A Dreadful Bound
Unfortunately, the sun was shining as Peter walked out to port. He was expecting rain, like the day before. They needed it. Dark skies, at least, would help them out a little. Peter threw his sack over his shoulder. Sunshine and jolly folks weren't what he imagined they made plans to run away from home. Cloudy skies with a few stars shining through were in his visions.
Peter continued down the port. He waved to those he knew, as per his usual habit. Lady Michelle would roll her eyes right now. Knowing, (wishing), he would not see them again. It was for the best if he never set foot here again.
The bag caused him to cower, although he packed light as he could. Only the essentials. And money. Always money. Peter used a hand to block the sun, making it difficult to wave or steady the hilt of the rapier secured in his belt.
And there she was. A peasant uniform couldn't confuse Peter from knowing this was Lady Michelle. He grew up with those dark eyes. She nodded at him and lowered her hat. Peter broke into a run as he approached her. Lady Michelle's things were in a peanut-brown sack next to her feet.
"How does it feel to not be a lady, Lady Michelle?" Peter asked, wiping his brow.
Lady Michelle swatted at him. "Not a lady, remember?"
"Oh, right, yes." He cleared his throat. "How does it feel not to be a lady anymore, not Lady Michelle?"
"Remind me why I decided to run away with you." She rolled her eyes as a small smile smoothed out her lips.
"Because I'm the only one you know that can provide your weapon of choice?"
A rough breeze swept her hat off her head. Peter nearly tripped as he ran to catch it, just before it hit the water. He handed it back to her with a bow. Lady Michelle made a show of rolling her eyes again, before taking the hat. She tossed her pack over her shoulder and grabbed Peter's hand.
"Alright, then, I suppose, this is it," Lady Michelle said.
"'Suppose it is." Peter offered his arm. "My-not-lady?"
Lady Michelle looked at him, taking his arm. "My idiot?"
The two began up the stairway to the ship. Peter gave their tickets to the taker, who welcomed them aboard with a gruff nod. Peter turned to head into the floor below, but Lady Michelle stopped. Her gaze landed on the port. Peter found the spot. The island they grew up in.
"It's strange to be leaving," Lady Michelle said. She paused, continuing with some reluctance. "I've never left home before."
"Neither have I."
They paused. The port was bustling with energy. With newcomers and sailors. Looking for ways out or ways in. This was their home for nineteen years. And now, they were leaving it behind. Their plans to run away started ages ago, but it didn't feel real.
Peter glanced back at Lady Michelle. She straightened, maintaining the lady-like posture she taught when she was a child. She focused her eyes on Peter.
"To the cabins?"
"They're not really cabins, but, eh, close enough," Peter reminded her.
"Right." Lady Michelle paused. "We're running away. 'Bout time we roughed it out."
Peter helped her down a few steps. He looked down at her and took a step as her statement clicked in his mind. He grinned. "Did you say, 'Rough it out?'" A laugh hitched in his throat.
Lady Michelle glared, preventing Peter from making any more remarks on the subject.
He missed the sun, bright and annoying as it was. The cabin floor was illuminated by a few candles, carefully placed to prevent them from falling. Peter roped his bag over his shoulder, giving hisi easy access to what was inside. After rummaging around, he found a spare candlestick. Lady Michelle lit it using the other candles, while he packed his things away. He guided Lady Michelle through curtains, the thin material hung to separate the cots into sections. Calling it a room or cabin was gracious. A board was built into the wall to act as the bed.
Peter turned to Lady Michelle, who was studying her surroundings with an uncertain glance. "You'll be alright here?" he asked.
"Fine, thank you," Lady Michelle answered, hesitant. She turned to view the space. "As long as you'll be close?" She wrapped her arms around herself. "It doesn't matter, but perhaps it would be best, so we don't lose each other . . . ?"
"I was going to suggest the same thing."
