A/N: Hi there! Tsuki here! I'm back with another chapter of this! Once again I would like to apologize for any foreign language errors and I won't mind if I get corrected for them and I will go back to change them!


Arthur was unappreciative of Alfred's efforts. The newest part of the crew complained. All of the time. It infuriated Arthur. Alfred was given commands to clean the deck and he complained of the smell and how his knees hurt. He was told to throw out the scraps of food and he said it was disgusting. He muttered about how he hated these kinds of chores because they reminded him of his childhood. Well, Arthur wasn't impressed. Two days of this was enough to wear on his patience.

He stepped through the crew's quarters quickly and opened Alfred's door. The boy was slicking back his hair and bangs with a little bit of grease. He appeared to be trying desperately to keep a single strand down that kept popping back up. Arthur felt that that strand made Alfred seem even more familiar, but he couldn't quite place why. He also was slightly disappointed that Alfred would slick his hair back. He looked much better the way it normally was, in Arthur's opinion.

Alfred growled at the strand as he finally got it to stay down and commanded it aloud to 'stay' before turning to Arthur. "Yeah Artie?"

Arthur frowned at him. "My name is 'Arthur and ye'll address me as 'Captain', dog."

"Well then you'll address me as 'Alfred' then, Artie. Cuz that's my name, not 'dog'."

Arthur scowled now, not liking this insubordination. "I will call you whatever I like!"

"Then same goes for me!" Alfred replied cheerfully. Arthur pulled out his sword and stabbed it into the wood right next to Alfred's face and leaned down to get into his face, angry.

"You will call me 'Captain' or face the consequences." He hissed, his green eyes flashing angrily. Had he had said this to anybody but Alfred, they would've been cowering. Many a man had wet himself at the glare of Captain Arthur Kirkland. He was as terrifying as he was beautiful and dangerous. Nobody dared to cross him unless they were a nation. And then Kirkland put them in their places: under his boot where they belonged or on their knees sucking him off to show just how low they were. To him they were just disgusting whores.

But this was Alfred F. Jones that we were talking about and he wasn't the type to back down. He gazed back into Captain Kirkland's eyes defiantly and looked like he was trying to control himself (somehow it didn't seem to be anger. Arthur didn't notice any actual anger in those blue depths) before he said in a calm and normal tone, "What consequences?"

"You are coming dangerously close to a whipping, boy." Arthur felt his anger dissipating and he tried desperately to hang onto it. Where was it going and why? Why did he find it difficult to be angry at those eyes? Was it possible because this American had America's eyes? Surely that demonstrated that he truly was American.

This time Alfred's eyes did flash with anger and alarm. "Whip? You'd actually whip me?" He seemed more surprised than he should've been. Did this boy really not know that people were whipped on ships –specifically the Bloody Mary at that?

"I would." Arthur kept his steely tone but the words felt hollow to him.

Alfred still didn't back down, though. "Just call me Alfred and I'll call you Captain. It's not that difficult."

"I'll call you by your given name when you earn it. Until then you are just a dog."

"Then I guess you'll have to put up with me not calling you Captain." Arthur was furious again and he clenched his jaw and fists before storming out of the room. Francis was nearby and kept pace with him, which didn't improve the Captain's mood at all.

"You're just going to let him command you like that? My my my, Angleterre you have grown soft!" France mocked, grinning.

"Shut up, frog!" Arthur hissed at him.

"Oh? And why should I Artie?" Arthur grabbed Francis's collar and slammed him against the wall, glaring death at him. That name on Francis's lips felt disgusting; vile and sickening. It didn't belong there. Why was it that Alfred could say it and he felt better all of a sudden, then?

"Do not call me that again." He whispered harshly, barely able to keep his breathing under control. He was sickened by Francis's scent. How he was able to smell this way even out at sea for months was a mystery. "Now listen to me here, frog, I want you to get my men and drag that boy's arse out onto the deck."

Francis –Arthur could tell- was frightened by Captain Kirkland. It brought Arthur great pleasure to see his fear. However the man didn't show it on his face. "Are you going to beat him, then?"

"He needs a lesson. Thirty lashes should do it." He dropped France and turned. "You have until I retrieve my whip to have him ready." He walked off.

"Yes, my Captain." Francis murmured before he went in the opposite direction.

