Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, brightly tattooed arms crossed under her chest.

“Whatcha say, cap’n?”

Her teeth are stained with blood. He refuses to follow the instinct that tells him to let his gaze sink downwards, to where the rest of her body should be.

He wakes up.

**

Life is simple, right now.

Flynn tells himself that’s what he needs. He keeps the Marina clean, clear, inspection ready. Cyrus doesn’t pay great, but it comes with a berth for his boat (for his bed, for his life) and that’s worth its weight in bills.

Cyrus is probably taking advantage of him a little - taking advantage of his past, of his mistakes - but Cyrus also has a history, has scars and a deployment history and the understanding of what that means. And for now, for him, after what he’s been through (what he’s done) that’s good enough.

He smiles and laughs. He’s the loudest voice in the bar. Flynn’s good.

(Doesn’t sleep much, but then who does, right?)

So it’s a good routine, is what he’s saying. What he’ll tell anyone who comes asking. Whether that be Cyrus or any of the folks at his local, or his former compatriots. He’ll tell them with a laugh, with glee even. Salt air on his skin. No one to give him commands. No one for him to give commands to. The sea as his closest neighbour. Why, it’s freedom, isn’t it mate?

Who needs ambition and more pay that comes with it, when you can live according to the tides?

Though his life right now is probably not quite as adventurous as that might make it sound, he has to admit. Days in the marinas, and evenings at his local, but at least there’s nothing to tie him down and nothing to hold him back.

(And if he has to do the occasional favour for Cyrus that he doesn’t exactly love … well. Still. It’s all worth it.)

He’s propping up his regular place along the bartop, in the snug side with the locals, when Tae finds him. Which is not unusual. Tae’s one of them, after all. She’d been the youngest in his unit - still feels unbearably young sometimes - but she’d served. She’d bled. She was a good one.

Stayed in when he’d had to leave, didn’t make waves, didn’t make a name for herself, just fought the good fight and made it home in one piece. Of course, Taelia didn’t have to make a name for herself. Unlike some scallywags (him), she was a legacy. Had legacy. And where his path out had become inventive, hers had a direct path to private contracts and people who owed her father their life.

Still, even with all that behind her and as part of her, it’s not unusual for her to come have a drink with him. Probably every fortnight at the least, if he counts. She never forgets her friends, not Tae, and he respects her for that. For a lot really.

What is unusual, and telling, is the hesitance with which she grips her glass. The side look she gives him, almost shy. “What?” He asks, because if he waits for her to come out with whatever it is they’ll be here forever. Not that he objects to another round - or two - but patience is admittedly not his forte.

She hems and haws for another sip, but finally gives in. “I want to talk to you about a job.”

He doesn’t mean to sigh quite as loudly as he does, but he knows where this is going. “Tae” he starts, pausing only for a moment when she turns to stare directly at him, but not stopping. “Tae we’ve discussed this before.”

“It’s different this time” she retorts, bristling a little at the tone of his voice and he's sure his matching expression.

Except it's only fair to look at her like that, because she’s said that before. “Sure. Except there’s no reason an old school outfit like Wrynn Securities is going to be interested in a scruffy-looking nerf herder like me.”

Which is true. They’re one of the biggest players in the game, across the whole gamut all the way from close hands-on protection to covert investigations to cybersecurity. They’re for important people. For companies. Hell, for countries.

But Tae doesn’t even respond to the pop culture reference. His flippant comments usually get a roll of her eyes at least. In fact she’s looking a little too serious, he realizes belatedly. It’s a bit worrying.

“Go on then.” He finally asks, sipping from his pint again. “Why is it actually different this time?”

The gulp she has to take of her drink is another reason to worry. “New client. Important client.”

The way she pauses makes his stomach swoop. And then, as the truth finally escapes her, drop.

“Proudmoore.”

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, looking like normal - at least if he ignores the spreading stain across her shirt, dark enough he could try and convince himself it’s black.

It’s never black.

“Sleeping on the job, captain?” She asks with a crooked grin, a familiar jape, but he’s not sure if the noise that escapes him could really be called a laugh.

He wakes up.

**

If he wakes groggy after a bad night of sleep, he gets to blame Taelia.

Or perhaps, blame Proudmoore. Blame Tandred Proudmoore. After all, that was where his problems had started.

(Not that life has ever been easy, since his ma died, since he was born even, but still)

He had no problem with Tandred himself. Quite the opposite really. Although Flynn had problems with authority usually in a way that probably had never boded well for his long term military career, Tandred had been an exception. A legacy, officer track, intelligent, well educated and yet treated them all down to the lowest poorest born member of his platoon kindly.

Had befriended Flynn despite his many faults - though he preferred to say it’s because of his many, many charms.

It was Tandred’s example that had made him in turn befriend Taelia in the first place, when she’d seemed lost and uncertain and so shiny new.

It was Tandred’s memory that led to him leading multiple attempts to find the man after he’d gone MIA, including beyond the missions he’d been authorized to do. It was Tandred’s memory (and well, probably that aforementioned problem with authority) that led to him telling the commander who ordered him to stop exactly what he could do with that order.

It was probably only Tandred’s legacy that made his discharge not come with a much longer stint in the brig and ‘dishonorable’ slapped on him after that. (Though ‘dishonorable’ is probably an accurate way to describe his life after that, if he was brutally honest)

The client is not Tandred, as Tandred had never been found. Instead the client is his sister, who he’d never met but heard plenty about. The black sheep of her family, breaking her father’s heart by betraying the family tradition - not going into the military but instead into law and government relations.

And now apparently wanting to use the power that led to in order to find out what happened to her brother once and for all. Coincidentally, the thing that is number three on Flynn’s lifetime regrets list.

Which would make it hypocritical of him to say no to Taelia on this, to say no to the offer to maybe close that chapter, as much as it part of him wants to run away. He’d made promises - not to himself, because what is that worth? - but to the memory of a man who had thought for some inexplicable reason that Flynn Fairwind could be more than just cannon fodder.

It's important, that. Even if it’s hard to remember that when you’re dressed in your civvies and your rather worn lucky jacket in front of a building made of sleek metal and concrete, entering a lobby that screams discretion and professionalism.

Two things he has never been and never will be.

But Taelia’s smile is warm when she sees his familiar silhouette enter the building and that, and the vague spectres of his nightmares, have to be enough to get past the awkwardness. And he’s sure it’s going to be awkward. If the lobby didn’t give it away, the grand cleanliness of the large board room she takes him to would.

“Is this him?” A voice calls from the other side of the room, brusque, demanding in a way that is too familiar, in a way that makes his spine want to automatically stiffen in response. Flynn purposely makes it relax instead - he is not anyone else’s man anymore - but the instinctual response is not helping the edge on his nerves.

“Halford Wyrmbane, meet Flynn Fairwind.” Taelia says in response, and stops at his side, as if to get out of the way and let them eye each other up.

“Fairwind” the other man says, abrupt, with a nod. His hands remain crossed behind his back, his body imposing and casting a long shadow across the room. It reminds him of a former drill sergeant, though he has a feeling this mans history before going private has to be higher than that. There’s something in the tilt of his chin, the way he looks at Flynn like he’s smaller than he is, that screams it.

He’s sure the man is trying to be daunting and terrifying. But he’s dealt with the military before. He's dealt with Cyrus. Worse, he’s dealt with Bolvar Fordragon when the man had mistaken his relationship with his daughter (and that’s one thing he’d not wish on his worst enemy).

And beyond that, he’s dealt with his nightmares and the things that caused them. Well. For a certain value of 'dealt'.

If you’ve been terrified on some level for years, what’s one man going to do compared to that? Especially someone who screams of such a familiar archetype - one from a world he’d purposely left behind, but that he still knows how to survive (and subvert).

The man leaning against the wall behind him, however, is a study in contrast. Where Halford is exactly what he’s expecting - black on black wardrobe, muscled and strong, broad shoulders with the broad attitude to go with it - the man leaning against the wall is dressed in a suit that seems tailored within an inch of its life, a deep blue with gold accents on the tie and in a flash at his cuffs. Almost as bright a the copper shine of his hair.

He’d be almost easy to miss in comparison with Halford. But his eyes, piercing and sharp, truly catch Flynn’s attention and distracting him from what he’d been about to do. They seem to bore through his soul as if he's able to read every dirty line scarred into it.

And Flynn knows there’s far too many of those.

He's not too sure how to feel about it, and it makes him uneasy enough that he takes advantage of Halford’s soft annoyed huff at his lack of response to shift his attention back instead. To fall back on old habits, old projections. “Howdy mate!” he feels the grin widen a hair too wide, the words a little too loud.