She released the tension in her shoulders. Lady Michelle nodded. Peter left a plain shirt on her bed, to show they took it. But in case a thief noticed the item and decided it was his, there wasn't much value to it. Peter didn't realize he took Lady Michelle's hand as they moved throughout the deck.
"There's not another one left," Lady Michelle mumbled.
"Um, well." Peter looked about, spying another with a man lying on the floor, a woman next to him, "Excuse me, sir, is this one taken?"
"Yeah, it is taken, Bartie?" the woman mocked.
"Taken, it is." Bartie shook a finger at them. "I ain't takin' one with me wife."
The woman - presumably Bartie's wife - kicked at his feet with a string of curses. Lady Michelle guided Peter away. Returning to her cabin-like area.
"What are we supposed to do now? We can't have you staying in mine . . . " Lady Michelle's eyes brightened. "Perfect!" She neared his face. "If anyone asks, we're eloping, got it?"
"Lady-er-you . . . there, um . . ."
"That's 'Darling' to you," she drawled.
Peter's face reddened.
Bartie's wife began another bout of profanities. Peter covered Lady Michelle's ears, which she rolled her eyes at. He removed two from her ears and leaned in, saying,
"I'm glad I'm not Bartie right now."
Lady Michelle chuckled. "I'd never do that to you, my love."
Peter groaned. "Just because we're supposedly eloping, doesn't mean-"
"That's exactly what it means," Lady Michelle said. She poked a teasing finger at his chest.
"We're taking off!" a crewmember called.
The two looked at one another. Peter sat up and took Lady Michelle's hand. Escorting her to the main deck. The wind had picked up a bit as they stepped up. More so as they set sail. Peter wrapped his hand around Lady Michelle's waist.
"Perhaps, it isn't the smartest idea to be up here now," Lady Michelle said, "After all, we are running away."
"Running away to be married." Peter smiled. "Let's show off our undying love and devotion to one another."
"There you go, now you're into it. It's fun."
"I suppose it is. A little."
"The best part, though, was watching your ears turn red every time I called you a name of affection."
Her statement caused his ears to redden.
Lady Michelle leaned into him. "I like to think this is how my parents got together. Rather than a stuffy, old arranged marriage. I don't like Father and he didn't deserve Mother, but something like this would make me like him more."
"Maybe my mother and my father were planning to run off together as well before she realized what he was."
The words escaped him before Peter could consider them. He paled, ever-slightly. He opened his mouth, intent on changing the subject.
Lady Michelle turned around, her eyebrows crossed. "Your father was a blacksmith."
"Stepfather," Peter corrected.
He already made his bed; he might as well lay in it.
"Peter?"
He stared off to the side. The subject of his biological father was never one would want to discuss or dare try to. Lady Michelle traced his jawline with her hand, making him face her.
"Hey," she said, "I'm not . . . I'm not good with these things, but if you want to, if you want to talk about it, you can." She paused. "After all, I am your fiancee."
Peter chuckled. "Maybe."
"Bartie, get back here right now!"
The two turned to find Bartie's wife racing about the deck, holding up a shoe. Peter leaned against the side, folding his arms, as they watched Bartie duck under tables and run through doorways to escape his wife as she shouted,
"At least, you ain't a bloody pirate!"
"A ship was going from the east and going to the west, loaded with silks and satins and velvets of the best . . ."
Tony was tired of the folk song playing itself in his head. Repeatedly. He murmured the words as he walked along the deck, peering down at a compass he could barely read. He glanced up at the sunset. There had been many a sunset in his life. Overrated, the lot of them were. Tony slammed the compass shut. He looked to Rhodey instead.
"Off to port, then, gangplank?" Tony said.
Rhodey rolled his eyes, patting his friend on the back. "Your orders, captain."
"Good, good. Now be honest with me, Rhodey, do you have somewhat of a bad feeling about this?" Tony waved. "Going off to port?"
"Should I?"
"You know the rules out here, if there's no bad feeling following us, we don't go there."
The dock was in view, Tony stuffed the compass in his pockets. Circling about the deck, until he made it to the wheel, giving out orders. They parked.
