*Authors Note*

Thanks to everyone who commented so far! Sorry that this one took so long to come out. It's a busy time of year at my workplace and I haven't had a lot of free time, but I'll try to keep updating regularly. Thanks for being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy it~

Rafe rested on his side and sipped at his tea. The first thing that he was going to put on that grocery list was a fucking decent brand that didn't taste like tepid water. He'd briefly considered opening his door and dumping the 'peace offering' out in the hallway, but that required too much energy. He didn't really feel like moving. Besides, it was something warm and soothing for his throat, which had to be sore from the second-hand smoke and not because he'd been crying, and drinking it helped him focus.

That… That unspeakable event had been worse than he was expecting. His ass was sore enough without any kind of pressure on it; if he tried even laying on his back, his rear screamed at him. He was pretty sure that just walking would be a challenge at this point. His shirt was damp with sweat, and there was a deep exhaustion settled into his muscles. It felt like he'd been through a workout, except that this was more painful. He really needed a nice, cold shower, but he couldn't take one while Sam and Sully were still around. He wasn't going give them something else to laugh at.

Overall, though, it still wasn't as bad as what happened to him on the beach. That memory had festered in his mind for the first month in Nadine's care, and he thought he had successfully buried it away until the time when it would be useful- when he could finally exact his revenge. Now, however, it had forced its way back out, and his aching body and wounded pride were holding him hostage to it.

Looking back, he really shouldn't have been surprised. Everything else had gone wrong that day, so why wouldn't it end so badly? Sam had escaped thanks to Nadine's incompetent men, triggered a trap that set the whole ship on fire while they were inside it, and Nadine decided that was a good time to betray him.

He had found himself trapped on a flaming pirate ship with the two people he hated most in the world, with all of his ambitions burning around him. There was no point in trying to escape. No one could blame him for going a little crazy in that moment.

The only option he saw for himself was to kill the Drake's before the fire could; no one did to him what they did and lived to die a natural death. Sam, that idiot, had somehow managed to pin himself under a beam in the explosion, so Rafe didn't have to worry about him causing any trouble. He'd kill his little brother in front of him, then, when Sam had time to process the grief, he'd kill him too. They deserved worse, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances.

He had chosen a sword for himself from the remains of Captain Avery and set off after Nathan. The younger Drake had cut him out of the discoveries of three ancient cities by leaving him all those years ago, but he wasn't going to claim this one. This was Rafe's achievement alone, and he was prepared to fight for it, even if Nathan wasn't.

It was clear from the beginning that Nate wasn't as comfortable wielding a sword as he was with guns, whereas Rafe had been trained from a young age. Rafe had the superior skills and had soon outmatched him. Even when Nate kept fighting, coming back from what should have been the end, Rafe got him back on the ground. No one was yielding to him or pulling punches. It was a real fight, and he was still the superior. He pinned Nate one last time and disarmed him.

Then, when he was about to land the killing blow, everything went dark.

When he started waking, there was a throbbing pain on the back of his head. He gradually became aware that he was surrounded by water, and then that someone had an arm around him and was dragging him… somewhere. It was hard to breathe and his senses were invaded by a thick, brackish taste, but he couldn't force his body to struggle for more air or clear whatever foul thing was blocking his throat. There were voices.

His body was hauled out of the sea and dumped on a hard surface with enough force to make him cough up water, bringing him back to full consciousness. He rolled and limply pushed himself to his knees. Before he could orient himself, a gun pressed against his head, and he heard a click as the safety switched off.

"Hey, no, there's no need for that!" Nate's voice called out. He sounded exhausted, and desperate, but he was still fighting. He didn't know when to give up; that was his problem.

"What you should have done," Nadine's voice came from behind him, the source of the weapon. "It's bad enough you two came back, but what were you thinking with bringing him out alive?"

"We couldn't just leave him back there; he would have burned to death. No one deserves that," Nate protested. Of course he would play the hero card now, when there wasn't any risk involved. He didn't see him hesitating to kill earlier when he infiltrated the dig sites.

"And then he wouldn't be a problem!" she responded. "I'm not going to give him the chance to turn into one."

Rafe cleared his throat and found his voice. "She's right, leaving me would have been the smart thing to do. Then again, you two were never known for strategy." He carefully settled back on his haunches, making sure not to provoke any panicked reactions from the woman with a gun to his head. She was on edge, and while he knew he wasn't getting out of this alive, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to, he would do his best to screw the others over while he still could.