Halford huffs again, that quiet sound of annoyance remaining. He doesn’t have to look at Taelia to know what her response to this persona, and especially this persona here would be.

(The man against the wall just raises one expressive eyebrow. Not that Flynn was checking.)

“Halford, if you please.” Is the slow gained response. Which, okay - he supposes this man is not likely to be anyone's 'mate', though he's surprised he's willing to offer his first name. "Taelia says you might be of help to us.” There’s a little disbelief in his tone, and … well, granted. Flynn doesn’t quite believe it either.

But for Taelia (for Tandred) it’s worth trying.

“Aye” he responds, a little quieter, a little more sober. “I might.”

Chapter Text

Flynn ends up seated at the table. Taelia gets someone to bring him a coffee, bless her - the fogginess from his lack of sleep has been shocked out of him but he needs something to do with his hands as he talks through this. Halford sits across from him listening. (The other man, still nameless, still leans against the wall, though his eyes remain locked on Flynn.)

He tells the story. He’s told it many times before, to ears that he never was sure were truly listening to him. It’s not a full first person account because no one who was actually with Tandred has ever been found either, but he’d talked with him the morning of, one of the last to see him. He’d known where he was going, what his patrol and plans were.

And most importantly, he’d been the one to try and find him. He knew what action were done on the ground, after it all. And what hadn't been done.

“The problem is there was no surveillance of the area from that day to work with, so we were going blind” he explains to Halford, eyes half closed, half in the memories.

Only to have them widen probably excessively when Wyrmbane places the images in front of him. Aerial photographs of the area, marked of the day Tandred and his unit disappeared. Flynn can’t help how he gapes at them. “Where did you get these?”

Halford shrugs. “Not my area. Shaw?”

The quiet man against the wall finally speaks, the first time he’s hearing his voice. “I have my ways.”

And well. He’s heard the term of someone having a voice that makes you melt, and while he wouldn't say he's melting, something in the combination of the confidence in the man’s voice, the warm timbre and smooth tone combined with that accent … yes. well.

“They told me these didn’t exist, mate” he says, forgetting himself for a moment between his visible shock at what he’d finally been given and his hopefully invisible reaction to the man who has delivered this impossibility to him. Shaw cracks a smirk, the first time that any hint of emotions has appeared across his face. It makes his moustache twist in a way that makes Flynn’s stomach twist in response.

“Ah yes. And the military never lies” the other man drawls in response. He sees Halford stiffen at the slight, but he can’t help but laugh at it instead.

“Point” he nods, delighted. “So you’re ops then?” He’d dealt with operations types before, clever brains that don’t know what it’s like in the field and think they know better. Like their spreadsheets were anything like the real thing. Still, the analysts usually provide something very useful, and these? These are very useful.

All he gets is another smirk, but at least in this case the man - Shaw apparently - finally pushes off the wall. Coming to stand over the table, hand reaching for the photos.

“Outside of the standard operations known to be going on, the only thing not mentioned before is this” he points to a ship down the coast off to the left of the picture. “Irontide Mercs”

Flynn blinks. Blinks again. “They should have been in the general region, I should know - they hired me, after, based on what they’d heard …” He can feel things falling together slowly in his brain, too slowly. “But they shouldn’t have been anywhere near there.”

Shaw hums, sliding into the seat beside him. “You enlisted because you had to. You had no other way to survive.”

It feels like a non-sequitur, but it's a truth, and an easily findable one. Dirt poor family, orphaned and emancipated early, the military ends up being a way out for a lot of people like him. Nowadays it might not be press-ganging, but the recruiters knew ways to get to the poor and young and impressionable regardless.

“Nothing wrong that that” he bristles. He won’t be ashamed of it, even if he wishes he’d had another option.

“Not saying there is.” The other man countered. “But then thrown out, you didn’t have many options. The Irontide must have felt like a relief.”

So yes, he joined a mercenary crew after because who …

“Got promoted pretty quickly, before it went bad.” The man continues before he could even finish a thought, and oh.

His brain goes offline, just a little, at the thought of … that.

Blink. Harlan’s smirk. Blink. Arva’s blank eye. Blink. So much blood.

Blink. Shaw’s hand on his arm, just enough pressure to bring him back from inside his brain, not enough to feel like restraint. Idly the back of Flynn’s brain wonders how he knows where to draw that line while the front of his brain just attempts to breathe normally.

(The far back of his brain wants to lean into the warmth of Shaw’s hand even through the fabric. It’s been so long since someone’s touched him him other than Taelia’s sisterly hugs)

Well. At least until those half thought thoughts come back online and the pieces all fall together, making him jerk his arm quickly away. “You think the Irontide did this. This is why you invited me here - not because of how I tried to help, but because you thought maybe the job was my payment.”

He can hear Taelia sputter behind him, voice starting to rise in indignation for him, at him. Hears Halford’s voice low, not for him but for her, but can’t make out the words, because he’s too caught up in Shaw’s look. Assessing, he’d thought. How right he’d been.

“You think I was involved?” He asks, and he’s not sure if his tone is trying to be incredulous or hurt but it comes out broken instead.

A beat, those eyes staring him down. Reading. Assessing. Judging.

Then the other man blinks. Quickly, softly. Laser focus fading, just a little. “No. Not anymore.”

The fact that all of this has been some sort of test burns. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I came here because I want to find Tandred, not hurt him. And if you can’t respect that, then maybe I should fuck off and find him myself.”

“That won’t be necessary, Fairwind” Halford’s voice is too close behind him, making him whirl, feeling trapped. His hand automatically goes for a weapon that isn’t there, and he is not sure if he is glad for it or feels the loss more.

“We just had to know. I am sure you can understand that.”

He only belatedly notices that Shaw has taken advantage of the pull of his attention - that this was probably why Halford had come close quarters. The door slips closed behind the other man as he leaves the room.

“Are you sure?” Flynn sputters, voice rising again, in the hopes that both men can hear it, even beyond the door.

“Yes.” It’s only Halford who is here to respond, but his tone is firm. As solid as the man himself. “Sure enough to give you this.”

He slides across the table a folder that Shaw must have left behind. “An offer. A contract. A chance to find the truth, finally.”

“And why should I trust that?”

"Because unlike other outfits, we actually take care of our own. If you know Taelia as well as she says you do ypu already know that.” The fact that Bolvar’s skin is more burn than normal skin is no way ignorable. The fact that he survived that and seems mostly well despite it, that he still lives comfortably, all are rather telling of care received.

Care that apparently came from his former employers, care enough that Taelia worked for them now even with what happened to her father.

“Besides” Halford mentions, tone attempting to be more sly like Shaw’s had been but not quite managing it. “Who else is looking for him? You’ll never have this chance again.”

He too rises from his seat, stepping back towards the door. “I’ll leave you to decide on your own time, Fairwind.”

He leaves the room, and Flynn watches the door slowly swing shut. The moment it does, he looks over to Taelia.

“I’m sorry Flynn, I didn’t know.” She looks distressed enough for it to be the truth, even if Taelia wasn’t known to be a horribly bad at lying.

He sighs. His head is beginning to hurt from too much, too tense. “I’m sure you didn’t. They didn’t want you to.” Her face goes just a touch stormy at that, and he can’t help but smile at that expression on her face. “Do they often keep stuff from you?”

He can see her actually think on it - bless her for being so expressive- before shaking her head. “No. But in this case they would have known where my loyalty lies.”

To him, he knows that means, and he’s both thankful and in the back of his mind ashamed by that.

He looks at the folder. Looks over at Taelia. Considers.

He could, he knows, escape back into the hole he’s hidden himself in. Cyrus would let him. Hell, even after it all, Taelia would let him.

But this this is Flynn’s third greatest regret. And, if the Irontide is involved, if they had always been involved, if they had played him … maybe his first and second regrets are tied up in it too.

With that much regret involved, there’s no other option he can give himself and sleep at night (if what he does nowadays can be truly called sleep.)

He opens the folder, reaches for a pen, and begins to read.

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, chin resting on her hands that are resting on the butt of her rifle, that is leaning against what’s left of her torso.

He tries not to notice he can see right through the hole in her chest. He fails.

“Come on Cap” she tells him, and the grin is a little too steely now, a little too dark. Which she was, when it mattered. When it had to. “What did you think this was?”

He wakes up.

**

It takes a lot to not add a little hair of the dog to his coffee that morning.

