Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ Capture, Recapture ( Chapter 7 )

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 7: Capture, Recapture

The London docks were fast becoming is least favourite place. The stench of unwashed humanity and decaying refuse still lingered in the damp night air, everlasting remnants of the souls who toiled here during the day, its thickness and pervasiveness all conspiring to choke the life right out of him. It was definitely unpleasant, Ken decided as he made his way down the wharf toward the Redemption. And it was probably one of the few things he would be grateful to leave behind when he set sail with Crawford aboard the Valiant come tomorrow.

At the thought of the dark-haired captain, Ken's attention turned to the presence behind him, shadowing him with the focused tenacity an obedient pet would at a master's orders. What had Crawford called him again? Schuldich, or something along those line, Ken recalled. He didn't recognize him, nor did he remember him from his time as a slave on the Valiant so Ken concluded the redhead had probably joined the crew after he had left. Nevertheless, he had to give the long-haired man credit: his own dull steps thumped along the wooden walkway, quietly echoing down the quay and through the darkness, but Schuldich's movements were barely audible. Aside from the slight shuffle he heard if he paused and listened carefully, he would never have known the other man was even there. He wondered how Schuldich managed to remain almost invisible given the open space they were traversing. If he turned around right then, he would've had to search hard to delineate the outline of the Valiant's crewman, the meager sliver of moonlight reflecting off burnished hair and intense eyes the only telltale signs he was even present. But all in all, Ken didn't mind this fact. If he couldn't see or hear the redhead, then he wouldn't be reminded too often of the monumental decision he had made earlier that evening.

"My freedom for his," he had said to Crawford, those condemning words still ringing in his head now. He wondered why he had taken Crawford's offer: surely, he didn't care for the captain so much as to give up his hard-won freedom. Those eyes, haunted and saddened with that tempered violet fire, had affected him definitely, and that resigned voice, defeated and faraway as it relayed the captain's story, had made him sympathize yes, but was that the extent of it? Did he feel something more than deep compassion and a need to soothe all that guilt and fear from Ran's face? But if that wasn't the case, then why had he sacrificed everything he had gained these past two months for the older man's life? And why did he feel as if he had done the right thing?

He remembered Crawford's subtle look of satisfaction at his decision, no triumphant smile or gloating words forthcoming as the brunette had finally submitted to his manipulations. Ken smirked inwardly at the memory: Crawford would never betray the controlled exterior that he had long made his trademark, even if he had just finally regained his most prized possession after such an eventful chase. The dark-haired captain had merely nodded and led him toward the Valiant, face impassive and his authority undeniable as Ken had followed the man out of old habit. It wasn't until he had stood in the looming shadow of his former ship that he regained the presence of mind to object to the pace with which events had progressed.

Stopping before the ship's gangplank, he had stated that there were still a few things left on the Redemption he wanted to retrieve. Crawford had scrutinized him for a moment then, searching for any intention of escape that may have been forming in his former slave's mind before relenting to Ken's wishes and summoning Schuldich to watch over his new acquisition. The older man had then claimed that he would head off immediately to make the arrangements for Ran's release, a declaration that Ken did not question for the sooner the situation was resolved, the better. He had no doubt the Valiant's captain was having a 'civil' conversation with the so-called witnesses at that very moment, and from experience, he knew Crawford's brand of persuasion could be rather swaying. Even if the witnesses decided to tell the truth and accuse the dark-haired man of coercion before the court, Crawford would, in all likelihood, have sailed off without a trace by then. He was that efficient.

The Redemption finally came into view, and Ken felt his heart jump at the sight of the weak moonlight reflecting off her tall rigging and sleek hull. Majestic and proud she stood, anchored and moored but ready to sail out into the vast oceans the instant she was set free - so much like her captain she was, Ken thought sadly. He would miss her … He would miss everything about her: her uncontainable speed, her refined finesse, her unrivalled grace, her motley crew, and even her peerless captain.

Ken was startled by that last thought, surprised at the attachments he had unknowingly developed during the recent months. How could he? He knew better than to feel too deeply for anything and anyone. But now, … Tippy, Mr. Mumbles, Kit, … Ran … He silently scolded himself for being so blatantly careless. There were rules he had set up for himself years ago, rules he had vowed never to break: be accommodating, be friendly if you have to, but never, never let it be anything more because otherwise, he would hurt deep inside … like he was hurting now.

