A/N: It's been a while! I've been feeling kind of blocked for a long time now, so I decided to break my habit of only posting fics when I've completed them. Instead I thought I'd post this first chapter off pat and see how it goes from there.

Let me know what you think of it so far, and I'll post the next chapter when I finish it!

Chapter 1

Nezumi sweated as he scrubbed the deck under the blazing sun. His bare back was burning; he could feel it, but it was just too hot to put his shirt back on. He thought with bitterness of the rest of the crew who, though admittedly having just finished a full-on fight in the middle of the day, were now cheerfully looting the shady hold of the merchant's galley they'd boarded.

It had been the first mate who'd spotted it off to starboard, and her guttural shout of excitement had roused the entire crew into a raging bloodlust. Nezumi had just rolled his eyes and fetched a bucket of soapy water to scrub the deck while the crew's filthy boots were gone. He'd nearly finished now, barely three square feet left to scrub as he heard his shipmates clamber back on board, laden down with loot and singing The Dead Horse Shanty at the top of their lungs. Nezumi winced as he heard them leave undoubtedly bloody bootprints all over his hard work. He didn't care how many chests of gold, silver, gems and other treasures Nezumi could barely imagine they were bringing on board: his back was worth much more and it wasn't like he'd ever see any of it anyway. Being a cabin boy really had very few perks, but he supposed he could only be grateful the crew hadn't thrown his infant self to the sharks after murdering his parents.

Nezumi turned to see the captain swagger onto his ship and raised an eyebrow when he leaned back over the galley wall to drag someone after him by the hair.

Nezumi thought the captive was an old man at first – understandable, taking into account the snow-white hair that was gripped in the iron fist of his captain. However, when the captain tossed him violently onto the deck (and Nezumi's bucket of water, too), he realised it was in fact a boy around his own age.

The captain sneered down at Nezumi fondly. "This 'ere one's a prisoner, and you're to keep him kindly, boy. He's the Duke of Westminster's son," he growled meaningfully.

Light dawned upon Nezumi's puzzlement. Hostage.

"Aye, cap'n."

He righted his now empty bucket and hoisted the boy up by his armpits. He felt like a corpse, he was so limp, and his face wasn't much livelier. Nezumi rolled his eyes at the obvious trauma in his eyes. It was a weakling's plight, and Neuzmi hated weaklings.

"Stand on your bloody feet, won't you?" he hissed in impatience. The boy didn't appear to have heard him, so he huffed and flung the kid over his shoulder. He nearly lost his footing on the steps down to the hold, but managed not to drop his charge until he reached the hostage cabin, the only one besides the captain's that had a lock. It was furnished far more richly than Nezumi's own, with heavy blankets, clean sheets and even a rug. Nezumi dropped the boy unceremoniously onto the mattress and left to finish swabbing the deck, locking the door behind him. He happily forgot about the hostage until evening, when the Mate aimed a kick at his ribs for not feeding him. The kick missed, of course, but Nezumi's pride was injured nonetheless.

It was with a grudging demeanour that Nezumi unlocked the cabin door and dumped the plate of stew on the dressing table. Even his exaggeratedly foul mood was lost on the prisoner, however. He remained limp on the bed, exactly where Nezumi had thrown him hours earlier.

"Oi," Nezumi said, jabbing him in the back. "Bloody wake up and eat something, you lazy git." When he got no response he forcefully flipped the boy over to hiss into his face, "The cap'n will throw me to the sharks if this plate ain't emptied, so if you think I won't force-feed you, you're wrong."

The boy blinked, the first reaction Nezumi had seen from him. Taking it as a good sign, Nezumi brought the plate over to the bed and scooped up a spoonful of stew.

"Come on, you cunt," he encouraged, holding the spoon to the boy's mouth. "It's barely hot by now."

There came no sign that he'd been heard.

His infamously limited patience running dry, Nezumi gripped the prisoner's chin and forced his mouth to open for the spoon. This, finally, got him a reaction. The boy began to struggle violently against his grasp, trying in vain to turn his head away. His knee slammed into Nezumi's side, throwing him off balance and sending the plate of stew cascading onto bed and boy alike.

Nezumi gaped for a moment before he flung the spoon violently onto the floor.

"Well I suppose it's fucking emptied now, ain't it?" he spat. Furious, he stormed from the room, slamming and locking the door with much more force than necessary. It was only hours later that he realised it was he who would have to clean up the mess in the room so, not wanting to risk the captain or mate checking in to find the squalor, he gathered a pail of water, a mop and a cloth and thumped grumpily back down.

When he unlocked the door, he found the boy animate and licking stew off his hands. He looked up guiltily as Nezumi walked in, frozen as if caught doing something he shouldn't.

Nezumi only raised an eyebrow. "Hungry after all, were we? Well too sodding bad. You waste food, you don't eat, them's the rules on ship."

The boy sniffed, looking shamefaced. Nezumi plonked the bucket onto the floor and began to mop up the stew that had splashed onto the wood. The rug was unsalvageable, but if he turned it over he reckoned no one would notice.

