Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ Shadows of the Past ( Chapter 3 )

Historical notes and references in this chapter and future ones:

Toledo Steel - In the making of a sword forged from Toledo Steel, the metal is folded in over 300 times, resulting in a blade that earned a reputation renowned throughout the world. Its strength rivaled only that of the samurai swords of Japan.

King Philip II - King of Spain from 1556 to 1598. He was once considered a possible candidate for marriage to Elizabeth I.

Political Climate of the Seas - For almost a century after Columbus sailed to the Americas, Spain ruled the sea with their infamous Spanish Armada. However, when a princess named Elizabeth took the throne of England in 1558, English ships began encroaching in an area that had primarily belonged to the Spanish. With the defeat of the Armada by the British in 1588, Spain's iron grip of the oceans began to loosen, and other nations, especially England, took advantage. For the next 50 years, Spain lost most of its naval prowess, the English slowly replacing the once mighty nation in the new Americas and elsewhere in the world.

Pirates, Privateers and Letters of Marque - Although Elizabeth I publicly condemned piracy, she privately supported the act (as will be shown indirectly in this chapter, and more obviously in the chapters to follow). One way of waging the silent war for dominance against other naval powers was to issue 'letters of marque', which gave ships the legal power to raid others. Those who possessed these letters had the blessing of the issuing monarch, and were known as privateers, as Ran is in this story.

Port Royal, Jamaica - Known as 'one of the wickedest places on earth', Port Royal was a nesting ground for criminals and the lower element when it was first established, and thus, provided the perfect place for Ran and his crew to rest. Established around 1650, the city has a disaster-ridden history. Originally governed by the Spanish, it was taken over by Admiral Penn and General Venables of England in 1655, another gain for the British as Spain slowly lost its monopoly on the Americas. However, on June 7, 1692, an earthquake that sent half the town beneath the seas hit Port Royal, providing the basis for wonderful stories of sunken pirate treasure since this place was rumoured to be where pirates stored their loot. Although it was rebuilt, disastrous fires in 1704 destroyed most of the city again, leaving nothing but old forts standing. For the purpose of this story, I've taken the liberty of playing with history and have established Port Royal as a city 50 years sooner than it's supposed to be (the story takes place in 1596, but I really thought the city suited my needs so I used it!).

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

"Captain?"

No response.

"Captain, I brought you some food." Still hearing no answer, Ken pushed the cabin door open with his hip, his arms burdened with a heavy tray he'd taken from the mess hall. The captain hadn't eaten all day, and in Ken's philosophy, if the man was going to properly manage a ship, he needed proper nourishment. With the havoc wreaked by the storm, Ken hadn't seen the redhead rest since that brief but magical moment they'd shared the morning before. It was amazing how the man pushed himself beyond human limits.

Kicking the door closed behind him, Ken took several steps into the dimly lit room before his eyes fell on the slumped figure behind the desk. The soft glow from a nearby lantern painted an artful mélange of flickering shadows and light upon the sleeping man, casting him in an almost ethereal tableau. With his body reposing comfortably against the back of the chair and his head tilting slightly toward a shoulder, the usually calculating captain looked infinitely serene and at peace. Ken felt a gentle warmth begin to spread somewhere inside him at the sight but quickly dismissed it as he walked toward the slumbering man and placed the tray quietly on the side of the desk.

His arms now free, the brunette moved to rummage through one of the captain's chests, searching for a thin blanket he'd seen earlier when he'd been cleaning. Shuffling a few shirts aside, Ken easily found what he'd been looking for. He extracted it from beneath the other fabrics and shut the chest, a small breeze of soap and sea trailing in the wake. Ken closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the scent that he had come to identify as uniquely Ran's.

Standing up, he moved back toward the desk and carefully draped the blanket over the sleeping man, all the while, keeping the contact as feather-light as possible for fear of disturbing the redhead's much needed rest.

This hadn't been done out of concern, Ken reminded himself. He was supposed to be looking after the captain's needs, and that was exactly what he had done. Truly, there had been no other reason besides the strict adherence to his duties.