Arthur was beside himself with anger now. He felt self-righteous. He needed to put Alfred in his place. He thought that he wouldn't whip him? He would prove him wrong. He went into his room and acquired his whip from his cabinet and studied the slightly worn leather. This would cause damage, he was sure. With that thought he left his room to find the sight of Alfred struggling against five men who were tying him to the main mast. His shirt was ripped off in the process to expose his back to Captain Kirkland. Arthur took a moment to appreciate what his hands had told him on the first day with his eyes. Alfred was well built for a nineteen year old. No doubt he had done work around a farm or something.

Arthur shook himself of his thoughts. He had a duty to fulfill. He approached Alfred from behind as his crew stood waiting in a circle around the scene. They were being respectful to their crewmate at least for this one moment. Each one of these men on the ship knew what it was like to be at the end of the weapon in Arthur's hand. They would stay silent and would not turn away for the sake of their own prides. Even Francis stood silent to watch the scene.

Alfred looked behind him the best he could to see the Captain. "Hey! What the hell are you planning?" He demanded. Arthur saw a flash of fear go through his blue eyes. His stomach twisted painfully at the sight. He didn't want to do this, he realized. He didn't want to whip Alfred. Those eyes were –despite the age that didn't seem to belong there- innocent in a way. Alfred had never felt the sting of a whip against his back. His lack of scars proved that. But Arthur did notice a scar on his lower back –a small one that looked like a round burn. He wondered what it was before clearing his head again.

"I had warned ye, dog. Ye're not supposed to disobey your captain. You're lucky I don't skin you and drop ye into the ocean to burn and be eaten by the sharks. So now, you'll be punished." He cracked his whip loudly.

Alfred's eyes widened and more fear entered then at the sound. "What! No! Don't do that!"

Captain Kirkland scowled, disgusted. "Don't snivel, brat. Take it like a man. Where's your pride, boy? Can't handle a little pain?"

Alfred's eyes darkened and hardened at the words as he glared defiantly the best he could at Arthur from his awkward position and shut his mouth. His eyes clearly said, "Get on with it, then." Arthur felt a little respect for the man. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. That thought of fondness for the boy brought back the aversion to whipping him. But he wasn't going to stop now. He couldn't look weak in front of his crew. Weakness meant death on the open sea. And even though he was a nation, he didn't want to have to swim to shore (which was many, many miles away) or be attacked by ocean dwellers.

He took a deep breath. "For repeated disobedience against me, you will receive thirty lashings. Be happy I don't kill you." With that said he lashed him for the first hit. Alfred cried out and clenched his fists and jaw shut directly afterwards. Captain Kirkland gave him a moment to absorb the pain before he continued with the rest of the lashings. Alfred refused to yell at the last twenty-nine of them. He kept his face stubborn and his eyes closed with tears leaking from them. But he didn't voice his pain anymore.

When the captain finished his whipping, Alfred's back was torn to shreds and blood soaked his tan skin and the pants he wore. The captain was handed a rag with which he cleaned his whip of Alfred's blood before he turned away. "Ye had better've learnt your lesson, dog." He said before he parted the circle of men and walked through them.

As he passed Francis he heard the man whisper, "Touché, Captain. Well met." Arthur scowled and slammed the door to his quarters. Francis always knew exactly what to say to make him feel worse.


Arthur didn't understand his own feelings as he lay in his bed the next morning before the sun had even risen. He was delaying his rising to check on the crew. Francis would probably burst into his room again. He felt that Alfred had deserved the whipping. He had constantly disobeyed Arthur and on top of that he whined about everything that he had done. He had been tired of it. Alfred had deserved the whipping. And yet Arthur felt guilty about it. He didn't understand why. He had never felt guilty for whipping a deserving crewmate. It was what they deserved. So why did he feel guilty about whipping this stranger who was a mere cabin boy? Was it because he favoured Alfred a little? No, he had favoured quite a bit of his crew –more so than Alfred, that was for sure- but that didn't cause him to feel guilty. Was it because Alfred wasn't technically part of his crew and was just someone who had accidentally found his way onto the ship? Arthur doubted that as well. Alfred was technically enlisted into his crew, even if it was temporary. On any ship you still had to obey your captain.