Now that he had caught his breath, he could take in his surroundings. They were on a dock at the beach- or half of one, the rest succumbing to rot and decay centuries ago- right at the entrance to Avery's cave. There were a few dozen soldiers around, most with guns aimed at him or the two drenched Drake's nearby. And, not far from Nadine, chomping on a cigar, was the infamous Victor Sullivan. He looked far more relaxed than he should have been in the given situation. Beside him was the two-bit reporter who had caused nearly as much trouble as her husband. She was the only one there showing an appropriate level of anxiety.

"Well, we sure as hell outsmarted you back there," Nathan glanced at Rafe. "You know, you should be thanking us for saving your life- don't ruin that by talking too much now."

Rafe simply smirked. An iron maiden wouldn't be able to squeeze any gratitude from him, not for anyone there on the docks.

"Everyone calm down," Sam finally spoke up, having caught his breath. "Nadine, put your gun away. I didn't drag him through the water for you to kill him now. Let's just talk this out."

Rafe's jaw set. Sam was the one who pulled him out, and now was trying to save him? Rafe was going to kill him… Somehow.

There was a pause, and the gun slowly dropped from against his head. He heard a click that told him the safety was back on.

"That," Rafe commented, reaching up to rub the spot where his head was throbbing, "Was an even bigger mistake than pulling your gun on me in the first place."

"Right, because I should be afraid of one half-drowned, unarmed rat when I have my army to back me up," Nadine scoffed and walked around to face him. "And I do mean my army. We've already weeded out the soldiers you bribed. No one here is going to die for you anymore."

Rafe locked eyes with her. "Maybe you shouldn't be afraid of me now, but if I walk off this island then you'll have bigger things to worry about. You have no money left for your soldiers. How long do you think it would take for me to get enough men to wipe you out? Or how long before your soldiers resent you for bringing them on a wild goose chase and take care of you themselves? Hell, I'd pay them to do that. The treasure is gone… Unless those two have something that they aren't sharing."

"Hey," Sam pointed a finger at him, "You need to either lighten up or shut up. You're not helping."

"And you," Rafe turned his eyes on the older man. "You should be even more worried about what I'm going to do to you and your goddamned brother once I get the chance, if Nadine doesn't beat me to it."

"Ok, be mad at me," Sam consented, "Some of that might have been my fault. But leave my brother out of this, he didn't do anything to you. He didn't even know anything this whole trip, you know that."

"He didn't have to," Rafe narrowed his eyes. "You can tell him that it's all because of you when you watch him die a slow and agonizing death, and this time you won't be able to help him."

Sam glanced over at his brother. Rafe could see him singling out the cuts and bruises from his sword that now wept into Nate's shirt. His demeanor changed. He scowled and stepped closer to Rafe, looking tired and annoyed, and close to snapping. There was a well of pent up frustration just waiting to be tapped into. "Seriously, threaten me all you want, but don't threaten Nathan. He's been through enough already."

"Why can't I?" Rafe cocked his head to the side curiously. "Like you said, you just hauled my ass through the ocean. What are you going to do, kill me?"

"No," Sam slowly shook his head and knelt on one knee to get on Rafe's level. He spoke in an even, dangerous tone. "I won't kill you, but say another word about my brother and you won't like what I do. We're trying to help here, Rafe, don't be stupid."

Nate let out a weak, nervous cough. "Sam, come on. Don't let him get to you. He isn't bothering me. If you're talking about what I think you're talking about, which would be crazy, this isn't exactly the place…"

Rafe kept his focus on Sam, anger burning in his stomach. He braced himself. "I don't want your help, from either of you. Your brother won't be much use to me when he's dead anyway. They won't even be able to recognize him- if they find his body."

He had been prepared for a punch to the face, a kick in the groin, hands around his neck, maybe even a bullet or two. He hadn't been prepared for Sam to drop to both knees and grab his shoulder, then tuck him against his side. He definitely wasn't ready for the barrage of attacks on his rear end. Although, thinking back, maybe he should have expected it. He'd seen that look on Sam's face before- it had just never been aimed at him.

That entire experience had been one of the most humiliating points in his life. He got spanked, in front of an army, in front of everyone who betrayed him. On top of the pain, he had to face amused laughter and catcalls, among worse taunts, though the younger Drake looked like he was sharing the embarrassment. Nadine and Sullivan disappeared somewhere in the middle of it, before he lost the ability to focus on his surroundings. He hadn't cried, but a few drops of water might have rolled down his cheek. He'd swear for the rest of his life that it was just water dripping from his still wet hair.

