A/n: Please excuse the absolutely awful and thoughtless title. I couldn't think of anything and wanted to start getting this posted. If you can think up a better one... review me.


Christophe waved his arms above his head at the sight of his brother. "Hey, Aran!"

Cortes let out a huff from deep in his throat. Christophe was waving wildly as the other ship pulled up beside the Saint Nazaire, caring little for what anyone else might think of his excitement. Cortes was far more reserved. To tell the truth he wasn't exactly sure what to think of his brother's return. He certainly didn't feel as hostile towards him as he had the last time Christophe had showed up, and he had it in the back of his mind to make sure he didn't appear hostile. Of course, he didn't want to be jumping up and down and waving his arms like Christophe was either.

The other ship was now right along side the Saint Nazaire, and put out a boarding ramp. A part of Cortes' mind observed this ship. Who were they? Christophe had taken them right up to the Saint Nazaire. It wasn't a Sphere ship. And Cortes was fairly sure Christophe wasn't in charge of it; he had probably just hitched a lift. Cortes shifted nervously. The ship looked newer than the Saint Nazaire, sleeker, and probably faster. It was difficult to tell how much weaponry was held on it. If it had much, it was probably designed to minimise their appearance, thereby keeping the overall sleek shape. But Christophe wouldn't intentionally bring a dangerous ship so close, Cortes was sure of this, whatever doubts he'd had about his brother in the past. It was the unintentional, and his brother's far too blasé approach to the risk it might bring that worried him.

The Captain of the Saint Nazaire didn't get to think about the other ship for long though. The two ships had connected, and within seconds Christophe had made his way across to his brother.

The last time they'd met, Christophe had asked Cortes for a hug, and this he realised had been a mistake. This time, he wasn't even going to give him the option. "Aran!" Christophe ploughed into the other man, wrapping his arms around his neck in a big bear hug.

"Chris…" Cortes got out before the air was knocked out of him. He flailed, managed to get a hold of Christophe's arms and pull him off.

"I told you I'd come back, didn't I?" Christophe grinned.

Cortes sighed. "Yeah, I guess you did…" So what was he supposed to do now? Apologise for last time? Christophe had risked his life to save him and his crew. He and his brother didn't always get along, but Cortes knew he'd probably been far too harsh last time.

"Now come on, don't just stand there! Are you glad to see me or not?" Christophe took a step back, waiting. Despite all his bluster he wasn't stupid. He knew Cortes' feelings for him weren't exactly all warm and fuzzy. He was waiting, hoping to see that some of that had changed.

Cortes sighed, letting his gaze drop to the floor. "Yeah, I'm glad to see you."

Christophe smiled, and slapped Cortes on the back. "Thanks. A little more enthusiasm wouldn't go astray though…"

Cortes glared at him.

"Kidding!" Christophe held up his hands.

"Who's your friend?" Cortes asked, nodding over at the other ship, and the man standing on the deck there. As well as wanting to find out as much as he could about this other ship, he really just wanted to change the subject. Perhaps the words he really wanted to say to Christophe would come later.

"That's Tristan. Turns out he was looking for you too, so I hitched a lift…"

"Wait, what?" Cortes turned to his brother, his nervousness over the other ship spiking up into fear. "Why!?"

"Relax, he's just…"

"Why'd you bring a warship looking for me straight to the Saint Nazaire!?"

"Aran, calm down. He's trustworthy, trust me…"

"You'd better be sure…"

"Positive…" said Christophe. Still, the tiniest shred of doubt, awoken by his brother's reaction, played at his mind. He glanced over his shoulder at the other ship.

A glint off metal caught his eye, and Christophe was suddenly alert as he realised what the man he'd trusted held in his hand. Pointed directly at Cortes.

Christophe shifted his body, just as a loud bang rang out in the skies.

Cortes looked across at the direction of the sound. He saw the gun in the man's hands, a thin tendril of smoke coming from the barrel as he lowered it. He looked down at the front of his body. Nothing…

Christophe let out a moan and sunk to his knees.

"Christophe!" Cortes dropped down beside him, catching him with an arm around the front of his body before he could topple. A patch of blood was spreading from beneath the hand Christophe clutched to the front of his jacket.

----

Over on the other ship, the man lowered the gun, as a smile touched the edges of his lips. "You idiot, Christophe. I was aiming for the ship."

Tristan turned, heading back into the bridge of his own ship. It'd do him little good if the pirates retaliated and shot him out on the deck. There was no doubt in his own mind he could take the Saint Nazaire down now. But then, where was the fun in that? No, the pirate ship itself would not be enough.

Aran Cortes hadn't stopped at taking away just his crew. He'd been responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone on his bloc. Why only take his ship away from him? No, Tristan thought to himself as he re-entered his bridge, he would follow the Saint Nazaire all the way home. Cortes would feel the same pain he had felt.

All he'd needed was some fool to lead him to the Saint Nazaire. The Saint Nazaire would lead him the rest of the way. All that was left now was to hunt her down.

----

"Wayan, Dahlia, get us out of here, now!" Cortes' order rang out across the bridge. His crew looked back at him, hearing the note of desperation in his voice.

Cortes stood in the door to the bridge, Christophe's arm slung over his shoulder as he supported most of the other man's weight.

Christophe was still conscious, and making an effort to support himself, but was having trouble.

"What happened?" asked the Vector.

