warning: violence/death (I will try to keep graphic violence/gore to a minimum)

Arthur Kirkland needed a drink.

He had forgone his uniform, wig and all, and successfully slipped unnoticed into the local tavern. Only the bartender and one wench recognized him. The bartender allowed him privacy at the far end of the bar, where the lighting wasn't sufficient enough for people to notice him. The wench was trying to catch his eye.

Throwing back his second drink, Arthur rubbed at his temples and tried to forget the day's events.

Floggings and hangings weren't unusual. He had long lost count of the punishments doled out by the Royal Navy. But he couldn't forget the skin and bone of these men, and their drawn, swallow faces. They had mutinied out of starvation, their pay delayed and lagging for over a year.

Arthur knew these men. He knew all of his men. Twelve of them had lost children in the month before the mutiny, because they weren't able to send money home. One man's young pregnant wife had perished from disease and starvation. The men themselves didn't fare any better.

Today, Arthur watched as the leaders of the mutiny were hung. Their families, if they were struggling before, were damned now. The followers of the mutiny didn't receive much better. It was considered merciful that they were only subject to seventy two lashes.

Load of hogwash. Half of the men who had been flogged were already infected, and as weak as they were, were likely on their deathbeds. Hanging, if not done right, was a slow death as it was. Dying of blood loss and infection was another story.

So here Arthur was, sitting at the dark end of the bar, buying a third drink. Usually his low tolerance was a curse, but at the moment, the less rum it took to wash his memory clean, the better.

He was starting to achieve that end, when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol behind his head.

Things were going swimmingly.

"You're coming with us."

Arthur lolled his head to glance behind him at his would be assaulters.

He recognized the two men right away, as fuddled as his brain was becoming.

Both ragged, smelly, (likely imbibed just as much rum as Arthur did) men were pirates under Arthur's self-proclaimed nemesis. Captain 'Red Stain' as he liked to call himself. (Edgar Moore wasn't all that threatening of a name, after all.) Usually, Captain 'Red Stain' didn't do much to garner enough of Arthur's attention. The man and his crew were only good for their elaborate escapes. Arthur had already arrested the man twice, and seen him miss the gallows both times.

Arthur sighed.

"I'd like to finish my drink." He said, turning back to his mug.

The pirate pressed his pistol against Arthur's head.

"Now. Captain's given me full permission to blow your head off if you don't."

Arthur glanced around. Not very many people there were paying attention. The costs and benefits of sitting in a secluded area. But the bartender and the hopeful wench had noticed, and both were staring wide eyed.

"Very well then," Arthur tossed a few coins onto the bar, and then slowly stood up, the pistol still aimed at him. "I wouldn't want to subject these bystanders to such a display."

While Arthur would have liked the dignity of walking himself into whatever harebrained plot of revenge that Captain 'Red Stain' had come up with this time, his captors decided that he needed to be restrained. So the two men grabbed Arthur's arms and walked him out of the tavern. The three stuck to the shadows as the moved down towards the docks, and then took a left and made a long, long walk out to where the pirate's ship was anchored. Out of sight from the town. Captain 'Red Stain' likely wanted to make this as quiet as possible.

Naturally, Arthur suspected that other members of the Navy would be on his trail in an instant, the pirates would be captured, and he'd get to witness what new spectacle Captain 'Red Stain' had planned for his third, eventual escape.

This would be over quickly, and maybe then, Arthur could lie down.

In the meantime, Arthur geared himself up for another monologue.

What he wasn't expecting, the moment he was brought forward to the Captain, was for Captain 'Red Stain' to once live up to his name. He didn't bother with any semantics, and didn't even offer a cup of obviously poisoned tea. At once, the Captain barked out, to his surrounding crew, a quick succession of 'aim, fire!'

And Arthur died.

What a splendid end to the day.

Being riddled with bullets, it took Arthur half a day to regenerate.

He found himself among the rocky shore of the island's cliffside, likely where the pirates had dumped his body, and it was a wonder he hadn't been dragged out to sea by the tide. Or maybe, when Arthur noticed that his clothes were damp in such a way that could not be entirely blamed on the humidity, they had dumped his body overboard and this was where he washed onto shore.

His chest and head, having faced the full brunt of the attack, and recovering from a hangover, were still aching. But nevertheless, Arthur's first priority was to find the town. There he would acquire himself a boat.

He decided then and there that if Captain 'Red Stain' was ready to play a serious game, then Arthur would kindly oblige him.