He’d probably had a few too many at the Snug Harbor after. After he’d signed away his upcoming days to a cause and a company that’s got more power than he’s able to imagine. After he’d told Taelia he was fine and made his way back home. After he’d sat in his boat and stewed over what they’d told him, what it could mean, what could have happened.

But he has of all things, meetings, today. Him, meetings. Of all things. So he doesn’t tip his flask into his mug as much as it tempts him.

(He does slip it into an inner pocket of his lucky jacket though. Always good to be prepared, especially after yesterday.)

Taelia meets him in the lobby, again, but this time to get him processed for his own id, own password, own identity as a at least temporary member of Wrynn Securities. Chatting into his ear a mile a minute to give him his own private briefing for the day as they head up.

“So today the client will be here, just to do an update, and then once all of that is done we’ll get back down to actual business.” She is wrapping up her spiel when the elevator doors open and they step out almost into a small crowd of suits.

“Oh!” She says and her voice is a little shier than he’s used to nowadays. “Anduin. Hello.”

The young man in the middle of the group is … surprisingly young, actually. Not that he’s younger than Taelia, but with that name and the way he’s carefully flanked, Flynn knows who this has to be. Anduin Wrynn, current head of Wrynn Securities. He feels even more fresh faced standing between the more grizzled military sorts around him, but he also seems to carry himself with a gravitas greater than his years.

“Tae” he says, and Flynn’s not sure what to think about her casual nickname coming out of his mouth. “Go on in. I’m just waiting out here for Jaina and then we’ll be starting.”

He smiles politely over at Flynn as well, but before he can say anything the men around him shift and Shaw steps up to Anduin’s elbow. Leans forward to whisper into his ear, those bright assessing eyes scanning over to Flynn once, and then back to his charge.

“Apologies” the boy - man - says, turning away, and Taelia guides Flynn instead into the conference room ahead. The same one where he’d been bamboozled last time.

There's already a number of people that he's never met in this room. Wyrmbane is already there, seated, and Taelia guides him to the seats off to the side, sits beside him as well, and they wait.

“This seems a lot for one missing man who has been gone for awhile” he whispers to her, and she shrugs.

“Jaina and Anduin are friends. That makes it personal. Here, that can get you to the top of the list.” He knows how it is - favoritism is something you can’t escape even in something like the military that is supposed to be egalitarian. Though at least in this case he guesses it works in his favor, which is a nice switch.

He can hear the murmur of voices in the hallway, and then one of the bodyguards pushes open the door, and Anduin steps in, their client beside him.

Jaina Proudmoore. Beautiful but severe, pale hair pulled back into a tight braid, dressed in as sharp a suit as any of the men are wearing but white, clean cut and perfect. She looks nothing like the military men that surround her, but he can see Tandred in her - in the curve of her nose, the shape of her jaw. In that glint in her eye, unyielding, even as she nods at those waiting for her in the room.

It’s Wyrmbane that runs the presentation, the plan, the steps that they’re planning on taking, what they know so far. He manages not to flinch as they talk about the Irontide, revealing even more slivers of intel then he’d heard yesterday - not enough to be conclusive, not enough to be damning, but still new information that makes him worry.

Shaw remains at Anduin’s right hand, occasionally leaning in to add notes just for him, and Flynn quickly reassesses. Not just an analyst then, likely the chief analyst.

Given how he’d played Flynn’s emotions to get his honest reaction out of him, a very good one.

Not that Jaina appears to be any slouch either. She asks questions that are intelligent, and well thought. Poking at things in Wyrmbane’s presentation and plan, not attacking but definitely probing, searching for perfection.

It helps ease the difference between her and his memories. Tandred had been a great man to work with, but perfectionism hadn’t been his style. Still, after the presentation, when people are mingling and talking, he steps up to her. He has to.

“Flynn Fairwind.” He introduces himself, and he sees her tilt her head in some sort of recognition.

“Oh yes. Tandred mentioned you.” she says, and he hides a wince at how that burns, in many ways.

“He was a good mate.” is all he can say in response, and if his smile is bittersweet then so is hers, so it’s alright.

He definitely fades into the background after that though. He’s not sure if he should, but the memories choke him just a little bit. Watches from the edges of the crowd as Anduin gestures to Taelia to join them as he and Jaina walk out, still talking.

He’s not completely surprised by the fact that Shaw drifts up to beside him as the room slowly empties out. “Was I ever that young?” He marvels, looking at Anduin’s retreating back, just for the sake of something to say to not say the thing that is bubbling up inside…

“I don’t know if I want to work with you. I don’t like getting ambushed.” Flynn almost winces as the words escape his attempt to stop them. Impulse control has never been his strong suit.

“No one does.” Shaw responds, calm and level, infuriatingly so.

Flynn grits that fury back between his teeth. “I have more reasons than most.”

“I understand that.”

“How could you understand?” And maybe just a little of that anger escapes, because this time, Shaw pauses. Looks at him again, as if weighing something that Flynn can’t see.

“You commented about how young he is” it feels like a non-sequitur. “Do you know why he’s in charge?”

Varian Wrynn, killed as a result of industrial espionage and a mole inside his own company. Everyone who knows who Wrynn Securities are knows the story. Flynn nods.

“The mole was me.” Shaw says and that’s startling enough to get his full attention. “Well, not really. I was betrayed. Taken prisoner, and the mole kept the pretence of being me, still being active just working from behind the scenes. The …. project I was on made it easy for them, but my second in command at the time, my friend Amber, she figured it out.”

Shaw’s still looking at him, but not really. Eyes unfocused for a second, seeing something Flynn can’t. “They killed her for wanting to help me. To save me.” He says, stare returning directly into Flynn’s eyes and Flynn knows, right then. Shaw knows his story, all the dirty bits of it. He knows the wound that he just hit, dead on.

But given what he’s saying, if it is true … it means he knows it because he has one the same shape and size to match. “Sounds like something like that would be a big story.”

“I mean, it was. My name wasn’t in it, however. They did much worse damage.”

Shaw nods over to where Anduin is still visible behind the glass, talking to Jaina, and well. The strangely detached way he said those words makes him wonder how much Shaw is playing it down but on the grand scale - Varian Wrynn, killed as a result of industrial espionage and a mole inside his own company? A betrayal from within was enough for the papers, for the gossip. Exactly how it happened being kept quiet isn’t a surprise.

The fact that this man would expose that part of his soul to Flynn though, is. He struggles with how to ask, but he supposes his expression must give him away.

The other man shrugs. “You need to trust me enough to work with me. This is important to Anduin, so it’s important to me. And it’s important to you. So. Are we good? Or good enough to at least start over?”

Eyes, still assessing, Flynn gets the feeling they never stop with that. But something else in them. A shared understanding. A shared pain.

“We are.” He finally says, letting go of the last of the tension from yesterday. There are higher priorities.

The bright twitch of Shaw’s smile at his agreement shouldn’t be one of them, and yet something in it makes Flynn react just the same.

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, dressed all in red. No. She’s dressed in her fatigues. The red is coming from inside her.

Her tattoos, such a distinct part of her, are barely visible under the wash of color.

“It’s done, Fairwind. What can you do now?” He wants to ask her, tell her, but he can’t speak, no matter how hard he tries, how much he works to open his mouth.

He wakes up.

**

It’s hard not to fall into his old habits, hiding the clever under the loud, with all their eyes on him.

(With Shaw’s eyes on him, measuring and clear.)

“We know you’re not an idiot” Renzik says after he makes yet another self-deprecating comment to the man who is Shaw’s right hand man, busy taking him through all their Irontide intel to see what else he can help them put together while his boss and Wyrmbane go over the latest reports.

“Yeah, I know Taelia vouched for me.” Flynn states with a sigh. Bless Taelia. He doesn't know where he'd be without her.

“Not Fordragon. Crestfall.” Renzik’s smile sharpens at his shock. “What, don’t you know what Cyrus used to do?”

“He says I don’t want to know.”

“You’re right. You don’t. Same as you don’t want to know what me and the boss used to do.” And that is interesting, Flynn’s eyes shooting to the side before Renzik hastily drags him back to the info he has on active personnel vs. those idle thoughts.

It’s easier to do so when the latest folder open holds the scowling face that he can never forget on it. 'Captain Harlan Sweete' the notation says beside it, and Flynn can’t hold in the shudder.

“Run away, Captain” Harlan’s voice jeers in his head. “No one’s ever going to believe you.”

And yet here he is, among people who are not only believing him, but writing down what he tells them, helping him find connections that he didn’t make before - or maybe didn’t want to make, connections that paint the Irontide as even dirtier than he came to realize they were at the end.