Arthur let out his breath and climbed out of his bed. This was getting him nowhere. He couldn't decipher his own emotions, which frustrated him. He needed to check on Alfred. He knew that he needed to just to help ease the guilt a bit. But he needed to do it in a way that didn't make it seem like he was checking up on him in a concerned manner. He would pretend that he was making sure Alfred would be back working within the next day or so despite his wounds. He dressed and exited his room to go to the crew's quarters. He could smell that Francis was making his breakfast. Good. He had better be up.

If Alfred actually managed to go back to his duties within the day without complaining even with his wounds, Arthur knew that his respect for the boy would grow dearly. But he doubted that he would be. Thirty lashes were a lot for a man to take and work with –especially one whose back is not used to such treatment. It made Arthur feel slightly guiltier at the thought.

He entered the crew's quarters and passed the kitchen where Francis was chopping some kind of food, scowling in disgust at it and muttering in French. Arthur knew enough to know he was complaining about the quality of the supplies. They were going. There was an English port nearby. Arthur knew that he needed to stop the ship by there and resupply. The wind was hardly going for the ship today anyhow. He continued past the crew members who were up and working and found Alfred's cabin. He peeked in and saw it empty. He was surprised and grabbed one of his men to stop him.

"Where is the cabin boy?" He demanded, pointing to Alfred's empty room.

The man grinned at him. "He's up on deck, Cap'n."

"What?" Arthur was surprised. When had this occurred? "What for?"

"He's work'n, Cap'n." Arthur left the man after that and went back up onto the deck. He glanced around for Alfred and saw the boy on the upper deck on his hands and knees. His back was crudely wrapped with cloth that had blood soaked through on various bits. His face was white with pain and exhaustion and sweat formed on it. He was cleaning the deck by hand, Arthur saw, and with each movement he made his bandages became darker.

Arthur stared at him, shocked and amazed. Even though he was in pain, Alfred's eyes were bright and vibrant with pride and defiance. He refused to let his wounds stop him from working. But Arthur knew that to be healthy the boy needed to rest a bit. He was going to kill himself that way. Arthur turned and went back down to the kitchens where he slammed his fist against the wall, startling Francis into nicking himself with his knife.

"Sacredieu! What is it that you want?" Francis demanded, angry as he sucked on the finger that he injured.

"I want you to go up on the deck and tell that twit to return to his cabin immediately." Arthur commanded.

"Which one?" Francis replied drily. Arthur scowled.

"The one who was whipped! That dog!"

"You mean nos petits Alfred?"

"Yes, him. Speak English, frog."

Francis ignored him. "He is up on the deck?" He was just as surprised as Arthur had been. Arthur nodded.

"I want you to tell him to go and lie down. His wounds will never heal if he keeps moving. And he is losing a lot of blood. Make sure you redress his wounds."

Francis nodded and left to go up to the deck. Arthur followed him and walked over to the wheel of the ship, checking his map to make sure they were on course and talking to a few of the men. He kept an eye on Francis as he stopped Alfred and talked to him. The two chatted. From what Arthur could see, Alfred still appeared defiant. Francis turned to Arthur and shrugged. He won't listen to me.

Arthur frowned and decided to take matters into his own hands. He crossed the deck to where the two were standing. "What the devil do ye think you're doing?" Arthur demanded of Alfred. The boy stopped and turned to face him.

"Cleaning the deck. That's part of my job, isn't it?"

"Yes but you're adding more blood to the deck and dirtying it more than you're managing to clean." Alfred looked behind him and saw some red on the ground. His pants were soaked with it. His bandages were now completely dark with blood. He would catch his death at that rate.

"Oh, I guess I am. Oops."

"Go with the frog to change your bandages and go lay down. You need to heal more before you can do anything." Arthur commanded.

"But I'm following orders." Alfred protested.

"Your orders are to recover some before you do anything, you twit." Arthur frowned at him, annoyed. "Now go."

Alfred stood up with protesting legs. He looked like he barely had the strength to stand. Nonetheless Alfred saluted. "Yes, Captain." He said and turned to stumble away. Francis was quickly after him and caught his arm to throw over his shoulders to help support him. Alfred gave him a small grin in thanks and the two went off. Arthur watched them go before his lips twitched a little. He felt that he could come to like Alfred. He just needed to learn.


A/N: Sorry if Artie seemed a little mean on Alfred with whipping him and everything. But you know. Captain Kirkland = No Mercy

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