A/N: Y'all, I'm warning you, this chapter on AO3 is dirty. Your girl Syrena wants it bad. Check out AO3 for the steamy version and FFN for the censored.
Birds of a Feather
The Curse of the Black Pearl
Chapter Forty-Seven
A Little Too Close
Will Turner had eight days left for a miracle.
Not that Philip Swift knew that; he was dealing with his own measure of fate. Rutherford had been polite enough to let Philip have a little time to prepare his case. Sunday was afforded to him as a holy day, and Monday was given him to make up his mind on what he wanted to do.
So naturally, he was avoiding it.
He and Elizabeth – his usual avoidance partner in crime – walked through the market, idly inspecting wares. They both had steady allowances, and Philip had full reign over a good chunk of his personal fortune. To his uncle's horror, Philip didn't like to tie up his money in investments, so most of his fortune was liquid.
Which meant that the merchants were very happy to see the cousins.
"I think I should get Will something," Elizabeth said as the shopkeepers all fought for her attention. One woman was lucky enough to get the governor's children's appraising eyes over some fabric. "You know, as a thank you for rescuing me gift."
"And where is my thank you for rescuing you gift?"
"Her name is Syrena, and I can stop tolerating her whenever you want."
"Funny." He paused as he inspected a dark blue silk with wave patterns. "What do you think of this one? I think Syrena would look nice in it."
"I think it would give the Gillettes a heart attack," Elizabeth waved away the red, green, and yellow checkered fabric the saleswoman offered. "Syrena will need something for that ball of theirs. Maybe you can ask Rachel to make something out of this?"
"You think so?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, right." Philip hated with Elizabeth was subtly sarcastic: he could never catch it. Philip moved on from the fabric table, "You do have a point. She'll need something proper. What about that old red and white thing you wore to the Gillette wedding? I think it would look good and flatter the hosts. You've never worn it since."
"Not sure if flattering Prudence and Damien Gillette is high on my list of goals, but sure, Syrena can have it."
She paused at a table of jewelry. It wasn't great quality work and the pieces weren't the nicest looking things, but they were simple and sturdy.
Elizabeth picked up a necklace with a few pendants she barely even knew what they were. Something white with a swirl, a coin of some sort, a round something silver, and an amber stone with a bit of silver twisted on top, all hanging from a long black cord. It was the type of piece someone may overlook a hundred times, yet there was something about it that just felt right.
"How much?" she asked the merchant.
He almost seemed surprised, "That piece? Surely you would be interested in something a little prettier for yourself?"
"No, this one. How much?"
There was something about the necklace, something roguish, piratey. And the amber… Elizabeth felt something tug at her mind. She remembered her mother tell her about a twin pair of necklaces she gave to Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Nathaniel when they returned home from their exile. But what was it?
There must have been something in Elizabeth's face because the merchant smiled knowingly, "It's for that Turner boy, isn't it?"
"Is there something special about this necklace?" Philip asked.
The merchant shrugged, "Just a fancy bit of metal, but perhaps a lucky one. Amber brings courage and strength to the wearer and is a symbol of endurance. They say it brings good fortune in battle."
"This one," Elizabeth stubbornly thrust out a few coins.
But the merchant folded her hand shut.
"My gift to you and your boy." He looked down the stall at a grey-haired woman chatting with another customer. There was a light in his eyes as he looked at her that warmed their hearts knowingly. "Love is the best thing one can give in this world; all else is immaterial."
He pressed the necklace into her palm and smiled. She felt the tears well in her eyes as she watched the woman at the other end of the stall. Elizabeth hoped that when she was old and grey, Will would still watch her like that.
After a little more shopping, Philip suggested that they check in on the Woodberrys. Philip meant to do it out of a sense of duty and goodness, but when Elizabeth suggested they use the opportunity to check up on Archdeacon Rutherford's investigation, Philip didn't turn down the idea.
When they arrived, Pastor Thomas was about to go on his rounds. Hannah was out at tea with some friends, who were no doubt comforting her for her loss. So Thomas invited Philip to accompany him on his visits, and they would strategize for the meeting with Rutherford.