Trying to ignore the unwanted sadness that had somehow gripped him, he continued walking forward and slowly made his way onto the ship. The most notable aspect about the deck was the absence of the British soldiers who had swarmed it the day he'd left. It was fairly quiet now, Ken saw, his gaze sweeping around the dimly lit ship. Lanterns, scattered sparsely throughout, supplemented the quarter moon as he tried to identify the few shadows that were still working at various stations on deck before heading down for the night.

"Hey, Boy! You're back!"

Ken turned toward the quarterdeck at the shout to see a bulky figure, followed by an equally large and muscular one, detach themselves from the others.

"Tippy. Mr. Mumbles." Ken greeted as the crewmen lumbered over.

"Any luck with the captain?" Tippy asked, face hopeful as he stopped before the brunette. Mr. Mumbles's expression mirrored that of his shipmate.

Ken smiled encouragingly, and prayed his false cheerfulness would hide the gravity of his own situation. "I have a feeling that everything is going to be fine. I believe the captain should be returning soon."

Tippy broke out into a gleeful shout as he slapped Ken on the shoulder, his bright eyes brimming with joy. "You're serious, right, Boy?"

At Ken's affirmative, the sandy-haired man broke out into another loud shout to inform the other crewmen of the good news. Ken couldn't help but smile even more at the large man's happiness. Even Mr. Mumbles's face had broken into a wide grin, the white ivory of his teeth juxtaposed against the smooth ebony of his skin. But then, the former African slave's gaze fell onto the figure standing behind Ken, and his look turned to one of curiosity and suspicion.

Seeing the direction the man's attention had taken, Ken was quickly reminded of what he had come to do.

"He's a friend, Mr. Mumbles," Ken stated calmly, trying to remain unaffected so as not to reveal the lie. At the dark-skinned man's slight nod, Ken looked at Tippy in an effort to change the subject. "Tippy, is Admiral Whyte still on board?"

The shouting crewman calmed down a little at Ken's question, although his eyes still sparkled from the happy news. "The British bastard left a while ago. Said he had some official business to take care of and left that pampered dandy, Smythe, in charge." Tippy's eyes turned slightly mischievous then, making him look very much like a little boy who had put a frog in some girl's hair. "But I think the crew harassed him enough to have him huddling somewhere in the hold."

A deep-throated chuckle escaped Tippy's throat at his last words as he patted Ken on the shoulder again and glanced conspiringly at Mr. Mumbles, who was obliged to smile good-naturedly back. Ken looked away from the open display of camaraderie. Make the cut clean, he told himself. He was the only one to blame for letting these attachments develop and thus, he had to be the one to severe it.

"I'm going to the captain's cabin, Tippy," Ken said as he moved away from the jovial crewman.

"We'll see you later then, Boy."

Ken glanced at his two shipmates and smiled a small smile. "Yes, later," he whispered and continued toward Ran's room. Without looking, he knew Schuldich followed him, silent and unobtrusive but present nonetheless.

A strange warmth spread through his body the moment he stepped into the empty cabin. It had only been days since he'd left but looking around at the familiar feather mattress and the finely crafted oak desk, Ken felt like he had come home after years of separation. His eyes fell on the lit lamp sitting on the desk, the one that Ran had refused to let him light that drunken night in Port Royal, and he fought against the nostalgia that threatened to consume him at the memory. Regardless of all the things the redhead had said and done, Ran was one of the best captains he had ever served under, and Ken owed him at least a goodbye.

Leaving Schuldich to stand by the door, Ken walked up to the desk and pulled out a sheet of blank parchment. After seeing that the inkwell was still full, he picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink, and started writing. For the next few moments, the only sound to be heard in the room was the quick scratching of quill on parchment as Ken wrote his final farewell to his captain.

It was fitting, he thought while watching the ink dry, that the site of their first meeting would be the site of their final parting, indirect as it may be. He remembered standing here over two months ago, meeting Ran for the first time and thinking that the man was too young to be who he claimed to be. It hadn't taken long before he was proven wrong, he recalled amusedly.

