The waves were lovey, dark and deep…
Captain Arthur Kirkland shook his head in disappointment. That wasn't how the line went…And yet, it fit perfectly with the stormy night he was experiencing on his ship, The Boiling Teapot. It was day three in this horrid storm, and he wasn't sure how much longer his supplies would last. If he was still on the right course, he should be docking in Paradise Cove in just a few days. However, if he wasn't on course…
The bushy-browed man shook his head once more, dislodging that frightful thought.
He stood up and stretched his lean body, rubbing his eyes as he did so. He needed to check on deck, needed to see how bad the storm had gotten. He moved from his cabin to the deck, his strides masculine yet graceful, his face a mask of authority. As soon as he stepped outside, he was assaulted by the cold, harsh rain.
This is what he loved most about the sea. He craved the rain soaking his corn-colored locks, closing his emerald eyes and tipping his head up to let the rain slide down his face. He loved to feel the waves loll his boat back and forth, like a mother rocking her child. Yes, he was a child of the sea; the salt was in his blood and the sunshine on his skin.
"Oui, Angleterre! There is something out there!" The voice of his first mate, Francis Bonnefoy, rang in his ear. "Look, look, you blind man! Do you see it?"
Captain Kirkland grinded his teeth "Shut it, you bloody frog! I just got out here!" However, as they exchanged biting barbs, the Englishman stood beside the Frenchman now, taking the offered spying glass to see what his mate was pointing out. At first, he saw nothing but foamy tips and jagged rocks, nothing at all.
That bloody idiot, he must be drunk…wait a minute, what is that? He finally found what the man was talking about. On one of the rocks, there a young man (or perhaps a boy?) stranded. He could only see the top half of the lad, but he could tell the poor soul needed help. Even if he was a pirate, he was not completely heartless.
"Francis! Steer us to him, no man could survive on those rocks, much less in a storm such as this."
"Oui, mon captain. You're not such a heartless bastard, after all. Now, if we may discuss me taking some time off after we dock…?" The blond Frenchman wagged his eyebrows lewdly at the captain.
The captain snarled. "No, you blooming frog, you CANNOT have some time off! We're docking, supplying, and then LEAVING."
"Ah, but mon cheri, what of the boy? Surely, we cannot just leave him in a town with nothing, oui?"
Arthur lowered the spying glass, staring off into the sea. "Yes, what of the boy…?" He thought long and hard, knowing his decision could affect the rest of the boy's life, and there was no way he could live with such guilt if the boy failed from the start. "We'll…We will keep him with us, until we either find his home town or, if he wishes to, remain with us. We'll give the lad a choice."
He could feel his first mate's eyes on him, staring and wondering and thinking. This wasn't the first person he and his crew had rescued, but even the Frenchman could tell…there was something weird about this boy on the rocks - this boy, in the middle of nowhere, who had already enchanted his way onto the ship. Where did he come from?
He had no more time to think as the ship crept up onto the rocks. He watched as his crew did what they could to bring the unconscious boy up to the ship's deck. His men heaved and his men hoed, lassoing him like he was a log and pulling him up. The men stepped aside as their captain walked down toward the boy.
The British man looked down at his newest rescue, his newest charge, so to say. He could see now that he was young, maybe about fourteen or fifteen. He couldn't be quite sure of the color of his hair, but it appeared to be a dirty blond, very dirty blond. He wouldn't be able to tell eye color until the lad woke up. The boy was dressed in a simple white shirt and tan breeches, both torn and ragged from whatever he had been through.
"Take him to my cabin…Change his clothes and attend to any injuries. Put him in my bed, let him rest." Captain Kirkland's voice left no room to argue, no room to give an unwanted opinion. A few of his sturdier men picked the boy up as gently as possible, following their captain's orders.
Francis stood beside him, leaning close to whisper in his captain's ear. "Arthur…"
"Yes, Francis, you do not need to tell me…I don't know why I said take him to my cabin…I have never done that before…"
~4 years later~
Newly-turned 18 year old Alfred F. Jones was walking along the mast again, a favorite past-time of his. He knew Artie would be looking for him soon, but until then, he intended to enjoy the sunshine and salty air to their fullest. Behind his glasses, his bright blue sea eyes scanned the vastness of the ocean. It had been 4 years yesterday since he was pulled from the rocks and aboard The Boiling Teapot. Yesterday was also his birthday, or at least that's what Artie decided. All he could remember when he woke up was his name and his age – nothing else. He didn't really mind all that much, not remembering. For all he knew, he could have been abandoned at sea, left to die, if it wasn't for the courageous Captain Kirkland! Or perhaps, he was a runaway prince, finally being tired of the royal life and escaped but was captured!
Or maybe…he was just a lonely boy, and he would forever be grateful to the blond Brit for giving him a chance.
"Alfred, lad, what have I told you about being up there?" The boy grinned at the shouting. "You bloody brat, you get down here this instant! And I swear, if you decide to 'swing' down here like last time, I'll - "
Arthur never got to finish his sentence, for the boy was already flying down, his hand wrapped in one of the many ropes. He could remember the first few times Alfred had tried this – a broken arm here, a torn muscle there. It never dampened the boy's spirits, though. If anything, it was the driving force for him, made him try again and again until he got it right.
He crossed his arms and scowled at the younger man as he landed in front of him. Whether or not the boy had learned to land gracefully wasn't the point - if he happened to get hurt, there wasn't much that could be done about it. They were doctorless at the moment, their former doctor asking for leave in his homeland of Japan, and the nearest port was several days away. He was fond of the boy and didn't want to see him in any sort of pain.
"Aw, but Artie…I landed, didn't I? And I looked pretty cool doing it!" The boy in front of Arthur grinned that sun-bright smile, and he caved in. Yes, he was fond of the boy – too fond – but it couldn't be helped. He knew he'd congratulate the boy, scold him lightly, and Alfred would be on his merry way.
"Yes, yes, lad…and a damn good landing it was. Do it again and I'll wring your bloody neck, and this time I'm serious!" He scowled for added effect, but to no avail. Alfred kept smiling, he knew he won. If only the boy knew exactly how much he won from Arthur…
A/N: Okay, I'm absolutely stuck on where I want this to go. Hell, I could probably just leave it like this for a short ficlet, but eh… So, I'm hoping for some insightful reviews and suggestions on where this should go! Anything, people…Been a few years since I wrote, so I'm kinda rusty D: