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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

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The Beryl Coronet pt 1

Another one where I remember the title and then literally nothing else. There are a lot like that. I swear I have read most of these before, and watched the entire Granada series, but apparently my memory is just appalling.

One assumes that there will be a beryl coronet involved. i think beryls might be emeralds? (The Internet says both aquamarine and emerald are examples of beryl, my fleeting interest two decades ago in precious and semiprecious stones finally pays off!)

“Holmes,” said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone.”

So we're starting out strong here. In one paragraph we have established that Watson is living with Holmes ('our bow-window') (where is his wife?) and with some period-typical judgement of mental health. I'm guessing the man in question is probably agitated from whatever incident has sent him to request Holmes' assistance, and not suffering from a mental illness, but the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Or it could be the onset of brain fever...

For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room.

Well that definitely sounds like he does have some condition. And if he didn't before, beating your head against a wall that hard is liable to give you some brain damage if you're not lucky. Glad that Watson and Holmes stopped him.

"Public disgrace I might have faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”

Oh, no, I was right the first time. He's just agitated by his misfortune. Wow... this guy lacks coping mechanisms. He's really hyping this up, though, Public disgrace, private affliction, shaking his soul, the very noblest in the land (not that I particularly care about them, but the stakes they are high). I assume from the title that it's a beryl coronet that has been misplaced in some publicly noticeable way. If it turns out that he just misplaced the meat for his dinner, I will be judging him hard for all this melodrama.

“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I hastened here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure your co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very little exercise."

Mr Holder: Time is of the essence.

Also Mr Holder:

We don't need to know how you got to Baker Street, we already know you arrived. Maybe if things are so urgent you should... start with the urgent thing and then talk about how unfit you are and how you need to do more exercise.

“‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that I should have £50,000 at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one's self under obligations.’"

First off, hello BofE inflation calculator: 50k in modern money is approximately £5.2 million today.

Second, 'I could just ask my friends. I totally could ask them and they could all give me this money easily. I'm only here because I want this to be business. I don't want to be obliged to them.' Why does this very famous person (Prince of Wales?) feel so defensive about this? He doesn't need to explain why he's asking a bank not his friends. That's literally what the bank is there for. This feels like what someone would say if they didn't have any friends. Or if they'd already borrowed millions from their friends and never paid them back.

“‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.’"

I know this guy is famous and (probably) royal and therefore by the rules of these stories therefore probably above reproach, but I would not want to give him a 5 million pound loan. The 'I could totally ask my friends' and this 'I'm totally going to pay you back on Monday. I've got loads of money coming on Monday' are warning signs for me.

"‘You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?’ “‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I."

Yep, my money is on this being Albert, Prince of Wales, him what would become Edward VII. Iirc he had a bit of a reputation for being a party boy prince, so if he really can't get any money from his friends (even if asking for 5 million were a reasonably thing to do) I wouldn't be surprised if it was because he wasn't good at paying people back.

This mfer just casually totes around some of the crown jewels, though. Just got 10 million in a case that he's carrying around. No one will miss it for a little while. I guess at this time they weren't on display at the Tower of London. I really want this coronet to be stolen so bad, and I have a feeling it's going to be.

"...imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured velvet..."

Whytf did you call it 'flesh-coloured'? Is the colour that important that you needed to specify it, and even if you needed to specify it, why choose those words? Why? Couldn't it have been red, or blue, or green? Why 'flesh-coloured'? ACD, I just want to talk.

"'Is the security sufficient?’ “‘Ample.’"

Well, if this guy says there's ample security, I guess there must be. Clearly that's enough reassurance for me to leave my ten million pound shiny hat here with no problems at all. Details? Who needs details? Pah. It's just a priceless object that technically belongs to the state rather than me.

I don't want this coronet to be recovered. I want it to be lost forever. Whoever stole it should get a gold star.

But it's okay because he makes it very clear that it shouldn't be lost or damaged.

"When I was alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in front of me..."

And then walks out leaving it just on the desk of this random guy he's never met before.

"I already regretted having ever consented to take charge of it."

Should have thought about that earlier, my dude. Also, if you know it's a national possession, is it even legal for the Prince of Wales to use it as collateral for a loan? Surely it would have to actually be one of his possessions to be valid. Or at least having the signature of the actual owner (Queen Victoria in this case, although possibly parliament?) to be used as such. Nothing about this loan is a good idea.