Arthur opted out of flying under English colors. He found the captain easily enough. There was a report of a pirate docking at a small, impressionable town some miles away, on another island. Arthur arrived there in short time, having chosen a discreet and quick sloop.

It was a bit fun to watch all the pirates' scurvy scarred faces turn a ghostly white when Arthur waltzed onto their ship. He may have flaunted the terror he caused them by wearing his waistcoat unbuttoned and a loose fitting shirt, so that they could all see his unscarred body. Sometimes revealing to mortals that he couldn't completely die was a hassle. This time it was practically a game. No one made any move to stop him.

Just to return the favor, Arthur did not bother with speeches or truces. He just called Captain 'Red Stain' out of his cabin, and then gave the captain an outfit to truly suit his name.

The commodore sighed a long, tired sigh, reached for his glass of wine, and then gave Arthur his best attempt at a disproving glare.

His commanding officer had learned of Arthur's trip in very short time. And now the commodore was trying his best not to look pleased, but this wasn't the first time Arthur had objected to or tested the boundaries of the law.

So Arthur was standing in front of the commodore's desk, there to receive his due lecture.

"I cannot say that you have not done us a service, to be rid of an already twice condemned man, but Mr. Kirkland… even you are not allowed to dole justice outside of the law."

Arthur tipped his chin up, not regretting his actions.

"And to hear that you did this out of revenge… you do understand the severity of your crime, and what punishment you would likely receive if you were an average citizen, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

The commodore shook his head. "Alright, I don't have anything more to say on the matter. Just… restrain from such conduct in the future. Let the court handle these matters. We have a reputation of civilized justice to uphold."

Arthur frowned, the memory of the hangings and floggings still fresh in his mind. Some justice.

But he was not there to cause more trouble for himself, so Arthur replied with an obedient, "Understood, sir."

"Thank you. You may be dismissed."

Arthur made his way to his current favored tavern, planning to sit in his corner, and tell the bartender to not let anymore stragglers bother him.

But, and he really should have anticipated his bad luck of late, he was intercepted by one of the men from Captain 'Red Stain's' crew. He knew this man to be the quartermaster. The quartermaster had always unnerved Arthur, being one of the few men on the ship who didn't look or smell like he had slept the night in a flooded pig pen. His sun tanned skin had few blemishes, and he had inquisitive eyes that many of his illiterate shipmates lacked. Arthur had wondered a time or two why the men had not named him their captain. He had always seemed much more capable, and deadlier.

Of course, he had likely assumed the role of captain now. There was really only one reason he would have bothered to come onshore to the same island his former captain had left Arthur.

If Arthur wasn't so tired, as he later had convinced himself, he would have reacted quicker. His hand flew to his cutlass, but a blade was already in the quartermaster's hand, and then it was in Arthur's chest.

"Nothing personal," the quartermaster said as he withdrew. "Just curious."

But Arthur barely heard what the quartermaster said, because Arthur died. Again.

This time, Arthur awoke on what was the unmistakable lump of a straw mattress. He opened his eyes to a dark, confined room, lit only by a single lamp to the left of him.

He groaned as he sat up, and immediately his gaze landed on a figure sitting opposite him on an old wooden chair.

It was the quartermaster. Or, captain, rather, as the man likely was now. The man's head was tilted, and he studied Arthur was an almost innocent expression.

Arthur went to grab a weapon, but noticed that he was stripped of everything but his shirt and trousers. Even his wig was missing. He ran his hand through his loose, ragged hair. He checked himself over for any other sign of thievery or torture, and other than his also missing purse, he found nothing suspicious.

"Interesting. That took less time than I thought it would."

Arthur's attention snapped back to the quartermaster-turned-captain.

Right. A mortal had just discovered he wasn't an apparition – or whatever the pirates had assumed Arthur to be when he boarded their ship. Wait, what was it that the man had said? Something about just being curious?

Great, one of those people. Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The pirate made no move to stop him.

"Where did you put my effects?"

"I have a few questions."

Arthur groaned again. For certain, one of those people. He and his belongings were being held hostage by a man who fancied himself as a scientist. Well, as long as the man didn't try to assault him again, Arthur figured he might as well amuse the pirate for a moment. It was probably easier than getting into a fight and risk getting himself fatally injured for a third time that week.

"Before you ask, I am not possessed by the devil, nor did I find the fountain of youth."

"A former shipmate of mine told me of another man like you. Unable to die. A Frenchman. He met the man as a cabin boy, and then again as an adult. The Frenchman hadn't changed at all."

