The Price of a Dream

by IcarusSmicarus

Before he was the cyborg Billy Bones warned Jim Hawkins to beware, John Silver was a young man in love with a lass named Molly Murdoch. At least, he was until one fateful day... Featuring an OC built from the concept of Silver's lost love who would have been in the cancelled sequel, known only as "Molly."

In addition to being a planet famed for its dramatic, craggy rock formations and its often extreme wildernesses, Cruinlagh was also famous for the quality of its people: typically as rough as the land they came from, lacking in the social graces department, and prone to foul moods. Its population was mostly human, harkening back to the colonial rush from Terra when Imperial ships had delivered loads of starstruck adventure seekers to this temperamental world in hopes of mining its resources. And oh, how they had mined . Coal and iron and all manner of materials hewn from the quarries and loaded onto ships to be ferried to Terran refineries and factories for the production of Terran goods… very few of which made their way back to Cruinlagh over the years.

Bitterness, like dirt, seemed to run in the blood of your average Cruinlaghan. Even the planetary flag, a thistle on a navy blue background, held a bit of this sentiment in the imagery of its prickly leaves.

Molly Murdoch had never seen a real thistle before. She knew for whatever reason they just didn't take to Cruinlagh's soil despite past attempts to plant them. But she imagined one must smell nice despite its spines, and this was the same attitude she maintained when dealing with her Cruinlaghan comrades. Even on a day like this, when the rain poured down and sent water dripping through every leak in the Miner's Merriment tavern. She scurried back and forth between taking orders and filling pints of ale for tired, cranky miners, trying to place a bucket wherever the water puddled on the floor.

As usual, she was the only person on duty today besides her brother; there weren't many people left in this town willing to do such jobs, driven as they were to the stars by poor prospects and an aversion to the same backbreaking work their forebears had endured. She didn't blame them. But she did allow herself some small frustration as she strove to juggle almost every responsibility on her own, and finally when the end of the midday rush came she collapsed into a chair and let her forehead rest on the cool wood of a freshly-wiped table.

"Heavens," she murmured as she sat up again, combing loose strands of wavy blonde hair out of her face. She took a moment to simply breathe, painfully aware of her aching feet and back. "Still alive over there, Mungo?" she called toward the kitchen.

A gloved hand stuck out from the doorway and gave her a thumb's up. "Aye," a deep voice boomed. "It'll take more than that lot to kill Mungo Murdoch."

"Wish I could say the same for his sister," Molly sighed. She looked around at the few stragglers who remained, still finishing off their stew or drinks. "I'm taking a break. Come find me if anything catches on fire while I'm gone."

"Aye," Mungo replied monotonously, unbothered.

As Molly took off her apron and hung it on its customary hook, she found herself wishing she could simply go home and call it a day. But preparations for the dinner rush lay ahead, followed by the rush itself… and the mountain of cleanup afterward. It was enough to elicit an audible groan from her. But she quickly rallied, taking a deep breath and drawing herself up to her full height as she placed her hands on her hips and scowled defiantly.

"It'll take more than that lot to kill Molly Murdoch," she told herself, echoing her brother's words.

Before she exited the tavern she paused in front of a picture which hung by the door: a shabby photograph of herself and her elder brother as children, backed by two adults who greatly resembled them. She took a moment to regard the photo with a soft smile, then made her way out the door and stepped into the light drizzle still falling from the gray sky.

Unlike the inside of the tavern, the outside world didn't smell like meat and alcohol and burnt grease. It smelled deliciously of petrichor and spruce trees and wildflowers, an inviting bouquet of aromas which lured Molly away from the tavern and toward the nearby cliffside field. She had to pass by the skydock to get there, however, and found herself idly studying the ships there as she went. There were the usual skiffs and fishing boats, the square battered mining transport shuttle, a pathetic looking dinghy with a pair of underclothes for a flag… and a larger, more intimidating ship she had to guess was a carrack, which seemed to have just arrived. A few spacers were disembarking and chatting amongst themselves, and for a moment she nearly groaned again at the thought of having to serve them–

–but then her gray eyes fixed on one spacer in particular, and suddenly all of the day's fatigue melted away from her like snow on a warm tin roof.