If he doesn't repay it are you just going to... keep national property?

"However, it was too late to alter the matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to my work."

You just... put it in your own private safe?

WTF even is this buffoonery? How is this... What is this... I can't even. Does the bank not have a secure vault? With guards etc.? But no, any safe will do.

"I determined, therefore, that for the next few days I would always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might never be really out of my reach."

I guess the bank does not have a vault. Or a night watchman, or literally ANY KIND OF WAY OF DEALING WITH ITEMS LIKE THIS. When it seems that this is something that they are in the habit of doing, although maybe not on this level. And they clearly have £1000 notes hanging around. Do they just all have them in their individual safes as well?

"I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room."

Super secure. A+ job.

I've seen those old bureaus, the locks are so simple I could pick one with one of my hair pins!

I am fully on the side of any and all thieves in this escapade (unless it turns out the Prince of Wales has hired them himself for nefarious purposes) but at this point in time I have lost most of the sympathy I have for these people.

The only reason I don't think it should be stolen right now is that, honestly, it presents so little challenge to any potential thieves it's actually insulting.

"She came with an excellent character, however, and has always given me satisfaction."

Language evolves, meaning changes, this does not mean what it looks like it means. But still, it gives me the ick. Nope. No thank you. Especially when followed by the description of how pretty she is.

"My family itself is so small that it will not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes—a grievous disappointment."

Oh boy. So you took a ten million pound coronet and locked it in a desk in the same house as a son who is perpetually in debt and cannot be trusted with money. Even if he didn't take it, which seems likely as he's clearly being marked as the most obvious suspect. I stg you should not be this foolish.

“And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George Burnwell should gain an influence over him, for [...] I have found myself that I could hardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his cynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so, too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman's quick insight into character."

Add a fae to the tally of Sherlock Holmes supernatural encounters. Also, I'm going to call it now, Arthur is blameless and Mary is in love with Sir George Burnwell and they're going to run away together, or that's what he told her when he convinced her to steal the coronet. That's my theory. We shall see...

"She is a sunbeam in my house—sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be."

A thief? Honestly I want her to be even more after this description. The Victorian ideals of femininity were so trite. I hope she stole that coronet.

"I think that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late—forever too late!"

... it is not a woman's job to fix a man, Mr Holder. If this story ends with her marrying Arthur I will be very sad. Although from the 'too late' is one of them dead?

“When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client."

You just... told them about it. Just... He says be discreet. It's 10 million pounds (£100k at the time). Your son has money problems. And you're just out here chatting about how you have essentially part of the crown jewels of the British Empire in a drawer upstairs.

My dude...

My actual dude...

You should have just taken the coronet out and used it as a centrepiece. it would have been less obvious.

Also, it's part of the crown jewels, how much use do you think 'suppressing the name of your client' is going to bloody be. There aren't a lot of people who can just help themselves to national bloody treasures.

“‘Where have you put it?’ asked Arthur. “‘In my own bureau.’ “‘Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the night.’ said he. “‘It is locked up,’ I answered. “‘Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I have opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.’"

That's what I said! Also... this is evidence in Arthur's favour because only the stupidest person in the world would say 'I could steal that' and then steal it. Although... given the levels of intelligence his father is showing, we can't hold out much hope for him. Perhaps his mother was the brains of this operation. I hope for Arthur's sake he takes more after her than his father.

"I started to go round the house to see that all was secure—a duty which I usually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as I approached. “‘Tell me, dad,’ said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, ‘did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’"

I'm going to try not to make this a Naval Treaty situation again. Data, data, data, etc. So instead of making an accusation here, I'm merely going to ask what Mary was doing at the window before she closed it, and point out that she is drawing attention to another possible suspect and also has good knowledge of all ways to access the house and ample opportunity to leave something open or unlocked.

These may all be coincidences. There are potential valid explanations for all of these things.

Or she might have just sent a message to Sir George Burnwell and planning to steal a coronet this evening.

“‘She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she has only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.’"

Though the narrative now wants us to think that Lucy is meeting with Sir George Burnwell... but my money is still on Mary. We already know Lucy has lots of suitors who hang around the grounds, she might well have been meeting with one of them.