To prove the point to himself, Ken turned his attention to the disarray of brass implements and maps littered on the desk. He began to tidy up the mess when his gaze alighted on the navigational chart the captain had apparently been working on. Turning the map around so he could read it properly, Ken mentally finished the latitudinal and longitudinal calculations the captain had started.

So they were heading for Jamaica, were they?

Sparing the redhead a quick look, Ken picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell. Before long, the brunette was competently completing the charts his captain had been working on, his mind drifting into a state of tranquility at the mechanical movements of his hand and the lulling sound of the other man's soft breathing. He lost track of all place and time, his consciousness swimming in comforting ether that stretched toward eternity. It felt nice to read and write again, to have a quill resting between his fingers, to have something other than strategies for survival in his mind. It had been so long…

The sound of human movement snapped Ken from his peaceful trance. Glancing up at the captain, he noted that the man had shifted his position, causing the blanket to fall down to his waist. Putting down the quill, Ken moved over to reposition the covering and paused. As he began to draw the cloth up, his eyes fell upon a hint of gold peeking out from Ran's unbuttoned collar. Intrigued, the brunette leaned closer to see what looked like a ring hanging from a thin, indiscernible chain around the other man's neck: it was a signet ring, engraved with something resembling a family crest and a cursive 'F', Ken concluded. Although what a common pirate would be doing with something like that, he didn't know. Probably plundered it from a passing ship.

Pushing the nagging questions away, Ken tugged the blanket up once more, his arm stopping of its own accord when he started to pull away. Unsure of what compelled him, he reached up to gently brushed aside the errant locks of hair that covered the captain's forehead. His hand lingered by the side of the man's face, his whole being apparently entranced by the beauty that sat before him.

<He looks so … so vulnerable … like he needs to be protected from all the evils of the world … > The thought flittered through Ken's head, its origin unknown but its meaning genuine.

Suppressing a sigh at the direction his mind was taking, the brunette dropped his hand and turned away. He reorganized the desk into some semblance of order and began to make his way to the door.

"Bring the tray out with you. I'm not hungry."

Ken halted at the voice, his arm stopped in mid-motion as he reached for the doorknob.

"You've been awake this whole time?" Ken asked without turning around.

"No, just for a little while." The younger man could have sworn he heard a teasing smile in those words but the idea of the captain smiling was just too surreal. Taking a deep breath, Ken pivoted around and strode back to retrieve the tray, feeling those piercing, violet eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"You should eat something. You haven't eaten all day," he said as he picked up the unwanted food. Out of sheer tiredness, he needed to break this stifling atmosphere, to disrupt this uncomfortable silence that always surrounded them, and if it meant speaking, then so be it.

Ran didn't answer, his eyes never leaving the former slave.

"So we're heading for Jamaica?" Ken asked, gesturing with his chin toward the maps on the desk, and wishing to divert the man's attention elsewhere.

Ran looked down at the desk and nodded. "Kingston first to drop off our cargo, then to Port Royal for some rest. The crew will need it since it's off to England after that." The captain then started digging through the papers Ken had just organized, causing the younger man to fight back an exasperated sigh.

"England. Your home?"

"Yes," Ran said distractedly, still rummaging through the newly created mess. It wasn't long before the redhead found what he was looking for. Glancing briefly at his charts, Ran raised his gaze up to meet Ken's. "You know how to read and write." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement of fact. "None of the crew does except for Kit. Where did you learn?"

It was an innocent enough inquiry, but one Ken was reluctant to answer.

"My mother taught me," he replied simply.

"She was well-bred then? Because that would explain why your manners are impeccable."

The brunette nodded. "Yes, sir." He didn't like where this conversation was headed; the uneasiness that was slowly building up inside his chest prompted him to change the subject. "That's a very interesting ring, Captain."

Ran looked puzzled for a moment, whether by the sudden change in topic or the topic itself, Ken didn't know. Then, realization set in.

"Yes, thank you … it was my father's …" the redhead responded nonchalantly as his hand moved to tuck the said object under the shirt and out of sight.

