A/N: The third and final part is coming soon. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy!
Rick's first week aboard the Revenge, he was regarded as a person to distrust. He existed in a world of sideways glances, muttered whispers, curious stares. Rick could not say he blamed the crew. He'd been a member of the Royal Navy, and it was not as though his foray into pirating had come quite of his own volition. He slept barely a wink for days on end, sure somehow that he'd be throttled in his hammock. Without the cover of his Navy jacket, the sun was unforgiving, blistering his skin. He reddened like a lobster aboard the decks of the Revenge, surrounded by mistrusting faces much more accustomed to bright sunlight than his. The crew here was a hodgepodge of former slaves, mulattos cast aside by society, deserters with nowhere else to go. Rick knew that he had no place among them.
This all seemed to matter not to the captain. Michonne could be found on deck through most of the day, her mess of long locs secured by a length of leather and held back from her face by her bandana. She was formidable to behold for sure, but as the days passed, she became less of an anomaly. Her fearsome nature dissolved out on the open seas and her smiles came easily now in the salty ocean air. Rick spied her often laughing with her first mate, Morgan Jones, the man who had been shot. She took her meals with her men, split the plunder equally. It was clear that they adored her, doted on her even, though she was certainly capable enough on her own. Rick could not fault them for this impulse.
It was all Rick could do not to stare at the stunning pirate queen. He avoided her instead, resigning himself to focus on work, determined to earn the trust of his shipmates and to ignore his growing attraction to their captain.
Halfway through his second week, she declared a celebration, pulling them into some pirate port. The town reeked of rum and sin, the air was clouded with gunpowder, and there was not a more unsavory group that Rick had ever laid eyes on. Still, he joined the crew as they crowded into some pub or another, doing his best to remain inconspicuous.
"Grimes, is it?" one of the crew, an Asian man, seized Rick's shoulder an hour into the night. He slammed himself onto the stool beside him. "Settle a bet for me, eh?"
Rick glanced at him curiously, taking in the face of the first mate, Jones, and a few other men from the Revenge. "What can I help you gentlemen with?" he asked.
"What makes a proper English gent like yourself join a bunch of pirates, eh? Too scared to die?" the young man asked. He was naught more than a teenager, still a few years shy of facial hair.
Rick smiled, amused despite his misgivings. "On the contrary," Rick nodded at the barkeep, ordering another round for the men around him. He'd been gifted his share of the plunder from the Victory, same as the others. It did not feel right to spend it on selfish pursuits. "To die in battle is no terrifying feat. To die of boredom in service of the Queen…" Rick paused, passing the mugs around. "That would be the real tragedy."
The young man beside him blinked once in surprise then let out a bark of laughter. "Is that so?" he asked.
Rick shrugged. "It is. Besides, I much prefer this captain to my last."
This statement hung in the air for a brief moment and Rick feared that he had misspoke, had given himself away. Then, the affirmations came, the whole of the crew agreeing with him, piping up, eager to speak of their commander.
"She's a bonny lass, that much is true," Jones spoke. "Isn't nothing we wouldn't do for our captain."
"Aye," the younger man agreed. They all peered expectantly at Rick. He had no trouble raising his own mug.
"To the Captain, then," he proclaimed.
"To the Captain!" the crew of the Revenge agreed.
By the third mug in, Rick was well and truly sloshed, Jones was singing a bracing ditty to the amusement of all of the bar girls, and the young lad was introducing himself.
"Rhee," he said, slurring his words. "The Captain found me near Santa Domingo. I was a cabin's boy for a monster of a man."
"She has an affinity for saving folks then?" Rick found the wherewithal to ask, despite the room spinning.
"Aye," Rhee agreed. "There's not one of us she hasn't. She's taken a shine to you, though."
"Aye?" Rick hiccuped, knocking back another swig.
"Aye," Rhee grinned. "It isn't everyday someone manages to save her. Just you wait. You'll see," he chuckled knowingly to himself.
It was another month and a half before Rick saw any evidence to support Rhee's claims. Rick had gone from a liability, to a curiosity, to a trusted member of the crew. His skin began to brown in the Caribbean sun, his hands calloused and toughened, his stomach adjusted to the diet, and even his manner of speech began to change. He found that the trappings of a pirate suited him far better than his naval uniform ever had. Aboard the Revenge, he forged friendships deeper than he ever had on dry land. And one day, near Port Royale, Rick found another reason to love his new life.