That assault hadn't been as long or as painful as the one he had just experienced from Sully, but it was worse because of the audience. When it was over, Sam just plopped him back on the deck and told him to shut up and behave, and, damn his overwhelmed self, he did. He was too tired to fight anymore, and he didn't want his death to be any less dignified than that act had already made it.

When Sully and Nadine returned, they called Sam over, talking about a deal they had come to terms on. Rafe was ushered away by soldiers onto a ship, and that was the last he had heard about it, until today. He wondered if Nadine and her men knew the extent of his treatment here, and if they were laughing at him right now. They had to know. Nadine wouldn't agree to make the deal unless she knew he'd undergo some sort of pain or humiliation. Simply living for a year wouldn't be enough. She probably even came up with the rules just to provoke him into breaking them so that they could start enforcing them right away.

When Sully first started talking to him that morning, he thought he could survive getting spanked every day if he had to. Without anyone around to see it, he could endure the pain, based off of his experience with Sam. Now he was having second thoughts. If every spanking was like this, he'd never make it. He needed time to think, and to come up with a plan.

Until that happened, he didn't want to give either of them a chance to put him through that again. For now, he had to play the game, while avoiding whatever bait they tossed out to get him into trouble. And that meant cleaning up his mess and pretending like nothing ever happened.

But first he had to be able to stand.

Sully opened the front door to the porch and took a step outside, reaching in his pocket for a cigar as he did so. There was already a strong smell of smoke in the air, and he turned to see Sam leaning against the house with a cigarette.

"That took a while," Sam commented, offering his lighter. He had been standing outside for a good ten minutes after his walk, not wanting to interrupt anything by going back inside. Rafe would be mad enough without knowing that he was there to hear the end of it.

"No more than it had to," Sully replied, taking it. "I thought you were taking a stroll."

"I did," Sam kicked a water-filled cooler in response. Sully peered inside to see three lobsters roaming the bottom. Sam had chosen the best and set the rest of them free, then brought the traps back to the house. They didn't leave them out unless they were planning on eating them that night. "Does the prince even eat lobster?"

Sully smirked. "I'll ask him later. If he doesn't, I'll gladly take his share."

"Oh no you won't," Sam eyed him, "The cook gets first claim." He took a drag of his cigarette and held his breath for a moment, then slowly let it out. "Is he alright?"

Of course, he wouldn't be completely ok, but Sully knew what he meant. He was pretty sure that as spoiled as Rafe was, his parents never put him through anything like that before, and it was a lot to take; more than people realized.

"I think so," Sully answered and puffed on his cigar to help the fire catch. "But it's hard to tell with him. He… didn't react like I was expecting. But it did make an impression. We'll have to wait and see what he makes of it."

Sam nodded. Either way, this was how it would be for the coming year. They'd all have to get used to it. "Let's hope he comes to his senses and realizes how much better it'll be if he makes it easy on us. But, somehow, I doubt it."

"Yeah," Sully chuckled, "Me too. I don't think I've ever known anyone as stubborn as he is- and I've known you and Nate at your worst."

"Very funny," Sam rolled his eyes and tossed his cigarette butt to the side. "We aren't that bad." There was a difference between 'stubborn' and 'persevering'.

Sully arched an eyebrow and looked at him over his cigar.

"Well, I'm not," Sam insisted, "I can't speak for Nathan for the past ten years."

"Right," Sully smirked. "If you say so. And that whole business of going back for Avery's treasure was…?"

"What was I supposed to do, let them have it? You're starting to sound like Nathan," Sam retorted. Then he stood straight and stretched his back. He'd already paid for that mishap, and he didn't want to talk about it anymore. "I'm going inside to clean up. Should I be worried about an ambush?"

"I doubt he has the energy for that right now," Sully answered, opening the door for him, "He was pretty drained when I left him. He's probably sleeping."

"Good," Sam stepped past him, "I don't think I could take another hit so nicely."

When Sully finished his cigar and went back inside, Sam had already showered and dressed and was starting on the dishes left over from breakfast. He was very particular about the kitchen; something Sully never would have guessed when he first met him. Then again, when they first met, Sam had been a paranoid teen fresh out of prison, and Sully hadn't seen much of how he kept his and Nate's home during the few times they had one. It was only several years later when Sam had developed an approximation of trust that Sully got to see their living conditions. The rest of the apartment would usually be cluttered and messy, but the kitchen was always spotless.

He was about to get himself a beer from their hidden stash when he heard the creak of a door opening. Rafe came walking stiffly down the hallway, much to Sully's surprise. His eyes were still red, but that was the only indication that he had been crying. He hadn't changed his clothes, and the way he carried himself suggested that he had just escaped a boring meeting rather than spent time over someone's knee.

He carefully placed his mug and glass on the counter by the sink, next to Sam, then he looked around. "Where's the trash can?"

Sam glanced at Sully, unsure what to think, then gestured to a cabinet near the door. "Under there."

Rafe nodded in acknowledgement and opened the door for access, then he knelt down, pausing only for a second as his jeans pressed tighter against his bottom, and began to clean up the shattered plate and eggs on the floor. He had to fight the groan that was building in his throat, but there was no way in hell he'd show any signs of pain.

When everything was tossed out, he looked up at Sully. "Cleaning supplies?"

"Here," Sam answered before Victor could. He took a keyring from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet under the sink. "You'll only need a little bit of Pine-Sol."

Rafe raised a brow. "You keep it locked? Really? What, are you worried that I'm going to accidentally swallow something under there?"

"We're more worried that you'll try to slip something in our drinks," Sam said evenly.

"That's fair enough." Rafe went over and grabbed the cleaning supplies he'd need. "I personally never went for poisoning, though. It takes too long. Very messy business."

"Right. That doesn't make me feel any better," Sam told him drily.

The corners of Rafe's mouth twitched up in the hint of a smirk, but it disappeared when he had to kneel down again to clean the floor.

Sully leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, watching. Rafe seemed to have recovered completely, which puzzled him. He was pretty sure he'd need longer than that. He wasn't going to press the issue, though. "What do you think of lobster for dinner, kid? Do you eat it?"

Rafe glanced up at him as he cleaned. He was in his thirties, not a 'kid'. "Depends, old man. I won't if it's frozen or drenched in butter. Otherwise, yes, I like lobster. What else were you planning on making?"

"You'd better pray that you never have to try his cooking," Sam commented without looking up from the sink. "We have corn, I was thinking that and potatoes would be good."

"Two starches?" Rafe shook his head. "Do you know anything about balance? I'll eat the corn, but that's it. Make something green."

Sam smirked at that. "I can, but only if you like canned."

Rafe nearly gagged at the thought. "I'll just make myself another salad."

"I thought you might."

"Maybe we should go over our food supplies now, if you're up for it," Sully suggested. "We can have a new shipment here for you by tomorrow."

"Alright." Rafe finished up and put the supplies away and then followed Sully over to the pantry. He hadn't been planning on spending more than a few minutes out of his room to clean, but he was doing his best to seem compliant. He'd just have to hide his pain and resentment for a little while longer.

Sully unlocked the door and Rafe got his first glance inside.

It was big, big enough for both of them to walk into it. Only about half of the shelves had food on them, and most of it was inedible shit. There was a freezer against the back wall, probably full of greasy meats. He doubted that there was much he could stomach in there.

Rafe began looking through the inventory methodically, mentioning any food item he would eat, and things he didn't even want touching his food. Sully kept track of it all in a notepad. Rafe also kept a mental list of everything available to him, though that was more out of professional habit than because he thought it would be useful. It was good business to know what was in stock.

When he had gone through everything, they left the pantry and it was re-locked. Sully asked him if there was anything he didn't see in there or the fridge that he'd like to have, so he took the notepad and began writing. It was a long list, but almost everything on it was essential to his diet. To his surprise, when Sully looked at the list he agreed to most of it. There were only a few things that he crossed out, saying that he'd have the chance to earn those items as reward for good behavior. Great. He was a goddamned toddler. Still, none of those items were things he couldn't find substitutes for, so he didn't protest apart from rolling his eyes. At least he was going to get some good tea out of this.

Once the supply list was decided, Rafe cleared his throat. He didn't want to broach this topic, but it would play into the image of cooperativeness he was trying to build. "You mentioned that you want me to help with the housework. What were you expecting from me?"

"Don't worry about it today," Sully answered, putting the notepad in his pocket. "We'll discuss it tomorrow. For now, you can do whatever you want, as long as it's within the rules. There are plenty of books in the living room if you want to read. You should find something interesting in there. Or, if you want to see the rest of the island, we could go take a walk."

