Batten Down the Hatches
Hetty decided the best course of action would obviously be stuffing down her feelings and ignoring the Capitan entirely. Which of course, being confined to the same property, combined with the fact that the swashbuckler seemed to seek her out at every given opportunity, failed almost immediately.
The sitting room buzzed with laughter as Captain Johanna O’Malley lounged across an antique loveseat, spinning another tale for her captive audience. The pirate had settled into their routine with ease—perhaps too much ease, if you asked Hetty. She sprawled out like she owned the place, one hand draped casually over the hilt of her rapier, and a mischievous smirk that seemed permanently plastered across her sunkissed face.
“So there we were—me, Finn, and Mouse—stuck on the edge of the property, nothing but trees and our own sorry company,” Jo said, gesturing with a dramatic flourish. “Not that I’m complainin’. Finn could sing a shanty that would put a siren to shame, and Mouse? He had a mouth on him that would make even me blush.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Alberta laughed, on the edge of her seat.
Jo winked. “Aye, fair point.” She leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “We stuck to the woods by the water for a couple a’ centuries—keeping to ourselves, mostly. Then, one day, Finn gets sent up to the heavens mid-sentence—left me hanging on the best part of a story! Ten years later on the day, Mouse follows. So after a few days of bein’ alone I figured—why not see what else is out there?”
“And here you are!” Pete exclaimed, eyes wide with fascination.
The ghosts cheerily chatted with Jo, clearly enraptured by her presence—all of them, except Hetty, who stood stiffly near the fireplace, hands clasped so tightly they would be bruised if she were still alive. She had tried—tried—to ignore the pirate’s absurd charm, but the more Jo talked, the harder that became. And it didn’t help that every time Hetty so much as glanced in her direction, Jo’s gaze was already there, eyes like she had a direct line into her mind.
The worst part was how it made her feel. It wasn’t the usual irritation she felt when someone disrupted the household’s delicate order. This was different- it was something warm and tingly that curled low in her stomach and, despite every effort, refused to go away.
She had been a wife. She had been a mother. She had never—even in her wildest, most scandalous imaginings—entertained the idea that she could feel this way about a woman.
Yet here she was, nonexistent heart pounding, palms phantom sweating—over a pirate, of all things. It was improper. It was obscene. It was… electric.
“Can’t believe we missed you all this time, man!” Flower said, shaking her head. “You could’ve hung around so much sooner.”
Jo’s smile softened slightly, eyes briefly dropping to the floor as she shook her head. “Ah, well. Didn’t seem like a house for the likes of me. Besides…” Her eyes flicked toward Hetty—sharp, bright, and far too knowing. “I didn’t know what possibilities would be waitin’ for me.”
Hetty stiffened, eyes straight ahead. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, nothin’, love,” Jo said smoothly, but the slow curl of her smile suggested otherwise.
Alberta let out a low whistle, elbowing Jo. “Girl, you’re gonna kill her again.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Hetty snapped, head whipping towards them, though her voice trembled ever so slightly.
Jo tilted her head, clearly enjoying how easily she could unravel Hetty’s composure. “Fine, are you? Shame. I was hopin’ to ruffle you just a bit.”
“I am not so easily ruffled,” Hetty declared, looking down at the pirate with a sneer.
“No?” Jo slid off the loveseat and took a slow step toward her—close enough that Hetty could smell salt air and leather. “That’s funny, ‘cause I reckon I’ve been under your skin since the moment I stepped foot in this house.”
Hetty’s heart thundered in her chest—loud enough that she feared the others might somehow hear it. This was beyond mere irritation. This was something far more dangerous. And what frightened her most was how much she liked it.
“I-” She scrambled for words, for her usual polished resolve, but it slipped through her fingers like sand. “I have no patience for your… tawdriness!”
Jo chuckled, low and lyrical, sending a thrill up Hetty’s spine. “Ah, but you like it. Don’tcha, Hetty?”
That was the final straw.
With an indignant huff, Hetty spun on her heel and marched through the closed door, leaving the sound of Jo’s laughter trailing behind her.
Hetty didn’t stop until she reached the empty kitchen, hand clutching the lace at her throat as if she might somehow choke down the unfamiliar warmth spreading through her.
This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.
This feeling—this thing—was something she had pushed down centuries ago. She had never allowed herself to dwell on the small, secret thoughts that had crept in during her lifetime. The way she had admired the softness of her lady’s maid’s hands when they brushed against her own. The strange, bubbly feeling she would push down whenever her eyes lingered too long on a woman’s smile.
Those were fleeting, foolish moments. Things a good woman didn’t acknowledge.
And yet… here it was. Back again, after all this time.
“In quite the hurry, are ye?”
Hetty nearly jumped out of her skin.
Jo stood by the table, arms crossed, head tilted in amusement. “Not that I mind, of course. You’re awful pretty when yer flustered.”
“I am not flustered,” Hetty insisted, though her voice shook slightly.
“Hm.” Jo slowly closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps, as if she were approaching a wild animal. “You know, for a woman who claims not to care, you spend an awful lot of time getting ruffled over little ol’ me.”
“I do not,” Hetty said—far too quickly.
Jo’s smile softened, the teasing lilt fading from her voice. “Ya know… I wasn’t just havin’ a laugh back there.” She hesitated—just a moment—but when she spoke again, the sincerity in her tone sent an unexpected tremor through Hetty’s chest. “Yer… a pleasant surprise after all these years. I wish ye’d let me know ya more.”
Hetty swallowed hard, face carefully blank. “Why?”
Jo’s eyes locked onto hers, a strange softness laced through her voice. “Because I think there’s more to you than all the lace and rules.” Her voice dipped lower—quieter, gentler. “And I think maybe… yer tired of pretendin’ otherwise.”
Hetty stiffened—her heart pounding an erratic rhythm against her ribs. Could Jo see it? The pang in her soul she had fought so hard to bury?
“I—I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” she whispered, breaking Jo’s gaze, but her words were hollow, even to her own ears.
Jo smiled- patient and genuine. “Aye, I think ya do.” And with that, she stepped back, giving a small bow. “I’ll leave you be, for now. But I’m not goin’ anywhere, love. Not unless ye really want me to.”
And just like that, she turned and swaggered through the door, leaving Hetty breathless and with no choice to grapple with the impossible tangle of feelings inside her.
“Alright, she’s spiraling,” Alberta whispered from the other side of the wall, her face practically phasing through it in eager anticipation. “I love it.”
“Well, in fairness to Hetty, this is quite the revelation. I understand the confusion.” Isaac nodded.
Pete squinted at him. “Wait—are you saying you knew?”
“Of course, I knew!” Isaac huffed, dramatically rolling his eyes. “You think I don’t have an eye for these things? The second O’Malley swaggered in here with that jawline, I clocked it.”
Thor nodded approvingly. “Good. It healthy to explore feelings. Thor love many kind of people. Except Danes.”
“Meanwhile, Hetty’s still in there having a meltdown,” Alberta snickered, before softening. “We should do something.”
Isaac shook his head, holding his hand out to stop her. “No, she needs to work through this herself. Self-discovery is a delicate process. Trust me—I know.”
Pete blinked. “Wait, so… do you think she’s—?”
“Obviously,” Alberta said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, come on. The way she gets all flustered around her? That woman is gone.”
Flower sighed happily, arms swaying from side to side. “I just love when people realize they’re a little bit gay.”
In the safety of her room, Hetty collapsed onto the bed, her head in her hands as she tried to collect herself. “This is nothing,” she insisted under her breath. “A passing… fascination. It will fade.”
But as much as she wanted to believe that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that—after centuries of certainty—something inside her was beginning to unravel. And perhaps… perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible thing.
Not that she would admit that to anyone.
Especially not to a certain Irish pirate.