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[A/N]: Sorry, not sorry. You're reading about pirates, hon. Here there be blood and illness and marooning and mentions of death and fighting, my friend. Not much, but seriously. Pirates. Duh.

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Chapter Nine: Hypocrisy

Blood. There was blood seeping through Arthur's coat, dying the already red coat an even deeper maroon. You forgot to breathe. The Captain grunted in pain, but resolutely finished the job. The lifeless body of the attacker fell to the deck with a dull thump that rattled deep into your bones. If nothing else had done it before that moment, you now knew for sure that you weren't dreaming, and that you had somehow ended up stranded in a time very different from your own.

Alfred made a strangled, gasping cry from your bosom, where you held him close to your heart. Abruptly releasing the boy, you watched as he took up the fallen Navy sailor's weapon in addition to his own and began defending the injured Captain's back, giving you a quick apologetic look that silently said, “Well? What did you expect?”

Swallowing dryly, you stiffly retreated back to the Captain's cabin, locking the door steadfastly behind you. You stayed staring at the door for many silent moments. There was no way you could ever forget what happened in the past… had it only been half an hour? It felt like an eternity.

In the Captain's quarters, you stayed for three more hours, browsing through the book shelves to keep yourself occupied and your focus redirected away from the happenings above. You heard the splashes and crackles of the flames as the crew sank the Navy ship, sometime later. Whether or not they had bound and gagged those who would not join them (those that were still alive) and left them for dead on that burning vessel, or if they would wait to maroon them properly, you didn't know. Nor did you particularly care. Your encounter with the British Navy sailors had been less than savory, therefore you found it hard to find the humanity within you to feel much more than a dull regret… But then again, that numbness that began when you saw that first motionless-forever-more body lying in its own blood just inside the entrance to the rest of the ship might have been lingering longer than you had anticipated. Perhaps the events hadn't fully caught up with you, yet…

A soft tapping on the door drew you from your thoughts. “… Come in,” you pronounced softly.

Alfred poked his head in and smiled sheepishly at you, obviously worried. “You alright, [Y/n]?” he asked surprisingly softly.

“Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. How are you? Did you get hurt?” You carefully scrutinized his body, gently taking his face in your hands and turning it from side to side. Near as you could tell, he got a bit of off-coloring near his collar and at his cheekbone, but holes and serious injury on him there was not.

“I made it out alright,” the boy shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Between Allistair and Arthur teaching me how to fight, I can become someone's hero one day, right? They're so big and strong, after all…” He plopped down on the bed, right next to you.

A faint ghost of a smile passed over your lips. “I think so, Alfie. One day, you'll be just as strong as they are – maybe even stronger! But for today, you really helped me out. You're already a hero, sweetie. I was really unprepared for the fight, and you got me to safety… Thank you.”

Alfred began to glow with pride. But the sweet moment was cut quick to an end by the Captain stiffly entering his cabin, Allistair in tow behind him. As Allistair closed the door behind him, Arthur sagged against the wall, breathing heavily and wincing as he carefully held his abdomen. Your breath hitched in your throat, noting the darker, larger spot of blood growing in the Captain's side. Your next, immediate response surprised everyone, yourself included, and it was to rush to Arthur's side and throw an arm over your shoulder, guiding him carefully to his bed. Though he did verbally protest, his relieved actions declared otherwise. He was seriously wounded, and there was no way he could reject such gentleness – when normally he would never receive such kindness, nor could he expect it anywhere else – when he was in such an enormous amount of pain. The fact that only his brothers would see this weakness was an added bonus.

Arthur groaned as he sat on his plush bed, allowing you to remove his coat to assess the damage through his shirt… It was bad. You had limited first aid knowledge, but you were at least able to get the ball rolling. “Gotta stop the bleeding,” you muttered, searching for something clean that wouldn't stain when pressed against the wound… Because once he got better, you had a feeling the Captain wouldn't appreciate the liberties you had taken in his weakness to soil some of his more precious clothes…

Alfred offered you an old, albeit clean, rag, and you accepted it with a nod of thanks. The boy stood watch as you and Allistair gently rolled up Arthur's shirt. The scarred flesh beneath was most definitely toned and used to heavy workouts, but this was no time to be forming girlish fantasies. Still, you could feel the heat in your surprised face, and your suspicions that Arthur could see it too were confirmed a moment later. “Much as I appreciate knowing you like what you see, lass,” Arthur grimaced, “but I'd rather you didn't stare so openly when I'm bleeding to death.”

You rolled your eyes. Did the pain make him sassy? “Do shut up,” you stated plainly. “I'm trying to help you.”