It was only as he motioned for the prisoner to get off the bed so he could remove the sheets that the boy opened his mouth. "Sorry," he said.

Nezumi blinked. "What now?"

"Sorry."

He was perplexed. "For what? Kneeing me in the gut? I've had worse."

The boy reddened. "Well, that as well. But mainly for making a mess that you have clean up."

Nezumi was astounded. "Hey, ain't you a duke's son?" he asked.

He nodded. "The Duke of Westminster."

"Aye, I don't care. My point is, I'm a cabin boy. That's a servant."

"...yes?"

"So why're you apologising? I thought you gentry treated your servants like horseshit!"

The boy blinked in apparent shock. "Of course not! You're a person just like me, aren't you?"

There was a moment of silence before Nezumi burst into peals of laughter.

"What's so funny?" the boy cried.

"A person just like you?!" Nezumi spluttered. "You have got to be joking!"

"I'm not!"

Still chuckling, Nezumi looked the boy dead in the eye as he gathered up the filthy sheets. "We are nothing alike, you and me. If you think so then you can't be long for this world, boy, that much stupidity'll kill you."

The boy frowned. "Don't call me 'boy'," he said haughtily.

"Why? You are a boy."

"Yes, but so are you."

"Am not."

"Are too. How old are you?"

Nezumi shrugged. "Dunno."

"You don't know?"

"Nah, how would I? I can't remember what day I was born."

"Don't your parents?"

"My parents be dead, boy."

The boy blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I hardly care anymore. How could you even think I had parents, you think I'd be on a pirate ship if so?"

Looking very uncomfortable, the boy shrugged. "Well, there was that woman. I figured she had to be someone's mother, and you're the only person young enough."

"'That woman'? You mean the Mate?"

"She's first mate?!"

"Sure she is. And why she got to be someone's mother anyway?"

"Well, I couldn't see why she'd be on board otherwise..." The boy trailed off as Nezumi snorted.

"Pah! You think just 'cause your posh navy thinks women can't man a ship it means they can't? The Mate's the best fighter we got, apart from Cap'n, though I'll wager most of it is pansies like you underestimating her." He snorted again. "Lord, and you call us the rabble!"

The boy looked suitably ashamed and Nezumi turned to get new sheets out of the cupboard. As he smoothed them over the bed, the boy spoke up again.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Nezumi paused for a second, then went back to his work. "Why do you want to know?"

"You're to look after me, aren't you? Shouldn't I know your name?"

"I'm not your fucking nanny," Nezumi said, straightening up and cracking his back. "You want one of those, you may as well fling yourself overboard. I'm sure the mermaids'll take care of you."

The boy frowned. "That's rude. And foul. You shouldn't use such language."

"Who says?"

"God."

"Since when does God say you shouldn't use words like 'fuck' and 'cunt'? Which bit of the Bible was that?"

The boy opened his mouth, but struggled for a moment before he thought of a retort. "It's ungentlemanly," he proclaimed.

"I look like a gentleman to you?"

"No. But I still want to know your name."

"Why's it important?"

"A name is who you are."

"No," Nezumi told him. "I'm who I am. My name don't change that."

He left the room and went to bed.

He woke at the crack of dawn the next day and scrambled down to the cook's galley to grab some gruel while it was still hot. Then, remembering he had an extra mouth to feed, he wheedled another one out of the burly man.

Walking into the hostage cabin, he was surprised to find it still smelled of stew. He thought he'd cleaned it well enough the night before; what was still stinking the place out? He looked to the prisoner (who was somehow still asleep) and found his answer.

"Oi!" he roared. The boy shot upright. "Why in Lord's name are you sleeping in that filthy shite?!"

The boy's clothes were still crusted with congealed stew; Nezumi had forgotten about them.

Still breathing rapidly from the fright, the boy stammered, "You didn't say anything, so I just..."

Nezumi rolled his eyes. "Lawd. I'm not all-powerful, I can't remember everything! Ah well, chuck 'em here now then, I'll have them back to you by mid-morning."

The boy blinked. "What?"

Nezumi sighed. "I said –"

"Yes, I heard you," the boy interrupted, "but I don't have any other clothes!"

"So?" Nezumi was flummoxed.

"So I'll be naked!"

"And? It's not too cold."

"It's not the cold that bothers me!"

"Then what? No one'll see, if that's what's got your knickers in a twist."

"You will!"

"Lord, you're a piece of work," Nezumi huffed. "I'll turn my back, how's that?"

"No, I don't want to sit here naked for hours on end! I want some other clothes!" the boy insisted primly.

"Not half demanding, are we?!" Nezumi yelled back, losing his rag. He marched over to the boy. "So help me, you whippersnapper, if you won't get out of those clothes yourself I'll tear them off you!"

He grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"No!" the boy howled in protest, thumping his chest hard.