"Tell me Richard," Captain Michonne addressed him directly at last, "Do you find life aboard a pirate ship favorable?"
It seemed an absurd question to ask when he stood inside her quarters, hair long and curling in the salt air, face covered in a beard that was certainly not Navy regulation, feet bare and browned, shirt open to catch the rays of the sun and the spray of the sea. She seemed to realize it, if her slight smile was any indication.
"Aye," he confirmed, unable to take his eyes off of her. She had stowed her bandana and hat away and shed her great coat. She stood before him in a loose shirt and breeches, her sword hanging from her belt, her hair dancing into her face. When not in battle, she could be found most often adorned in the spoils of her profession, opals, rubies, gold, pieces nearly as lovely as she was, twisted into strange shapes from lands unknown to him. Several of the pirates aboard the Revenge bore symbols similar to these. They marked them as part of the crew, as trusted by their captain. Rick found that he longed for one, nearly as much as he longed for the woman herself. Thoughts of the captain never strayed far from his mind. With difficulty, Rick returned his attention to their conversation, struggling to make the most of this time together. "I never thanked you- for allowing me to live," he stumbled over his words, blushing under her cool gaze.
She smiled outright, her face lighting up as she laughed. "Consider us square then," she announced. "A life for a life." It was the first time she had mentioned the Governor to him since she'd plucked him from the sinking Victory. Rick wondered how often the incident crossed her mind, or whether she considered it at all. She walked casually across her quarters to pour a healthy serving of rum into a wooden cup and passed it to him. He took a swig, eyes still on his captain. "I suppose you might want to know why I called you here," she remarked, fetching a drink of her own. She sipped it slowly, knowing eyes fixed on his face. Rick swallowed thickly.
"I had thought perhaps you had forgotten me," Rick quipped before he could think better of it. He blushed all the more when she laughed again.
"Not so Richard," her accent was colored in the language of her people. Rhee claimed she hailed from Zimbabwe. She had come to this new world in the belly of her captured mother. If half the tales were true, the captain had been fighting all her life, turning to piracy in the wake of the death of her family at the hands of the Governor. Since dispatching him, they had not sunken a single ship. Rick wondered what awaited the Revenge now that she had fulfilled her namesake. "I require your insight," she requested. "We are to chart a new course."
"Of course," he agreed readily. "Any way I can assist, I shall," he gave an absurd little bow. The captain charitably did not remark upon it.
"I am glad to hear you say this," she told him. "A Navy man will be an asset." She raised her glass. Rick hastened to raise his as well. "Enough pleasantries," she declared with a wicked grin. "Let's lay our plans."
For many hours they labored over their work, scheming and plotting their attack and subsequent escape. They took their first ship not a week later, freeing its captured occupants somewhere near Haiti. The second came nary a month after the first, off the shores of St. Mary. The third followed within days, then the fourth. Each night Captain Michonne sought his counsel, and each night he gladly assisted, charting the most likely course of European merchant ships. At time Jones joined them, at times Rhee, but always, Rick looked forward to these hours together. Michonne made for lovely company, intelligent and kind, quick-witted and affable. The newly freed people aboard her ship wanted for nothing, and were sent off to dry land and new lives with plenty to sustain them. These acts of kindness did nothing to cool Rick's growing passion for her, despite his best efforts to hide it. He contented himself with assisting her as best he could, performing his duties with much enthusiasm.
It was in their third month as liberators that her kiss caught him completely by surprise.
Rick was bent over the maps, hard at work. The Navy was onto them now and they would need to be proceed with caution. The thought distressed him, partly for the sake of the crew, but mostly for the woman beside him. There was no port in the whole of the Caribbean that did not bear a wanted poster in her likeness. The only saving grace was that the illustrator fell far short of capturing her beauty. As luck would have it, they remained uncaptured. Rick seemed to be the only one aboard who was concerned.
"They suspect us now," he warned her. "Captain, for your own sake, be careful." She was insistent that they sail right back into enemy waters, insistent that there were more to save. Rick knew the truth of her words, but he also knew what happened to pirates who were captured.