"John!" she cried, breaking into a jog and then a sprint, the orange fabric of her dress bunched up in her fists so she could gain ground. "JOHN!"

The tall man's attention instantly shifted from his buddies to her; for a moment he just stood there as if gobsmacked, then one of his pals shoved him forward and a titter of laughter rose from the small crowd. The dirty glare he shot them only lasted for a second, for he also began to hurry in her direction. "Molly!" he crowed, barreling toward her and nearly tripping over himself in the process.

They met in the middle, right where the dock connected with the cobblestone path. Molly screamed with laughter as John whisked her off her feet and spun her around, having flung his knapsack into the grass so nothing would be between them. She hooked her arms around his thick neck and sank her face into the softness of his shirt, taking in the smell of him. Sweat, timber and tobacco; once she hadn't understood how anyone could enjoy the scent of a working man, but now she knew. She came up for air and was met with a kiss, one she savored as long as she could until the need to breathe again overrode her desire to keep going. Her feet found the ground, her fingers found handfuls of John's shirt, and for a long moment all they could do was stare at each other like a couple of giddy children.

Then John's face scrunched up and he took a step back before sneezing into his elbow, breaking the spell.

"Bloody plants," he complained, glancing over at the vibrant wildflowers. "Can't hardly bear 'em. How d'ya stand it?"

" Well, I'm not allergic to them." Molly couldn't help giggling as she reached into her pocket and pulled out an unused handkerchief. She held it out to John with a sympathetic smile. "They sell pills for hay fever now, did you hear? I could order some for you."

"I'll eat the whole bottle if ya do," John joked, wiping at his nose. He tucked the kerchief into his own trousers and tilted his head, giving Molly a once-over. "Ye never change, ya know that? As beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on ya."

"Oh, stop it," Molly chided him, though her eyes were shining with delight. "I was wearing a green dress the day you first laid eyes on me, and I remember noticing how it matched your eyes after you spilled that drink down my shirt–"

"T'was an accident," John interjected.

"A happy accident," Molly corrected. "You helped me clean it all up, if I recall correctly. And tipped generously to make up for the clumsiness! So generously I just couldn't say no when you showed up a week later and asked if I had an evening free before you shipped out."

"Did I, now?" John stooped and picked up his knapsack, hoisting it over his shoulder. He brushed a few stray locks of his brown hair back, the majority of which was bundled into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. "Can't says I rightly recall that first bit, but then again, it'd been a few ales…and now a few years besides."

"It was sweet," Molly teased. "So tipsy you could barely stand yet there you were on your knees, trying to mop it up with your own coat. That sort of diligence impresses a woman!"

They both broke into laughter at that. Then John's eyes wandered to the dilapidated old tavern down the path and his expression shifted into something pensive, almost melancholy. "Still the same old place as it ever was, eh?" he asked, offering her his right arm.

"Don't you know it! Hasn't been a cakewalk but I can't say it's been total misery either, running the pub," Molly replied breezily. She linked arms with her lover, though the sheer difference between the sizes of their arms meant she was more holding onto his as they went. He was over a head taller than her and broad as an old oak tree, from the barrel shape of his torso to his powerful limbs and meaty hands. The fact he wasn't human had never been an obstacle for Molly, though she knew of some humans who did strictly stick to their own kind; there was something about his rugged bearlike features which charmed her in a way no one else ever really had. Sure, he had claws, but never once had their sharpness been turned against her.

He was her thistle. Prickly and rough but ultimately wonderful. She knew he would crack up at the comparison, but in her own head it sounded quite poetic.

"So what brings you back this way?" she pried, looking up at his face. "Last you wrote, you were all the way out in the Carina Nebula running salvage. And that was months ago. Usually you let me know in advance you'll be dropping by. I'm not upset by any means, but I must ask… did something happen?"