"Alright, then," Tony began, "You all have twenty-four hours to do whatever you'd like to your heart's content. Brucie, Nat, I better not catch you in the act of anything, again. Clint, go do, whatever it is you do. I am going to be on my way now. I'll be around here, somewhere, if you need me."
Tony flipped around, knowing he could trust his crew, he headed towards the nearest tavern. He could smell the salty wenches and sour rum a mile away. Which brought him to question how one could turn rum sour. Nevertheless, he threw open the door.
Greeted by a batch of armed soldiers glaring back at him.
"Nevis really upped their security, haven't they?" Tony mumbled to himself. Louder, he said, "What a coincidence! I was hoping to find all you here."
The group only stared back at him with matching scowls. One by one, they each looked away. Chatter stirred up again and Tony made his way to the bar. Plopping himself down on a stool, he ordered himself a rum. Before remembering the sour stench from earlier. Tony frowned but took a sip.
"So what brings you 'ere?"
Tony looked up from his drink, finding a soldier in a red uniform. His cup was empty, save for a few droplets at the bottom. Tony looked him over.
"Rum."
The soldier laughed. "You hear that, boys? He says he's here for rum!"
Apparently, that statement was quite hilarious because the joke stirred up a chuckle. Tony rolled his eyes. Typical.
The soldier leaned in - too close for Tony's comfort. He switched chairs. Only to have the soldier follow him. Sighing, Tony found an empty table. The same lad took the seat across from him.
"Look, kid, do you want something?" Tony asked.
The soldier giggled.
Tony should have gotten out of there in the first place. He tossed a coin to the owner and took a few sweet gulps. He wiped a speck from his shoulder.
"You're Captain Stark, aren't you?"
That caused him to hesitate.
"Nope never heard of him," Tony said.
He met the door. Now blocked by two soldiers, raising their firearms at him. Tony huffed.
"Say, he looks a lot like Cap'n Stark, doesn't he?"
"Thank you, I'm flattered." Tony attempted to get through. "Now if you could just let me-"
One man grabbed his arm and thrust up his sleeve. Exposing the "P" burnt into his skin. They grabbed his arms. Another pinned a pair of shackles around his wrists. Tony kicked back.
"Captain Stark, so pleased to have you back in Port Amory," one said.
"As am I."
Something wasn't right.
Ever since Peter was a child, he could sense if something was right or wrong. It trodded through him, settling in a dull wallow in his stomach. Lady Michelle was sound asleep next to him. His aching body begged to join her in slumber. But that feeling wouldn't go away.
He should've expected this. They were running away. Of course, he was going to feel somewhat off.
They couldn't get caught. They were too far out. Right?
Footsteps bounded down the stairs. Peter felt himself wrapping his arms around Lady Michelle in a protective stance. A few others awakened. Some lit their candles, holding them close to their cheeks. Peter strengthened his hold on Lady Michelle. He whispered into her hair,
"Hey, hey, you hear that?"
"Not now, idiot. Tryin' to sleep."
"Lady Michelle-"
Someone screamed.
The two bolted up. Peter grabbed Lady Michelle's shawl, wrapping it around her. He kept an arm wrapped around her as he reached for his sword.
"Peter? What's . . . ?"
"Pirates!"
Lady Michelle whispered a string of curses. She sprang up, followed by Peter, who kept a hand on his weapon. The rapier. A few other men use what they could as weapons. Peter unsheathed the sword he brought for Lady Michelle. He handed the box, keeping the weapon to her. She opened it and grasped the hilt of the weapon.
The two looked at each other with a nod and began up the stairs, ignoring the warnings to do otherwise.
Pistols shot off. Swords clanked. Screams rang. Peter didn't realize he grabbed Lady Michelle's hand.