"I know of the dangers," she reminded him, running a hand along his arm. He tightened, tense for more than one reason. "You must relax, Richard," she chided, sensing his mood. Perhaps she knew the effect her uttering his name had on him, for Rick began to settle at once despite his misgivings. The captain set his customary drink in front of him without removing her hand from his arm. Her fingers drummed a rhythm across his bicep, her lips pursed in thought. "How are you with pain?" she asked suddenly.
Rick stammered, determined to not give himself away. "I can handle it," he assured her. Pain did not concern him nearly so much as the palm of her hand burning through his clothes.
She graced him with another of her mischievous smiles, steering him to sit down. She released him as she moved to bustle through her cabin. Rick watched in confusion until she returned to him, bearing a familiar tool.
"Would you like to choose yours?" she asked.
Rick shook his head, rolling up his sleeve. "Your choice, captain."
She went to work, brow furrowed, hand steady, raising and lowering the needle with practiced precision. It stung but Rick could barely feel it. The woman hovering over him commanded every bit of his attention. Her hair was tossed carelessly over her shoulder. The long locs tickled his hand as she moved. He drank more for something to do than for the taste, struggling to keep his eyes on her work and not her face.
"There," she announced with a flourish, removing the needle and staring approvingly. "You're a proper pirate now." She pursed her lips once more to blow a cooling breath over his new tattoo.
With difficulty, he turned his face away to look at her work. A small, ebony symbol adorned him now, the skin red and irritated around it. A circle was the center of it, with four rounded points extending outward. Her recognized its shape at once from the captain's own tattoos. The mark adorned her arm, much in the same way that it now adorned his. Rick's heart raced just to look at it. Its rhythm sped up even more when he chanced a glance at her face to find her staring straight back at him. She sat up, leaning forwards before he could even perceive the motion clearly.
The touch of her lips was a gentle caress, no more than a whisper of a kiss, like a light breeze over the decks. She pulled back to study him, her lovely face searching his. "I will not force you," she assured him.
She did not need to force him. Rick found his wits. He seized her around the waist, ignoring the burn of his skin in favor of dragging her into his arms. Their kiss this time had none of the hesitancy of the first. She kissed with a fervor he was eager to return, open-mouthed and deeply, trading the flavor of the rum between them.
He clung to her hips and she pressed herself into his palms, letting out a contented sigh. Strong, persistent hands urged him backwards, across the cabin and into her bed. His shirt and trousers were much easier to remove than his naval uniform had been. His captain similarly laid herself bare. Rick took her in, wide-eyed, nearly in disbelief.
"Michonne," he choked her name out without her title. She smiled, leaning over him, her lips finding his again.
"Is that how you address your captain?" she teased, straddling him.
His answer was lost in a groan as she reached between them, grasping him surely. He fumbled for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, unsure if this was all some rum-induced fever dream. He gripped at the blankets beneath him, curling his fingers in, desperately trying to gather himself.
"Richard," she must have sensed his hesitancy for she released him to grasp his hands in her own. "Touch me," she instructed firmly.
He sat up to face her, eye to eye. She stared back at him. He kissed her again, softly, the way he'd imagined for months on end until she began to melt like candle wax in his lap. She released his hands to drape her arms over his shoulders, her short blunt nails sending shivers through him as she clawed lightly at his back. He busied himself with stroking her, cupping first her chin, then moving lower. "Aye, Captain" he complied, delighting in her shudder, in the way she clenched around his fingers. He had half a mind to kiss her everywhere he could reach, but his captain had other ideas. Pushing at his shoulders, she coaxed him into lying beneath her.
His hands fell again to her hips as she mounted him at last. The sensation of it all sent him spiraling immediately. Her hips moved in lazy circles, as natural as the rocking of her beloved ship. There was no shame to be found on her face as she took her pleasure, breathy moans escaping her as she bounced. Rick reached upwards, cupping her again, pinching and teasing until her cries lowered in timbre, until her movements took on much more fervor and she tightened and released around him. He cried out as he finished, but she allowed him little rest, bending to kiss and stroke him until he was ready for her once more.