Days spent tracking the Irontide down using what he knows of their operation helps balance out nights with Arva grinning at him like they’re still out on patrol, if not for the blood in her teeth.

“A job's a job mate” He’d told Arva when they’d signed on as mercs, after they’d shipped them out - him for not stopping, her as part of her endlessly supporting him. He’s starting to regret those words more and more as they reveal more and more of the truth.

But finding the truth is not a quick process and it would never be. He has to remind himself of this a lot, his impulsive and headstrong nature warring with it.

He gets to know the main team well, beyond just Taelia. Wyrmbane is completely the type he’d rebelled against in the military but here at Wrynn they can find common ground - whereas Renzik is completely the type he went drinking with far too many nights. Jes, who reports to Wyrmbane, will happily chat boats with Flynn as long as he likes. There’s even an operative who has the unfortunate last name of Champion that seems to get pulled into both Wyrmbane’s and Shaw’s orbit who is great to shoot the shit with.

Shaw he still doesn’t completely understand as much as he's finding he really wants to. But he’s clever and always watching and pulls pieces together that sometimes Flynn can’t see the connection until he lays it out plainly, in a way that’s amazing to see happen. (And, he can admit to himself in his mind where no-one knows, a way that is sometimes, oftentimes, frightfully hot.)

He relaxes enough to let through some of his normal personality in jokes that are not so self-deprecating, which the others appreciate at least even if Wyrmbane and Shaw mostly ignore them (though he swears he sees the hint of a smile on Shaw's face occasionally. Maybe.). Surprisingly, as a disparate group, they work well together, and Flynn starts feeling like maybe, just maybe, he can be part of a solution.

He hasn’t felt this at home since the days of Arva pushing him to speak out more and Tandred actually listening to him.

Between them all, progress is made, and that progress seems to point to Freehold. When he’d been in Irontide’s company, he’d heard references to a place called Freehold as a ‘safe base’, but he’d never been there. The details he has about it are sketchy, as are the details this team has, but they can start to narrow them down to a few possible locations, and ideas.

It just will take time. Which means of course one morning, Champion comes running in to their working session, out of breath. “We have a problem.” they announce, and Flynn’s heart sinks.

Because of course they can’t have the time they need, Flynn despairs. When has he ever gotten what he needs, really.

Though calling this just a problem seems underkill. Because apparently Jaina had taken her newfound knowledge of the Irontide’s involvement and decided to do some probing of her own.

“I thought she was smarter than that. We told her she had to stay out of this.” Shaw gripes, and though his expression remains as calm as normal for the first time Flynn can see the strain it’s taking for him to keep that mask.

“Emotions make people do foolish things” Wyrmbane reminds Shaw gently, but Shaw’s expression does not ease. “Who’d she talk to?”

“Priscilla Ashvane”

“The Ashvane Trading Company?” Flynn can’t help being loudly aghast. He thinks this deserves it. “They lure in people with the promise of food and then work 'em to the bone in their factories. They’d sell out kids, never you mind ladies worth considerable ransom that like sticking their noses into things.”

“They’re also old family friends of the Proudmoores, and good chance Jaina didn’t know their company’s seedy underbelly.” Wyrmbane retorts.

“Or did, and that’s why she thought they’d have information.” Shaw adds, always seeing the dark side.

“Great. Good. Super.” Is all Flynn can think of to say. He’s not sure if Proudmoore knowing or not would make it better or worse.

The last anyone had heard she was heading to somewhere near Fate’s End. Coincidentally the region where one of their potential Freehold locations sites is, an old warehouse complex on the Abyssal shore. They have not done enough research on it to confirm anything, but it’s got an active Irontide presence.

They have not done enough research to confirm much of anything about the site. But it feels like, Flynn knows to them all, they don’t have a choice. Wyrmbane wants to get a full unit together. Shaw argues for a smaller group to do recon first, given their lack of knowledge.

“I’ll go” It bursts from Flynn before he’s even completely sure he’s ready for it. “I can do recon. If we mimic their kit I can go in and sound like I belong. It may be a few years out but they can’t have changed that much.”

“And how are you going to get into the base to begin with? You any good at picking locks?” Shaw counters, and Flynn can only shrug.

“Never had to” he says, mimicking shooting through a lock.

“Except if you’re supposed to be there a gunshot will give you away. So if you’re going, so am I.”

Flynn can’t help the incredulous look he gives Shaw. He switches it to Renzik, who also looks incredulous as well, but in a different way that Flynn can’t quite put his finger on.

Shaw ignores them both and turns to Champion. “You’re coming with us. You're already in the loop and I know you’re solid at incursion strategy.” They nod, turning to head for the door as Shaw twists back to the rest of them. “The rest of you work with Wyrmbane, get the unit ready for our intel and ready to move in hot. We’ll communicate back.”

He’s out the door before anyone else gets a word in edgewise. Flynn tries one last look at Renzik in hope, but the man just jerks his chin in the direction of the door.

There’s nothing else for it. Flynn heads out at a trot to follow the others, and prays to everything he doesn’t believe in.

Chapter Text

He wants to ask Shaw if he’s sure. He wants to ask him a lot of things.

Especially when he jumps in the van without the heavier rifle both himself and Champion are sporting. At least they’re all in that same somewhat generic mercenary body armor one expects, though somehow Shaw had some Irontide insignia for them to work with to help them hopefully pass.

(He also looks harder outside of his normal sleek suits, something Flynn’s definitely going to have to unpack later.)

Shaw guides them to a few blocks away, through the back route they had noticed but not fully investigated before they knew this was their target. Cuts a portal through the chain link fence, and ducks behind something to measure the patrols.

And of course, there’s more bad news, as Champion reports. “Looks like this place is rigged so comms won’t work to the outside. Will make reporting back a bit harder than anticipated.”

And even more bad news, as Flynn catches his first glimpse of one of the patrols, swearing under his breath loudly enough that Shaw gives him a pointed glance.

“The Blacktooth Brawler company. Keep an eye out for their boss. We're, uh, not friends.” A bit of an understatement. Still. He coughs and continues. “That being said, I know their ways well enough that I can bluff us some information at least, given we’re already inside and past the gates so should be considered allied. If we can find a safe entrance.”

So they do. Between them and their skillsets they manage to duck the patrols, until they can find their way to the actual main building, to a side entrance that only has one bored looking guard.

From there it’s the Flynn Fairwind show.

Shaw attaches the insignias they do have to his armor. Flynn takes a deep breath, holds it, and then forces his body to relax. To make a slow, casual amble of his steps out visibly and moves towards the door, yawning as he does so, loudly so it’s noticeable under the half mask of his helmet.

“Howdy mate” he says, vowels tighter, accent changed enough to sound like that held by the majority of the Blacktooth men. (He’d always worked to know how to fit in better. It was safer.) “Long night for a watch.”

“You don’t look much more awake.”

“Friend, don’t you know it? I thought I was getting an off night, but apparently Sweete’s got his knickers in a twist, and you know he’s a bit much but if Raoul says jump …” He lets it trail off. Leaves it to the other man’s imagination.

The other man snorts, and a bit of the tension Flynn’s hiding relaxes. The Brawlers never really respected the other companies, even before Harlan moved up the ranks to the top. That being said, to them Raoul’s words were law - and he was banking on Raoul not loving Harlan in power, but also not being ambitious enough to argue.

“Anyways. They’re worried that we might be getting attention, so orders are now shorter shifts for guard duty, so we’re all at top level.” He continues. “I’m your relief.”

Also a thing Raoul tended to do when he was snippy. Not at all unusual in his time for him to mess with guard rotas randomly. And by the way the other man sighs annoyedly in response, not at all unusual in his time either.

“I’ll head to my bunk then. Enjoy.” The man tells him, and he nods in response. Stiffens his body up appropriately for guard duty, salutes the man heading off, and posts up like he means it. Only to relax again once the other man is gone, and Shaw and Champion can slink up to the door as he opens it and lets them all inside.

“Passable job, Fairwind.” Shaw says after they are inside and out of earshot, but the tone is playful enough that he can’t take offence.

“I’ll have you know I possess plenty of charms.” Is his only retort. Shaw’s noncommittal hum is balanced out by the twinkle in his eye.

The warehouse has a pretty standard layout, and so it doesn’t take them too long to find the location it would be most likely they’d want to keep something. They have to duck one patrol inside the building itself - very telling there are patrols on this side as well.