They joined the battle. Lightened by moonlight and fire. Bartie's wife got caught between Peter and his opponent. If it weren't for guilt, Peter wouldn't mind seeing her finished off. Fortunately, the pirate knocked her unconscious before she could do much damage. The pirate's crewmate shouted to him. Peter swung his fist against his skull. Knocking him down beside Bartie's wife. Peter stepped away, surveying his surroundings. He looked to the edge of the skip. Spotting two pirates. One grasped a female-looking figure around the waist. Peter picked up his sword and ran to where he could overhear them.
"This one's a Earl's daughter!"
A pirate clasped his dirty hand around Lady Michelle's neck. His other hand held a dagger, barely touching her skin.
"How do you know?"
"'Er handkerchief says, 'Lady' on it, nitwit."
Lady Michelle stomped on her captor's foot. Her foot which was keeping her steady flew into the air and her arms waved to keep herself from falling.
Despite himself, Peter reached out, shouting her name.
The pirates snickered. The one with the dagger grabbed her thigh. He traced his hands back to where they were settled before. Fire thrashed through Peter. No one dared touch Lady Michelle like that.
"Take 'er! We'll get a real good price if we bring her back," he said.
"Michelle!"
He was close now. Enough to grab her hand. But Lady Michelle's captor snapped her arm down and grasped her by the neck. His companion drew out his sword, challenging Peter. As their weapons clanked, he looked over at his shoulder. Only for a second.
She was gone.
Peter stepped backward. He knew there was a mast behind him. The pirate didn't. He smiled as he watched Peter near the mast. His danger sense flared the closer they got. But he stepped out of the way. The pirate blinked and walked into the wood. Peter didn't look back. He ran to where he last saw Lady Michelle. On the edge of the ship. He looked down. Nothing.
There was a glimmer when Peter turned away. Covered by a shawl. Lady Michelle's shawl.
Peter grabbed it. A chain fell from the folds of the fabric. A medallion. He fingered the unfamiliar object. Before grasping it in his grip.
If Lady Michelle brought this along, she needed it to be safe.
He wrapped the medallion around his neck. He would return it to her personally.
They made it out. Alive, that was. The water bumping into their small boat caused Peter's stomach to twist. Soon enough, however, they found another ship to wave their arms at until someone noticed them. After servings of hardtack and wet bread, they made port. Peter was offered a blanket, but he declined, wrapping Lady Michelle's shawl around himself. He inhaled the scent of her mother's perfume. Roses and indigo.
It was sunrise by the time they docked. Nevis. He was back home. They could've gotten somewhere. They could've lived the runaway fantasy they chased for years.
Peter wasted no time. His shoulders ached from the rowing and his cheeks were sunburned. But he marched up to Lady Michelle's manor, knocking on the door without hesitation. Mr. Marshall, the butler, answered, peering over his nose at Peter.
"Pirates," Peter said, "Lady Michelle, she-pirates took her!"
"The servant's entrance is by the backdoor," Mr. Marshall said, as he closed the door.
"No, wait, sir! Lady Michelle-"
Mr. Marshall paused. He didn't remove the scowl from his lips. "What of Lady Michelle, boy?"
"Pirates took her."
"Pirates?"
"Exactly, yes." Peter exhaled. "I need to talk to Lord Jones-"
He began inside. Mr. Marshall slammed.
Peter hesitated. Perhaps he should alert someone in command? But news of the attack must be out. The last thing he wanted was to pester Lord Jones further. Or the rest of the household. Burying his hands in his pockets, he began back to the blacksmith's shop. Tapping the sign on the way in, as he always did.
Parker's Metal Trades
He wasn't supposed to come back. At least, not this soon. They were to arrive in London. Safely. Then find Lady Michelle's aunt and live in the city as two best friends. Their plans didn't mention returning. Although they never spoke of it, they both had a feeling they would come back one day.
Peter took out the medallion from under his shirt. He traced the pattern with a finger. This couldn't be anything Lady Michelle owned. Or her mother. No, the pattern reminded him of something pirate.
Someone pounded on the door. "Anyone here?"