John didn't respond immediately, which confirmed her suspicion something was off. Usually he was more than happy to start going on about his adventures, all the twists and turns of his spacefaring which took him from one end of the galaxy to the other. But this time he had to think about it… and he looked downright dismal about it for a moment, before he realized it and smoothed his face into a somewhat rueful little grin.

"Aye, ye could say somethin's afoot," he admitted. "But it ain't anythin' bad!" he hurriedly finished on seeing the worry Molly displayed. "Trust me, this… there's been some changes, yes, but good ones. Real good. I'll explain it to ya later, promise."

"Explain what? How you strung yourself up by your ankle trying to prove you'd be a better rigger than a gunner?"

Both John and Molly turned to see a smug catlike woman wearing a baggy off-white shirt and puffy dark green trousers, the very person who had shoved John toward Molly earlier, standing with arms folded a few paces behind them. Most of her was white, but her face was partly orange and partly black as well with bi-colored hair to match. Even her eyes were different colors, the right blue and the left yellow. One of her large ears flicked as a stray raindrop hit it and her slit pupils widened a little when she saw Molly's face, a feline grin spreading and showing pointed teeth.

"Sloane Duffy!" Molly exclaimed. "It's been ages, how have you been?"

"Never better," Sloane proclaimed. She clasped her nimble hands together on seeing Molly's hand around John's arm and feigned swooning. "D'awww, you lovebirds are just so adorable it's going to send me into a fit!"

"Oh, lay off," John chided. "Ya just here to mock me or are ya up to anythin' useful?"

"I'd say I've been plenty useful already, considering I was your wingman." Pride dripped from Sloane's voice as she spoke, and she clapped John on the shoulder affectionately. "Face it, you'd have never made it this far without your old shipmate steering you right."

"Says you," John muttered sullenly. He was smiling though, and his cheeks were a little flushed.

"What's with the new ship?" Molly inquired, looking past Sloane at the docked carrack. "Looks more… serious than the last one you came in on." Her eyes were drawn to the many gun ports which lined the carrack's side. "Don't tell me you're having trouble with pirates while salvaging."

Sloane met John's eyes and some unspoken understanding passed between them. Then she gestured dismissively and scoffed. "Trouble with pirates? Hardly. It's just a, well, a bit of an upgrade. Real sleek, isn't she?"

"Very sleek," Molly replied, though she couldn't help noticing how outright menacing the ship looked the more she stared at it. Its solar sails were blue instead of golden, its hull reinforced with metal plating. Robotic appendages wielding buzz saws and cutting implements rested dormant, folded against the hull like the legs of some wicked insect.

"I'm feelin' a bit peckish,'' John spoke up, sniffing the air. This only earned him another sneeze. "Ugh. What's on the menu for today, love?"

"Oh, you're gonna love the soup special. Mungo whipped up a batch of tattie drottle this morning, as fine as the day is long. Dip yourself some bread in it, bread made with my own two hands might I add, and you'll be well set."

"Tattie? Drottle?" Sloane butted in, confused.

" Fàilte gu Cruinlagh, " Molly declared proudly.

"Means welcome to Cruinlagh," John translated. He seemed quite pleased to hear the news about the food. "An' the former bit means yelato soup, of a sort. Let's get a move on, aye? Afore peckish turns to downright ravenous."

Molly lingered a moment longer to watch the other crew members from the strange dark ship as they made their way up the dock. Their manner seemed awfully rough for mere salvagers in her opinion; they seemed interested in the other boats tethered there as if appraising them, and a few shot cross glances her way when they caught her studying them. She quickly turned around and tightened her grip on John's arm, suddenly eager to go back indoors.

"Moving," she announced, and as the now-trio continued toward the tavern the rain began to come down in earnest again.

The Miner's Merriment filled up quickly with the downpour, now crowded with all of John's motley and roughshod shipmates. To his credit, he didn't leave her to handle them alone; as soon as he hung up his knapsack he swiped one of Mungo's spare aprons and got to work helping her take everyone's orders. A few mocked him for this, but in the end their hungry stomachs won out over their capacity for meanness.