“Cannae imagine wa she'd want tae dae 'at,” Allistair grumbled from Arthur's other side, offering the Captain a hard swig of spirits, which he accepted to dull the pain.

Alfred popped up by your side, his eyes somehow bright as he exclaimed, “Wait, does that mean you like-like my big brother, [Y/n]?! That's totally awesome!~”

The shock of that statement made you stiffen. You vaguely registered your expression twisting in horror, but Allistair's loud guffaws and Arthur's annoyed scoff brought you back. You shook your head and gave the boy a pained, sweet smile. “No, sweetie. I'm just trying to help. It's the least I can do…”

Alfred pouted, but soon perked up again as he began to babble about the battle, animatedly narrating the scene as he understood it and positively bouncing with energy. Allistair and you exchanged pointed looks over Arthur's body, knowing that the blonde lad would be running on the fumes of excitement for a while yet. Arthur's response was to down some more spirits to dull the pain and drown out the warbling of his pumped little brother.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke to Arthur's soft muttering in the darkness of the night. Three days had passed since the attack, and while the initial bloodloss had weakened the Captain, the fever of infection had set in too long before it could be stopped with the few medical supplies you knew how to use.

Stiffly, you got to your feet and reluctantly left your blanket on the floor, fumbling in the dark to light the candle at Arthur's bedside. With drowsiness slowing your actions, you ran a hand through your messy hair before watching Arthur's face carefully. His oddly thick eyebrows were furrowed, and he was sweating slightly, but no more than usual (for his illness). You traced the back of your hand along his forehead and down to his jaw, gauging the difference in heat and trying to determine if the fever had finally broken for good… But much to your surprise, Arthur sighed, leaning into your touch, his expression mellowing out as your hand lingered with gentle caresses about his face.

A soft huff in astonishment escaped your lips. Adding more pressure to the even touches, Arthur nuzzled into your hand and mumbled something into your palm. His lips were dry and rough against the soft skin of your palms, but also surprisingly gentle. All unbidden, heat rose to your face and you had to suppress the urge to make some sort of distressed noise. “… Captain?” you whispered uncertainly.

Another mumbled escaped his lips and his brows furrowed once more.

You decided to try again, in a small, airy breath, “Arthur?”

His relaxation was immediate and astounding. He even nuzzled once more into your hand.

A dry gulp helped settle your nerves somewhat. You could only hope that he wouldn't remember this moment with disgust, if he remembered it at all. “I suppose I still owe you a story, don't I? Shall I tell it to you now?” You received no response, or even a twitch of recognition that you had even asked a question, but you hadn't particularly been expecting one. You just needed to have him there – it mattered little if he would recognize that anyone was even speaking to him. “Let me tell you the story of a girl. I know it may sound kind of boring for a man like you, who's life is always so full of danger and adventure, but bear with me, will you?”

You took a deep breath. “There once was a girl, in a place very far from here. I suppose you might say she's rather a lot like me, but there's no real similarity other than our physical features, I'm sure… Well, this girl, she was a dreamer. Always with her nose in a book. Her life was especially bland, and she was always too scared to color it as brightly as the stories she loved to read. Love interested her very little, other than in the stories she devoured, and all of the adventures her distant friends told her about seemed far too difficult, or uncomfortable for her. No, she was quite content getting her fill of adventure and thrills from the books that became her only friends.

“Ironically enough,” you mentioned with a wry, bemused smirk, “her favorite stories were of pirates on the high seas. Lawless men with an unquenchable thirst for treasure and power. She always admired those men for their bravery and honor – even if so many were portrayed as having none. She always knew that there were those who were less than what the stories told, but in her mind and with her indulgence, they could be whatever she wanted them to be. After all, it was her imagination!

“… But then something changed.” You hesitated for a long while. “One night, just as she was reviewing another tale of a roguish scoundrel of a pirate, one that had caught her attention unlike any other had before, she found herself on the very ship that she had been reading about! Everything – from the smell of the sea, to the crew, to the handsome pirate captain that had sparked her interest – was before her. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes. How could it be real? Surely, it had to be a dream.

“The reality of the situation forced itself into acceptance once she found herself in the brig, that first night. Confused beyond relief, the girl was made into a servant of sorts. The Captain that had so entranced her became the harbinger of endless chores, and the crew that she had come to adore in the pages forced her to tell of the stories she had so loved in order to survive.