Anne invited Elizabeth to stay for lunch, which Elizabeth eagerly accepted. The women had an arrangement that really meant "having lunch" as Elizabeth quickly having a snack and then Anne would crack open the back door and let the girl sneak out to do what she wanted without supervision for a few hours and Anne would give her an alibi.
From the moment the Swanns had stepped foot in Port Royal, Anne had tried to make up for Philip and Elizabeth's lack of mothers in what small ways she could. While for Philip this meant more socially acceptable acts, Anne admired Elizabeth's rebellious spirit. A girl needed room to breathe, Anne would say and she told Elizabeth she was happy to help the girl so long as she didn't use her free time for sin.
Of course, with Anne living in town and Elizabeth now courting Will, that might be a little harder than expected.
"You know, you look so handsome when you work."
Will spun around, completely not expecting to find Elizabeth leaning against the frame of the mysteriously open back door.
"What are you doing here?" Will scowled, though he was happy to set aside his work for the moment. Knowing your employer was about to fire you and make you homeless wasn't the best motivator to catch up on backlogged work.
Elizabeth shrugged, placing a rectangular box on a table laid with sketches of projects, "Philip made a very big mistake the day you duelled Jack… he showed me where you hide the key to the back door."
Moving closer, Will's eyes were stormy and intense as he said huskily, "I have to move that key."
Elizabeth mirrored his steps, voice filled with as much desire, if not more, "Do you really want to?"
"No."
And they came together, Will crushing his lips to hers.
It was something they had dreamed of so often: Blacksmith and Governor's Daughter stealing kisses over the forge. Will's hands were rough but knew exactly what they wanted as he held her close to him. He had imagined it so many times and he would not let it slip through his fingers.
But Elizabeth was the possessive one, her lips hungrily claiming his, hand woven through his hair, pulling him so hard to her it was almost painful for Will. Pleasure and pain: that was what their intimacy always seemed to be about. Sliced hands, rough grabs, swollen lips, and pulling each other in like a vice. Elizabeth Swann was no damsel-in-distress and Will almost feared what marks their honeymoon would bring.
Yet, Will couldn't help it. There was something she awakened in him, a smoldering ever burning fire like metal heated in his forge. He wasn't aware of their movement – whether Elizabeth led him or he just grabbed her body and dominated – the next thing Will registered was pinning her up against the closed door to his apartments.
"I wish I was a less moral man," he suckled at her neck, her hands woven into his hair urging him on to leave a mark that no one could ignore claimed her as his. "So badly I want to just break down this door, carry you to my cot, and make you forget about any horror of this world."
Elizabeth gasped as Will's lips found a spot on her neck that made her toes curl, "You don't even need to take me to your cot. You can have me right down in the hay."
Will pulled back and grinned, "Come now, we can't traumatize poor Dominic, can we?"
Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh as she became very aware of the donkey who almost seemed to be looking away in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Dominic," Elizabeth called. She was just met with a hee-haw and Dominic scampered away, making the pair laugh. "I think I've traumatized the poor thing."
"He does look a lot like Philip did in Tortuga," Will chuckled, and she laughed with him.
The heavy mood was broken, but the closeness did not dissolve. Will wrapped his arms around her waist and held Elizabeth close, chin resting atop her bowed head. Elizabeth smiled into his chest, never in her life having felt so happy.
"Would you think me terrible if I said that pirates raiding Port Royal is the best thing that ever happened to me?" Elizabeth asked, learning the feel of each muscle of his embrace.
Will kissed the crown of her head, "Only if you think me terrible for saying that those same pirates destroying my ship on the crossing from Black Hill Cove was the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Because you met Philip?" she teased.
"Yes, because I met Philip," he squeezed her tight. "So, may I ask why you've come?"
"Do I need a reason to want to see my maybe, sort of, one day, kind of fiancé?"
"We really need to come up with a term for what we are."
"Just give in and admit we're engaged. It's going to happen anyways."
Will's face fell. Eight Days hung over him like a spectre.
Elizabeth noticed the change of mood, but didn't press it, "Well, if you must know, I did come here for a reason."
"Oh?"
"I brought you a present." She took him by the hand and led him over to the table she had placed her box. Of course, she just ignored Will's objections that he didn't need anything because she honestly didn't care and Will's modesty was on her last nerve. Elizabeth offered him the small box, "This is my 'thank you for rescuing me' slash 'so sorry for robbing you when we were twelve' gift."