She rode him twice that night before allowing him to switch their positions. Rick seized the opportunity, rolling her underneath him. He pressed her into the mattress beneath, licking and sucking until she panted for him. He clenched her wrists together in one broad hand, raising them above her head, needing to pause her endless onslaught of pleasure. His other hand found its way between her dark strong thighs, just above where they were connected. He thrust into her again and again, until he could no longer distinguish where he ended and she began. Her cries escalated, her skin pebbled, and her head fell back as she called for him to go deeper, harder. He complied eagerly, releasing her so that he could grasp her fully around the hips, filling his palms with her rounded ass. Michonne arched against him as she fell apart, her hands clasping blindly at his back, his name falling from her lips.
"Richard," she gasped, eyes flying open almost in disbelief.
He kept pace, refusing to slow down, driving her instead towards another climax. She tightened and moaned, writhing like some wild thing, her legs clamping around his waist, her ankles digging into his lower back.
"Call me Rick, Captain," he requested, kissing her for good measure.
He returned to his hammock several hours later than normal, grateful for the cover of night to hide his grin. Morning dawned warm and early as ever and with it the captain.
"Good morning, Rick," she greeted, a smile playing on her kiss-swollen lips.
The crew did not ask why she began to address him so informally in public, though judging by Rhee and Jones' knowing looks, they had a fair idea. Rick called her "Captain" still, though at nights she settled for far less propriety.
For six months their nightly routine ended in this new ritual, in a sweaty and exhausted pile between her twisted sheets. Night after night, Rick returned to his own quarters reluctantly, his mind filled with the memory of Michonne, her taste, the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin. By her side is where he longed most to be, though she spent her days much as she always had. The Revenge continued her crusade despite Rick's warnings. Each mission only leant to his sense of dread, each incident increasing his anxiety. His captain would hear none of it, not even as they lounged together in the aftermath of passion. His protestations seemed to amuse her more than anything, or inspire a look he liked not at all. He knew she thought him cowardly, thought him unwilling to risk himself for others. In truth, he would happily sacrifice his own life. What he would not do was watch her be taken, watch what the Crown would do to her once they had her in their clutches.
Half a dozen more ships fell to the Revenge in quick succession. Her latest conquest now laid on the seafloor leagues away, and her captain now laid in Rick's arms, warm in bed. Above them on deck, hundreds of stolen African men, women, and children were now crowded, celebrating excitedly. The sounds of their merriment could be heard from the cabin. Michonne's head was pressed against Rick's shoulder, her eyes closed, content to listen.
"We will get them settled, then head out again," she instructed. Each success only bolstered her resolve. Rick rubbed patterns into her back, weighing his next words carefully.
"Captain," Rick began, kissing her forehead, "perhaps we should allow some time to pass." This last ship had fallen far too easily, its crew only a fraction of what should have been aboard. It did not sit easily with him.
"And let more be sold into bondage?" she questioned sharply, raising her head to fix him with reproachful eyes. "Have you forgotten the fate that awaits those we do not save?"
The question stung, but Rick persisted. "Of course not, Captain," he assured her. "It is your fate that has me worried." He spread his palm against the length of her back, mapping out the muscles and smooth skin he'd become so acquainted with. A long, jagged scar was the only mar upon her, a relic of her first brush with the Governor.
"I have suffered already," she reminded him. "A bit more suffering concerns me not."
"Perhaps you care nothing for your well-being, but I do not share the sentiment." Frustration reared its head. Rick was becoming flushed, nearly angry. He had seen the fate suffered by pirates and Africans alike. Michonne was both. The Crown cared not about her humanity.
"Rick, speak plainly," she searched his face, trying as she often did to see his point of view.
"They are searching for you, Michonne," he told her quietly, his tone plaintive. "If it costs them a dozen ships, they will sacrifice them. What end awaits you if they capture you?"
"I cannot sit idly by," her retort was sharp. She sat up, removing herself from his embrace. "Fear has no place aboard the Revenge."
Rick raised up as well, coming to sit before her. The pair of them were bare as the days of their birth, but it dissuaded neither from arguing their point. "And if they take you, what do you suppose will happen to the crew?" Desperation crept into him now, unlike any he'd ever experienced before.
