The Pirate Ing

First things first; if you are here without reading the previous chapters, I *highly recommend* that you go back and read those first. This is a plot heavy journey, and we'd love to have you along for it's entirety. Don't worry. We'll still be here while you catch up :)

Second, and most important: Wow. I have been feeling. Humbled. Awed. Like my stomach is lined with precious metals as I swallow all the pride you all are making me feel with your kind words, your support, your outpouring of attention. This initially began as a drunken fight with the world, the media, the universe in the form of a character who would always, always end up okay. I didn't think anyone else would really find it interesting. I just wanted to have some victory in my life.

So. Thank you. And thank you again. Your support, especially your comments, they mean the world to me. It brings me peace to think that someone else might find some small measure of the joy I put into this.

Alternative title: a stable relationship

Peace, love and joy. May the resistance you find in your life do nothing but convince you that you're pushing in the right places; may you turn to precious stones before you give way to those who would have you crumble. Keep yourselves safe from the fires of your past, and may there be someone to hold your hand through all of it.

*****

The ship burned all night.

We stood there and watched it, the Captain and I. Watched as the flames grew from where I had placed them, fetal, soft, in lower holds nestled where I knew the wood would nurture them. Watched them reach upwards with greedy hands. Heard their hungry mouths tear apart a home and leave nothing but ash, but sparks. The softest noises of abandonment.

It hurt to watch it go, in a place in my chest usually reserved for rage. It hurt me, in a place in my stomach I didn't know I could access anymore.

It hurt.

But the Captain was at my side, and there was a ship beneath my feet, and the men were growing used to the idea of these things being normal. Being right. And so it did not hurt as bad as it might have, perhaps, even a year before. Even three years before, when I was the sea and the sea was me and I had hundreds of men at my command, thousands, when I had thought I had the world and had been so wrong, so very wrong, because I had yet to even understand what the world could be. Had not yet even begun to understand what it meant to have life, because I did not yet have the Captain.

Funny, to lose your life in order to find it.

And so yes, it did not hurt as bad as it could have that day, watching the ship creak and fall apart, the sails so lovingly mended and tended falling into the sea. The hull that had held and protected the crew, this family, with it's thickness and safety slowly disintegrating.

The Captain's hand tightened in mine.

But still.

We watched the ship burn all night, sparks drifting up to take their place with the stars, seeming to fade when lost from our view. Only when the sun began to rise over the flat horizon of the sea did the Captain turn. He put his eyes to rising sun and his back to the billowing smoke.

And so we traveled onward.

***

"Ghost."

I pressed a kiss to my Captain's forehead before turning to the soft voice in the doorway. Natch beckoned to me, his face worried.

I sighed and began removing myself from the Captain's sleeping form. It hadn't taken long once morning had broken for him to collapse into himself from exhaustion. He hid it well from his crew, and he could have carried on, perhaps, but it had been a taxing few days and I needed him at full health, so I put him to bed, promising to take care of the ship in his absence.

"They need me," he had groused even as he was stripping in preparation for sleep. "Can't just fucking leave them."

"You're not." I couldn't keep myself from running light fingers over his perfect chest. He shuddered even as he bit back a yawn. "Natch is competent, or he wouldn't be your first mate. Your men will do fine without you for a few hours."

He had grumbled a bit more, but sleep had taken his protests away from him at last.

I was glad for Natch's patience and quiet as I moved through the room. As soon as I closed the door behind us he burst into words.

"That man is like to kill him if this keeps up, and there's more than a few that would let him just to see what he's made of, and I don't know how to make him stop and where the fuck did you even -"

"Natch." I cut him off firmly. "What's going on?"

"The Russian is long lining."

I pressed a hand to my face. Sailors were terribly superstitious about what could be pulled up from the ocean and what could not - long lining, fishing a single line deep into the depths of the sea, was something that was usually seen as best left alone. "Fuck," I muttered.

"And Finn -"

Of course it would be Finn, with his sigils and his ideas of what should be and what should not. The Russian had possibly done it specifically to piss off Finn.

Then again, he might have simply been hungry. Either way, this was bad. I headed off down the hall at a pace that made Natch trot to keep up. "Fuck," I repeated, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

Fuck.