Will opened the box to find the silver and amber necklace she had been given in the market.
"Elizabeth," he stared at it. "It's… perfect."
"I thought it would suit you," she smiled. "Turns out that the old shopkeeper, Ratcliff has a bit of a sore spot for romance. I guess he and his wife must have been a love match."
"A lot of the lower class are. I suppose that's one freedom we have," his finger traced over the amber stone.
"It's also supposed to be a good luck charm." She then told him of the symbolism of amber that Ratcliff had told her. "But there's another thing about amber."
"Oh?"
"I've been beating myself up all day because I knew my mother had told me about amber once and I could not for the life of me remember what. But I was just about to unlock your door when it hit me." Elizabeth smiled proudly, "Amber is a remembrance and promise of marriage."
"What do you mean?"
"Apparently in some cultures amber is used when a marriage couple renews their vows," Elizabeth recalled the story of how Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Nathaniel had a small ceremony with their family and friends renewing their vows when they returned to England after Bartholomew Swann died. That was when Mother had given them necklaces of amber. "It's also in some cultures used as a sort of symbol of intention of marriage before an official betrothal. You know, like we are. Intending to wed but not in a position where we have an easy label of what to call each other. So you see, it's perfect! As long as you wear that, I know that marriage is in our future."
He didn't smile at that, in fact, something in his eyes twinged.
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked as she watched Will set the box down.
Will let out a big sigh, "It's um… It's noth- noth-"
But he couldn't get the words out. He so badly wanted to keep Elizabeth out of it: let her just live in her happy bubble of their grand future together. Will's plights were his to resolve, as much as he hated to withhold things from here.
It wasn't her burden to bear.
"Will," Elizabeth took his arm and looked him deep in the eyes. There was concern etched in those deep blue pools that he wanted to just get sucked down in and never resurface, "what's wrong?"
But she would bear it; wouldn't she? Elizabeth just wouldn't know what it was.
He clenched his fist and wrestled with himself. He wanted the protect her, but he also didn't want to have a relationship of secrets.
So long as you are honest and loyal to me, nothing could come between us. All I ask is that we make our choices together.
How could he be a hypocrite and shut her out. If he made his choices alone, how could she ever trust him?
Will took a deep breath, "Elizabeth, we need to talk."
She watched him warily, "Ok…"
"Here," he grabbed the chair that Brown liked to pass out drunk in. "Have a seat."
"You're worrying me," Elizabeth settled in the chair.
"Maybe you should be worried. There's been, uh, a change of plans regarding our future."
She just stared at him.
"If you leave me for Rachel, I'm going to burn down Louisiana."
Will laughed, "Then for the sake of the Americas, I will never let you doubt my fidelity."
"Will, you're stalling. What's going on?"
He sighed, "There- There have been some unexpected consequences."
And he told her everything.
Philip found Syrena lying on the couch in the library, a mild fire lit in the hearth, and Jack the Monkey causing a ruckus as he jumped from shelf to shelf.
She looked so cute when she was concentrated, the way her face would scrunch up. The way those hazel eyes would flick along the page, narrowing and widening in reaction to the text. Philip loved the way to idly played with her borrowed jewelry and unconsciously fingered the sapphire surrounded by tiny crystals that hung from her neck.
Of course it was difficult to sneak up on a mermaid. They did have heightened senses, and Syrena's were in full effect when her head snapped up.
"You're home," Syrena smiled brightly and it nearly brought Philip to his knees.
He loved the scene, Syrena looking so happily and greeting him into their home. Philip could imagine coming home from a day of ministry, Syrena reading on the couch, while smells of cooking dinner wafted through the air, and sounds of play from a couple little girls and a monkey filled the house.
The image surprised Philip; he didn't know when he had adjusted his future imaginings to exclude any sons. But he knew that Syrena would only be able to produce mermaids, so boys weren't in her cards and somehow Philip had so easily brushed sons from his plans.
Philip liked the image of a home with Syrena. He still didn't know her that well, but maybe someday she might make a good wife.
Someday.