"Are you sure that everything is fastened?’ “‘Quite sure, dad.’"

Only her word for that.

Not that I'm accusing her of anything. I'm merely... pointing things out. Factual things.

“‘Arthur!’ I screamed [...] "He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I snatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing. “‘You blackguard!’ I shouted, beside myself with rage. ‘You have destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels which you have stolen?’"

Some other facts that have been established. Arthur loves Mary and has asked her to marry him on multiple occasions. Just throwing that one out there. If he is trying to cover up a crime/take the blame for someone... perhaps...

Also, Mr Holder 'You have dishonoured me forever!'? Sure, but you dishonoured yourself first by being so very, very bad at your job. You had one job.

“‘You have called me names enough,’ said he, ‘I will not stand it any longer. I shall not say another word about this business, since you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in the morning and make my own way in the world.’"

Arthur making some interesting choices here. Like 'I know I was just found with my hands on a broken national treasure, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to walk out of this one a free man.'

When you said he was spoiled, Mr Holder, I didn't think you meant that he really didn't understand the meaning of the word 'consequences' at all.

Although maybe you should have listened to him before biting his head off. I know things look pretty damning, but maybe talking would have been a better approach. "Hey, son. What you got there?" But I get that it's a little difficult to remain calm when you're looking at the twisted remains of both a ten million dollar mistake and your entire career/life.

"Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the whole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the ground."

Convenient. First, that she was so close to the room that she would be the first to rush in, and second, that she's now unavailable for questioning.

But seriously, Mary, I am behind you all the way on this. Keep at it! I am cheering you on. I hope your performance was Oscar worthy.

I don't know what Arthur expects his father to do here. Lie, maybe, and say 'I don't know what happened to it, Your Royal Highness. Must have been a random thief and absolutely not the son who I told the location to and who I found red-handed with it.' I firmly believe he's innocent and his father walked in on him trying to fix the thing, but even so he's coming across as kind of naive here. I get maybe hoping that Daddy wouldn't turn him in, but he must have thought it was a possibility.

“‘At least,’ said he, ‘you will not have me arrested at once. It would be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house for five minutes.’"

Before Sir George can get away with the missing gems.

Mary, keep playing dead, if you faint for long enough you'll miss all of it. Although your... maybe potential boyfriend... might ditch you. Probably will ditch you. If that's what's happening. I really hope he's not just playing you and the two of you are going to take those gems, get them recut and sold, and sail off into the sunset (hopefully not interrupted by a random shipwrecking incident), but something tells me Sir George Burnwell is playing you.

"...I implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one who was far greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would convulse the nation."

This is not a convincing argument. Honestly, if I was told that what I was doing might cause a scandal for the royal family, I would absolutely have the impulse to do it harder. I get that I am not the Victorian son of a gentleman, but still. 'You have to save the royal family from scandal' would just make me laugh. They wouldn't be in a scandal if they hadn't done something scandalous.

"A search was made at once not only of his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats."

When would he have had time to hide them that well, considering he was still holding the coronet when you found him? Also, if he is, as I suspect, covering for Mary, then he's probably sure he's doing the noble and honourable thing by protecting her reputation or whatever.

"My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!”

Well, maybe you start by inventing time travel to go back and tell your past self to do better.

Tbf, regarding his mental state, if I had, through my own fault, lost/damaged an object someone had entrusted to me that was worth ten million pounds, particularly someone with as much power as the Prince of Wales, I would be in a catatonic state. So yeah. But also, any sympathy I have had for Mr Holder has been lost at every single step of this process. Why does the bank not have a vault for this purpose? Why did he take it home when he didn't have anywhere safe to put it? Why did he tell anyone he had it? Why did he not move it after being told by his son how insecure the bureau was?

And, to back up my theory with text. Reasons I suspect Mary:

She was present during the conversation when Mr Holding told them about the coronet and where he put it.

She also heard Arthur saying how easy that bureau was to break into.

She was at the window that night for an unknown reason.

We only have her word as to the house being locked up that night.

Arthur is unwilling to say anything in his own defence, which makes me think he is covering for someone. The only person we have been given reason to believe he would protect in the text (other than maybe his father) is Mary. He could be secretly in love with Lucy, but given we already have evidence of his affection for Mary, that would be an abrupt turn.