Again, silence. And again, Ken nursed an urge to leave.

"If that will be all, Captain," he said as he looked away and began to move toward the exit, tray in hand.

He had almost made it out when he heard the older man say, "She must have been a remarkable woman, your mother."

Ken felt his body stiffen involuntarily, and his eyes lose focus for a moment. Still facing the door, he replied in a voice that was emotionless, toneless, … and dead. "Yes, she was … right up until the moment she hanged herself."

With that, Ken balanced his load on one arm, opened the door, and stepped out, leaving nothing but a stunned Ran in his wake.

(***)

<What had happened last night?> Ken wondered as he leaned against the rail, staring out at an endless stretch of ocean. The sun was still at its zenith, which produced an almost painful glare should one stare too long at the waters, but Ken couldn't help being drawn to the calming sight. It gave him a sense of temporary peace, however illusory and however brief.

Yet now, even as he watched the serene lapping of the sea, his words from last night still echoed in his head. Why had he revealed so much? And why to 'him'? It wasn't as if they were friends; the man was his captain and that was the extent of it. Wasn't it?

He had been relieved this morning to learn that Ran hadn't required his services, leaving him to go about other duties with a lighter step. If he had been forced to endure the redhead's close proximity, he was certain the indescribable tension between them would have been stronger than usual. But he couldn't avoid the man forever. After all, they were on a ship, and there was his position to consider.

"Hey, Boy, what are you up to?"

The voice that came from behind him caused Ken to look over his shoulder. When he saw who it was, he returned his eyes to the sea.

"Tippy, Mr. Mumbles," the brunette greeted as the muscled shipmate and his companion, an equally built, former African slave, joined him at the railing, each man standing on one side. "How are you two?"

Ken spared a glance to his left at the sandy-haired sailor with the tendency to overindulge in rum.

"Fine," Tippy replied.

Mr. Mumbles merely nodded, but the warm smile he had on his broad face was answer enough. Ken watched the dark-skinned man with a small smile of his own, for he couldn't help but do so at the friendliness exuded by a fellow former slave. Mr. Mumbles had been a slave for countless years, though none of the crew know how many. He had been sold from master to master, many of who had been cruel and demanding, one so much so that he'd actually cut out the African's tongue in a fit of anger. No one knew the man's real name, his age, or anything about him since he now had no voice but one thing was clear: the man loved working aboard this ship, and he equally loved working for the captain. The crew had dubbed him "Mr. Mumbles" on account of him being unable to speak, but the former slave didn't mind. In fact, Ken thought the large man rather liked it.

"You were thinking of him, weren't you?"

Ken whipped his head back to Tippy, a defensive tone weaving its way into his voice. "Who?"

Tippy smiled, his weathered skin showing the abuse of years at sea. "The captain, Boy."

"No, I wasn't. Why would I be thinking about him?"

Ken heard Mr. Mumbles chuckle softly from his right side.

Tippy shook his head good-humouredly. "It's there for everyone to see. The way the captain looks at you, the way you act around him … I've never seen anything so obvious. And besides, it's nice to see the captain so taken with someone, though he may not show it. He tries to hide it too, but old Tippy here can see what's going on." The man patted his own chest for emphasis and Ken saw Mr. Mumbles nod from the corner of his eye.

"I - I don't know w-what you're talking about, Tippy. I mean, I don't …"

"Look, Boy. I've been around long enough to see attraction for what it is and when it's as obvious as this …" When Ken didn't say anything, the older man continued, his tone now suddenly serious "We're sailors, Ken, and that means there's a bond that forms between each and everyone of us. But sometimes, something deeper develops. It's bound to happen when you depend on your comrades for your very survival. Out here, when things get rough and your life hangs in the balance, you have no one to rely on but yourself and your shipmates. That's what brings us closer, some in friendship, and others in a deeper bond."

Ken remained silent for a moment, hearing the words but unable to process them properly. And then, "Since when did you become so wise and well-spoken, Tippy? It wasn't too long ago that I heard you talk about taking a pretty wench to bed once we dock."