Flynn keeps a count in his head based on their timing. A count that doesn’t stop even as they do, hitting the barrier of their first locked room - another good sign, but not great for them. Though he now definitely is glad Shaw has come with them, given the ease at which he starts working on it.

Champion and him post up to block Shaw from view as Shaw works. He continues to count, And count. And then worry. “I think we got incoming, Shaw” he whispers. They had tried to time it between what they could tell of the patrol pattern, but they hadn’t anticipated a lock both physical and electronic. Which is kind of telling of this room having something that they dearly want to protect.

“Another reason to be careful then” Shaw responds. But doesn’t stop what he’s doing with the lock.

The patrol does come. They take them out as Shaw works. He’s never fought with Champion before but they’re both ex-military, and some habits are engrained. How to work together. How to watch each other’s backs.

Patience is not engrained though, at least not in Flynn. “How’s it going Shaw?”

“It’s a complicated mechanism. Disabling it requires patience. And finesse.” Is the response, even as the last of the men goes down and Flynn can turn back to him and plead.

“Finesse a bit faster?” The moment he says that he hears the click, and Shaw’s smile of satisfaction is a sight to behold. And Flynn knows he really should wait, but he can’t help it, impulse leading him into the room.

Into the empty room.

“She’s not here” he says, aghast, as Shaw follows him in, checking the corners like he didn’t and should have.

Flynn only turns when he hears Shaw’s intake of breath, as noticeable as if he had started swearing. Following his gaze to the camera hidden in the corner not seen from the door. Watching them both he’s sure in full hd.

The speaker above crackles to life and he hears an oh too familiar laugh. Raspy and cold and condemning. It’s like no time has passed, the icy chill spreading down his spine as he hears Harlan Sweete laughing at him, just like he’d had echoing in his ears as he’d ran away.

Behind him he can hear Shaw just outside the room giving orders to the other operative who is off camera and has not been spotted, something about using them as a distraction, something about hiding, but he cannot listen. He’s frozen to the spot, heart pounding, as Harlan Sweete’s laughter echoes into the room.

“Oh Fairwind, it is you. How predictable.” He sounds just as smarmy and smug as he remembers. “And you brought a friend. Seems dangerous, given what I did to your last one of those.”

(Run she’d told him, and he had, and he thought she would too)

Still. He can’t stay frozen. He needs to do something, to protect Shaw at least. “Now come on Harlan” he puts the drawl in his voice on strong. It had always bothered Harlan, that someone like him could be in charge when he wasn't, and it’s easy to lay it on thick . “Surely you’d prefer to make me suffer instead of some stranger.”

“He’ll enjoy the view as he waits his turn.” Harlan’s response is still smug, sadly for a good reason as he hears the echoing of multiple people approaching, fast, converging on their location. “Cause you’re the lucky one. You’re my priority.” And the way he relishes the word priority makes Flynn swallow.

“They’ll make sure you’re ready for me.”

He’s expecting the blunt end of the butt of the rifle against the back of his head, but it’s still a shock as it hits. And then darkness.

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, but her face is strained in a way he’s not used to. It could be because of the blood that is somehow seeping upwards along her skin, defying gravity. It could be something else. Something he can’t remember.

He should remember. Why ….

“Wake up Flynn” she says, but her voice is off. Something wrong. Something familiar. Not her.

He wakes up.

**

“Wake up Flynn” Shaw repeats, voice tense and his skull is throbbing the way that only getting bashed over the head can give you. (Flynn’s had a concussion or two in his time).

“You know, I’ve thought about waking up with you but this is not what I had in mind” slips out before he can stop it, his eyes flying open as he realizes. Shaw sits on the other side of the room, tied to his own chair, staring back at him. One expressive eyebrow raises at the words, but the man says nothing.

Which is good, because Flynn’s not sure he’d want to add ‘being let down easy by the guy you’re secretly in to’ on top of ‘being knocked out and tied to a chair’ to his list of current misfortunes.

Especially given after all his concerns about taking Shaw into the field, it was him that got them caught and got them in this situation. Shaw doesn’t look battered though, which is good. He assumes he would have gone peacefully once both his guards were gone. Betting on the agent he’d sent off to get help, get support.

And let’s be honest. The moment he’d heard Harlan’s voice, he knew who they would focus on. Knows who they are coming for, as two very muscle bound men enter the room, looking gleeful at the sight of him trapped and helpless. The door closes behind them but does not re-lock, which would be great except for one thing.

The Blacktooth Brawlers love hardening their knuckles in a fight, and he doubts him not being able to fight back is going to make it any less fun for them.

“Harlan says we get to mess you up good” one of them crows as he steps forward, proving his point. Flynn just stares them down, keeping his sounds low as the first fist sinks into his flesh, the second, the third, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.

Flynn hopes he can keep from crying out too early, if only for his ego. He really hopes that the cavalry gets here before Sweete does - though he has no doubt he’s watching, or having this recorded for his future viewing pleasure. Or, knowing the sick fuck, both. Though it stinks of cowardice that he’s not here to do it himself.

He’s grateful beyond anything that they’re ignoring Shaw and focusing on him because this is his mess, and what was he doing bringing him here, this is blood and pain and nothing he wants Shaw to have to deal with, he doesn’t even want to go through this not again not again …

The man swings again and Flynn winces at the cracking sound of breaking bone. Except the hit hurt but not enough to break anything, not enough to make that noise. He blinks at his attacker in confusion and the other man blinks back. And then chokes as a blade pushes through his throat. Sudden.

Final.

Flynn can only blink again in confusion as Shaw steps over the body, a knife he’s never seen before held professionally in one hand. Behind him lies the other of Harlan’s goons, head twisted at an obscene angle, neck obviously broken.

(His brain remembers the crack of bone. His brain is having trouble associating it with the work of Shaw’s hands)

(You don’t want to know what me and the boss used to do, Renzik reminds him in his mind, voice amused.)

( … still being active just working from behind the scenes … the project I was on made it easy …)

He looks at Shaw. Really looks at him. The confidence. The ease at which he holds the dagger in his hand. The absolute lack of a chance for these men, trained mercenaries, to do a damn thing about what just happened.

The analyst’s mind in apparently a killer’s body.

“Wetwork?” He asks, but Shaw doesn’t say anything. Just steps behind him to cut his ropes.

They need to move fast - he has no doubt the camera is still on. But Flynn no longer feeling he has to watch Shaw’s back to protect him finds it a lot easier to deal with than on the way in, trusting the other man to handle himself. Which he does more easily than Flynn, especially with the hits he’s taken. Flynn is really going to have to give himself shit for this later if Shaw doesn’t.

Getting out is not as hard as it could have been if they’d been moved already, dodging guards to the best of their extent, fighting only if absolutely necessary.

“Champion used us getting captured to get the intel to the team and get them here faster.” Shaw explains as they move. “Used them being distracted with capturing us to make sure he could get out unimpeded.”

As they leave, it becomes even more obvious that there is a skeleton presence here, at least now. it’s looking more and more obvious that they were played, but this time it works in their favor. They make it out beyond the fencing and barriers with limited additional damage to either of them (more to those who try and stop them, but he’s okay with that).

Given where he was only a little while ago, given where he thought he was headed, it feels miraculous.

They are free and once they’re out of sight and he feels marginally safe he turns on Shaw in giddy delight, grabbing his face and kissing him broadly on the lips because they’ve made it, Harlan can get fucked …

The world stops when Shaw kisses him back.

And not an excited sloppy celebratory kiss like he’d planted on the man, no. Shaw kisses him back with intent and the world around them begins to spin in a whole new way,

He stops abruptly as Wrynn vehicles appear on the horizon, and even as he curses their timing Flynn’s never been happier to see anyone. Flynn's happiness is only slightly tempered by the fact that once the team sweeps the base they find Harlan was never there - his voice over the speakers likely broadcast from wherever they actually are keeping Jaina, not this decoy location.

They leave the men to clean up and head back to make their report. Renzik takes notes, obviously fussing at Shaw in a way that Flynn has to hide his delight in, but he doesn’t have time to enjoy it too much before Taelia drags him to the medic.

It’s nowhere near the damage he knows Harlan had wanted, and he’s viciously glad to disappoint. Not even a concussion after all. The only solution for his woes are painkillers, a cleanup, and rest. Shaw’s beaten him to the cleanup, back in his customary suit, but Flynn can feel the grime and blood that sticks to his skin and makes him grimace - which Shaw, of course, notices.

“I’ll take Fairwind to a recovery room” he offers, and Wyrmbane waves them off. To his surprise when they hit the elevator Shaw pushes a button to take them up, not down.

“In the building?”

“I mean, we do have other safe houses, but what’s a better safe house than the highly secured building you already own?” Shaw responds, gesturing him down a hall and using his keycard to open a nondescript door. It’s a bedroom, clean and dimly lit. It looks like nothing but a pretty basic but comfortable hotel room.

And beyond that, something even more tempting than the large bed right now - a bathroom with a very large shower. A shower sounds perfect even on his own. But he’s not on his own, and that possibility, that kiss, this moment, the fact that Shaw has not left yet but followed him in … it’s a risk but one he finds he desperately wants to take.

“Please tell me you’ll join me, Shaw?” he asks and it’s probably telling something that he’s begging here when he wouldn’t make a sound before but he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of that.

There is a pause. Weighted. Charged. Shaw’s gaze is equally weighted as it assesses him once again, measures his request, his honesty. His desire.

“Mathias” the other man says as he reaches for his tie, loosening it quickly, efficiently. “Right now? Call me Mathias.”

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, and for once she looks fully and completely like Arva at the beginning of it all. No stains, no wounds, no blood. All attitude and tattoos and trouble.

Just like him.

“Of course I was.” She responds even though he never said that out loud. “Why else would they kill me?” And her saying that looking like this, untouched and clean, is somehow worse than every time she’s bled out in his arms as he struggles to wake up before she breathes her last this time.

He wakes up.

**

It’s a sudden return to awareness, breath quick in his throat, feeling eyes on him. Almost reacts badly to that and then assesses. The bruises. The bed. The body in it beside him.

Flynn turns his head to the side to find Mathias already awake, watching him with those eyes, wth a look of a man who has woken far too many time from his own nightmares to react badly to his. His moustache is slightly askew and messy in a unfamiliar way that makes Flynn have to smile despite the shadows still clinging to his mind.

“Definitely not an analyst, are you” He asks again. One eyebrow raises, a becoming familiar expression. “Well. Not just one.”

The scars that mark the skin he can see before the sheets sadly obscure him from view had been startling many under his hands last night, and even without that he can still see the easy slide of a blade through skin and muscle, hear the cracking of a neck under the other man’s hands.

Can feel the callouses on that hand that drifts carefully over the bruised skin over his ribcage, gentle instead of murderous, but marked in patterns that speak of weapons and training and honed skill.

They haven’t talked much about this spark between them. They’ve talked a lot - of work, of things that border work, of … well, he’s not sure he really has much of a life outside of work and neither does Shaw. No, Mathias. He has to get used to that.

But lying here, fingers gentle against his skin, he feels like they understand each other. Or at least he truly hopes so.

“Try and get more rest” Mathias responds, slipping from the bed, a non-answer if there ever was one. Which is an answer in its own right. Though Flynn can’t be too upset at getting a full look at all that pale skin, bare and unashamed as the other man stretches and reaches for his clothes.

His body is not a bulky thing like Flynn and Halford, but it is now he knows pure muscle, wiry and toned, its edges slowly being hidden under soft fabrics and tailored lines.

He hadn’t been quite in the condition the night before to truly explore it all, so he makes his appreciation known now, a soft low whistle as inappropriate as it is authentic. And Mathias - Shaw he supposes outside this room, balancing the two is going to be tricky - surprisingly, blushes. It rises up his cheeks straight to the roots of his equally red hair, and Flynn feels himself warm in response.

And warm not in the way he expects to either, the heat of last night, but a fondness that settles right into his chest like it belongs there. Startling, but right.

He tries to rest after he’s left alone, but rest doesn’t come easily to him at any point. He takes another shower, long, hot, sadly alone though his muscles thank him. Takes more painkillers. And then heads back to the usual floor where they work through to find the team already at work.

“Flynn! How are you feeling?” Taelia asks, all her normal concern and caring, and it shouldn’t throw him off but the fact that the others also look like they care about the answer does.

“Ah... still a bit sore. But I'll be fine.” He really wants to make the still a bit sore comment a double entendre, but he hadn’t actually been up for that much comparatively (to his continued disappointment), and he’s pretty sure Shaw wouldn’t appreciate it here now that he’s back in work mode.

“That’s what happens when you think you’re the dashing hero and not actually the damsel in distress.“ Shaw’s tone is dry, so dry, and laced heavily with the humor that normally barely peeks out. Flynn wasn’t expecting it, and neither was Taelia if her laugh is any indication.

“Sarcasm? What’s that?” He mutters to himself, secretly delighted, but freezes as he catches Renzik’s stare.

“What?” He asks, but Renzik just shakes his head and mutters as he pulls Taelia away, leaving the two of them alone. “What?”

“You really thought you were protecting me, didn’t you” Shaw says with amusement. He can hear it now, has learned to read the tones of the other man’s voice, his subtleties.

“I feel a fool now” he admits. “But me being loud and blustery did mean they hit me not you, so I technically did help you out there.”

“Perhaps next time, Flynn, you could help in a way other than hitting things with your head?” The continued playfulness is a balm after he thought he might have just been in a fuck and forget scenario, and he can’t help himself.

I don’t know, you seemed to like my he…” he begins, before bursting out in laughter at the glare the way his words were heading trigger. He’d been right the first time, definitely not the place. “Sorry.”

He leans back on the table. Leans into Shaw’s side, enjoying the warmth, the contact. Not as much warmth and contact as last night, but for mixed company it’s a lot. He hopes it’s as reassuring to Shaw as it is to him, especially given he knows the question he’s about to ask.

“Why was Renzik so worried about you going to Fate’s End, given how well you handle yourself?”

“I keep my skills up, but don’t actually do much field work anymore. Not since Varian …” his voice trails off and Flynn remembers the story. Rolls it over in his head, and imagines the strength of will Shaw would have needed to allow himself to be captured without a fight, even if it was his own plan to do so, even if it was in their best interests.

Imagines the scars his hands had felt the night before, how many of them there were, how prominent some felt even after all this time. “You’re not as okay with being taken as you’ve been playing at being, are you.” He keeps his voice pitched low, intimate, because he has a feeling he won’t get an answer if anyone else overhears.

But even then, he feels Shaw stiffen. Stand up straight, body moving out of contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fairwind.“ Fairwind, not Flynn, it’s telling the distance being added and he knows it and he sees the moment Shaw realizes what he’s given away.

The deep breath he takes seems as much as a necessity as a grounding exercise, an attempt to force the newly gained tension away. “It is what it is, Flynn. We can’t control our trauma. Just how we react to it.”

“Kinda feels like your way of reacting to it right now is shoving it back down and pretending it’s not there.” He points out, and Mathias’s soft huff is telling enough.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“Not long term sustainable, that.” He’s not really sure which of them he’s telling that too, but either way it’s not anything new.

“No, it isn’t” Shaw says, pulling himself away further, heading to where the rest of the team is already fast at work. “But it’s done us well so far.”

And well. Flynn can’t argue that one. Even if part of him really wants to.

Chapter Text

Being tricked & having their own hurt like that lights a fire under them (and doesn’t it also warm Flynn that he’s considered ‘their own’). The days following are extra furious, fueled by a combination of anger and hope.

The nights don’t always involve Mathias in his bed, not even the majority of nights, but the fact that it does happen again means it’s wasn’t just a thing about survival. Flynn can’t help but be quietly hopeful.

Also thankful, because he wasn’t up to fighting fit the first time and a man does want to give a good showing.

But even with that potential … distraction, they’re all super focused. Still, it’s Renzik who finds it. “Boss” he yells at Shaw across the room from where he’s been going over the very few documents they’d found in their search. “What if we can’t find a single location for Freehold because there isn’t a single location?”

“What, like it doesn’t exist and they were just gaslighting me the entire time?” Flynn gripes, though he wouldn’t put it past them. He doesn’t put anything past them anymore.

“No, like it’s moving.”

The words drop into the room like a bomb, silence falling after it as they all consider his words. And then it clicks - every location they have on their list is on the water.

“Fuck” Flynn swears. “It’s a boat?”

Renzik waves a paper in the air as they converge on his spot, Shaw pulling it from him and placing it on the table in front of them. And there it is - information about a tanker ship, smaller size for a tanker but larger than the Irontide would normally ever use or find useful.

The Tide’s Purchase.

“Except I traced it back” Renzik proclaims with pride. “Look at this.”

He turns the monitor back towards them, and Flynn nearly growls as he reads it. Ship name formerly the Siren’s Call. Bought by the Irontide from the Ashvane Trading Company.