"What do you think; he's hurt!" Cortes growled. "I said get us out of here!" he shouted at his crew, who weren't quite doing things fast enough for his liking.

Dahlia and Wayan were already at the forward controls, and the Saint Nazaire surged forward suddenly.

"I'm fine, really," said Christophe, attempting to push his brother off a bit and support himself.

"No," said the Vector, looking down at where Christophe clutched his belly, "I don't think you are. Cortes, you'd better get him to sit down." The Vector himself went to the back of the bridge, and pulled out a medical kit from a small locker.

Cortes led Christophe to one of the benches near the back, and helped him sit down there.

"Aran, you don't… grah…"

"Steady. Just let the Vector look at you…" said Cortes, trying to keep his voice from shaking. What the hell had that man shot at him? An energy weapon could do a lot of damage, but it didn't normally leave that much of a mess. The front of Christophe's jacket was soaked in blood. It could have been himself like this… only his brother had stepped in the way. Even after how Cortes had treated him. First he'd blown up his ship, now he'd gotten himself shot. Why does he care about me so much? And why can't I find it within myself to love him back?

The Vector pulled out a medical scanner from the kit, turned it on, and waved it in front of where Christophe grasped his jacket.

Christophe leaned back against his brother, trying to steady his breathing.

"It's a bullet…" said the Vector, raising an eyebrow at the scanners readouts.

"Obviously…" Cortes growled.

"No, I mean a real bullet," the Vector clarified. "Not a bit of energy, a metal bullet…"

"Oh, joy…" muttered Christophe, perhaps looking a little paler.

"Why would they want to use a metal bullet?" said Cortes. "They're practically obsolete!"

"Not to mention… argh… quite painful," Christophe added.

"I suppose it depends on what you can get your hands on…" mused the Vector.

"Is he going to be okay, or not?" Cortes snapped.

The Vector looked at the scanner again. "I think you were lucky, Christophe. I don't think it hit anything vital. If we can stop the bleeding, I think you can easily hang on until we get you back to Puerto Angel and get it out."

"What you're going to leave it in?" said Christophe.

"It can't do anymore damage just sitting there, and I'm no doctor. It's best to wait until we get back to Puerto Angel."

"Unless you want us to take it out now," said Cortes. "We just can't knock you out. There's no anaesthesia on board; at the moment Puerto Angel has little enough as it is. I couldn't justify taking a full complement of medical supplies with us, of course, if I knew…"

"Ah… I'll be fine…" said Christophe with a slight smile.

Cortes bristled at the smirk. "Aye, the Vector's right, you're lucky. What'd you go and get in the way for!? You're lucky it didn't hit anything more important!"

Christophe smiled again. "That's why I got in the way, little brother."

Cortes opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a retort. He shut it and looked down at the floor. Now he was being a jerk again.

"Just let me look after him, Cortes," said the Vector. "You take care of the ship. Get us back to Puerto Angel."

Cortes nodded, and stood up. "Alright."

"There might be a bit of a problem with that," said Wayan. "That ship? It's following us. And they seem pretty intent on keeping up."

"Then loose them!" Cortes snapped.

"I've been trying. But I think it's a pretty safe bet their ship is faster than the Saint Nazaire. Maybe only marginally, but they are faster."

"The weird thing is…" Dahlia added, "is that they're not attacking. They're well within firing range, but they don't look like they want to attack."

"You're right," said Wayan. "They're just… keeping up."

Cortes scowled. "Alright then…" He paused at the centre console, leaning over Cheng's shoulder as he peered at the map there. "Well, if they're not prepared to fight, I'm not going to start one. If we're not out powered, we're certainly out gunned." He thought for a moment before stepping back to the rear of the ship. "Christophe…?"

"Yeah?" Christophe had his jacket off now, and the Vector had started bandaging him up. Christophe looked a little bit more uncomfortable now, like the wound was starting to get to him.

Cortes softened. He tried to keep the tension out of his voice. There was no sense yelling at his brother. "The Captain of this ship, do you think he knew the area well? How well did he fly the ship?"

Christophe thought for the briefest of moments. "Alright, I guess. It was just him. No crew. He was relying heavily on the ship's technology. You have to, a ship that size if you have no crew. It isn't an easy thing to do, trust me."

"Maybe that's why he's not attacking?" Dahlia suggested.

"Maybe," Cortes admitted. "So we have a crew and that might be the only advantage we've got…" he moved back to Cheng's screen. "Dahlia, Wayan, I want you to take us here…" He touched a point on the central consoles screen, and it was relayed to the two pilots.

"We'll have to be careful…" said Dahlia, observing her screen. "There's thick fog, and manoeuvrers will be tight."

Cortes had now come to stand on the ship's wheelhouse, grasping the large wheel in his hands. "I know. We're going to try to lose him." He glanced over his shoulder briefly at his brother, and then turned his gaze back forwards before Christophe, or anyone else, could see the movement. Christophe was awake and alert, which was always a good sign, but Cortes could tell he wasn't feeling too good. The sooner he got him back to Puerto Angel and proper medical treatment, the better. The only problem being he couldn't lead that other ship back to Puerto Angel. They would have to loose it first. No one man's comfort, or even his life, could come before protecting that bloc. But that didn't mean he was comfortable with putting off getting help for his brother. It should've been me. Cortes shook his head, dissolving the thought, and looked forward and squared his shoulders. He would concentrate on the task at hand. He had to lose that ship.