Rafe scoffed. A walk around an island, how quaint. "Sorry, Skipper, I'm not in the mood right now. Maybe I'll go next time, if you promise to leave Gilligan behind." Without waiting for a reply, he left the kitchen and went into the living room. He'd obey, but he wasn't going to spend another second with those two if he didn't have to.

The afternoon turned out to be a bigger ordeal than Rafe had prepared himself for, and in a different way than he was expecting. When he had finally worked up the will to leave his room and face the other two men in the house, there were no amused glances or stifled laughs. If they were gloating, they had the grace to do it when he couldn't hear. For the time being it appeared that they actually wanted him to feel comfortable here- despite the pain in his ass. He wasn't sure how to interpret that.

The challenge turned out to be a physical one rather than an attack on his ego. He knew beforehand that it would hurt for a while afterwards, but several hours had passed and the heat showed no sign of dissipating. No matter what position he tried, he couldn't sit still, and he had to constantly shift his weight to gain a few seconds of relief. It was very distracting while trying to read- and all that was while sitting on the couch. The dining chairs were a whole different story. His pride made him sit as still as possible through lunch, but he ended up losing his appetite and leaving before it was finished.

Dinner was going to be a nightmare. He could hear the pot boiling away and knew that he'd have to face those chairs again soon. Somehow he was going to have to make it through the whole meal quietly- saying he wasn't hungry or eating in another room would be an admission of weakness, and he wasn't going to have that. They needed to know that the spanking did not affect him.

Before he was ready, the time came.

"Hey," Sam stuck his head into the living room. Rafe had been in there all day with a book, but he was pretty sure he wasn't actually looking at it. "Food's ready if you want to eat."

Rafe glanced up from a page he had spent the last forty minutes re-reading. "Already?" He stood and set the book aside, mentally preparing himself. "Are you sure you cooked those lobsters all the way?"

"If I didn't then you can complain to the manager," Sam smirked and stepped aside so Rafe could pass him.

"I hear he's an asshole anyway." Rafe walked over to the table, hearing Sam laugh from the living room. Sully was already sitting down. He didn't want to look at him, but he forced himself to smile.

"Hey kid, how are you doing?" Sully asked gently. After Rafe had left the kitchen earlier, he was certain he hadn't recovered yet. Either he used an entirely different method to cope than Sully had seen before, or he was in denial over the whole thing- or those were two sides of the same coin, most likely.

"Fine," Rafe answered curtly, biting back the urge to call him an old man again. It was a petty reaction, and it didn't seem to have an effect on him anyway.

"I took out your leftover salad from lunch, I figured if you were still hungry then that would be enough," Sam called out. "Wait, don't sit down yet. Head's up."

Rafe turned just in time to catch a couch pillow. It took him a few seconds to register why Sam had thrown it to him, and when he realized it his face turned from a look of confusion to a scowl. This was more along the lines of what he was expecting earlier. He threw the pillow down on the floor and glared at Sam. "Go fuck yourself."

"Hey," Sam held his hands up placatingly, "I'm trying to be nice here. We both know you could use it."

"I don't need it," Rafe insisted through grit teeth, stubbornly sitting down on the wooden seat. He used all of his willpower to stop himself from flinching.

"So we're just supposed to sit here and pretend we don't see you squirming?" Sam asked. "That got old during lunch."

"For Christ's sake, Sam, you're not helping," Sully rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He knew Sam meant well, but Rafe wouldn't see things from his point of view. He'd just think he was mocking him.

"What? It's true," Sam looked down at Victor, "I know you saw it."

"Just sit down," Sully told him, exasperated. He ran a hand over his face then looked to Rafe. Even with a silver tongue, he wasn't sure he'd be able to smooth this over. "He didn't mean anything by it, kid. He's right, though, it will help. If you want the pillow, that's fine. We won't say anything. But if you don't want it, that's fine too."

"I don't need it," Rafe repeated. He felt the strong urge to attack Sam again, but he repressed it. He wasn't stupid enough to take that bait.

"Swell. Let's just eat before we kill each other."

Sam scoffed and sat down. "Sorry. I didn't know it was gonna be a sore spot."

Rafe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sullivan, can you please make him eat outside?"

"Why? I just- Oh, for fu… It's a phrase," Sam shook his head. "I wasn't teasing."

"Sure you weren't," Rafe sent him a death glare.

Sully sighed heavily. This year was off to a great start.