Market

Valentine was relieved when they finally entered town. Endless stalls lined the sides of the main cobblestone road. Vendors were pawning off anything they had to sell: fruits, vegetables, meat, fish, dresses, trinkets, and other things Valentine hardly recognized.

Wesley was on the ground now, leading the horse by the reins through the busy street as he inspected the merchandise they passed.

Time seemed to move differently at the market. There was just so much to look at that an hour seemed like mere minutes.

Valentine, perched atop the horse, curiously eyed the intricate craftsmanship of an old cartographer as Wesley bartered for some fish at the stall beside it. It was only when Wesley started fastening his purchases to the saddle that Valentine looked away from the maps.

"I think that's everything," Wesley looked up at him, patting the horse a little.

"Time to head back?" he inquired.

Wesley took on a thoughtful expression for a moment before saying. "Not yet. I have one more place in mind."

Valentine was curious, but remained silent as Wesley grabbed the reins again and led the horse farther down the street. At some point, they turned off the main road, but their journey wasn't long. They stopped at the next block of buildings.

After tying the horse to one of the nearby posts, Wesley helped Valentine down from the saddle.

"Oi. Is that young Roberts I see?" an elderly voice called out. Wesley turned at the sound of his name and smiled kindly at his neighbor.

"Good noon, Mr. Smith," he greeted the man, who was slumped in a chair beside his front door as he puffed on a tobacco pipe.

"And to you," the older gentleman replied.

"Would you mind watching over my horse for a bit? I've come to collect some things but it'll only be a moment."

"Sure, sure," the man said. "Got nothing else to do."

"Thank you," Wesley smiled before guiding Valentine up to the door of his townhouse.

"Do you have two houses?" Valentine asked under his breath as Wesley unlocked the door.

"No," he replied. "Only one. We've been staying at your mother's."

Valentine's brow rose. He didn't want to know how his mother had procured enough funds for the cabin. It did raise some questions about how long she'd been living on the surface, though.

Valentine and Wesley slipped into the townhouse. There wasn't much to the place. It was small, and mostly bare, but Valentine supposed that was to be expected for someone who spent most of the year at sea.

"Why have we come here?" Valentine asked lightly.

"For these," Wesley said, crossing the room to where a trunk sat against one of the walls. The merchant unlocked the clasps with practiced fingers and lifted the lid.

Valentine took a cautious step closer to peer inside. He was slightly stunned to find that the contents were familiar.

"You kept them?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"You asked me to take care of them," Wesley said with a slight shrug as he pulled out a pair of boots so the siren wouldn't have to be barefoot anymore.

Valentine ignored them and instead reached into the chest to pull out a black leather tricorn. He ran his fingers over the familiar edges, tracing the brim and the rough, worn patches where the material creased. Reluctantly, he set it back down and reached for a worn blue shirt. He buried his nose in it and inhaled the familiar scents of spices and earth that had surrounded him in his previous life. However, the scent was almost imperceptible since it was overpowered by another. Wesley's.

The only explanation for that was that Wesley had handled the fabric many times since Valentine had last worn it. He tried not to dwell too deeply on that notion, but the thought that maybe Wesley really had missed him when he was gone kept circulating through his mind.

Wesley kept everything in that trunk. His coat, his pants—which still sported a darkly stained slit at the thigh, even his midnight blue hair ribbon was tucked inside.

Valentine felt things when he looked upon his old adornments, but nothing he would ever admit out loud.

When Wesley took out the tricorn again and placed it on Valentine's head, the siren turned to look at him.

"It's all yours," Wesley said. "You should take it."

Valentine's eyes left Wesley's, dragged down to the floor by his shame and regret.

"No," he said softly, reaching up and removing the tricorn. He looked down at the leather hat in his hands for a few extra moments of remembrance before placing it back in the trunk. "I'm not that man anymore."

Wesley didn't know what to say to that, but before he could try, there was a loud series of knocks from his front door.

"Captain! I know you're in there!" a familiar, irritated voice called.

Wesley swore under his breath as he looked at Valentine. In a low tone he said, "I need you to go into my bedroom and stay quiet."

"You had me at bedroom," Valentine whispered back, smirking as he got up and disappeared into the side room Wesley had indicated without delay.

Closing the trunk, Wesley stood and straightened his clothes as he moved to open the door.

"Castor," he greeted with a tight lipped smile once he was face to face with the man. "What can I do for you?"

"I've stopped by every day this week!" Castor said, pushing his way past Wesley and into the townhouse. "I've been to the tavern, to the docks. Hells, I even stopped by the whorehouse looking for you! Where in Goddess's name have you been?"

"I've been staying at a friend's." Wesley said, hoping the simple explanation would be enough.

"What friend?" Castor still seemed pretty worked up. "And why didn't you tell me before you left?"

"I'm a grown man, Castor. You don't need to baby me."

"Seven Hells I don't!" he fumed. "I was worried sick about you, Wesley! I thought you'd finally drunk yourself to death or gone and offed yourself at the harbor!"

Wesley felt a heaviness in his chest.

"I wouldn't have done that," he said in a low tone.

"You say that like I'm not the one who's been dragging you back home from the tavern every night when you're too drunk to stand. I know you've been having dark thoughts, and I know that what happened to you last summer was horrible, but that's no excuse for you to just up and disappear."

"I'm sorry," Wesley relented. "You're right I should've told you I was leaving for a while."

Castor sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as the fight left his body.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said in a much calmer tone. "And wherever you were, I can tell its been helping you."

"You can?" Wesley asked.

"You look healthier," Castor shrugged, "Like you've been sleeping and eating like you should. You also seem lighter... happier."

Wesley glanced toward the bedroom door, which was still slightly ajar.

"I am," he sighed, unable to see Valentine but knowing he was listening to every word.

"That's good," Castor breathed, looking at him curiously. "Who is this friend that you mentioned?"

"No one," Wesley said, and Castor immediately caught on to his poorly concealed defensiveness.

"Is it a girl, perhaps?" he seemed intrigued.

"Just drop it, Cas-" Wesley was cut off by a loud creak from the bedroom, which unfortunately drew Castor's full attention. Wesley knew exactly which floorboard was the culprit, and he closed his eyes, cursing silently to himself for not fixing it sooner.

"Is that her?" Castor was already moving toward the bedroom door. "Hello? Miss? I hope you're decent because I'd like to meet you!"

"Castor, wait-" Wesley tried to stop him but it was too late. He was already pushing open the door.

Confusion painted itself on Castor's face when he first laid eyes on the siren, but it was soon replaced by recognition.

"You," he practically growled.

Before either Wesley or Valentine could do anything, Castor had a pistol in his hands and it was pointed right between Valentine's eyebrows.

----+------+----

A/N

Hello.

Where in the world would you like to live someday?

Happy Thursday!

-Mora Montgomery