So that's my theory: Sir George Burnwell and Mary are secret lovers and Mary, hearing about the golden opportunity her foolish uncle has presented her with, tells her lover, then either Mary or both of them, go to steal it. Arthur, who honestly might have been in there trying to get £200 for his own debts, witnesses this, attempts to stop it. The coronet is broken. Either Burnwell gets away with the jewels, or Mary does and gives them to him (through the window we saw her at earlier perhaps?) and then hears the yelling and runs upstairs just in time to give the theatrical performance of her life.

#Letters from Watson #The Beryl Coronet #Sherlock Holmes #Yes I am back on my bullshit #But Mary's totally guilty #right?#I'd be more positive about it if I wasn't also pretty sure she's being manipulated into it and won't get to see any profit #She gaslit gatekept girlbossed too close to the sun

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year

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To Be a Man - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Wife!OC (Sophie)

Word Count: 2.2k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Secret Marriage; Non-Traditional Family Dynamics; Mentioned Death of Minor OCs; Marriage of Convenience/Necessity; Mentions of Type 1 Diabetes; Third Person POV, Named OC kids and Wife, No Physical Descriptions of Any OCs

Summary: Hangman is married. And it’s no one else’s business.

Prologue Part 2 Part 3

Master List

A.N. Disclaimer - I don’t have Type 1 diabetes and so this is purely based off of a little research and what I’ve seen my friends with Type 1 do.

“You’re married!?”

Hangman turned around at the accusation to find the rest of the Daggers, save for Coyote, who he was talking to before they were so rudely interrupted, staring at him like he had grown a second head. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, not sure why it was any of their business.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Who the hell are you married to?” Rooster asked, earning a condescending smirk from Hangman.

“My wife.”

“Well, no shit Sherlock.”

“Where’s your wedding ring then?” Payback questioned, leaning on the table to inspect Hangman’s left hand. “I’ve never seen you wear one around.”

“It’s on my dog tags, dipshits,” Hangman replied, pulling out the chain to show them, even though he didn’t have to do that. “That a crime?”

“Why do you flirt with other women then?” Bob inquired, sharing a look with Phoenix. “Two women gave you their numbers last night alone.”

“Did you see me calling either one of them?”

“Well . . . no, we didn’t, but—”

“—When did you get married?” Phoenix intervened, tilting her chin up and narrowing her eyes a bit. “And where is she?”

“Two years ago. And she’s driving here right now,” Hangman stated, checking his watch. Pulling out his phone, he looked up his wife’s location before turning back to the Daggers. “She’s about five minutes away, if you want to be specific.”

“She’s staying here with you?”

“For a while, yeah. Like anyone else’s spouse would,” Hangman retorted, getting a bit annoyed with all of the questions. “Why?”

“Well, we’ve got to meet Mrs. Seresin,” Rooster drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “Since we’ve heard so much about her.”

“Do you even have a picture of her?” Fanboy questioned, causing Hangman to shoot him an annoyed look.

“Yes.”

“Well, are you going to show it to us?”

“No,” Hangman snorted, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

The Daggers continued to list of questions that Hangman half-answered, half-gave bullshit responses, before Hangman spotted a familiar silver car rolling into the lot. Ignoring the Daggers, he set his drink down and got up from his seat, slipping around the railings on the back porch of the Hard Deck to greet his wife. Coyote was about to take a sip of his drink when he found five sets of eyes trained on him.

“I’m not telling you guys anything,” Coyote stated, shaking his head. “They’ll be here in five seconds.”

“So, you knew the whole time that Hangman was married?” Payback questioned, causing Coyote to nod in return. “And you never thought to mention that?”

“Not my business to tell.”

“Jake!” a shrill voice that definitely belonged to a little kid broke through the air.

The Daggers all quickly pivoted from Coyote to the boardwalk where a girl, probably around six, sprinted down the wooden path. Hangman picked up his pace and scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. And if the Daggers weren’t confused and befuddled before at Hangman’s personal life, they sure were now.

“He’s a dad!?”

“What the hell is he doing with a kid!? This is Hangman we’re talking about, right?”