Tippy actually had the decency to blush, although it was barely noticeable beneath the man's tanned skin.

Yes, he'd changed to subject of conversation again. He seemed to be doing much of that lately but he wasn't comfortable with where the words had been straying.

<Why?> A small voice asked inside his head. <Because it touches on the truth? Because this pirate can see what you can't?>

Ken closed his eyes briefly in hopes of quieting the voice, but a shout from the crow's nest caused all three sailors to turn their attention up at the source of the yell.

"A ship's been sighted," Tippy muttered as he looked in the direction indicated by the crewman sitting above the mast.

Ken should have looked as well, but oddly, his eyes were riveted as the captain appeared and strode purposefully onto the quarterdeck toward Kit.

"What colours are they flying, Kit?" Ken heard the redhead ask.

"Looks like Spanish, Captain." Kit handed his spyglass over to Ran, waiting for further instructions.

Taking the brass instrument from the first mate, Ran peered through the glass, his expression remaining impassive as he asked, "Do we have any more room in the hold, Kit?"

"Of course," Kit grinned mischievously like a little boy about to unwrap a gift.

Ran handed the spyglass back to the older man. "Then prepare to change course. I don't think the men would mind a small detour."

A collective shout of approval came from the crewmen who had heard the order, the overall mood of the ship suddenly charged with anticipation.

Ken watched, unmoving, as the captain headed back to his cabin, undoubtedly to retrieve his weapons, and that only meant his presence would be required.

"Nothing but a common pirate," Ken mumbled as he straightened and left his companions.

(***)

Ken leaned against the main mast as he observed the rest of the crew scurry about the deck, readying their weapons and shouting words of eagerness. All in all, it was organized chaos, the anticipation and excitement of upcoming events heavily saturating the very air they breathed. He heard the scrambling of bodies below deck too, in all likelihood, men setting up the cannons and little powder monkeys hurriedly delivering gunpowder.

"Alright men! We're going by for one good volley and then we're boarding."

Ken looked up to where the captain stood in his usual spot on the quarterdeck, the redhead's commands making its way to every crewmember's ears. Even though Kit had mentioned that Ran boasted a letter of marque from England, Ken still saw no distinction between these privateering ways and the actions of a pirate. Nevertheless, Ran rallied his men effectively, his unique combination of charisma and leadership drawing even him into the excitement of events to come.

The moments prior, when he had helped the older man retrieve his weapons, had been uncomfortable, but surprisingly, no more so than normal. Perhaps the thoughts of the imminent attack had diverted him or perhaps the captain had chosen not to dwell on what he'd revealed last night. Whichever it was, Ken didn't argue.

But now … Ran made a formidable picture indeed, one that inspired untold pride and blind loyalty. Looking at the man this very moment with his pistol and sword at the ready, Ken began to see why poets and playwrights chose to immortalize heroic figures and their deeds in the music of words: they were simply awe-inspiring.

Ken's eyes guiltily traveled down the sleek lines of the captain's body, eventually coming to linger on the sword sheathed securely about the man's waist. He recalled when he'd taken that deadly blade out, its sheer beauty and lethalness complementing its owner perfectly. The style was rapier-like, Ken had concluded with his limited knowledge, the golden hilt balanced perfectly with the rest of the sword. But what had truly caught the brunette's attention was the blade itself, its size slightly wider than that of a common rapier, forged with what felt like Toledo steel and honed to be intriguingly double-edged. Ken had never seen such a finely crafted weapon but when he'd held it, he had known that only Ran could wield such a masterpiece.

Snapping out of his recollection, Ken returned his attention to the events at hand, only to feel an all-too-familiar gaze boring into him. He looked up into questioning gems of amethyst fire, and for an instant, he felt trapped in their alluring magic. But strangely enough, he was comforted by this, and nodded his head to wordlessly let the other man know that he was ready.