Peter grunted from surprise. He threw the medallion back to where it was hiding. He approached the door, but didn't move to open it.
Must as well open for business. The crafting might clear his head a bit. Peter neared the door but hesitated. It could be a mob Lord Jones put together to go after him. It had been minutes since Peter told Marshall about the pirates, but he didn't dare underestimate Lord Jones. He could have the information and the people rallying in moments.
"What do you want?" Peter asked.
"A weapon," the man said, "We're not safe here anymore."
He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean 'we're not safe here anymore?'"
Peter opened the door, allowing the man to step inside. The man wiped his forehead with the back of a hairy arm before looking back at Peter. He gestured to the air, giving him no clues. Or were the crowds after him already?
"The Avengers are here," the man said, "They caught Cap'n Stark. Brought 'im to jail, that is. But the rest of the crew are still out there."
The name sent a jolt through Peter. He leaned back against the wall, wincing at the way the dried skin on his back moved. He looked back at the man.
"Captain Stark?"
"That's it, Tony, this is the last time we save you from prison for getting drunk."
"Hey, it wasn't for drinking this time, Romanoff. They just threw me in here."
"They caught you in a tavern."
Tony clicked his tongue. "Fair enough."
Natasha brought out a key, hidden by her hair, and stuck it in the opening. With a few clicks, Tony's shackles slipped off. Instinctively, he rubbed his wrists, feeling like he'd done a full day of tying knots. He shook them off with a sigh. Natasha handed him his sword, secured in its case, and they snuck their way past guards. They had been out with red marks across their foreheads, thanks to Natasha. Tony touched his own head as if he was making sure he wasn't hit with whatever got the others.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine, Nat, thanks for asking."
She gave him a look to prove she didn't believe him. They continued through the streets. It was easy to blend in this time of day. Twilight. Most were settling in for the night or locking their doors. The dock was in view.
Something poked him.
Tony could feel the pinch through his thin shirt, recognizing it as another sword. A rapier by the thin blade. Natasha drew out her pistol. Holding it up. Tony lifted his arms and turned around. Expecting a soldier.
It was a kid.
Not quite twenty, but lacking the baby fat that would make him a young teen. He glared at Tony. Tightening his grip on his sword. He knew those eyes.
"What's up, kid?" Tony questioned.
The kid adjusted the sword to lie across his chest. "You took Lady Michelle."
"Look, bud, I was in jail for the past couple of hours. I didn't have time to steal your fair lady, unless . . ." Tony looked at Natasha. "Something happen while I was gone?"
Natasha shook her head. "Not that I know of."
"And she knows everything." Tony clicked his tongue. "See, kid? We don't have your lass. If you'll excuse-"
"No."
"Alright, then."
"If you don't have Lady Michelle, who does?"
A flash of red passed them a few feet away. As moonlight hit copper button, Tony recognized the uniform. He signaled to Natasha. Promising he would handle this and ordering her to go back to the ship. She did, with some hesitation. Tony looked back at the kid.
"Look, kid-"
"Peter."
"-Peter, I'd love to help you out, but now is really not the best time for that-"
"Stark."
Tony paused. "Excuse me?"
"Stark. Peter Stark. That's my name. My real name."
He chuckled. "What a coincidence. Now, Pete, I need to get out of here. Like five hours ago."
"Don't call me that."
Tony looked over the kid-Peter's shoulder. The soldier noticed them. He let out a curse and grabbed Peter's wrist, making him drop his sword. Peter struggled against him, but Tony pulled him into a tavern. Recognizing this one was full of the scum of the earth. Screaming and jeering. Tony found a table, far from any windows or doors. Making Peter take the seat across from him.
"Alright, Peter, what do you want?"
"I want you to help me find Lady Michelle. Pirates took her last night. If the Avengers didn't take her, who did?"
"I'm gonna need some more context here. You're sure they were pirates?"
Tony met the eyes of a server, gesturing for her to come over. She did, with an over-exaggeration of her hips. She leaned in close.
