.:American Revolution-style AU. Enjoy!:.

His blue eyes watched you through the iron bars of your cell as you lay in the dusty straw piled in the corner to catch the drip from the cracked ceiling. The corner of his mouth snarled up in disgust. His troops had suffered incredible sabotage, faced vicious ambushes along the roads, and watched their resources dwindle to near-nothingness as their supplies were intercepted... All because of you.

The rebel leader.

The news from his Lieutenant that they had finally caught the one responsible for all of his men's suffering was beyond exhilarating. He didn't dare pass up the opportunity to finally meet you in person.

It seemed bizarre to him that his rival was a female. After all, every woman he had met thus far was a quiet housewife or simple civilian; he'd never met a woman who willingly had taken on a combat role. Even more strange, you hardly seemed threatening. You were small, plain in comparison to the larger, more barbaric men who served in your militia.

You stirred and he caught his breath. Finally, he could have a word with this vermin of his troops. You sat up and turned weary eyes to him. A tense grin pulled at his mouth. "So you're the Sourge of the British Empire? The Phantom of Corpse Hill?"

"I'm hardly either of those things," you mused quietly. "But that you think I'm that much of a threat truly is flattering." You dusted a few stands of straw from your mussed coat and leaned back against the cold, rough brick wall behind you.

The Captain leaned close to the bars so that his nose protruded through them. "You've brought a great deal of harm to my men, you fleet-footed fox. And like a fox, you've fallen into my snare."

"Like a fox, are you going to kill me too?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I am. I just haven't yet decided how."

You rubbed a sore temple with your delicate fingers, groaning softly under your breath so that he might not hear that you were in pain. "Well, can you make up your mind soon? I haven't had a decent night's rest since your Lieutenant threw me in here, and I hear the dead finally get some peace and rest."

He hadn't expected you to be so calm about the prospect of death. Hanging was popular, as was death by firing squad, neither of which seemed a peaceful way to go, and you were nonchalantly resting in the corner of your cell as if it were just another Tuesday. It made his blood boil that you were barely reacting. "Maybe I'll keep you alive, then. Let you rot in here in sleepless agony."

"Oh no, please, anything but that..."

He was about to spit a venomous retort when heavy footsteps approached. "Captain Price?" A man dressed in a red uniform that had been muddied and bloodied from battle, his face obscured by a masquerade mask painted hauntingly like a skull, darkened the hallway with his broad frame. His hat sat low on his head, casting a pitch-black shadow across his already dark eyes and he had to stoop to look the Captain in the eyes. "We've captured the North End, no more sign of the rebels. They must have moved on when we captured their leader."

Price nodded stiffly. "Well, keep looking. I won't be satisfied until they're all locked up or dead."

"Yes, sir."

"Use leverage. Find their families, hang the corpses of their wives and children from the trees if you have to. Whatever brings them out of hiding, I want them taken care of, Simon."

You didn't let it show, but your stomach turned violently at the thought of innocent civilians being tortured and killed just to get to your army. A deep, steadying breath swelled in your lungs and you breathed it out in the quietest of sighs. "It won't work, you know."

Price furrowed his brow. "What won't?"

"Killing and holding their families hostage. Leverage doesn't work on my men; what we're fighting for is bigger than ourselves- bigger than our families. You could set the whole countryside ablaze, drown our children in the harbour- you could hang me before man and God, and none of us will falter. We're free from your hand, and we won't come crawling back just because you threaten."

He felt a chill nip at his flesh, whether from your words or from the damp air clinging to his wool coat. Price sneered and stepped back from the cell. "We'll find a way to break you, one way or another. You can spare the citizens their lives and tell us where your men are, or watch in silence as we drag them shrieking from their hideouts and feed them and their families to our dogs."

As he left the prison, you tucked yourself tighter against the wall, shivering against the bitter cold. You could only hope your men would keep themselves hidden, no matter what the British soldiers did.

It seemed like every day the Captain returned to ask where your troops were. Every day, you sent him away with no answers. "We captured the Smith family," he said once. And you replied, "Smith joined my ranks to get away from his family, killing them won't lure him out."