Molly was too busy to pay much attention to the minor goings-on as she rushed in and out of the kitchen, but she did notice John acting nervous around one crewman in particular while she was ladling soup into bowls. A tall individual wearing a long, dark heavy coat and a prominent tricorn hat, with thick leather gloves and boots to match and a blue scarf which obscured all but his eyes. Once she caught a glimpse of those eyes she understood why John might be stepping lightly around such a person; they glowed an unnatural piercing blue, clearly artificial. Another detail she noted was that this stranger ordered neither food nor drink, merely sitting ominously in one corner while the rest of the crew ate and slurped down ale with wild abandon.

Something wasn't adding up here. Between the new ship, the miscreant crew and the fact her John was jittery around one of his own shipmates, Molly knew there was more to this situation than he or Sloane had cared to bring up.

I'll explain it to ya later, promise, he'd said.

"You'd better," she muttered aloud – and then nearly plowed into him with her bowls of soup as he came through the kitchen doorway with two armfuls of dirty dishes.

"Whoa!" John cried out, righting himself just in time to avoid dropping everything.

"Sorry!" Molly told him, hurrying past. "Just dump it all in the dish pit, I'll get to them later!"

"How about I get to them?" Sloane asked slyly, slipping in right as Molly went out. "Heya, Mungo."

"Aye," Mungo greeted, completely unfazed by the entire situation. He poked at a sizzling planktonic with his spatula and then flipped it, sending up a puff of steam and a crackle of hot oil from the frying pan. "Mind the glass."

"The what?" Sloane called, already behind the door leading to the dish pit – and then came the sound of glass breaking. "Oh, the glass! I see, I see."

"Aye," Mungo droned, otherwise completely unreactive.

Elsewhere in the pub, Molly finished setting fresh bowls of soup down in front of her customers and paused to take stock of what needed doing next. Refills, cleanups, napkin replacement, the list went on and on… until she was startled out of her thoughts by a rough three-fingered hand closing around her wrist from her left.

"Oy," the alien grunted, not even bothering to rise from his seat. "I asked for proper ale, not this watered-down piss!" He threw his own mostly-full tankard to the floor beside her, spilling it everywhere. Molly flinched, both from the violent gesture and the feeling of cold liquid soaking into her socks. "Get me a real drink, wench."

" Belay that. "

An instant silence fell over the entire tavern. All eyes were suddenly on the tall figure with the baleful blue gaze, who rose from his seat with a frightening sort of grace. He took one, two, three steps toward Molly, who felt frozen in place. Something about this man terrified her for reasons she couldn't even articulate to herself, some instinct in the back of her mind begging her to simply turn and run.

But she didn't run. Instead she stood there without saying a word as the hand on her wrist let go and shrank back to its owner's lap. In fact, when she dared to look over at the alien he was sinking down into his chair, sweat beading on his noseless face as an audible whimper escaped him. It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for him.

"That was inelegant," the voice from beneath the scarf spoke again in a sinister cadence, quieter this time. It was deep and flanged, as if emanating from an electronic speaker. "Impolite. It reflects badly on your captain, Cheswick. Do you understand?"

"Aye sir," Cheswick blubbered. No one was looking at him or Molly; instead they were all staring down at their plates or looking toward the windows, without a single word spoken. It was as though a spell had fallen over the room.

"I'll get this cleaned up," Molly began, moving to pick up the tankard… but before she could so much as reach for it, the mysterious giant stooped and picked it up himself. He very carefully placed it in her hands, and as she got a good look at him she realized all of his visible face was made of metal. His eyes burned like two will o' the wisps, blazing as if they could see right through her.

"There will be no more incidents," he told her. "On my word as a captain. I apologize for my associate's poor conduct."

As Molly took the tankard from him she realized her hands were shaking, but still she somehow managed to force a smile. "Th-thank you, good sir," she stammered.

When she looked toward the kitchen she saw John standing in the doorway, paler than she'd ever seen him. She walked as calmly as she could to him, carrying the tankard with a white-knuckled grip as she went, but as soon as he stepped aside to let her pass through the doors she fell to her knees and dropped it with a gasp.