“Time went on, and slowly – ever so slowly! – she came to accept her new life. And so did the crew. However, the Captain remained as aloof as ever… Until one night, when she couldn't sleep, the girl woke up and ascended to the top deck to get some air. There stood her Captain, in the moonlight. He was everything she had ever imagined and more, from when he had only been a fictional character. He left her breathless. And when he turned to her with such gentleness, she realized it simply had to be a dream. And if it was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. She approached the Captain quietly, and they stood side by side, watching the stars.

Your throat tightened considerably. “At one point, the girl thought the Captain was going to kiss her. But like all good dreams, it had to come to an end. He bid her a goodnight, and off to bed she went. In the following morning, her true Captain was as harsh and crass as he had ever been. Assuming that it truly had been a dream, the girl went on. Even more time passed, and the girl thought she grew closer to her Captain, despite everything that demanded she keep her distance. He saved her life on more than one occasion, and even sustained heavy injury to protect her. But still, the girl had to wonder. Did the Captain really mean to push her away?” You stopped and looked at Arthur's face, smoothing a rogue strand of hair away from his stressed face. “Or did he simply have trouble expressing his desires?” you whispered.

You shook your head and laughed dryly, bitterly. “And that's all there is to that story. A bit dumb, isn't it?”

You started to withdraw your hand, finally satisfied that Arthur was comfortable for the time-being, when a surprisingly strong grip on your wrist stopped you. Startled, you paused and watched the Captain's face anxiously, awaiting some sort of comment…

Captain Arthur Ignatius Kirkland's jade green eyes opened slowly, as if the weight of the world rested on those eyelids to keep them otherwise shut. In a hoarse voice, weak from disuse and grogginess, he commanded, “I forbid you from loving me.”

And with that, he released your wrist and rolled onto his side, already deeply asleep.

Suddenly stiff and cold, you stood half-crouched by the Captain's bedside, your mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The crushing feeling in your heart was a force to be reckoned with, but still you were frozen in time. After an eternity of watching the Captain rest, you shook off the numbness and rose to your full height. Haughty glare in place with a sneering curl to your lips, you scowled, “Of course I wouldn't, you self-absorbed jerk. I'm not stupid.”

With that, you blew out the candle and returned to your makeshift bed on the floor. And even though the hour pressed upon you, there was no way you could fall into that blissful slumber you craved.

“Idiot,” you muttered, rolling over to face the wall.

Some part of your consciousness whispered, though, who was the real idiot?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After three long days docked at a horrendously disgusting village – during which time Allistair was able to obtain medicine for the Captain's condition and a proper doctor was able to assess the damage – The Bloody Thorn at long last had her Captain back to his rightful place. The crew all drank a toast in his honor at the local tavern, raucously celebrating the miraculous return to health. And though they knew they had to be back to the sea in less than twelve hours, they determined to be merry all the time they had remaining on dry land.

You had spent the majority of those three days wiling your time away on the beach. And when you weren't there, you were teaching Alfred and Allistair basic sentence structure or perusing what little literature the town had to offer at the small, dingy bookshop at the edge of town. Anything to be away from the ship, the crew… the Captain. Ever since warning you off of loving him, you had distanced yourself from the impossible man. He had not remembered the exchange once he regained use of his faculties, but it still cut you on an emotional level. Why? You weren't really sure. Sure, you owed the man your life thrice over, but did you really care about him? On some level, yes. But did you love him?

Definitely not!

… Or, at least, that's what you told yourself every day since that incident.

“Hey, [Y/n]!”

From your perch atop a large boulder, scowling into the crashing waves, you glanced up and spotted Alfred approaching. Smiling softly at the boy, you waved him over and patted the spot beside you. The youth didn't need telling twice. He joined you quickly with all the gracefulness a boy of twelve (or so) could muster. Which is to say, with all the awkward clumsiness of a gangling puppy did the boy join you.

“I just heard – you'll never believe this – but! And I – ! Ugh!” Alfred threw his hands up in defeat, lying back on the boulder to watch the clear skies.

“What is it, sweetie?” you wondered, patting the boy's arm comfortingly.

Alfred's so familiar, crystal blue eyes were trained on you, swimming in unshed tears. Startled, you scooted closer to the boy and began to soothingly rub into the arm closest to you from wrist to shoulder. He sat up and curled nearer to you, to which you responded by wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“… What's wrong, Alfred?”

“Arthur said he's going to send you back.”

You froze, and all sound faded to nothingness. Your breath hitched in your throat. With your blood rushing in your ears, you looked to the youngster with all of the calm curiosity you could provide without startling the boy. “… Did he, now? Did he specify when? Or why?”