With Ken's affirmation, the captain looked away, leaving the brunette to prepare himself for the upcoming fight. His hands tightened around the hilt of his own sheathed sword and he could sense his body tensing up in anticipation. His breathing became shallower, quicker, and he heard his blood pumping through his ears. Yes, he was ready…

As the Redemption neared the larger Spanish vessel, Ken noted the sudden increase in speed that made it appear as if they were going to ram dead on into the other ship. He heard the cannon volleys from the Spaniards, angry blasts that foretold numerous deaths and injuries, but none seemed to connect. Suddenly, the Redemption lurched and fired her own volley as it swept alongside her less maneuverable enemy. Ken heard the violent shouts, smelled the acrid smoke, and registered his shipmates' need for assistance. Setting his body into motion, he rushed over to help the others with the grappling hooks.

It wasn't long before the crew of the Redemption had their lines dug well into the Spanish ship, men boarding their prey with an overabundance of enthusiasm. Ken watched as the captain swung across to join Kit and the more daring of his men, his sword gracefully extracted the moment he set foot onto the other vessel. Diving recklessly into the ensuing fight, Ran moved with a fluidity that defied normal convention. From each perfectly executed parry to each aggressive riposte, the redhead's movements appeared to be the epitome of lethalness and poetry, causing Ken to hold his breath at the sheer beauty of it all.

Then, he lost sight of Ran, black smoke and human bodies obscuring his view. And it was then that a sudden panic seized him, an inexplicable fear of losing the young captain gripping and constricting his chest. He couldn't think. He just knew he had to get over there, and he had to get over there now! Without considering the consequences, Ken quickly found a hanging rope, and swung over, the passing sense of weightlessness unnoticed when compared to the consuming need to protect Ran.

(***)

Ran sensed him before he saw him: Ken had come aboard. Easily deflecting a forward thrust, Ran used his opponent's momentum to his advantage and jabbed his sword straight into the Spaniard's chest as he sidestepped the lunging body. He paid no attention to the sticky warmth that lovingly dripped onto his hand, his senses immediately and instinctively seeking out Ken instead.

<Damnit, why'd he have to come aboard? It's not safe here.> Ran knew he shouldn't care so much. To be so concerned over a crewmember was not the norm and definitely not in his personal philosophy. But when it came to the brunette, he couldn't seem to summon any part of his rational mind, even if he wanted to. He always lost his grasp of logic whenever the former slave was involved.

Steel upon steel, flesh upon flesh, sounds of violence and sights of man's animalistic nature greeted Ran as he skirted about fighting bodies and moved toward the bow. He hadn't seen Ken since that brief glimpse when the younger man had swung aboard. Jumping over a fallen body, Ran was finally rewarded when he saw the object of his search. Ken was engaged in a skirmish with a uniformed officer, the Spaniard's attacks coming out skilled and disciplined. Luckily, though it didn't do much to ease Ran's anxiety, Ken countered each aggressive move without too much effort, his maneuvers confident and competent … more that just competent, in fact.

"Captain!"

He was oblivious of the blade that came at him and if it hadn't been for Kit's warning, he might have very well taken the sword through the throat. As it was, Ran managed to twist away from his new opponent, the deadly metal kissing the side of his neck. Not wanting to give the man another chance to attack, especially when all his thoughts remained unfocused, the young captain quickly drew out his pistol and shot his would-be murderer pointblank in the chest.

The thump of a falling corpse and the lingering smell of gunpowder shook him from his momentary lapse.

What had he been thinking? He was ten times a fool: to be distracted like that in the middle of a life and death situation was completely unforgivable. To lose all sense of rational thought was akin to losing the respect and admiration he'd worked so hard to gain from the crew. It should never happen again … it would never happen again, not if he could help it.

Desperate to end this skirmish and eager to refocus his priorities, he scanned the deck until his eyes finally found what he'd been looking for. If the regal bearing and the air of command didn't give the Spanish captain away, then the gold epaulets and richly marked sword did. Ran closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand gripping the handle of his recently discharged gun a little more firmly. Never mind that he hadn't reloaded, he just wanted to end this and if that meant taking a gamble, then he would gladly do so.

He approached the olive-skinned man from behind without much difficulty, the other captain conveniently occupied by one of Ran's men.