"The Simpkins farm was burned to the ground this morning," he said another time. To which you responded, "An unfortunate loss, but he won't sacrifice his freedom for some cattle and an old sow."

Weeks passed and he came in with a pipe, filling the prison with a fragrant, grey cloud. "I heard one of my men had his way with Elizabeth Murray; I wonder what her husband would have to say about it."

You were deadly silent and he passed the pipe through the bars. With an inquisitive glare, you hesitantly took it from his hand and took a few puffs. It tasted smooth; you hadn't had good tobacco since the British troops had moved into Boston. "Yes, I'm sure he'd be furious to hear what you've let happen to his wife," you replied. "Best not let him find out then. More of your men might disappear, and none too quietly, I might add."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you might find your men without their heads if he gets wind of this."

Price took back his pipe, taking deep drags with each breath. "... Damn."

"... Oh dear, did you brag loudly about this?"

"I may have..."

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hands, a strangely feminine mannerism despite your masculine attire. "Oh dear, Captain Price, I pity you."

"Save your pity for your own men," he grumbled, tightening his lips around his pipe so that he may not smile at your laughter. He found it oddly charming. 

How bizarre he would find something about the rebel leader alluring.

It was the day he came into the prison quietly you felt a sense of alarm. The door shut softly behind him and his footsteps were barely louder than a cat's. You rose from your bed in the hay and stood at the iron bars. "Captain?"

He turned the corner and his expression was hard. "My men found Red Briar..."

Shit... The tavern. The Culper Ring had made dead drops there, and some of your troops had even been housed in its loft. "What about it?" you bluffed.

"My Lieutenant followed one of your men there. He intercepted a message that there will be a meeting there at midnight. He plans to set up an ambush and capture all of them."

You swallowed a nervous knot in your throat. "And..?"

"In the morning, we'll hang you all in front of a crowd of your peers as a warning to end the rebellion against His Majesty the King." Price saw your expression become stiff and he nodded. "Best get yourself right with God. You don't have long."

You awakened later that night to the sound of men barking orders at one another. It was dark aside from the one narrow window near the top of your cell, spilling a silver beam of moonlight onto the floor. The prison door opened and you could see the flicker of orange flames dancing on the wall. The Captain stepped inside and briskly approached the door. "Come on," he said in a low voice.

Your heart was in your throat. "Now?" you asked with a tremble in your voice. "I thought we at least had until morning..."

He jerked you onto your feet by your scruff and pushed you forward. "I said move!" He closed the door behind you and grasped your arm, leading you onward.

Strange. The door was the other way, but he was taking you to the back of the prison. Maybe that was where the executioner was waiting. Price took you down some stairs into an empty cellar and from there walked you into a dark corner. In the jagged stones that formed the wall, there stood a wooden door, barely wide enough for one man to get through. He pushed you into the narrow passage, following quickly on your heels.

"Price, what is happening?"

He raised a finger to his lips and looked up, listening as he heard faint footsteps overhead. "We don't have much time, we need to move."

"Move where?" you asked.

"To Red Briar." He stepped past you and grabbed your hand, pulling you along with him. "These tunnels will drop us on Salem Street, and from there we can get to the tavern."

You tilted your head. "Are... Are you helping me save my troops..?"

He heard closer footsteps and he hurried his pace. "You can thank me later, let's just move." Price charged faster and faster down the tunnel, making random turns until you came to some wider passages. He could hear the door opening behind you and quickly pushed you out of the way into a dark corner, covering you with his body as you listened to the British soldiers marching down the corridor. 

You clutched at his lapels, watching over his shoulder as the torchlight flickered down another passage away from you both and you sighed. "Why are you doing this, Captain Price?"

He sighed, slowly drawing you back out of the shadows and urging you ahead. "Because it's hard to kill a people whose spirits can't be trampled, even when faced with torture and death. And frankly... after all this time talking to you, it's like I know these men. It would be like killing my own."

His voice was softened and his eyes betrayed a sincerity you hadn't seen in a long time. "I appreciate the sentiment, Captain."

"It's John," he said quietly. "You can call me John."

You nodded solemnly. "John. My name is (Y/N)."

He grinned and pointed down the tunnels. "That way. Let's go save your friends."

(To be continued...)