"Wha' can I get for you two?"
Her voice was high enough to crack a wine glass.
"Two rums." Tony flashed a smile. "Thank you much, darlin'."
She giggled and left.
Peter glared back at Tony.
"What?" Tony asked, throwing his arms up in defense.
"I don't drink."
"More for me, then." He leaned back.
Peter took something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. He unfolded it with the care of an artisan. Finding a medallion inside. Tony handled it gently between his fingers. Squinting to read it.
A symbol of a skull with tentacles covered the front.
"Hydra," Tony whispered.
"What?"
"Hydra." Saying the name out loud caused his chest to burn. "Band of pirates. Less merciful than the rest. They don't follow the code or even pretend to. Murderers in the form of sea thieves."
Peter tilted his head. "They took her?"
"Must've." Tony exhaled. "That should give you a good head start. All you have to do now is find their island. Attack. Find your damsel in distress. Grab yourself a souvenir. Leave." He stood.
Peter rose. "Wait. That's it?"
Tony looked around. "Guess so. Good luck getting yer girl, mate."
"But my name-"
"Peter? Yeah, it's a fairly common one. Your mother had real imagination."
"I'm your son."
His brown knitted. Tony lifted a slow finger. At Peter. That couldn't be right. While Tony had had nothing to drink, that would make him think like this. That couldn't be true. He didn't have a son. Couldn't have a son. Pirates didn't have sons or daughters. They weren't nurturers.
"I don't think so, lad," Tony said.
"Mary Fitzpatrick."
"Pardon?"
Their drinks arrived. Tony thanked the air-headed server with a wink before taking a long gulp. He sure needed it now. Peter pushed his drink away from him.
"Mary Fitzpatrick. My mother. Do you remember her?"
"Mary . . . Mary . . ." Tony took another sip and crossed his arms. "Mary Fitzpatrick?"
An image of a woman formed in his mind. Short chestnut hair pulled into a bun at the base of her neck. Dimples in each cheek. Pink lips. Perhaps he knew this Mary Fitzpatrick.
"Let's say I do know her."
"Did," Peter corrected, "She's gone."
"Sorry to hear that. But how do I know you're telling the truth?"
Peter shrugged. "You don't." He pulled something out of his other pocket. "But this might look interesting to you."
He slid something across the table. Tony mentally rolled his eyes. How dramatic was this kid going to get? He looked down.
"Hey, this is mine." Tony held up the compass. His first. From the days of his late youth. It still felt the same.
"Look on the back."
He did.
Captain Anthony Edward Stark
To
Mary Fitzpatrick
The engraving had to be a joke.
"Believe me now?"
Tony looked back at the kid. His kid, he realized. Back when he was young, back when he made it to land and found a mistress, enjoyed her company. Left her some nick-nack and left for sea. Never to see her again. It wasn't unlikely.
He sighed. "Guess so, kid."
"Great." Peter traced a finger along the edge of his glass. "So you'll help me?"
"I don't think-"
"I'll work. I won't be your son; I'll be part of the crew. I just need to find Lady Michelle."
Tony didn't talk. He finished his drink. Enjoying every ounce. If he drank it slow enough, the kid might forget about the whole thing. Peter didn't stir. He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. Perhaps he should help the kid. He was his father. Absent for most of his life. Like Howard was. But Howard was different. He knew he had a son. Only ignored that fact. Tony would not become the next Howard Stark. And he shared a bond with the boy, with Peter. A dreadful bond. But one, nonetheless.
"Fine. We'll take you to the island. But don't expect any special treatment."
"Deal."
This was very self-indulgent and I wrote on a stressful day back in February. I've been doing some editing since then, until tonight when I just went, "Why not publish this now?" On ao3, I'm going to be adding this to my "Fics I Needed to Get Out of My Head and I Don't Know If I'll Finish". SO there's that. I apologize if you enjoyed this AU and want more of it. You can always talk to me about it (or basically anything else) on my tumblr, wind-at-her-heels.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!