"I'd stop now if I were you, Capitán," Ran shouted as he pressed his pistol threateningly to the back of the other man's head. The Spaniard froze, his sword arm stilling in mid-thrust. Ran dug the point of his useless gun harder against the other man's scalp. "Now, drop your weapon and yield."

The dark-haired man pause for a moment and Ran tightened his free hand around his sword in case his bluff was discovered. But the Spanish captain reluctantly gave up, his wrist going limp and his body slowly bending down to drop his weapon.

"Now, call off your men." Ran's voice hinted of no emotion, resonating still with authority and purpose. He jammed his pistol once more to emphasize his demand and his counterpart bellowed a few harsh orders to his men. The sound of sword fighting and shouting took a moment to cease, the silence slowly winding its way throughout the ship once the sailors looked over at the precarious situation of the two captains.

"My men! Tie up our dear hosts and see what prizes we've won. Bring them back to the Redemption for Kit to divvy up!" Ran's commands met with a victorious shout as his crew scrambled to fulfill their captain's order, their energized movements still retaining the remnants of the bloodlust they'd just experienced.

In an act of proper and honourable conduct, Ran's captive slowly bent down, picked up his sword, and handed it to the redhead, hilt first. The young captain nodded his acknowledgement, dropping his own pistol and taking the offered weapon. Dark, defeated eyes clashed with shining, violet ones, and Ran understood the frustration and humiliation the other man was feeling; he would feel the same if he had to yield the Redemption to anyone.

"Thank you, Capitán. And please, give my regards to King Philip." Ran smiled inwardly at his veiled insult as the Spaniard walked away to tend to his crew. There was no fear of retaliation. If the actions of the other captain had been any indication, honour and protocol would be followed.

"Captain, I'm heading back over," Kit's voice floated to Ran's ears. He glanced behind him to see his first mate looking a little exhausted but thankfully uninjured.

Ran was about to give his approval when he saw Ken approach. Instead, he just nodded his head in Kit's direction and turned away from the brunette. He heard Kit depart but the lighter footsteps that continued to move closer could only be Ken's.

He had to ignore him. The lesson he had learned just moments ago should've been enough to teach him the folly of allowing someone to distract him from his duties. He was the captain of the Redemption and as such, must never show and must never have any weaknesses. And Ken, he knew, had come close to becoming a fatal weakness.

<Well, never again.> He vowed to himself.

"Captain, if there's nothing else, I will return as well."

"No, there's nothing else. Go back to the Redemption," Ran replied harshly, keeping his gaze on the actions of the rest of his crew. <Focus on anything but him, focus on …>

A featherlike caress on his neck caused him to jerk back, accusing eyes turning to meet Ken's concerned ones.

"You're injured, Captain," Ken said softly.

It was then that Ran felt a stinging on the side of his neck. Tentatively bringing his fingers up to touch the wound, his fingers came away smeared red with his own blood - another reminder of how close he'd come to losing everything all because of some foolish obsession.

Ken's gentle gaze still remained on him. "Let me take a look at it …"

"No, I'm fine. Just get back to the ship." Ran shook the younger man's attentions off and walked away, but not before catching sight of shock - and a flash of hurt - reflected on the former slave's face.

<Never again.> Ran reminded himself as he steeled his thoughts. <Never again …>

(***)

Port Royal, Jamaica

Ran raised his glass with the rest of his men as they saluted another successful run. Although his face remained impassive, he enjoyed the rowdy cheers that echoed through the tavern. Taking a swig of his drink, his eyes scanned the dark tavern: with its lusty barmaids, filthy accommodations, and even filthier clientele, this tavern fit perfectly into the town they called 'one of the wickedest places on earth'. As the bitter liquid trickled down his throat, Ran saw Ken sitting off in a corner, immersed in conversation with another crewman. As if sensing the weight of a lover's gaze, the brunette turned his attention away from his comrade to meet Ran's eyes. But the captain quickly looked away. Ken was a part of his crew like all the others, and did not deserve any special treatment.