After blowing gently on the parchment, he sanded it, and placed it carefully in the middle of the desk, clearly visible to anyone who walked by. Satisfied, he looked up at Schuldich and nodded, indicating that his task was now complete. The redhead's eyes narrowed slightly but his expression betrayed nothing as Ken walked back toward the door and exited the cabin. If the trailing man had expected the brunette to collect any personal belongings as he had originally claimed, he didn't show it, and frankly, Ken wouldn't have cared if he did. He had come on board the Redemption with nothing save his convictions and his pride, and thus, he would leave with such.

His fate now once more out of his control and in the hands of others, he was suddenly eager to leave all this behind. The sooner he left this ship, the sooner he could begin to forget about that brief moment in time when he had tasted true freedom. Strides long and quick, Ken almost made it onto the gangplank when he heard a familiar shout stop him.

"Hey, Kid! Tippy said you were back."

Ken swallowed and composed his face into a mask that he prayed the approaching first mate wouldn't see through.

"Kit," Ken greeted as the middle aged man looked happily at him.

"Tippy told me the news about the captain, Kid," Kit remarked in a light tone, and shook his head. "You never seem to amaze me. How did you do it?"

Ken shrugged and looked away from the older man's inquisitive gaze. "I'd prefer to keep that a secret, if you don't mind, Kit." Hopefully, the first mate would see his gesture and words as a show of modesty and not as the lie it truly was.

Kit threw him a quizzical look but then his eyes fell on Schuldich, and his whole body stiffened.

Before the older man could ask, Ken explained the redhead's presence. "He's a friend, Kit. He helped me secure Ran's release so I thought I would thank him by taking him to a local tavern tonight."

The fib rolled glibly off his tongue more smoothly than he had originally anticipated. And Kit appeared to believe it since he nodded his thanks to the silent redhead. Ken watched as Schuldich acknowledged the first mate's action with a slight inclination of his own head, but the steady, piercing green gaze caused an uncomfortable shiver to run down the brunette's spine. To Ken, Crawford's crewman looked as if he was sizing Kit up with some veiled intent, like he was mentally creating a list of strengths and weaknesses that could potentially be used in the future for his own benefit. But he couldn't let the man distract him now. He still had to get off the ship.

"I'll be heading off then, Kit," Ken said as he turned back toward the gangplank.

Kit chuckled quietly. "Have a good time, Kid."

"I will," Ken replied as he made his way onto the docks. He could feel the first mate's gaze on his back as he walked away, but he forced himself to ignore it … just like he forced himself to forget everything he was leaving behind.

(***)

<Why did Crawford want him so badly?> Schuldich wondered as he walked behind the brunette, eyes fixed on the other man's ramrod straight back and proudly angled head. Moonlight glinted off Ken's dark locks, providing an unearthly sheen around his hair that for all intents and purposes looked like a halo. His lips quirked up at the poetic analogy.

An angel … the very thought made Schuldich want to break out in laughter. If there was one thing he had learned in all his years, it was that anything as pure and as good as angels didn't exist, or if they did, they never lasted long in this world. He had watched this Ken walk among his crew and interact with a relaxed friendliness that he knew was an act. He had remained silent, as the brunette had easily lied about his identity and the current predicament. And through it all, he had tried to pinpoint what allure this man held that had captivated Crawford so thoroughly.

But there had been something about him that Schuldich couldn't exactly describe during their brief sojourn aboard the Redemption, something elusive in the way Crawford's former slave spoke, something unidentifiable in the way he moved that intrigued the redhead. It was … it was almost like an untainted essence that the brunette seemed to exude unknowingly. Innocence, for lack of a better word, Schuldich concluded, although he had a hard time believing that such a concept truly existed.

"Why does Crawford want you so badly?" he asked suddenly, his curiosity now taking the better of him.

Ken didn't answer. He just continued to walk, no break in his steps and no acknowledgement of the question.

"I asked you something," Schuldich stated as he stopped the brunette with a hand on the shoulder. He disliked it when people ignored his questions. "And I expect an answer. Why does he want you so badly?"

He thought the brunette would finally reply since he made no move to walk away but then, he shrugged off Schuldich's hand and continued along the docks as if nothing had interrupted him at all. The redhead felt a spurt of anger shoot through him. Quickly catching up to Crawford's new conquest, he grabbed the man by the arm, turned him around and pulled the brunette toward him by the collar of his vest until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart.