"Sorry to interrupt your reading," Philip blushed, trying to banish the thoughts of Syrena and marriage. It was far too soon for that. "I'm just stopping in for a moment while Pastor Thomas prays with one of the butlers who is still not taking the whole mansion raid thing well. Poor Jackson saw old George take a bullet to the skull."
"Oh yes, my apologies. I think that was Pintel."
Philip made a mental note to not underestimate Pintel regardless of how goofy he and Ragetti could be.
"So," Philip came and took a seat next to her, "what are you reading?"
"Paradise Lost," Syrena answered. "I have heard of it before, but Barbossa was never able to secure me a copy. Have you ever read it?"
"An epic poem about the Fall of Man? As a gentleman and postulant, it would be heresy had I not read it. Enjoying it?"
"Oh, yes. I knew it was a fine piece of literature, but I'm surprised at how romantic the parts concerning Adam and Eve are."
Feeling something build inside of him, Philip couldn't help but take Syrena by the hand and place a gentle kiss upon it.
"How can I live without thee, how forego, Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, To live again in these wild woods forlorn?" Philip quoted. "Should God create another Eve, and I another rib afford, yet loss of thee, Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel, The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state, Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."
"Mister Swift," Syrena used her hand to fan herself somewhat teasingly… but not entirely.
"Miss Finson," he placed another tender kiss to her hand.
Wanting to play the cat to his mouse, Syrena pulled her hand away, "Careful with your poetry, Mister Swift. You may tempt a maiden to compromise her virtue."
"Never," he grinned. If the phantom imaginings of his future were real, there would be plenty of time for that later. Instead, he released her hand and reached inside his coat. "I bring a gift."
Syrena's eyes widened, "A gift?"
"You've been so surrounded by borrowed clothes and effects, I thought you might like something of your own."
She nearly cried. How could he have so easily read the thoughts she herself only briefly dwelled on? The clothes upon her body felt heavy and wrong, like a thief in a disguise. But as he held out a black square box, she felt a pull towards the mysterious item. It didn't matter what it was, the item was to be hers and hers alone.
Syrena opened the box and gasped.
Sitting on a small square of velvet was an expertly crafted gold bracelet. Seven little charms of ruby had been carved into the images of red hibiscuses – the flower he had given to her their first night in Port Royal. Between each hibiscus was a delicate white pearl, and in the middle of the bracelet was a flat bar of gold. Engraved in flowing script were the words You Are Different.
"Philip, I… I don't know what to say."
The words made him smile like a little boy, "You like it then?"
"Very much so," she let him put the bracelet around her right wrist. "How did you come up with this?"
"Saw it in the market and thought of you. Elizabeth was getting a piece for Will, so I decided you could do with your own bit of jewelry. The engraving was my idea."
"It's absolutely perfect. Thank you." Syrena grinned, "Just when I thought you couldn't top the gift of a name."
"What can I say? I'm good with gifts," Philip laughed. "But wait, there's more. Look at this."
He turned over the gold bar and revealed another engraving on the back.
8 – 14 – 31
"I don't understand," Syrena frowned. "Is it a code of some sort?"
Philip grinned, "August 14, 1731. The day I met Will Turner. The day you saved his life. The day you chose to be different."
She just stared at him. Syrena couldn't even fathom the concept of words. It was just so true, so pure. How much was said in just a set of three numbers.
Something felt odd in the corner of her eye. She lifted a hand and touched. It was wet. Syrena frowned at the tiny crystal of wet sitting on the tip of her finger.
Tears of sorrow, never, Tamara had once told her. But tears of joy are a mermaid's greatest threat.
A tear for Philip.
And in that moment, Syrena lost her soul entirely to the heart of Philip Swift.
Wham!
Philip barely even knew what was happening. All he knew was that he had been thrown into his back and Syrena was kissing him with more passion than any pair could have ever had in history before.
It wasn't the lips or the hands in that moment – it was a melding of two souls so utterly into one. A promise, a binding, the act of the mating of souls forever.
And if Philip wasn't careful, that may turn literal.
Still, he couldn't help be give in and revel in the senses of her. Her soft hands contrasted with calloused fingertips. The way she smelled of fresh air and sea salt. The taste of her lips and how he left her so breathless beneath his kiss. The feeling of kissing her so senseless her lips became swollen and excited: a way to show his claim of her as his without leaving a shameful mark upon her skin.