The midday sun was bright as I strode through the doorway, Natch somewhere near or just behind my side.

"On!" I heard, and turned to find the Russian, laughing, running the length of the deck with a pole in hand. I don't even know where he found the blasted thing; we certainly had not brought it aboard. Men scattered to get out the way of the large man, of the line now taut and running from the ship, the solid wood pole he held in his hand. Finn, for his part, ran behind him, hurling obscenities and pleas at the spaces the Russian always seemed to have just occupied, his form dancing away from the smaller man with ease.

"What are you doing?" I asked, exasperated. I had promised the Captain I would take care of the ship. This was not taking care of the ship. This was.

Mayhem.

All eyes turned to me. In some I read fear; good. In others, awe. Not so good. But in the Russian's I didn't read a single damn thing.

Very bad.

"Priliv!" He tried to wave and nearly lost his pole. "We are fishing!"

"Tell him to stop!" Finn was indignant, redfaced. Sketching symbols as fast as his little fingers could move. I felt bad for the poor man, his way of being so abruptly and violently confronted by this. This.

"I think it is a shark, that I have now!" the Russian laughed. I pressed a hand to my face as Finn blanched. Sharks were sacred to many sects, many religions. "Or perhaps a sunfish."

Finn gasped. A few of the sailors backed up. "A

mola?

"

"I have not seen it - oh!" The Russian was pulled, laughing, further down the ship.

Finn turned to me, furious. I raised a brow at the rage pressing off his usually mild frame. "If it is a mola, he is putting it back. If he hurts it - ."

I shrugged. To harm a sunfish was to harm yourself. It was stupid. It was futile. It was exactly the type of thing the Russian would pull just to piss someone off.

"Ah!" we heard him shout. Then, "

Paka, molodoi cholovek.

" He padded up to his, his grin somewhat subdued but still there. It cut through Finn's rage like a sharp knife, as if Finn's rage was not all muscle, as if Finn's rage were nothing but the stomach of a fish that needed cleaned. My eyebrow moved up further. "It was a sunfish. Very big, very strong."

"And you let it go." It was not a question. Finn was beyond that in his anger.

But the Russian just laughed. "Of course!" Finn began to relax. "They do not have good taste."

Finn froze. Then every single one of his muscles slowly began to rebunch. "

You've eaten mola?"

The Russian gave him a look. "When you are on the sea with no food for two months, you eat what the sea has to give to you." He turned to me. This time the look was pointed. "And you gave to me a sunfish."

I leaned back, taking in his gaze, his expression. The weight of his words. "I thought we'd already talked about this."

"

Chert

," he said with a healthy dose of annoyance. "Do you know how bad the sunfish tastes?"

"No," I said truthfully. I had never directly harmed a sunfish, would never eat such a beautiful creature. And I only ate seafood that was good. "That fish saved your life."

"You put my life in that way." He threw up his hands. "You put me out to sea!"

He had already been to sea, to be with me. I had put him in no further danger; in fact, he had probably been safer at the distance the small boat had afforded him, especially with the way things had stood. "You," I reminded him now, my eyes pressing memories to his form. "Were being infuriating."

He thought about that for a moment. "

Da,"

he finally agreed, his grin slipping through, bright and sharp. Dangerous. "Is true." Then he smiled big at me, a completely different smile. "And now I don't eat the sunfish anymore!" He rapped his pole on the deck like that should get him some praise.

"Excellent." Even I could hear the weariness in my voice. Something sparkled in his eyes to hear it; I saw it, I swear I did.

Then his eyes passed me and I saw them flash with something else. I didn't have to turn to know that Thron was coming up behind me, probably to see why there was no work being done of this ship as the men gathered around the Russian and I, their eyes hungry against our forms, their ears soaking up every hint I gave them.

Pirates and their fucking gossip.

"

Tron

," he said happily. "Come! I will teach you to fish."

Thron stopped dead as the entire ship turned their gaze to him. He turned to me, a panicky look on his face.

"No mola," I told the Russian. "And no sharks."