Just then, a flurry of blond curls and supple flesh plopped down onto his lap, assaulting his senses with the clinging odor of lust and cheap perfume.

"Why, Capitaine, it has been so long," the cloyingly high-pitched voice exclaimed as the woman twined her arms around Ran's neck.

The redhead looked up into limpid blue eyes embedded on a face that had seen too much hardship. Sometimes he wondered if the dim lighting was due to the tavern owner's frugal nature with wax and lamp oil or the need to hide the less than beautiful faces of his whores.

"Amalie," the captain acknowledged the buxom woman, not particularly caring at the moment where the French prostitute had just been. She was a diversion and she was just what he needed.

"I bet you missed me, didn't you, mon cher?" Amalie pouted, her overly rouged lips forming a practiced pucker that was meant to invite a kiss.

Ran complied, pulling the woman down for a sultry kiss that had some of his men whooping. "Of course I missed you," he replied as he moved away, willing to play along with the game. He had to fight the slight disgust that rose in his throat at the taste of ale and sex that lingered on his lips. "With something as beautiful as you, why wouldn't I?"

Amalie giggled, and pressed her breasts against Ran. "You are such a tease, mon Capitaine."

And Ran took the invitation, bending his head down to leave a trail of kisses along the soft globes of flesh that threatened to fall out of the woman's plunging neckline.

Although he told himself he would enjoy this, he knew why he was truly doing it. He knew that Ken was still watching. He knew that if he took this woman, Ken would not look at him with those soulful brown eyes the same way again. He knew that if that were the case, it would be easier to detach himself from the brunette. He knew that he had to convince Ken he felt nothing for him. But most importantly, he knew that he had to convince himself.

(***)

Ken ran along the dockside, eager to get away from the stifling heat of the tavern that had nearly choked all the air from his lungs. Having told Tippy that he needed to go back to the ship, he'd quickly left the bar without looking back. But even now, moving through the slightly cooler evening air, he had a difficult time breathing. His footsteps echoed down the dark walkway but the human emptiness of his surroundings couldn't seem to match the unexplained hollowness inside his chest. Why did images of Ran with that woman invade his senses so much? Why did he even care?

It was a common enough sight: sailors coming into port after a hard journey and finding the first available wench to assuage their needs. And the Redemption had had an eventful voyage indeed. After the attack, the ship had sailed into Kingston to drop off her cargo … for the Spanish Governor, Ran had wickedly explained to his crew. From there, they'd moved across the harbour into Port Royal for several days of relaxation before heading off to England. Another legitimate run, Ran had claimed.

So after such a trip and with the upcoming journey, it was no surprise that the men would enjoy themselves here as much as they could. But the idea of Ran with that woman … Ken stopped running and closed his eyes to block out the image. Somehow, he'd thought Ran was different. Somehow, he'd thought Ran had liked …

<Enough of this!> Ken scolded himself. < Since when have things been easy for you? Just take things as they come. Never get your hopes up.> It was a reminder he hadn't had to say to himself since he'd boarded the Redemption. He guessed it was time now.

Taking a deep breath of muggy ocean air, Ken opened his eyes and forced his body to relax. He looked around him at the looming silhouettes of moored ships that floated serenely before him, their crews undoubtedly taking advantage of the pleasures Port Royal had to offer.

And then he froze.

It couldn't be … not here … not now. Ken's heart quickened at the moonlit sight in front of him - the majestic lines, the sleek hull, the proud figurehead…

"It can't be the 'Valiant' … it can't be, not here," Ken whispered desperately as he stared at the compact clipper that was moored just a stone's throw from him.

"But it is, Ken love. It is."

Ken felt a shiver run down his spine at the answering whisper and the light touch on the base of his neck that followed.

"I've missed you, Ken." The whispered voice continued, the newcomer's fingers slowly stroking the scar on his neck. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Ken didn't need to look to know who stood behind him. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as the overwhelming sensations of humiliation and helplessness flooded through his body. Mustering up what fortitude he still possessed, he turned around to meet the cold gaze of his worst nightmare.

"Crawford …"

End Chapter 3