Alfred shook his head, face-planting straight into your lap. His face had twisted painfully. His shoulders shook with his sobs, his tears soaking into your pants. “I-I… I don't wa-want you t-to go!” he wailed. “Y-you've been s-soo nice to me! You m-made meee f-feel like a realll hero!” With a face tear-stained and pleading, the boy sharply sat up and hugged you tightly, effectively knocking the wind from your lungs. “[Y/n], p-please don't go!!”

You didn't know what to say. While it warmed your heart to know that the boy adored you so much, it had hurt to think about why it may be that you were being sent away… But then again, something went roiling in your gut. Did this mean that the Captain could've sent you home before now? Had he always known how to send you back?! The outrage of that thought rolled in with the tide. Still, with a small boy in your lap and being mostly unfamiliar with the town, the need to get up and storm after the Captain was more-or-less suppressed. The boy may have resembled your friend back home to the point of practically being a doppelganger, but he was still very young and had become accustomed to your presence. Little Alfie probably saw you as the older sister he never had…

“Alfred… Thank you,” you murmured, caressing the sobbing boy with caring gentleness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“… Ye ken she isnae gonnae loch thes, Arthur,” Allistair rumbled, absently twirling a sextant in his fingers.

Sighing, the young Arthur Ignatius Kirkland carefully stood and ambled to the windows in his cabin, gazing out to sea. “… I know, Allistor. Alfred's become quite attached to her, as well. But while I was ill, I came to terms with something.” He turned to face his elder brother with a bitter smile. “This isn't where she belongs. It never has been, and I know now that it never shall be… I ripped her from her home on some selfish whim, and only now do I feel the full weight of that. I don't expect you or Alfred to understand – …”

“'en explain, ye divit!” Allistair growled, scowling as he watched his younger brother lean heavily against the frame holding the window. “Yoo've hud ample opportunity tae send 'er back afair noo. much as Ah hate knowin' ye followed efter me an' dabble in th' mirk erts, it was coz ay 'at selfishness 'at brooght 'er haur, in th' first place! wa send 'er back noo, efter aw that's happened?!”

“Because she's weak!” the Captain hissed.

Allistair got to his feet and stepped forward. “Och, dornt geezatt bilge-water, arthur! ye ken an aw as onie ay us 'at she braver than most ay th' crew, combined. she main be a hen, but she has ne'er backed doon frae onie ay us. which is a secht better than onie ay us can say fur mony ay th' men we see 'at dornt e'en ken we're pirates!”

A knock at the door caused both men to relax their hostile stances, though their brilliant green eyes continued to bore holes into each other. “Cap'n, sir, I've news from the port, sir!”

“Come in, Kyle,” the Captain called.

The crewman entered with a nod to Allistair before continuing, “Cap'n, sir. We've heard word of the La Rosa, and where she be headin' next!”

Like a shockwave, the tension from before was forgotten. Both Allistair and the Captain had their attentions riveted on the crewman as he explained the rumors he heard from the local taverns – that they had just missed the Spanish vessel, and that they were headed in the same direction. “… If we be quick enough, we'll overtake her by the New Moon! Not the bes' omen, for sure, but we'll get 'er!”

Captain Kirkland nodded and turned to his helmsman with a gleam to his eyes. “We'll continue this discussion later, Allistor. Right now, I want you to oversee the preparations. Alert all the crew once they've returned to the ship! Finally, La Rosa will be ours for the taking!”

Allistair shook his head, but grinned despite himself, “Aye, 'at it will be, keptin. 'at it will be.” He clapped the young Captain on the shoulder before striding out, the crewman in tow behind him, plans and thoughts of the near future bouncing about his head.

Left alone to his thoughts, Arthur Kirkland let the excitement die from his countenance. His heart squeezed painfully once he mulled over his previous conversation. He wondered for a prolonged moment why he hadn't sent you back the second he realized you weren't the angel he had originally thought you to be, or even when you started to cause unnecessary mischief… But the more he thought about it, the more he came to terms with the fact that he had been telling the truth when he spoke with Allistair.

You were weak and fragile. And it was his own selfishness that demanded something – like yourself – to protect. After all, the men on his ship were more than capable of caring for themselves, and he was trying to teach Alfred to become more independent. Even now, he didn't truly want to send you back.

“… I forbid it,” he muttered bitterly, absently staring at the jade ring on his right hand, watching as he spun it round and round mindlessly. “She can't love me. She… she just can't!”

That was something to face another day, however. You would have to wait a while longer, yet, before he would send you home. As soon as he had La Rosa fully in his grasp, he would send you home – back to the world where you belonged.

END OF CHAPTER NINE.