"Oi, stop flailing, or the cap'n will come down and flay us both alive," Nezumi hissed at him, abandoning the shirt to grab the boy's wrists. He tripped, and they both went crashing painfully to the floor.

Gathering his bearings in a millisecond, Nezumi pinned the boy beneath him with two well-placed knees and ripped his shirt over his head.

"Huh? The hell is that?"

The boy was now blushing deeply and looked close to tears. There was a dark, twisting mark snaking around his neck and chest, deep red in colour. At first, Nezumi thought it was a tattoo. A longer look told him it was a scar.

"You going to tell me how that happened, or do I have to ask?" Nezumi asked bluntly.

The boy bit his lip. "There was an accident when I was a child," he whispered. "I got snared in a whip. It half-strangled me."

Nezumi looked at the scar more closely and traced it absent-mindedly with his thumb. The boy shuddered and Nezumi remembered himself. He clambered off his charge.

"Well," he said breezily, "I've seen it now, you can't hide it no more. So give me the rest of your clothes and let's have done with it."

"No," the boy said stubbornly. "I still don't want to be undressed in front of a complete stranger."

Nezumi sighed. "Is this about the name thing again? I'll tell you if you're that uptight about it."

"It's not. I want another set of clothes."

Nezumi gave up. "Fine. I'll fetch you my others. Didn't realise you could be such a pig-headed bastard."

When he came back with his alternate set of clothing, the boy had polished off the gruel.

"Hungry still?" he commented.

The boy shrugged. "I'm used to eating more."

Nezumi laughed and tossed the clothes at him. The prisoner made him turn around as he changed, which Nezumi found nonsensical but did nonetheless, and when he was finished he handed the dirty clothes and polished plate to Nezumi.

"Thank you," he said clearly.

Nezumi just blinked.

"The correct response is "you're welcome"."

"You're not, though. You're a hostage. And hard work."

"You're still supposed to say it."

"Why?"

"It's polite."

"Aye, and I'm not."

The boy sighed. "I know." he cleared his throat. "My name's Shion, by the way."

Nezumi's brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me that all of a sudden?"

"I thought if I told you mine, you'd tell me yours," the boy said coyly.

Nezumi rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm Nezumi."

"Rat?"

"That's what it means. Does that make me a rat to you?"

"What?"

"You said a name is who you are." He smirked.

Shion opened his mouth, then shut it again. Nezumi turned on his heel and went to wash the stew-covered clothes. They took longer to dry than he'd guessed; the sun had retreated behind the clouds and though there was a stiff breeze blowing, the sun had passed its zenith by the time Nezumi made his way back down to the hostage cabin. He was reaching for the door handle when it suddenly opened in his face, and if his reflexes had been any less sharp he would have been awarded with a broken nose.

The captain marched out of the cabin, barely sparing an eye for Nezumi, who ducked his head to avoid drawing attention. He scuttled inside before the door swung closed.

Shion looked up at his entry and hurriedly wiped at his eyes. Nezumi raised an eyebrow.

"So sorry to see the cap'n go?" he quipped.

Shion didn't appear to understand. "What? Oh, no, quite the opposite. I can't stand him."

Nezumi rolled his eyes but decided to drop it. "So," he asked instead, "what did he want, then?"

Shion looked at him with an inscrutable question in his eyes but answered after a moment. "They've sent a message to my father."

"Ah, the ransom note."

"Yes. He says..." Shion trailed off, twisting his hands painfully around each other.

"He says what?" Nezumi prompted, curious.

"He says that if the demands aren't met within a fortnight, he'll weigh anchor at the next port and..." he cleared his throat, "give me to a brothel."

Nezumi nodded. It wasn't an uncommon threat of the captain's, but so far he'd only been obliged to make good on his word twice.

"Doesn't that shock you?" Shion asked him.

"Not really," Nezumi said, shrugging. "Could be worse."

"How could it possibly be worse?!"

"He could make you walk the plank. He could hang you from the crow's nest. He could flay you and make boots out of your hide."

Shion had turned grey. "I think I'd prefer death to a brothel," he murmured.

Nezumi's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What? Why?!"

Shion gazed at him, incredulous. "It would be humiliating!"

"And death wouldn't?"

"It would be the more honourable option."

Nezumi snorted. "Bullshit! I've seen more deaths than I can count. Ain't nothing honourable about it. You know what dying people do? Shit themselves. Hanged men turn black. Their tongues go purple and swell up massive, so they can't even fit inside their mouths anymore. Drowned men go grey and inflate like balloons."

"Stop!" Shion cried. His face was green. "You're turning my stomach!"

"My point stands," Nezumi said. "Death is never honourable. What's honourable is to go on living, as long as you can, by any means must."

Shion glared at him. "You're wrong," he said. His voice lacked conviction."

"Am I indeed? It's a good thing your father'll pay the ransom then, isn't it? We'll never have to find out." He threw the clean clothes at Shion's head. "Get changed. And I don't want no pussy-footing around being a blushing maiden. Strip and give me my clothes back."

Shion still made him turn around.