"Answer me," he demanded quietly. "Why does he want you so badly?"

And still, Ken did not respond. Instead, he looked into Schuldich's hard gaze with his own dark eyes, disheartened sadness dwelling in their unfathomable depths. And it was then that the redhead's mind was assaulted with what this man really was: goodness, purity, … innocence. He stood frozen for a moment as he watched the brunette's soulful orbs reveal something that conflicted with everything he had grown up to believe. This was all an illusion; it had to be. Innocence … it didn't exist, it never had. For all its exalted praise, and its wondrous virtue, it was just a weakness … a weakness to be exploited, a weakness to be condemned, a weakness to be destroyed.

Schuldich let his lips form a cold, deadly smile as he rationalized what he saw into something he could understand. "You're pathetic, did you know that?" he whispered as he held Ken's gaze. "People like you would've never survived where I grew up."

And with that, he let the brunette go, pushed him away like he was nothing more important than an annoying insect. Unperturbed by the sudden outburst, Ken calmly straightened himself and resumed his journey, leaving Schuldich to follow as he had done all evening.

<Yes, he was weak> the redheaded decided. But that still didn't explain why Crawford wanted him so badly.

They walked silently then, slowly covering the distance between the Redemption and the Valiant as if nothing had happened, the weak moon showering its white light on the two lone figures trekking their way through the darkness. The docks were deserted, the rhythmic lapping of the river Thames and their muted footsteps on the creaking walkway the only disturbances to disrupt the damp, London air. And Schuldich hated it. This quiet, this blackness … it was too unnerving, even in his jaded experience. Body beginning to tense, he continued to tread stealthily and a little more cautiously.

He didn't know how he had anticipated it - perhaps it was the sudden stillness that pervaded his senses, or perhaps it was the almost imperceptible flash of moonlight off gleaming metal - but he saw the attack just in time to duck and avoid decapitation. Reacting instinctively and lashing out a leg in the general direction of the sword wielder, he caught something soft and yielding with the heel of his boot and heard a pained grunt. A heavy thud ahead of him indicated that Ken had encountered a similar assailant and was mirroring his own actions. Eyes narrowing and body lowering into a crouch, Schuldich tried to make out the moving shadows around him that looked more a part of the night than human. His whole being sung from the danger of the situation as his sharply tuned senses discerned three dark figures surrounding him, one of which being the person he'd recently kicked.

A soft swish and Schuldich felt rather than saw one of them lunge at him from his left. Timing it perfectly, he sidestepped to his right and sensed the attacker's blade glide right below his arm as he jerked his elbow up toward his opponent's face. A dull crack and a light splatter of warm fluid on his face caused a stream of satisfaction to spread through his chest, the man's nose in all likelihood broken. He heard shouting coming from Ken's direction but he ignored it, and forced his attention to his remaining attackers.

His breaths were now coming short and fast as a predatory gleam manifested itself somewhere deep in his verdant eyes, and had it been brighter, the newcomers might have very well reconsidered engaging the redhead, but the waning moonlight was barely sufficient to see where a body was standing, let alone a man's face. And so they attacked, arms swinging and swords poised as Schuldich dodged and evaded, his movements swift yet graceful, a macabre dance unto itself. The redhead smiled inwardly at the ineptness of his assailants, and briefly wondered how Crawford's new pet was doing on his own. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a chance to dwell on it.

Deftly leaning away from a sword thrust that barely missed his side, he quickly clamped his hand down on the momentarily stationary wrist and twisted. The offending sword clattered to the boards as a vehement curse escaped the captured man's mouth. Holding tightly to the man's arm, Schuldich abruptly brought his knee up and leveraged the fragile bones of the attacker's wrist between it and his viselike grip until he heard a rewarding snap. The man didn't even have the opportunity to gasp in pain before the redhead let off a right hook that knocked him off his feet.

Now, Schuldich turned to his last opponent, his heated blood and rapid heartbeat echoing a lustful tune in his ears. The shadowed figure stood still, sword in hand but unmoving, as if expecting him to make the first move. His empty smile widened at the invitation but as he took a step a forward, a loud crack reverberated through his head and suddenly, he found himself falling to the ground, his legs for some reason too weak to support him.

