she knew that when the woman spoke quietly to Flint even though her eyes never left Clara, her words fractured in places, sharp like broken glass.

"Is this... Is this her?"

Clara didn't turn away from the woman, confused by her sudden and determined interest in Clara. Only to get more confused by Flints gentle words, as if breaking either terrible or glorious news. Clara tensed, neither one sounded good to her.

"Yes, it's Clara."

The woman dropped the clothe, not caring as it fell to the floor with a wet plop, dashing over, Clara found herself swept up in the womans strong arms. And for some moronic reason, instead of being worried about the sudden hug, or the proximity of a stranger, Clara was more worried about the state of the dress Miranda would have when she pulled away from her own sullied clothes.

Miranda pulled away, smoothing her hands down Claras flyaway curls, her hands coming to rest cupping her cheeks, eyes shining with something that could be construed as tears. But why would the woman be crying? Clara had never met her in her entire life. Done with the confusion, Clara batted the hands away from her face, frowning at Miranda fiercely.

"Who are you?"

Clara had hated that question so much over the last few months, when it was solely directed at her, but now, when she was the one left in the dark, she understood the potency of it, the need to know. Why had Flint led her here? How could this strange, welcoming woman tell Clara anything of importance, about her life, about Flint, about anything or everything?

Miranda didn't step away, but she did pull her hands back to her chest, not lowering them. She looked at Flint from over Claras shoulder, and Clara could see a question playing on her face, one she didn't need to speak for Flint to understand, but one Clara could not decipher when not spoken. It didn't matter, Flint spoke up behind her, still with that gentle voice that scared Clara more than when he was yelling at her back on Captain Ludford ship, sword at her neck.

"I found her on a ship, heading to Boston. From what she's said, Mary's gone and obviously hasn't told the girl about us."

Anger won out against the fight clashing in her emotions and Clara exploded, shot away from them, her back hitting the hallway wall so she could square them both with a glare. Through grounded teeth and white knuckled fists, she growled.

"Fuck off with all your riddles and secrets! You said I would get my answers, so where are they? Or is all this another game, is everything you've said a game? Lure me in then finish me off, is it more fun this way? This place, it's just one secret after another, and I'm done. Done! Why did you bring me here? And who the hell is she?"

Miranda came towards her, but Clara couldn't pull herself further away, the wall preventing her from doing so. The womans hands fell to Claras small shoulders, she could feel the heat of them through her thin and ruined shirt. Looking up, Clara could see the shine in her eyes that beckoned tears had become such, trailing soft trails down Mirandas cheeks and dipping under her chin in tiny rivers. But what unnerved Clara the most was not the tears, not the games they could be playing and not the enclosed space she was in with two relative strangers.

It was the smile on Mirandas face, still bright, still pure. One that told of happiness unimaginable. Then, Clara couldn't take it in, couldn't focus, couldn't think. Flints and Mirandas faces the only things she could focus on. And just by seven little words, Miranda had shattered Claras world, her universe, everything she had ever known and spoken as fact.

"I'm Miranda Barlow and I'm your mother."


Next chapter- Clara finally gets the answers she's been avoiding.

CHAPTER NOTES- I know, this chapter isn't very descriptive or has a lot of Vane or Silver in it. But this story is fundamentally about Clara, and I want her background to be laid out before those two really come into play and the plots of Nassau make an appearance. Don't worry, they'll be back not next chapter but the one after that. And to those who are a bit weary of Clara not being so fiery in this chapter, well she had just had a fight with Vane, escaped from Flint and is running basically on zero fuel, so yes, she's not superhuman, she's going to be tired.

I only say this because I got a rather scathing P.M. I don't mind constructive criticism, far from it, but when someone just writes to you saying nothing is believable, the characters are wrong, the OC is annoying and fake and you should just quit the story because everything is completely wrong and you're 'ruining' Black Sails, even though I'm only six, seven now, chapters in. Well, that's not criticism, that's flame and I would prefer people not to do that. If you don't like it, just don't read. I actually put work into this and I know some of you wont like it, I don't ask everyone to, this is for my enjoyment and the few who find my mad musings entertaining. I'm sorry for the rant, but I needed to get it off my chest. This is in no way aimed at everyone, because most of you have been fantastically welcoming and lovely in your reviews and responses.

I wanted this chapter to be more emotionally based, because well, this chapter is about revelations and emotions, so will be the next chapter. I know that's not every ones cuppa tea, but the adventure, drama and everything else will be coming in the following chapters after the next. This is just important for Claras character lay-out and development.

I'm sorry to cut the standoff so abruptly short, but that was the plan from the beginning, and trust me, Vane hasn't given up on getting Clara on his side, far from it, it's only interested him further.

THANKYOU to every wonderful person who reviewed, and although I hoped I shocked some of you with this plot twist, I'm sure some of you already figured it out. I know I've only left more questions to be answered, most, but not all, will be answered next chapter. But to those who actually like this story, who review and give me such amazing feed back, or simply enjoy it, this chapters for YOU.

Thank-you once again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will equally enjoy the next, and if you have a spare moment, please drop a review! :) -GoWithTheFlo20