He looked crushed. "But -"

"No sharks," I repeated, like I would to a child. Then I smiled, knowing what would make him and all the men on the ship happy. "Find us some tuna."

His eyes sparkled as he saluted me with more mischief than was strictly necessary. He walked past me to gather up Thron on his way back to the stern of the ship.

Thron shot me a look full of unease as he made his way past me. I frowned. That wouldn't do; I didn't want this man uncomfortable. Had something happened?

"Thron," I called, causing both men to stop. The Russian looked back with an expression that could have been called unhappy, or perhaps frustrated, or maybe even dangerous but I didn't call it anything because in the end he was nothing. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

The Russian continued to stare at me as Thron headed back my way. I gave him a look filled with just enough ocean waves to make him sneeze, causing him to break the gaze. It was effective, if not entirely what I had intended.

"Yes?" Thron hadn't lost his trepidation. I wondered if he had worn it on his body ever since he had stepped on this place. Ever since I had sent him away with the Russian.

Had this been my mistake?

I cut right to the core of my concerns. "Does the Russian make you feel uncomfortable?"

It was easy to see that my question did. He opened and closed his mouth twice before making any sounds. I waited, willing to be patient for this.

"Yes," he finally said, then looked panicked and quickly backtracked with, "No. I think so?"

I waited. There was more here; I didn't want to push him.

"He just." The man that was before me did not remind me much of the one that lead weapons training, so confident, so powerful. He looked a little lost; a little confused. Very uncomfortable. "It's not him, I think. He makes me feel good, but that. That's bad, so I don't like being around him. You know?"

I thought I understood. "You're attracted to him, but don't know what to do about it."

"Yes," he said with obvious relief. Then he flushed, redness creeping up his neck to settle under his chin. "No. I mean, I know what to do about it, I know how it all works, and. I'm not new at this, Ghost, I. And before. If I wanted to." The blush crept up further; it now dominated his face.

I smiled to see him so uncomfortable in such a familiar way. "So why don't you?"

"Because. I mean, fuck. Look at him, Ghost."

I did. The man was leaning on the rail, watching us closely. When I met his eyes he smiled big, and it was not at all friendly.

Point taken.

But Thron was still talking. "I don't know anything about him. I don't know his name, I don't know his.

Anything

." He looked down at his hands. "You know what I do know?"

I waited, knowing he would tell me.

I was not disappointed. "I know he came with you. I know he came with you, Ichor, who should be dead, and this fucking white haired monk who talks about secrets that you've buried six feet deep like you covered them over with glass." He shuddered and I tucked away that bit of knowledge, surprised that this had been Sneg's reception. They usually had a way of putting people at ease. Perhaps Thron was simply more perceptive than most. "And so I'm left to wonder, you know. What the fuck is he?" He peeked up at me nearly shyly. "I heard what you guys were talking about. You knew him from before."

There was no harm in admitting this. "We have sailed together in the past."

"And he annoyed you," Thron continued, "and you put him out to sea."

I nodded again. "But I don't see -"

"You

put him out to sea.

Fuck, Ghost, you nearly killed Ichor just for pulling a knife during practice." He looked up at me, and I could see he was shaking slightly. It made me feel like I should be shifting in my skin; I was not used to this reaction from these men. I didn't like it, even if it was right. "You could kill any of us. At any time. You would have killed any of us if we had acted like he does." I met his eyes. They, at least, were steady. "Wouldn't you?"

I nodded, a third and final agreement that seemed to hold everything Thron needed to know.

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck. You see? He can hold his own against you, and I'm just. All I've got is." His hands had bunched into fists. "And how am I supposed to compete with

that

?"

"You're not." His head shot up at my words. "Love isn't a competition. It is what it is. I could kill you; I don't. I could kill him." I looked over to where he stood. This time he didn't even bother to smile. "I don't," I said with some frustration, wondering what it was about him that always made me pull my hand.

"He's so much more powerful than me," I heard Thron mutter, and that was enough of that so I took his chin in mine and made him look me in the eyes.

"Power," I told him, "is nothing without direction. You two are evenly matched. You might even have the upper hand."

He made a noise at that and I raised my brow. "Look over at him and tell me what you see."