“She called him Jake, dumbasses,” Phoenix pointed out, though she watched the interaction closely. “What kid calls their dad by their first name?”

Hangman kept walking with the girl in his arms, chatting excitedly with her. Then another kid, a boy probably three or four years old, jumped up onto the boardwalk and raced towards Hangman as well. The Daggers grew even more confused. Hangman leaned over and scooped him up like he weighed nothing, pressing a kiss to the side of the boy’s head.

A woman finally stepped out from in between two cars and pulled Jake in for a tight hug, which he tried to return as best he could with two kids in his arms. The Daggers watched their interaction like hawks but gave each other confused looks when the woman, who they presumed was Jake’s wife, pulled away with just a kiss pressed to his cheek.

“That’s his wife, right?” Rooster asked Coyote, who nodded. “They’re not that affectionate?”

“Maybe five strangers staring at them makes them a little uncomfortable,” Coyote suggested, taking a sip from his beer.

Hangman eventually led his family to the back of the Hard Deck, dreading the conversation that awaited him. Jake’s wife glanced up at the Daggers, who were clearly waiting for them, before turning to Jake. Nudging him gently with her hip, she jerked her head in the direction of his squad.

“Did you tell them anything?”

“Nope,” Jake replied, shaking his head. “Not a single thing.”

The family of four made their way up to the back deck. Setting Leila on the ground and taking her hand as they walked up the stairs, Hangman finally turned to face the stunned and even more curious Daggers. Leila hid a bit behind his leg, always a bit shy around strangers, but he rested a hand on her shoulder to remind her that he was there and that it was all alright.

“Everyone, this is my family. Family, these are the Daggers,” Hangman introduced, half-assed, earning an immediate poke in the side from his wife. Gritting his teeth slightly, Hangman restarted. “Daggers, this is Leila and this is Tyler and this is my wife, Sophie”

After Hangman introduced her, Sophie waved politely in greeting to the Daggers, who awkwardly waved back to her. Withholding an eyeroll, Hangman started on the introductions in the other direction.

“Guys, that’s Bob, Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback, and you already know Coyote,” Hangman listed off, pointing at each Dagger as he spoke.

“Javy!” Leila called, running over to greet him.

“Hey, Firecracker,” Coyote joked, picking Leila up and setting her on the stool that Hangman had been sitting on before.

From there, the awkwardness slowly dissipated. Very slowly, but it did dissipate just a bit. Leila and Tyler were running around on the back deck, laughing and stretching their legs after the long car ride down from Lemoore. Hangman had switched his beer for a water and returned from inside the bar with a drink for his wife, whose order he knew from heart.

They were in the middle of a conversation, though Hangman thought that it was bordering on an interrogation with some of the other Daggers when Sophie’s phone started to buzz with a weird ringtone. In an instant, Jake turned to where Leila and Tyler were playing.

“Tyler, come over here,” he called, causing them to stop.

Hangman picked up his wife’s phone and tapped it, causing Tyler to pout. Tyler begrudgingly trudged over to where Jake and Sophie were sitting and Jake quickly scooped him up and sat him on his lap. Meanwhile, Sophie had been rifling around in her purse, pulling out a separate bag.

“Fruit snacks or the granola bar?” his wife asked Tyler, holding out both items.

Tyler quickly leaned over and grabbed the fruit snacks before turning around to hand them to Hangman. Taking them without hesitation or delay, Hangman ripped the package open and poured the fruit snacks into his hand for Tyler, who started to slowly eat them one by one. The other Daggers seemed a bit confused, though Bob instantly recognized the situation.

“He’s Type 1?” Bob guessed, causing Sophie to nod sadly.

“Yes, he is,” she replied, checking her phone again. She showed Jake her screen, causing him to encourage Tyler to eat the remaining fruit snacks in his hand, before turning back to Bob. “You know someone with Type 1?”

“No, my dad has Type 2. My sister has the same set up on her phone,” Bob explained, causing Jake’s wife to nod slowly.

Tyler seemed a bit upset, though resigned to his situation, but Hangman did his best to try and make it enjoyable for him. Teasing Tyler for his choice in fruit snacks, hiding them and pretending to find them in random spots, and other very un-Hangman-like actions that caused most of the Daggers to grow even more confused at the situation, Hangman blocked all of that out and just focused on Tyler.