Arthur shifted his eyes to the sighed and exhaled. Francis really needed to be better about not flaunting himself around mortals.

"You know of this Frenchman?" The pirate asked.

"Unfortunately."

"And he's like you?"

"Also, yes, unfortunately."

And then, the question Arthur had been anticipating, "How?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "My immortality has nothing to do with any attainable magic. Trust me, I should know. And even if I did know how to turn someone immortal, I would decline the opportunity. Ghastly life to be immortal, as it were. You are not the first person to kill me out of 'curiosity,' and you will not be the life. I fancy that you're not interested in such affairs."

The pirate's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, no, you misunderstand me. I have no interest in becoming immortal myself. I don't ever wish to be the subject. Of anything. The attentions afforded to a captain are too arbitrary. It's too consuming a position. I only wish to observe."

Arthur's brows drew together as understanding dawned on him. "I am not becoming your new captain, if that's what you're after."

The man tilted his head again, to the other side. "Why ever not?"

"For starters, in case you have not noticed, I am loyal to the Crown."

"Which is why you went outside of the law."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "I have no intention of committing treason or piracy."

"I think you would have quite a talent for it."

"I killed your former captain!" Arthur snapped. "You and your crew would turn on me in an instant."

The man frowned, his eyes sad as if Arthur had offended him. "Only if you did anything worth removing you of power. I am but a true pirate. My loyalties lie in whoever earns my respect. My former captain was questionable, to all of us. If not you, someone would have rid of us of him eventually. You have proven yourself quite an opponent… and you fascinate me. You have my respect."

Arthur blinked slowly, trying to map out how he had found himself in this situation. Alright, he really did not have time for this.

"Well, forgive me if I do not wish to be respected by a man who stabbed me out of 'curiosity.'"

The apparent reluctant captain stood. He turned around, shifted his chair to the side, to reveal a square in the wall. He pushed the square in, and to the side, and fished out Arthur's clothes, weapons, and money. He held out everything to Arthur.

"Why don't I buy you a drink, let you punch me in the face, for your troubles, and we call it even?"

Arthur stared at the pirate captain long and hard, not touching his belongings. There was not a hint of deception, as far as Arthur could tell. He slowly accepted his things, checked to make sure everything was returned to him. He dressed, keeping an eye on the pirate.

Still, the pirate did nothing threatening.

"That an honest offer?" Arthur asked.

"Of course."

Arthur considered it. "Very well then."

He drew his fist back and threw as much of his strength into his blow as possible, effectively knocking the pirate unconscious. This time, Arthur wouldn't be the one waking up with a headache.

Retribution felt good.

Arthur was a gentleman, so he had waited for the pirate captain to wake. And then he had the man follow through on his promised drink.

It wasn't until he was half way through his free mug of rum that he thought to ask the man his name. Or that he even noticed how young the man appeared to be. When Arthur had a closer look, and in better lighting, he realized that the new captain couldn't be more than twenty, maybe even eighteen.

The boy captain, as Arthur now realized he was, shrugged. "Everyone calls me Patches."

"Patches?"

Patches hummed in affirmation. "My dad was a pirate of our ship, my mum his fallback lover when he was onshore. He didn't know I was born. When the crew found me, my clothes were so full of patches, you couldn't tell what the original fabric was."

The factual tone with which Patches relayed all this information threw Arthur off. It was as if he had described the weather, and not his estranged, impoverished upbringing. Weren't mortals supposed to be a sentimental lot, taken with the miseries of their everyday life?

"Your mother didn't give you a name?" Arthur asked.

"She did."

"… And?"

"That's my business."

Arthur took a sip of his drink. "Very well. I can respect that. Captain Patches it is then."

The boy's eyes darkened, and Arthur scooted back a moment before he realized that the mortal boy didn't pose an actual threat.

"I do not wish to be the captain."

"You made that point, already, yes."

The air around Patches lightened then, his expression again became innocent.

"Shall we have another round?" Patches lifted his mug.

"On you?"

Patches produced a couple coins from his sleeve. Arthur then noticed that he couldn't see a purse anywhere on Patches' person. At least he was a talented pirate. Captain 'Red Stain' liked to flaunt the wealth of his plunders.

The bartender eyed Arthur's company, but when Arthur gave a reassuring nod, the bartender left them alone to their drinks.

Half way through his next drink, and Arthur could already feel the effects, another question dawned on him. He leaned against the bar and stared at Patches.