“Freehold” Wyrmbane mutters. “Is a term used when you purchase property and own both it and the land its on. When it’s completely yours.”

“If anyone thinks owning a ship means they own the sea, Harlan does” Flynn retorts, frustration and elation bubbling over. “The Tide’s Purchase, where purchase has a double meaning? It feels too right to me. And not in a fake trap way either. Not this time.”

“We need to be sure first” Shaw cautions, but Flynn’s still elated enough for all of them.

It explodes from there. No longer just this little team, they move back into the large boardroom, setting up reports, intel, information. Other teams come in, other specialities, other leaders on Wyrmbane’s level and probably beyond, to talk through what is essential a large scale assault plan. At sea.

Far less simple and requiring more planning than normal, than he's used to. Even a lawyer, who introduces himself as Umbric, shows up to handle the legalities of it - because of course they’re not the military, they have other rules to follow, he sometimes forgets that. It’s all new and strange to him, this part.

He sees Anduin across the room at one point, head lowered as he chats fiercely with Shaw, and he knows that must mean they’re close to go. He’s honestly surprised when the young man approaches him as well. “Jaina Proudmoore is the priority” Anduin tells Flynn, and he grins ruefully.

“I know. I promise.” And he does. He gets it, even if the back of his hindbrain wants revenge and Harlan’s blood on the ground.

“You’re not the only one angry” he continues, and huh. How about that. There is a line of steel and yes, anger in the back of the young lion’s words that Flynn hadn’t known to expect, though on second thought he probably should have.

He’s had friendships where you would leverage all you had to help someone you considered family - one of those led him to this very moment, after all. He thinks about what that means in a world where you have more resources than your own gun and it’s a very different world but it now makes a very familiar sense.

Thinks about the familiar way he and Jaina had chatted. Thinks about Anduin & Shaw’s heads leaned together as well.

“The living come first.” He nods, and the bright smile on Anduin’s face as he nods in return before heading off to talk to Wyrmbane - the fact that it’s directed at him and him alone, that he cared enough to take this moment- also makes him start to understand why even after it all, Shaw stayed.

With all that buildup it’s almost a relief to find himself on a black, fast, boat heading across dark waters, one of many. There are helicopters waiting to rush in too, but he gets to be part of the first assault, a fact he’s quite happy about.

He’d always wondered if they wanted him just for what he knew, or if they would also see him as a solid operative. The fact that he’s given a small group to lead, Taelia and some operatives he’s never met before, seems to indicate the latter.

Still, even with that confidence and the backup, his stomach rolls a little when he sees the Purchase on the horizon. ‘You good?” Taelia asks him, and he wonders what his expression says that has led her to ask that. He assumes he probably doesn’t want to know.

“We're here, and this wind's not doing my hair any favors. Let's get Jaina and get out quick, yeah?”

It’s pitched and bloody at times, but surprise is working on their side - he supposes with a boat you can get a little complacent, not expecting anyone to assault you, knowing how much more difficult you’ve made it.

Unless of course the company assaulting you has the skillset to pull off an assault and the ridiculous money behind it to field it. He’s mightily happy for Jaina Proudmoore’s taste in friends and where it’s led, for certain. For many a reason.

He’s not the one who first spots Harlan - Taelia and he had been dispatched with a squad to the bridge on the assumption that Harlan thinks himself ‘Captain’ in more ways than one, but though they secure the bridge for Wrynn he’s not there.

Instead his comms light up to tell him Harlan is apparently in some makeshift setup in the hold instead, and a vaguely familiar voice even over the noise says that the team that has found him have subdued him for ‘travel’.

Shaw is waiting outside the area when he gets there. Says not a word, just nods at him and leads him in.

Harlan … is older than he remembers. Less fit than he remembers. Less hair than he remembers too. And less of a looming presence. He sees Champion standing over the man’s shoulder, that voice on the line, and nods in recognition, and thanks.

Harlan’s head raises when they walk in, though he has no eyes for Shaw - even now, Flynn supposes, the man skates under the radar.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because Harlan’s too consumed with his hatred for one Flynn Fairwind, yet again. Words flying out at him before he even comes to a spot. “I was your second in command, not that bitch. Just because she came with you, you had to listen to her instead of to me. It was my job” the word comes out as a shout, as almost a whine “to make you listen to me.”

Harlan’s snarl used to make him shiver, but here, trapped in a corner by men better than him, Flynn is beginning to see how little and ineffectual the man behind the bluster actually is when he can’t stack the odds in his favor. It tilts his world a little on its axis - he had been so afraid, for so long.

Not that this realization is clear to Harlan, by how he continues. “Why do you think they gave me to you? It was my final trial. You were supposed to be a good little captain for us, or you were supposed to be dead.”

Even cornered, animals can attack, and although restrained he can’t bite or take a swing, Harlan can still spit at him. It hits him squarely in the chest, no higher (had he always been this short?), and drips down. “You failed at both.”

“You know me, Harlan. I’m good at failing” Flynn responds, and when he grins he can feel the blood in his teeth (like Arva’s blood when they’d run her through while trying to kill him, when she was still trying to save him even after what they’d already done to her in his name).

He can feel the violence suffuse him as he raises his gun arm up.

He can feel the moment Shaw decides not to stop him, and that’s what stops him from firing. He bashes Harlan’s head with the butt of the gun instead and tries not to admit how much he enjoys watching the other man collapse before he steps back to let him be hauled off instead.

Hopefully he’ll have a concussion. If not, at least one nasty headache courtesy of his own personal failure. Either of which he’ll get to suffer through in a cell, which Flynn realizes now is good enough for him.

Speaking of cells too, they have cells to open. He sees Shaw already back there, unlocking one before passing to the other. “Lady Proudmoore” he hears Champion say at that first cell, and feels his breath escape in relief, especially as she shrugs off any attempt to help her walk and moves with an uncomfortable stiffness but still with an unbroken fierceness.

There had been some part of him that wondered if the reason they hadn’t found her was that she’d already been killed, or at least broken, and to see her still standing tall is a relief.

But relief is not the right word for what follows next. Instead, his breath is knocked back out of him though as Shaw emerges from the second cell, slowly, helping an emaciated, neglected looking - but still of all things, impossibly alive - figure hobble out of the second cell.

Tandred Proudmoore blinks slowly as he steps into the light once more.

Chapter Text

**

In his sleep Arva grins at him, her one eye twinkling, though its effect is somewhat cancelled out by the gaping hole where her other eye should be, the slow trickle from it down her face to mingle with the rest. He hates to see her like this. (The last way he’d seen her, before she’d pushed him away, before the killing blow.)

Her cheek is wet but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Let it go, Flynn. You got the bastard.” She tells him, and her voice is kind, too kind, so kind after everything, after giving everything, his greatest regret and shame and …

He wakes up.

(His cheek is wet too)

**

There’s something off. It’s his own bed, snug in his boat, the soft rocking of the water soothing as always, but something’s off. And not just the tears he has to roughly scrub from his face. Rolling to the right, his eyes glance over the bedside table. His eyes focus finally on the small dish that lies beside the clock. Gold cufflinks, eagle heads with glittering blue gem eyes that stare back at him.

Very much not the norm in his bedroom. In his wardrobe.

If that wasn’t enough of a sign that he wasn’t alone, the smell of bacon would be. Flynn Fairwind tumbles himself out from bed, rubs his cheeks dry again, grabs his robe, and heads out into the galley.

The other man is mostly dressed, which is disappointing though he supposes the right choice for bacon. Flynn watches as Shaw fusses with the pans, trying to make them fit better on the very small sized stovetop. “Not quite up to your standards?”

“I’ve slept in comfier places.” Mathias admits, even as he slides the eggs onto a plate. “Also slept in far worse.”

“But you stayed.” He points out even as he pours himself a coffee, easing himself around the other man’s body in this tight space.

“You needed it.”

Which, truth. The retrieval of Tandred Proudmoore, still alive, being kept as collateral, as blackmail, as a trophy, but most importantly as a living and breathing (albeit not so well) man, had shook him, hard. He’d not even been able to move forward until Tandred blinked confusedly at him, as if seeing him through a long veil of too many false dreams to believe in.

He’d kept it together until they’d gotten him and his sister out to a helicopter, to be taken with all the guards Wyrnn could put in place to somewhere safe to be looked over and recovered. He’d not lasted much longer himself.

But that was yesterday. This is now, in his own home, in his own kitchen, and so he finds himself to his normal seat and looks up. Here, after it all, feeling more unguarded than ever. And decides for once to be honest. “Not it. I needed you.”

Because he wouldn’t have made it home in one piece without him. He’d maybe have made it to the pub, and maybe had drunk until he was done regretting, but he wouldn’t have made it to a place where he was showered, and cleaned, and put to bed and watched over every time he wasn’t able to keep his eyes closed until he did.

Where he was cared for. Not a lot of his life has contained someone who cares for him potentially just because.

Though given how he acts he doubt Shaw’s has either, and he can tell that Mathias wasn’t expecting the honesty. Sees him pause, to think. And given how quickly the man’s mind works, it says a lot that there’s a noticeable pause.

“What would you say to me if I told you that was a foolish thing to need?”

He’s dealt with a lot of his trauma in the last day. He supposes he can carry a little of someone else’s, in trade. “A lot of people consider me a fool, Mathias. What’s new?”

Shaw sighs, and the weight of it could fill the entire room if they let it. “I’m serious, Flynn.”

He could argue. He could explain all the reasons why the other man is wrong. But he knows it won’t get him anywhere. So instead, he just shrugs. “You can’t tell me to get over myself and not get over yourself, mate. If you want me to accept that I’m not a fool, you need to accept that you aren’t a liability.”

Those eyes are back. Assessing. And then Mathias huffs out a small laugh and leans forward. Placing the eggs in front of him and a kiss on his lips to boot. For no reason Flynn can see other than because he’s wanting to, and if that’s enough to make his eyes a little wet again, well, it’s not the first time this morning.

Mathias gives him another pause though, lets him stare down at his breakfast even as he finds his way to the other side of the table with his own, legs intermingling beneath where there’s not enough room for both of them and yet he manages to make it work.

Lets him have a moment to breathe, to think. And for bacon, so important.

“Originally I thought you were looking for a way out.” Mathias finally continues, looking at his plate vs. fixing Flynn with those all seeing eyes, as if to give him the space that their position will not. “Then once I knew you hadn’t betrayed your friend, revenge. It didn’t really all come together til I realized what you were really looking for.”

“What’s that?”

“Peace.”

Flynn can’t help the bitterness in his laugh. Even after it all, he hadn’t slept well last night and he knows Shaw knows too. “Haven’t found that yet.”

Ah. There’s those eyes again, assessing, capturing. He’s gotten addicted to the rush he gets from them, he must admit it. “Here’s the secret Flynn. You won’t. Not completely.”

A tip of his head. He knows it’s the truth. But still. “Not the secret I was hoping you’d share.” There’s a little bit of innuendo in his tone, but it’s muted. A little more honest today.

They’re both a little too honest today, apparently, as Mathias leans back. “Not the one I’d like to know either. But you can find pieces of it. In the ways you can make up for it. In the people you trust.”

The warmth in his chest returns. To be trusted by this man, Flynn figures, is a damn honor. To potentially be loved by him, if he keeps playing his cards right, even more so.

“I trusted Arva, and despite how it ended do not regret that. She was the only true family I ever had. I trust you too. I’d prefer you not die for me, though.” A sip of coffee as Shaw shakes his head at him, as he decides to make a joke it, because he can - and because it's easier. “Kill for me however, I can work up a list of people who have annoyed me, Mr. Assassin.”

Shaw snorts at him, humorously, before going still, serious. Personality switching on a dime. “Do you want Harlan dead?”

It could be another probe into his motivations from yesterday, to his mental state this morning. But Flynn feels, with a chill up his spine, that he knows exactly what it truly is, this casual question from across the table.

That he could say the word and Harlan would be dead in his cell and no one would ever know why.

The man’s life in his hands. He considers it, weighs it against Arva, against Tandred, against years of fear and blood spilled, and decides. “Nah. He’ll suffer beautifully in prison.”

Shaw hums, finishing up his breakfast, relaxed again, and Flynn relaxes too. But has to ask. “Any other earthbreaking questions for me before I’ve even finished my first cuppa?”

He sees Mathias considering, truly considering. Despite the joke in his tone, Shaw takes him seriously when he wants him to, and he appreciates that. “Did you have a crush on Tandred? Or just respect him?”

Huh. A good question. Especially good given where they are headed, if last night is any indication. “I honestly don’t know mate. I do know that this isn’t just a crush though. Is that enough?”

Because it isn’t. He doesn’t know how to do this - he’s never been good at serious relationships, even before things went downhill. But he can tell the difference between the warmth that beats in his chest every time Shaw is near (and even sometimes when he isn’t), and all the times before it.

In its own way it's just as scary as hiding from murderous mercenaries. But he wants it anyways. And with his biggest fears put to bed - to a bed in a cell, hopefully as uncomfortable as can be - he doesn’t see any reason to not try.

A nod is all he gets in response as the other man gets up from the table, empty plate in hand, though there’s a hint of blush rising up his cheeks again. Idly Flynn tries to figure out what he’d have to do to get his skin to match his hair color. “Finish your breakfast. We’ve got work to do.”

Flynn groans. Paperwork. So not his thing. But first, he has bacon to finish, and a handsome man to tease, so he’ll suppose he’ll make do.

Chapter Text

Paperwork ends up more interesting than he’d given it credit for, because it includes a paper trail with all sorts of tidbits.

Like the fact the Tide’s Purchase had been ‘purchased’ with the kidnapping of one Tandred Proudmoore, in a move that looks like a combination of poisonous jealousy and dirty business acumen on the behalf of Priscille Ashvane.

His doing so had started Harlan’s rise to a leadership position in the Irontide, before his lack of control over Flynn to stop anyone looking into it had interfered. So instead he’d sabotaged and bribed and killed to come out on top.

But Harlan didn’t trust anyone, so Tandred was kept alive to keep Priscilla from turning on him. And since she was trapped in this arrangement with Harlan, what difference did a second kidnapping make once Jaina asked the wrong (right) questions?

Though he feels Priscilla may have underestimated the difference. Tandred, although Flynn’s favorite, wasn’t really Command’s darling (for admittedly the same reasons). He had family connections, true, but on his own didn’t wield any large power.

Jaina Proudmoore? Now that woman is a force to be reckoned with in her own right, a force with the ability to call people with a lot of power, and even more impressively, call press conferences that get a lot of attention. “It’ll be a good addition to the news tonight, alongside the video of Priscilla and Harlan being arrested” Jaina tells them, and her smile is as scary in its own ways as Shaw’s offer had been.

Flynn decides right then and there he’s going to do his best to stay on this woman’s good side.

“I talked to mother” she mentions to him, as they play her armed guard on the trip back to the hospital where Tandred still remains, recovering slowly. “She remembered you.”

He’s only seen her mother once, but she had seemed very much like her daughter. Upright and unyielding. He takes the chance to ask. “Is she the reason they didn’t lock me away and throw away the key?”

Jaina nods, and his laugh is rueful. The line between dishonorable and honorable apparently as thin as a mother’s anger. “Always figured it might be but never knew.”

“You kept trying when no one else did. You had hope, when no one else did. She couldn’t see you penalized for that.”

He keeps thinking about that, as he travels back to Wrynn after dropping her and her current guards - including his new buddy, Champion - off. In the years that had followed, he’d somewhat forgotten that Flynn. The one who kept trying, who kept fighting, who kept hope.

It’s wild to him that getting back into the world he’d been hiding from had somehow brought that Flynn back at least a little. But he supposes he was hiding from more than Harlan, after it all. He supposes he had been hiding from himself just as much.

Making his way back into the boardroom, it feels so empty now. Papers and maps all taken down, boxes stored away, the team no longer heads down, searching for something that had seemed so far away. Renzik, carrying the last box, shoots him a sidelong smile and nod as he carries it out, and Flynn beams back.

The only people still in the room now are Wyrmbane and Shaw, sitting at the one remaining table, talking over something that he doesn’t hear, but that stops as he enters the room. “So what are you going to do now?” Wyrmbane asks, leaning back in his chair. “What's next on the agenda for Flynn Fairwind?”

And oh. That’s right. His contract had been temporary after all, only to come in and finish what he’d started a lifetime ago.

He’d like to pretend to pause to consider, to make them consider, but why really? “What do you think I'm gonna do, mate?! I'm gonna use this money to buy everyone a round at the Snug Harbor, and then maybe you all could consider taking me on for the next adventure?”

“Possibly could be arranged” Mathias says, dry so dry. Flynn slips him a wink, just cause.

Halford just pushes another folder across the table to him.

Flynn grins and reaches for a pen.

(And in the back of his mind, Arva grins with him.)