She scoffed at his low blow, pulling back from him further. "We have all been liberated at one time or another. We are all willing to risk this to pay the debt forward. If you are not, perhaps it is time you disembarked with the rest. The life of a pirate is not for everyone."
Rick reached for her arm. "Michonne, please. Just hesitate a month—"
"I will not, Richard." His name hit him full in the face like the sting of a whip. "And to everyone aboard this ship, I am captain. I suggest you fall in line." She tugged her arm away and left the bed, standing to face him in all of her stubborn glory. "Or leave the Revenge."
Rick stood as well, a torrent of emotion roiling through him. Chastised, he focused on his anger. His captain watched him, expressionless as he gathered his clothing without another word to her. She said nothing as he dressed, spilling back out onto the deck and into the midst of the celebration.
He moved among the people, politely rejecting drinks and food, trying and failing to disguise his distress. Rhee sent him a sympathetic glance from across the ship. The young man was too observant by far, and despite his initial hesitancy, Rick had found himself confiding in Rhee more and more often.
"That's just the captain's way," Rhee consoled him the morning after. "If you knew where she came from, what she's endured…" he trailed off, following Rick's eyeline to where his gaze was fixed.
Captain Michonne had boarded a boat, leading the people ashore. Rick kept her in sight, but confined himself to the Revenge. She had scarcely deigned to look at him this morning. Now, Michonne stood resplendent on the beach as her charges departed, hugging and kissing each one, a joyful expression upon her face. This was her life's purpose.
"Aye," Rick agreed reluctantly. "Perhaps I do not understand. But what I do know is what happens to liberators and pirates when the Navy gets ahold of them."
"You cannot make the choice for her," Rhee sighed. "Only choose whether or not her mission is worth the price you must pay for it."
"And what price is that?" Rick moved his eyes from the woman on the beach to the man beside him.
"The price of losing the one you love one day," Rhee said solemnly.
Rick did not bother to protest. A sense of loss consumed him already. He fixed baleful eyes on his captain, far off on the beach. Her back was towards her crew, her eyes on the dozens moving off into the island.
The cannon blast took everyone by surprise.
Rick turned port side, hoping against hope that a gun had accidentally discharged. What he saw instead was a Royal battleship moving in hot pursuit. Panic gripped the people onshore at once. They tore off into the foliage, screaming, crying, determined to not be captured a second time. Captain Michonne's crew kept a much more level head. Jones was already shouting orders, commanding the men to fight off the attack. Rick could scarcely hear him. He fixed his eyes outward instead, searching for the captain who has become his lover.
She stood on the beach, sword drawn, her countenance grim. At once she moved, heading for the small boat that had borne her ashore. Rick yelled for her as the cannons boomed, but she did not turn towards him. Instead she rowed for all she was worth, straight into the path of the oncoming enemy. Rick understood at once what she planned to do.
"No!" he yelled, prepared to abandon ship, determined to head her off. He was stopped by Rhee's firm hand.
"Grimes," his mouth was a thin, harsh line. "We have orders."
"Blast your orders," Rick kicked him away, redoubling his efforts.
"These were in place long before you, sailor," Rhee swallowed thickly. "I gave the captain my word." The Naval ship spotted Michonne and turned course, heading straight towards her and away from the Revenge.
"You would let her die?" Rick accused, still fighting.
"To see her cause continue?" Rhee looked on the verge of tears. He glanced towards the beach, towards the people escaping towards freedom. "Aye." Without further ado, he struck Rick about the head with the blunt end of his rapier.
Dazed, Rick fell, squirming feebly as his fellow crew dragged him backwards. He could make out the scarlet of Captain Michonne's bandana, way off in the distance. Helpless, Rick watched them pursue her as he was pushed back aboard the Revenge.
"You know what we have to do," Jones addressed the crew. "Lead them away from the people."
The crew mobilized in retched silence even as Rick protested. "We have to save her," he slurred, vision blurring. "We have to-"
"Follow orders," Jones finished for him.
The Revenge turned tail, catching the wind in its coal-colored sails. The tides favored them, carrying them far away from where their captain had gone to sacrifice herself. The crew gathered, watching in horror as the ship in the distance bared down on Michonne. She stood proudly in her boat, chin up, sword facing the sun, until the ship covered her and they could see no more.