"Who are these people, Johnny?" she demanded after the door closed behind them, pulling away as he tried to comfort her by holding onto her shoulders. She glared up at him, tearful but wary. "What the devil kind of a crew do you and Sloane run with now? What is going on with all of this?!"

"I told ya I'd explain it later–"

"And I'm telling you to explain it now ," Molly snapped. "Never in my life have I had to deal with such… with such… ugh, it's just not right! Something's wrong , John, don't you feel it? That ship, these people…"

John helped her to her feet and worked his jaw as he pondered what to say. Molly's lip trembled as she watched him deliberate. "Why can't you just tell me? " she half-whispered, her throat tight. "What's there to think about?"

"It ain't a simple affair," John grumbled. His ears pricked as he listened to the chatter pick up in the dining room again, then he gave her a weary look. "Like I been sayin'. I'll tell ya what's what when we've more'n a moment to have proper words. Right now just ain't the time!"

Molly couldn't hold back the quiet sob which racked her on hearing all of that. John blinked, frowned sadly and then pulled her into an embrace she didn't have the will to fight. She let herself be firmly cuddled against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt as she sniffled and cried. She wanted to believe he wasn't holding out on her. She wanted to believe this was all some sort of big misunderstanding, or perhaps she was the one blowing things out of proportion. But deep down she knew something was truly wrong.

Her John was a man who earned his keep scavenging valuable pieces from shipwrecks, someone who came from poverty and worked hard to earn his keep. A devil-may-care free spirit who nonetheless found time to include her in his busy life, always bringing home bits and bobs of oddities he discovered in his travels and regaling her with stories of adventure. Sure, he'd run with a bad crowd as a teenager and landed in hot water with the law a few times, but it didn't define him. He was good, he was caring, and above all he was honest despite his yarn-spinning chops. These were truths she wished she could believe no matter what.

But right now, as she pulled away from the hug and met his eyes, she realized she couldn't believe those things at all. Not with the proof so plainly before her.

"They're pirates ," she breathed, horrified.

John frowned and his nostrils flared as he opened and closed his mouth without speaking. He looked very like a child caught stealing from a cookie jar, she noted absently. It would have been funny if her heart didn't feel like it was shattering into pieces.

"The salvagin' money just wasn't comin' in like it used to," he groused. "Jobs are dryin' up faster'n paint on a sun-facin' bulkhead these days. It ain't… it ain't like I started out wantin' this, it just sorta… happened." He was looking down at his own hands now, as if the lines of his own palms fascinated him all of a sudden. "I told ye it weren't a simple affair, didn't I? If ya'd just let me explain–"

"You are explaining!" Molly all but screamed. "Not enough money, not enough jobs, so you just… you turn pirate?! You could have come back here to Cruinlagh, to me , anything but this…"

John groaned and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, then let his hand drop to his side.

"There's somethin' I'm after, alright? Somethin' big ." His face lit up with an earnestness Molly had never witnessed in him before. The passion in his words might have been inspiring if those words weren't so awful . "Treasure Planet, love. Flint's trove . Think of it! No more wheedlin' an' scrapin' an' workin' to the bone to get by, no more misery, only more gold than we'd ever know what to do with! I've dreamed o' this since I were a wee little tyke beggin' for scraps in the street, an' if the way to it's sailin' underneath Ironbeard's flag then by t'under, that's where I'll be!"

Molly couldn't bear to look at him now. He might as well be a man possessed by some spirit, the way he went on. Some ghost had made its home in his bones while he traveled the stars, like in the tall tales. She almost wished she believed in such things, for a possession would be less painful than the reality.

"Just stop," she begged. " Stop. Stop talking." She began wiping her face with her sleeves, her cheeks burning as she did. "You come… you come by unannounced, you pretend everything's fine, you bring pirates into the Miner's Merriment… oh if my parents were still alive, they'd never stand for… John, what is it you want? Is this how you tell me we're through? That you're leaving me for, for what, a fairy tale?" She started sobbing again with these words, her eyes stinging as they brimmed with fresh tears. " Why did you even come back? "

The hurt in John's expression genuinely surprised her. It was as though she had slapped him, the way he recoiled and looked this way and that. "I was," he began, then faltered. "I, that is, I thought…"

"You thought what? " Molly pressed.