His eyes flicked over to the Russian, who was now standing ramrod straight, his eyes intense upon our bodies. His lips pressed tight. Every muscle fighting to look relaxed as he tried not to come across the deck and rip my hand from Thron's face.

"He has it bad for you," I observed.

Thron didn't answer, simply watching this man react to actions he was partaking in.

"There," I told him. "Watch him now." I let go of his face and the Russian huffed, slumping back over the rail. "You do that to him. That's power that you take from him into your body, and that makes it dangerous. It becomes something more because it was once his and now you have laid claim to it. Why do you need the words that make up his name when you have that? His true name lies in that power; his soul is imprinted on it." My mind couldn't help but slip to the Captain, the ways in which small movements of mine could make him lose his mind. That first day, when I had bade him come closer to me with nothing but my body, the way I had pressed against my bonds. The promises I had learned to gift him with my confinement.

"Wow," Thron whispered. His eyes were still on the Russian; the Russian's eyes were on him. Hard. Tight. Waiting.

Thron could make him wait. I saw him understanding that, watched the way it settled over his body. His hands still shook, but his breathing was calming, his shoulders dropping to relaxed. "Wow," he repeated much softer, the word dripping with awe and just the right amount of respect.

But I had just given him something dangerous, and I needed him to understand that. "Thron," I said softly. He didn't respond. "Thron," I said again, and this time there was sea in his name and he had to respond, couldn't not respond, and when he turned to face me he gasped because he was faced with the ocean.

"Use that power well," I warned him, hearing the swell of fifty foot waves in my words, "or I will set you adrift with the live body of a mola, and you will have to decide if it is better to starve or to anger the gods of the sea."

He swallowed. He nodded. And I knew he understood.

"Good," I smiled. I watched him blink the salt water I had spilled over onto him from his eyes. "Now, I think he's waiting for you." As, I thought to myself, he might be for some time.

Thron left my side quickly. Perhaps the Russian was frightening to him; perhaps we were similar, that man and I. That still did not make him the sea. He was calmer than the open expanses of the ocean even when he was at full blast. I watched them until they descended to a lower deck and were gone from my view, and then I turned to return to my Captain.

***

I stopped in to visit Cookie on the way back to the Captain's quarters. Of course, it became more than a visit and I soon found myself chopping and dicing and explaining as much as I could of the two months I had been gone.

"Near jumped out my skin when a man came in here, saying we had Ichor aboard. Are you mad, boy?" He shot me a look that I chose to interpret as concern. "Makin' deals with

that one,

when you're so freshly dead?"

"Three years," I reminded Cookie. "Coming up on four, soon."

"And that's supposed to make it better." He shook his head, taking his frustration out on the mound of potatoes before him. "Boy, nothing good can come of this. Nothing good. And now we're off to see the witch, and -"

"Oh," I said, putting down my potato. I had completely forgotten that was our destination. In truth, once I had heard we were not going north I had not paid our bearings much more attention. But where we were going was important; it was everything. If this witch did not agree that the Captain was nameless...

But she would. Because he was. I shrugged and picked the potato back up.

But my mind was now on this, and would not let it rest. There were very few witches who could perform the sort of magic that could keep the Captain nameless. Truly nameless. It was a powerful thing, to take away a part of someone. Of course, there was one who could do it easily, so easily it was as simple as taking in a breath. I had seen her do as much for a laugh. But she was chained to her island in the north and, and much as she hated Drey, I highly doubted she would have suffered a man on her soil long enough to explain the reasons behind his coming.

So, I thought. Not Miranda then.

I knew of one in the south, but she had been old when I was alive and we were not in the south. And there were a few in the east, it was true, but if you wanted something done proper, if you wanted a spell cast true...

Oh,

fuck

.

"Cookie," I asked, wishing I didn't already know the answer to this. "What is the name of this witch we're headed towards?"

"Donno," he said, and I almost let myself believe I had a reprieve. "But the men all call her the Lady of the Sapphires."

"Tuna!" the Russian declared as he burst into the room, sliding a huge fish down over the counter. Cookie shouted and backed up a step at the sudden invasion; I didn't move, just stared down at the writhing fish.