"Syrena," he brushed the hair from his neck and pressed his lips gently to it. Over and over. When he found a spot that made her moan harder than all others, he teased it with his tongue.
She was sand beneath his fists, pouring through his fingers and unable to stay in place for long. Her hands stroked along his chest, mapping his muscles and remembering the feel of him bare beneath her grasp.
"I want to touch you," she whispered.
He chuckled, "I think you are."
"No, I- Oh Philip," her breath was taken away when he suckled the hollow of her throat. Hands clutched through brunette tresses. More. Oh she wanted so much more. To know him, feel him in ways dark and forbidden.
Her body craved him so desperately; she clung to him like a vice, not knowing if she could ever let go.
Suddenly she was shoved off of Philip, back onto the couch.
"Uncle," Philip panicked, trying to sort himself out.
Weatherby Swann's jaw was tight as his eyes burned, "Miss Finson, is there perhaps something you need to be attending to at the moment?"
Syrena did not need another hint; she leapt to her feet and straightened out her skirts. She gave a quick whistle and Jack the Monkey jumped onto her shoulder, chattering away like he himself was scolding her. Before she left, she dared to give Philip a quick – and decidedly chaste – kiss on the lips before scampering past the Governor, muttering short apologies under her breath.
The men watched Syrena leave the room, and when she was gone, Weatherby turned slowly back to the red-faced Philip. Weatherby's own face was red but not out of shame.
"I don't know how many more times we have to have this conversation, Philip."
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I lost sense of-"
"That's exactly the problem! You have lost your sense!" Weatherby had never looked so angry to Philip in his life. "For God's sakes, Philip! The minister is in the house! If Pastor Thomas had been the one to walk in on that scene-"
He had to stop and take a breath.
"Philip, you are currently under investigation by the Church of England," Weatherby said in a much more level – albeit not less dangerous – voice. "You are dancing on the head of a pin right now, and I'm not just talking about the ordination. If they find out what she is-"
"I understand what would happen," Philip said calmly.
"I don't think you do. I think you are playing far too fast and loose with Miss Finson and you are dangerously close to disaster. I understand that you are young and in love for the first time, but this must stop."
Silence hung in the room, Swann stubbornness suffocating the air.
Then, Philip cracked.
"Do you really think something bad is going to happen?" Philip asked. He felt like he was six years old and confessing to breaking a valuable ornate vase in the hallway.
Weatherby sighed, "I think you and Syrena are a little too close. Rutherford will be here tomorrow. I need you to keep it together. Don't ask me to watch my son get everything taken away from him."
Philip winced; nothing could get him as much as those moments Uncle Weatherby broke and called him son.
"This is the last time I will have this conversation with you, Philip," the Governor warned. "Next time something like this happens, there will be consequences. Consequences you will not like. If you wish to continue to live this life you have in Port Royal and have Syrena reside in this household, you will bring yourself under control. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Uncle."
"Good."
Knowing his queue, Philip headed for the door.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Philip stopped.
"The library of all things?" Weatherby scolded. "Have some respect for your aunt, for goodness sakes!"
"You're right," Philip couldn't help a small smile, knowing just how much libraries meant to his second mother. Aunt Kat would be so sad to see such a scene in her sacred place. "A Swann should always hold decorum in such an important room as a library."
"Yes, he should."
Of course, Weatherby wasn't about to admit that his first child had been conceived on the couch of the library in Swann Manor.
That would be his and Katherine's little secret.
Elizabeth had been pacing the smith for an hour before she spoke.
"Can you get a loan?"
Will sighed from the chair where he had switched places with Elizabeth, "I've tried to. The moneylenders say it's too much and they can't trust I would pay it back soon enough it make it worth their while."
"What about friends?"
"The friends I have don't have that kind of money."
"Distant family?"
"Oh sure, I'll just write up Eveline."
"Ok, don't get snippy with me," she scowled. "There's got to be someone in town who can help you out."
"Believe me, I've asked everyone," Will said. "I just had the most embarrassing conversation of my life with Groves this morning, who honestly turns out is more your and Philip's friend than mine."