Bloody hell!

It took a moment of battling an overwhelming dizziness before he realized that a fourth attacker had gotten behind him and that the sickening crack he'd heard was something hard connecting with the back of his skull. He blinked rapidly, futilely attempting to clear his darkening vision and stand up, but his body refused to obey, refused to move.

Damn it!

He tried to focus … he tried to …

The last thing he saw was the brunette's limp body being dragged away before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

(***)

One day later …

Ran stood, posture erect and head high, when he heard the clatter of keys in the lock outside his Tower room. This was it, the moment that had been so long in coming, the moment he had expected for the past decade, … the moment he did not want.

The last thought made him pause: he didn't want this? No, that wasn't right. He did want this. He needed this to end, all this running, all this guilt … he needed it to finish … didn't he?

/ "You still have me…" /

Four simple words, said softly, said gently, said genuinely, as if they represented so much more than their face value.

<Damn you, Ken> Ran thought as the door creaked open. <Why did you have to come in here and turn everything upside down? Why did you have to come into my life and turn everything upside down?>

All his convictions, all his plans now laid scattered before him, the path now unclear and undesirable, all because of a pair of understanding brown eyes and the haunting echo of heartfelt words.

Expecting a pair of armed guards to lead him to his execution, Ran eyes widened slightly in surprise when one of the regular Tower guards stood at the open doorway, face impassive as he said, "You're free."

The redheaded captain fought hard not to gape. Instead, he rapidly collected himself and confidently strode out of the cell like the nobleman he supposedly was. Although his pace was steady and unrushed, his mind worked furiously to reason out what might have happened to cause this turn of events.

Could it have been Bess? It must be. Who else could it be? Who else had the resources and the power to free him?

Suddenly, he felt lighter, and as he stepped out of the shadow of the Tower into the midday sun, he couldn't help but smile slightly at this unexpected, yet fortuitous, occurrence. His mood brightened even further when he saw Kit's familiar figure waiting for him outside the gates, eyes shining and lips grinning. Ran shook his head good-naturedly: how he had missed that man.

"Captain! It's good to see you again," the older man said as the redhead approach. He dearly wanted to hug the boy he had watched grow to manhood but knowing Ran's discomfort with shows of physical affection, he settled for a pat on the shoulder instead.

"The feeling's mutual, Kit." Ran widened his smile and the first mate was struck speechless for a moment. He had rarely seen the captain display such open emotion before and frankly, the redhead was breathtakingly handsome when he did so. But there was something different about the younger man now - he seemed a little more carefree, a little more relaxed … he seemed happier.

"How did you know to come?"

Kit shrugged. "That Admiral Whyte told me to meet you here. Said something about a case of mistaken identity. Then he packed up his men and left."

"Must be the Queen's handiwork," Ran said as he turned around. "Come. I'm eager to see the Redemption again. How has she been during my absence?"

The first mate chuckled and followed his captain, making companionable conversation as they strolled their way westward toward the docked ship. Ran listened intently as Kit relayed what had happened while he was gone, nodding his head at the maintenance report and raising an eyebrow at the mention of Ken's newfound self.

Ken.

He couldn't deny that he wanted to see the younger man again. He didn't know what he would do or say when the time came, but that was all inconsequential right now. All he knew was that yesterday, he had resigned himself to his fate and now, after their heated meeting, he was strangely happy to be free. He couldn't understand why but now, he had all the time in the world to muddle through the confusion of his emotions.

It didn't seem long to Ran when they finally made it to the docks and when the Redemption came into view. His chest nearly burst with pride as he took in her proud form sitting restlessly by the quay. Sunlight streamed over her main mast and intricate rigging as her crew scampered to and fro like diligent work ants, up keeping her routine maintenance and filling her hold.

He was home.

Increasing his pace, Ran briskly walked - or rather, ran - up the gangplank and onto the deck, his sense of homecoming increasing each time a crewman stopped what he was doing and shouted a 'welcome back, Captain'. Of course, he acknowledged every one of them with only a solemn nod and a serious expression, but deep down, he couldn't remember feeling happier. And, he was eager to find Ken.