"That was very impulsive of you… to stab a stranger like that. What would you have done if I wasn't immortal?"

Patches didn't even take a moment to consider. He answered over the rim of his mug, "Then you would be dead and be of no further interest to me. But the chances that you would actually die were slim, and so I willfully acted on my own curiosity."

Arthur set his mug down and watched as Patches took a sip. He narrowed his eyes. "I know with your… profession, death isn't foreign… but do you make a habit of that?"

"Of what?"

"Killing people out of curiosity?"

"No." Patches glanced over at Arthur. "If there is no reason for me to kill someone, then why would I do it?"

"Ah. Do you avoid needlessly killing people, then?"

"Of course. Dead people create such a number of consequences that I would rather not deal with."

"I see."

Maybe it was the rum that was slowly befuddling all sense of judgment Arthur normally had, but he couldn't help but to feel a mutual fascination with Patches. His earlier annoyance was slowly dissipating and being replaced with a reluctant enjoyment of his company. Patches still unnerved him, but maybe that was only adding to his interest. Mortals rarely left such a bold impression on him, after all.

He accepted a third, and then a fourth round of drinks. Much to his own gratification, he noticed a pink tinge in Patches' cheeks after the third drink, and was grateful that he was not accompanying a heavy weight.

For most of the time, the two did not talk. Occasionally Arthur would glance over at Patches, and the boy would either be studying some rowdy behavior elsewhere in the tavern, or he would be staring right back at Arthur, unabashed.

After a few of these silent exchanges, Arthur began to stare back. The two were in such a quiet, studious staring contest when there was sudden hush around them.

Arthur glanced up to see what people had paused about, to find himself face to face with three Royal Navy officers. Elsewhere in the tavern, people were still carrying on, flirting, drinking, and behaving as shamelessly as usual. But for those who saw three officers stare down another supposed officer in the company of a suspicious individual, they had quieted to see what would happen.

"Mr. Kirkland, sir, we have been searching for you for hours. You were not at your station at the reported time."

Arthur put his mug down, slowly, squinting. "Was that… right, forgot about that entirely. My apologies, I was…" he waved his hand vaguely in Patches' direction, "caught up in other matters."

One of the lower level officers glanced over at Patches, and then his brows furrowed in recognition as his eyes widened.

"What are you doing with a known pirate?" The officer demanded this loudly enough that a few others in the tavern paused and turned their attentions on the unfurling tense scene.

The other two officers snapped their attention towards Patches, who regarded them with a bored, quirked brow, and then back at Arthur.

"Boy owed me a drink." Arthur slurred, as if the answer was obvious. There was some reason behind the drink, but it wasn't coming to mind. Patches did something, but all Arthur could think of is some discussion about killing people, and that certainly wouldn't appease the officers.

And yet, all three officers regarded Arthur then with shock, and some perplexity and disgust.

Was that not a sufficient enough answer? Arthur wondered.

"You're dealing with pirates now?"

Arthur frowned. "I am doing no such thing. Boy… he went and… he… well, he did something, so he owes me a drink."

"Why didn't you arrest him?!"

"Why didn't I…?" Arthur looked at Patches, who shrugged, barely lifting his shoulders as he did. Huh. Patches had a rather small frame, Arthur just noticed.

"Answer the question!" The front officer, a lieutenant, barked. Some of his hair was falling loose from his wig.

Arthur paused, before he realized the command was addressed at him. He tilted his head back. "There was a question?"

The officer who had recognized Patches suddenly grabbed Patches by his jacket lapel and yanked him forward.

"Have you poisoned him?" The officer snapped.

Arthur started at that, tensed. That wasn't a good idea. Arthur wasn't entirely sure why that wasn't a good idea, but there was something about Patches and that officer didn't want to mess with him…

He wanted to warn the man of such – he didn't want anything bad happening to one of his people, after all, but the lieutenant was speaking to Arthur.

"We'll have to bring you in to the Commodore… and after you were let off so leniently…"

"No, no, that's not…" Arthur tried to form the words to explain the situation, explain why confronting Patches was not a good idea, and then he noticed, in the hand behind Patches' back, a glint of metal.

So, losing the ability to walk in a straight line, Arthur made the most ill-planned, questionable decision in his life.

He grabbed Patches' arm and ran.

Author's Note: yooooo life in the Royal Navy at the turn of the 18th century was crap, dude

Also, I read a book about pirates, and that's some cool stuff. Dirty, questionable. But cool.