"In all fairness, he does have a child to think of financially," Elizabeth shrugged. "What about Syrena? She brought some items back from Isla de Muerta."
"I don't think it would work. It was mostly clothing and nothing I could spent without a lot of questions being asked. Besides, she literally has nothing. I couldn't take what she does have from her."
"Will, she is living in a mansion and you're about to be on the street. The fish can deal with it."
He just shook his head.
Elizabeth leaned against an anvil and only realized too late she had put her hand in a nice pile of soot, "Do you have any other ideas? Anyone who could have money?"
"Well…"
She looked up. Elizabeth had never seen Will more embarrassed in his life.
"What?" she asked.
He had to ask it, "What about you? Could maybe you give me a loan?"
Elizabeth blew out a breath. She understood how incredibly hard it must be for Will to even think about asking her for a loan, much less actually verbalize it. Only a month ago he couldn't even say her first name and now he was basically asking for an advance on her dowry.
Seeing the look on her face, Will leapt to his feet, "Forget it. Pretend I didn't ask."
"No, it's okay," she took his hands in hers. Gently she rubbed his hands to soothe him, "Please don't be afraid to ask things like that. After all, when we marry, my money becomes yours."
"Ours," he corrected. "Legally, yes, it's mine, but never think I'm going to try to take your money from you."
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.
"…Except in this moment," Will awkwardly added.
She chuckled, "No, you're right. It's our money. I want you to think of us already starting our life together, so I want you to consider my resources your resources."
"Well then, do we have enough money to buy the shop?"
Elizabeth thought hard, "…Maybe. My dowry is tied up so perfectly that I doubt you'll be able to even touch it when we do marry, but that's not all the money I have."
"I'm not sure your weekly allowance is quite enough to purchase a fully equipped forge."
"Fully equipped forge with the best blacksmith in the Caribbean," she kissed his cheek. "But I'm not talking about my allowance, I'm talking about the money my mother left me. She set aside some money for me to get when I turn 20, and the provisions of her will say that I can do whatever I want with it. My birthday is on the 26th and today is the 9th-"
Will shook his head, "That's seventeen days away. I only have eight."
"There's no flexibility on it?"
"None." Will hesitated. He looked even more pained than he did asking Elizabeth for money, "What about… What about your father? Do you think he could loan me the money?"
It was a horrifyingly humiliating thought for Will, and a rather dangerous one too. If Weatherby Swann found out just how close he was to losing everything, Weatherby could take away Will's one last treasure: Elizabeth. No man wanted a son-in-law whose first action as his daughter's kind of fiancé was to hold out his hand. Even if Will had just saved Weatherby Swann's daughter.
Thankfully they did not have to prolong the painful thought because almost immediately, Elizabeth shook her head, "Father is good at tying up money. I'm surprised we even have cash available to burn. There's no way he can untangle his investments enough in only eight days. But… there is someone who just came into some wealth around here who may be able to help."
Will stared at her dumbstruck, "Elizabeth, I just stole his fiancée. Norrington doesn't even want to give me a handshake right now, much less that kind of money."
And then they looked at each other, waiting for the other to pitch the next idea as to how Will could buy the forge.
Neither had anything to say.
That was when the fear crept into their hearts.
"So, what do we do?" Elizabeth asked.
"I… I don't know."
There was a long stretch of silence and Elizabeth sat down on a rickety wooden bench. After a moment, Will joined her and placed a hand atop of hers.
"What does this mean for us?"
Will shrugged, "It means I can't stay in Port Royal. I'm going to have to find a job in a new town, get some experience under my feet, and get a place to live before I can send for you."
"I could come with you."
"Your father would never allow that, and I wouldn't be able to afford to take care of you against his wishes."
"How long would it take to get established?"
"Maybe five years," Will guessed. "Maybe ten. Would you wait for me that long?"
She turned his cheek to look him in the eye, "I would wait ten years. I would wait a thousand if you asked me."
He bowed his head to hers, "I'll find a way. I promise."
"Then show me."
So he stood and walked over to the work bench. He slipped the silver and amber necklace over his head: a promise of their love.
There were tears glassy in her eyes as she watched the promise hang from his neck.
Will knelt before her and lifted her chin, "Keep a weather eye on the horizon."
And they sealed the promise with a kiss.