"I thought I'd ask ya to come with me!" John blurted.

It was Molly's turn to reel as if she'd been struck. The sheer absurdity of it all was just too much. She felt so blindsided she couldn't even cry anymore. The sob welling up in her throat died before it could leave her mouth and suddenly everything seemed comfortably distant, too far away for her to care about. A strained laugh came out instead.

"Daft woman that I am," she said, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "Here I was planning to ask you to stay planetside and help me manage the pub. Well, at least we managed to avoid that embarrassment, didn't we?"

"Now see here, Moll–" John tried to interrupt.

"No, you see here!" She stood on tiptoes with her fists balled up at her sides, facing him with as much moxy as she could. "I'll tell you how this is going to go. I'm going to go out there and finish serving these ne'er-do-wells their dinner. I'm going to take payment for all the humiliation I've suffered today. Your new friends are going to leave my establishment for good… and if you're still hellbent on being a pirate, then so are you! This isn't some thieves' den, it's a fair and decent business my parents sweated and bled to keep running before they were taken from me! And I aim to keep it that way."

"Ya don't mean that." John was well and truly agitated now, all traces of the rapture which had gripped him as he talked about his dream blanched from him as he struggled to keep his composure. "Ya can't mean that, Moll, after all we've weathered–?"

"I'm not weathering this ." Molly stamped her foot. "Either chase your dream or choose to be who I've thought you were all this time. You don't have to stay cooped up here in the tavern, you can go find a job in the mines, you can do… anything! Anything but this, John."

His broad shoulders slumped as the weight of her ultimatum settled on him. For a moment it seemed perhaps he would also start crying, but then something in his expression hardened and it was like watching the sun set. The beautiful light was gone, replaced by a certain darkness. He took one step forward, then another, and then he passed her by without so much as glancing at her as he went. He opened the kitchen door to head back into the dining area, but paused for a moment before he let it close behind him.

"I ain't dyin' a pauper in some hole ," he spat. And then he was gone, obscured by the door as it swung shut with a creak.

Molly could only stare dumbfounded in his wake, as if her every limb were hewn from stone. She wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to collapse in on herself like a dying star… but instead she simply kept on breathing, one shaky breath after the other until the urge to crumple into a ball had passed. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and realized Mungo had been standing there witnessing everything the entire time. The planktonics he'd been frying were smoking now thanks to the distraction.

"I'm sorry you had to see all that," Molly apologized.

"Aye," Mungo sighed. He began trying to chisel the overcooked meat out of the pan. "Never liked him."

The next two hours passed in a dreamlike blur for Molly, who went about her duties despite the lingering puffiness around her eyes and the hollowed-out feeling in her chest. One by one the pirates finished their meals and trickled out of the tavern, returning to their ship; John was already gone, presumably having stormed out following their argument. The second to last person to leave was Sloane, who slunk out and cast an apologetic glance toward Molly as she went. And the very last to depart was Ironbeard, who fished a pouch heavy with coins out of his pocket and plunked it down on the bar while she was rinsing out some tankards.

"Why thank you," she told him as briskly as she could, hoping the fear didn't show on her face. She caught a glimpse of gold gleaming from the pouch's mouth; were those actual droubloons? Part of her didn't even want to know.

"For your trouble," Ironbeard remarked. "Never fear. We won't pass this way again."

Molly could only watch mutely as he strode out of the restaurant with heavy, thudding footsteps; he had to duck a bit to pass through the doorway, such was his stature. She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding and hesitantly opened the pouch, spilling out a few gleaming coins in the process. They were droubloons, she realized as she held one up to study it in the lantern light. Once the currency of the realm, now extremely valuable antiques… why, this entire bag could finance a complete remodel of the Miner's Merriment and then some.