Striding purposefully toward his cabin and greeting the passing crewmen as the implacable captain he was on the way, he mentally toyed with the words he would say to the brunette when they met again. But for the life of him though, he couldn't seem to string two comprehensible words together. Finally making it to his room, he opened the door and stepped in, partly expecting to find the younger man there but only encountering emptiness.

He was probably somewhere else on the ship, Ran concluded as he turned to leave. But then, something stopped him. He didn't know what it was or why he seemed drawn to the desk, yet, nevertheless, he found himself rapidly covering the short distance that separated that piece of furniture and him.

It was just a piece of parchment really, nothing special about it to set it apart from the myriad of others that were habitually scattered on his desk. In fact, it blended in quite nicely with the neighbouring maps and navigational instruments that sat innocently on the polished surface. But something about it caused an uneasy feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach.

The writing looked familiar, … not his, but Ken's. Gingerly picking it up, the young captain began to read.

/*

Captain,

I was told when I came aboard that as a slave, I would have to work off my debt before I was granted my freedom. I believe I have paid it off, Captain. In giving you your freedom and your life, I consider myself absolved of any debt I may have incurred. Thus, as a free man, I have decided to leave and see the country my mother had once called her home.

Remember, Captain, you life is a precious thing. Live it well, and Godspeed.

Ken

*/

Ran reread the words over and over, as if the next time through, the scribbles would somehow take on a different meaning. His grip tightened on the thick parchment, eyes rescanning the lines and mind oblivious to the shaking hands that made it difficult to do so. Something constricted inside him, a twisting pain that strangely masked the sense of loss he tried not to feel, that he would not allow himself to feel.

Yet, he felt …

/ "You still have me…" /

Ran crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it onto the desk. How dare he …

He felt …

Ken had lied to him. Ken had lied. All those things the brunette had said in the Tower … No one, absolutely no one, lied to him.

He felt … he felt anger.

Ken had no right leaving like this, not when Ran had his slave papers tucked away in that very desk, not when Ran still owned him. He had no right …

Suppressing a grunt of rage, he stormed out of his cabin and onto the deck, eyes immediately searching for Kit. Spotting his first mate on the quarterdeck, he stomped up to the man and ignored the curious stares that were thrown his way.

"Where is he?"

Kit turned at the near shout, expression puzzled by the repressed fury he saw on Ran's face.

"Who?"

"Ken. Where is he?" The redhead glared at the older man, expecting an accommodating answer, and expecting it immediately.

"I don't know, Captain. He came back last night and said he was going to a tavern with a friend. When he didn't return this morning, I merely assumed he might have overindulged a little too much." Kit paused, watching Ran's eyes grow darker. "He'll probably be back later today. Why do you ask?"

"He's gone, Kit," Ran stated a matter-of-factly.

The older man saw something - Desperation? Sadness? Helplessness? - flicker briefly across the redhead's face at those words before it was replace with a look of barely leashed-in anger, but it was so fleeting that he doubted it had even happened. Before Kit could respond though, Ran had marched away, his every motion screaming with repressed rage.

"Wait, Captain, where are you going?" the first mate asked as he began to chase after the redhead.

Ran didn't even stop when he answered his old friend's question. "To bring back what's mine."

(***)

Schuldich ducked as a compass was thrown his way, the resulting clunk of the brass instrument as it hit the floor enough to cause his aching head to pound even more heavily. He stared warily back at the enraged man standing behind the desk, green eyes secretly looking for some further indication of the captain's fury other than the flashing, hazel eyes and the sudden flinging of the flying object.

"Find him," Crawford said levelly to Schuldich, the calmness of is voice barely concealing the dangerous consequences that belied it. "I don't care how you do it, but find him."

Ignoring his debilitating headache, the redhead glared back openly. "Why? It wasn't my fault that he was kidnapped! He's your toy."

Crawford straightened at his crewman's defiance. "Do you think I care who's at fault? I'm ordering you to find him, as a captain to a subordinate. No arguments, Schuldich, or I'll have you punished for mutiny and thrown off this ship."

The younger man felt his body stiffen at the threat.

"Fine! I'll do it," he threw back as he began to walk out of Crawford's cabin. But then he stopped, and turned to his captain. "What's so important about him anyways?"