“Alright, just hang on for a second, bud,” Jake told Tyler, who clearly wanted to play again.

After they were sure that Tyler’s glucose levels were stable, Hangman set Tyler back on his own two feet. Leila, who had been chatting loudly with Coyote and Fanboy, let out a shriek and started to run after her brother again as if nothing had happened to disturb them in the first place.

“How long have you known that he has it?” Rooster asked, watching Leila and Tyler play.

“About two years now,” Sophie explained, folding her arms underneath her as she rested them on the picnic table. “He was only a couple months old when his doctor suspected something. Took some time to get an official diagnosis.”

“He doesn’t seem to let it get him down,” Payback commented, watching Tyler laugh and run around Coyote.

“No, he doesn’t,” Sophie replied with a soft smile. “He’s like my sister.”

“Your sister has Type 1 too?”

“No . . . she didn’t,” Sophie stated softly, her tone earning a few confused looks.

“Leila and Tyler are her niece and nephew,” Hangman supplied, gently resting the outside of his thigh against his wife’s own to remind her that he was there for her.

“My sister and her husband died a few years ago,” Sophie continued quietly, shifting a bit in her seat. “I got custody after they passed and after Jake and I got married, he adopted them.”

And suddenly all of the pieces were starting to fall into place.

Leila eventually came running over, asking if they could go down to the beach. Sophie got up to take them down herself, not trusting two kids who grew up in desert territory to know anything about ocean water safety. And when they were gone, all eyes fell on Hangman. After a long, drawn out sigh, he slowly narrowed his eyes at his squad mates.

“If any of you fuckers even think about going to the brass about it,” Hangman vowed, pointing menacingly over at the gathered Daggers.

“Dude, no one here is looking to take insulin from a little kid,” Fanboy stated quietly.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for service members to get married for the benefits. And hell, you would have had to have been a completely selfish, heartless, brown-nosing government lapdog to try and get someone in trouble for making sure that a kid with a treatable condition lived happily without bankrupting his family.

“How did you meet your wife then? You knew her before the kids’ parents died?”

“Yeah. We were in a long term . . . situation-ship at the time,” Hangman recalled, earning familiar looks from his teammates. “And she told me that it was a lot to handle and she didn’t expect me to hang around, especially because I was deployed at the time. I came back home to visit her and saw how stressed she looked—she was crying, Tyler was still in the hospital at that point, Leila was barely talking . . .” Jake trailed off, a dark expression coming over his face. “I didn’t think. I just told her to marry me and I’d get it figured out. And I did. They live up with me in Lemoore now.”

“And you guys have an open relationship?” Rooster guessed, earning a sharp glare from Hangman immediately.

“No,” Jake replied bluntly.

“Not even a little?” Rooster asked, alluding to Hangman’s flirtatious personality.

“No,” Hangman stated, folding his arms in front of him. “We’re not.”

“But you’re not in love, are you?”

“That’s complicated,” Jake responded, loosening his posture a bit sheepishly.

“Yes, they are,” Coyote called back, earning a look from Hangman.

“Yes, they are what?” Sophie called out, strolling forward with Leila and a soaked Tyler beside her.

“What happened?” Jake asked, standing up from the table.

“Leila thought that it would be funny to push her brother into the ocean,” Sophie returned, shooting her niece a look. “She thought wrong.”

“He kept pulling on me!” Leila whined, stomping her foot on the ground. “I told him to stop! And he didn’t listen!”

“Well, that’s no reason to try to drown him. Go, sit on the bench right there. Now,” she ordered, causing Leila to huff but follow her order.

“I’ll take him,” Jake offered, walking forward to grab a soaked Tyler from his spot next to Sophie. “Come on, Ty, let’s get you dry.”

Jake reached out his hand for the keys, which his wife handed over without even a look in his direction. It was that smooth, that natural. Jake held Tyler, who had started to shiver despite the warmth, in his arms, not caring in the slightest that some of the ocean water was now soaking his own clothes. Coyote seemed rather amused at the shocked expressions on his teammate’s faces, which Jake blatantly ignored as he strolled away.

“What?” Sophie asked, spotting their confused expressions.

“Nothing,” they all echoed back to her.

Prologue Part 2 Part 3

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