The fingers holding the singular droubloon began to tremble, and within seconds it tumbled to the floor and rolled away. Molly immediately rushed out from behind the bar and scrambled for the door, bolting as fast as she could down the path toward the skydock.

The rain had slacked off again, for which she was thankful. As she approached the demarcation between cliff and quay she saw a familiar silhouette standing propped against one of the posts. It was John, hanging back while the rest of his crewmates boarded their ship. The sound of her footsteps roused him from his brooding and he stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then frowned and looked away. Was it annoyance in his expression or was it shame? She didn't even know what to think anymore.

"Didn't think ya'd see me off," he ground out before sneezing again.

"I…" Molly braced herself as a gust of wind blew by, pulling her hair back and forcing her to squint. "I'm not sorry for what I said," she continued. "I meant it. I meant every word. But I… I'm scared for you, John, I'm afraid! Losing you is hard enough, but you going where I can't follow… I don't want you to suffer for this, or worse! Please stay. We can make it work, I promise, you don't have to mine, just stay with me. Please John, please just stay…"

"Silver,"Ironbeard bellowed from further down the dock. "Time's a-wasting."

"With ya in a jiff, Cap'n!" John called. He then returned his attention to Molly, sadness in his eyes. "I can't stay," he said quietly. "I… I ain't cut out for this settlin' down thing. I ain't like yer parents, I ain't like you ." He lifted his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm lonely, Moll. I wanted nothin' more than to have ya with me out there, seein' all there is to see an' findin' all manner o' wonders, just the two of us free as birds… but I ain't you and you ain't me, are ya?" A humorless chuckle escaped him. "An' I'm sorry I… sorry I didn't see that sooner. Sorry I led ya on."

While he spoke he had one foot on the cobblestone and one foot on the wooden planks of the dock… but as he finished apologizing he took a step back, planting both feet on the wood. Molly remained on the stone pathway, and though she knew they were only separated by less than a meter of distance it felt as if they were on opposite sides of the known universe.

"I'm sorry too," she choked out. The tears were back. "I'm sorry I couldn't be worth more to you."

It was as if a pair of invisible shears snipped the connection between them with those words. John stared at her with a grief-stricken look, perhaps guilty as well… but he quickly steeled himself and scowled. A single tear ran down his right cheek and fell into his shirt, leaving a tiny wet spot.

"Goodbye, Molly Murdoch," he told her softly, and then he turned to leave.

"Goodbye," Molly returned in kind, her voice breaking and falling to a whisper. "John Silver."

Ironbeard waited for John to reach the ship before boarding himself. Then after a few minutes the sails unfurled, the engines began to roar, and slowly but surely the pirate ship rose forward. Molly watched as it steadily gained altitude, sails billowing, the honeycomb pattern of solar filaments glowing and pulsing as they ferried precious energy down the masts and into the heart of the vessel… then the engines truly roared and propelled the whole thing skyward until it disappeared into the clouds.

So here I am again , she thought numbly. Losing so much in so little a span of time .

The flower of her thistle was gone and now all she could feel were the thorns sinking in. There was no sunny side to this situation, no redeeming feature to cushion the fall. A cruel bitterness seeped through her veins, making its way into her heart and coiling there like a serpent. She felt separate from herself, as if she were floating and watching someone else puppeteer her body; her steps were unsteady as she trudged back to the tavern, her posture utterly defeated.

Whoever she was before the last few hours, she wasn't that person anymore. Her only consolation was knowing this hadn't been painless for John either. She hoped to heaven and hell and everywhere else the pain of this breaking stuck with him on his rotten quest, and though part of her also hoped she never saw his face again… she couldn't help secretly hoping he saw the error of his ways somehow, and maybe one day might cross the threshold of her home again a better man.

But as she stood on that same threshold and faced the old wooden door, crying into her hands, she knew such a hope would only drive her mad if she held onto it too tightly.

It'll take more than that lot to kill Molly Murdoch , her own words from earlier echoed in her mind.

And with that she returned to all she had left, leaving the tatters of her broken dreams to be carried away by the howling winds of Cruinlagh.