Crawford stared back, his hooded gaze not revealing any answer or indicating any intention of responding.

The redhead was intrigued. "Why, Captain?"

Eyes gleaming mischievously, he sidled up to the older man. "Why do you obsess over him so much, hmm? Did he do something to you? Do you want revenge? Is that it? Or does he remind you of someone from your childhood? You know, perhaps he's a missed opportunity that you're trying to rectify now? Come, what is it about him, Crawford?"

The dark-haired man continued to stare at him, expression unchanged as he let the tirade of questions finish. And then, "You think I let my surroundings shape me into who I am, force me to do the things I do? No, you've got it wrong, Schuldich. I shape the world around me, not the other way around."

Schuldich remained silent for a moment, absorbing and digesting Crawford's toneless words. Verdant gaze rising to meet hazel, he soon asked softly, "How badly do you want him then?"

And just as softly, he got his reply.

"He is something I've wanted since before I can remember. And I don't care what I have to do to get him."

(***)

Ran let out a tired breath as he entered the tavern, the sixth one he'd been to that day looking for Ken. He scanned the room, and noted the shady clientele that lingered drunkenly within the none-too-clean walls. As the sky had gotten darker, so had the patrons he'd encountered in the taverns he'd visited near the London docks. And that was not to mention his mood.

As night had descended and the day wore on, Ran found his rage cooling somewhat, but his anger lingered, a simmering, dormant heat that he refused to let go, refused to dispel. He didn't know why he held onto it so stubbornly; perhaps it was to keep him focused on the task at hand, or perhaps it was to help him deny the other feeling that had unknowingly crept up on him - desperation. Whatever it was, he didn't care, not as long as the end result was the same. He would find Ken. He had too.

At the light tap on his back, he turned around to see Kit standing behind him, eyes communicating his lack of success in his own search for Ken. They had split the known dockside taverns between the two of them in hopes of covering a larger space in a shorter amount of time. But by the dejected shake of the first mate's head, Kit had met with as much luck as him.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I couldn't find him."

Ran nodded, accepting the sad fact. "Where else could he be, Kit?" He tried hard to keep the frustration from his voice, and thought he did an admirable job.

The older man shrugged. "I don't know. I … "

"What?" The young captain look down at his first mate to see why the older man had suddenly stopped speaking. "What is it, Kit?"

"That man. The one with the long hair." Following his friend's gesture, Ran caught sight of the person Kit was referring to sitting with a drink in a dark corner of the tavern. "He was with Ken last night."

He didn't need to hear any more. Before he could stop himself, Ran was striding across the rancorous room, eyes focused dangerously on the sitting redhead. Not giving any thought to his actions, he brushed aside the empty chairs in his way as he approached and yanked the longhaired man to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

"Where is he?" Ran growled into the startled man's face as he violently shook his captive. Anger and desperation mingled within him, blinding him and spurring him into being something far removed from his usual detached self. He heard yelling and shuffling behind him, drunken sailors and the like encouraging a fight that looked inevitable. But Ran ignored them, his sole intent being the extraction of information from the man trapped in his grasp. Pushing the other redhead back and banging him hard against the blackened wall, Ran shook him one more time. "Where is he?"

The initial dazed look gave way to narrowed, green eyes as they stared assessing back at the irrational captain. Lips moving into an uneven smirk, he asked, "Who?"

"Don't play games with me," Ran gritted through clenched teeth. "Ken. Where is he?"

Schuldich raised an eyebrow. "Ken? Is that his name?"

The young captain tightened his grip on the man, jerked him forward and banged him back against the wall. This time, Schuldich couldn't hide a wince as an arresting pain darted through his much-abused head.

"For the last time, where is - "

"Well, well, if it isn't the treasonous captain?"

Ran froze at the sudden pressure of a metal gun barrel against the skin of his temple, his gaze slowly traveling over to the gunman standing to his right. Deadly, hazel eyes stared back, locks of ink black hair rakishly framing a cold, emotionless face. He cursed himself for being so careless as to let this man sneak up on him. Having a pistol pointed at his head by a complete stranger was not how he had wanted this day to end. He felt the redhead in his hold relax as the new arrival kept his gun trained on him.

Schuldich looked over and smiled. "What took you so long, Crawford?"

End Chapter 7