I am…so sorry for the long wait (I have excuses, really). Because I also lied when I said it was going to a two-shot, and this isn't even the last chapter, and it's still ridiculously short. It's also not beta-ed. But here's part two. Next part will definitely be the last.

Also, if you haven't caught on yet, the point of view changes every time the line breaks. And I think the last chapter got rid of my line breaks, which makes me very upset. I'll change that sometime.


He hadn't seen Lovi in over a year, not since the last time he'd set foot in Southern Italy. His mind, now given hours upon hours of idle time that he hadn't previously had, kept wandering back to his sunny home in that country and the adorable Italian still waiting for him, even if Lovino would never admit to it. With his military duties Antonio's visits had been far and few in between, and every time he had left the town feeling miserable.

He'd made up for the time apart by sending letters back whenever he could. Lovino wasn't able to reply to any of them since he never stayed in one place (and the Spaniard had a feeling that he wouldn't have written back anyway), but for Antonio, it was enough just to know that his own letters were received and read by Lovi in Italy.

Most of his time on the ship was spent writing letters with the stationary he'd been provided with. The chance that he'd be able to send them was slim, he knew, but old habits die hard…

Dearest Lovi, he scripted, spelling out his name with a care that Lovino himself would definitely have mocked. Still, he couldn't help himself. The Italian never failed to bring out his inner sap.

I'm sorry for not writing for so long. Have you been worrying about me? I know you have. I've been thinking about you as well. And don't believe anyone if they tell you I'm dead. I'm not, obviously. Did you think I'd let the sea take me away from you?

It wasn't a military report. His writing didn't have to make any sense whatsoever, and he took advantage of the fact by writing sentences in the order of his thoughts. Lovi always understood him, anyway. Somehow…

Captain Kirkland treats me kindly, even if you wouldn't be able to tell by the expressions he always wears. They're kind of like yours, it's cute.

Though you're cuter.

He felt his lips stretch into a smile as he pictured Lovi's face, all red and furious, like it became every time Antonio said those words. Though, how could anyone expect him to not say it? It was true.

I miss you.

But you know that.

He placed the quill back on the table and smiled wistfully. It was funny how the pirate captain visited him every day with his meals, almost as if he couldn't help himself, and they always ended up talking (even if only a few barbs were exchanged). Antonio would smile or laugh at him but he swore Captain Kirkland saw someone else whenever he did, and he'd always leave soon after.

Still, the pirate wasn't as toxic as he seemed. Antonio thought that, maybe, they could become friends if he tried hard enough.

There came three short knocks on the door. Oh, speak of the devil.

(And he shall appear?)

"Carriedo," the pirate captain's voice sounded, and Antonio turned in his chair just as the other man crossed the room to place a tray of food on his table.

"Kirkland," he responded just to piss him off, because he knew the other preferred to have a pretentious "Captain" tacked on his name. Just as Lovi brought out his inner, cheesy romantic, the pirate seemed to bring out a more…mischievous side of him.

Sure enough, he saw the man's dark eyebrows furrow into a frown. He didn't say anything, however, and Antonio did a silent, absolutely pointless victory dance in his head.

"You are the worst prisoner I have ever seen."

Antonio chuckled. "Well, to be perfectly fair, you guys aren't exactly the most pirate-like pirates I've seen either."

"…What."

"I mean, you've never even taken prisoners before! The stories I've heard all tell of terrifying pirates who pillage towns, slaughter enemies, rape women—"

Captain Kirkland leveled him with very, very offended glare.

"—ahh, yeah, you get the point! But, uh, that's not to say that I expected you to be like that. You know. Ha ha..."

"I don't know how you've survived up until this point."

He grinned, looking for all the world like a self-satisfied cat who'd just been given free milk. "Maybe I keep getting lucky, meeting people like you."

"You don't even know me," the pirate said, and did his eye just twitch?

"I know you well enough to know that you're not planning on killing me, O Pirate-Who-Values-the-Life-of-Their-Peons."

"I might be inclined to change my mind. Just for that."

"But you won't!"

"How do you even know that?"

"I don't!"

The pirate whose eye may or may have twitched again gave an exasperated sigh and started to walk out the door. "Hell if I know why I even bother with you."

Still, the conversations made them feel warm, and both of them knew it.


It had been days since Arthur had taken a prisoner on board. While he wasn't his first prisoner, for some reason he couldn't help but treat this one differently. What had started out as semi-serious banter had become something much more genuine; they had turned into something akin to conversations between friends.

How it had happened, he didn't know and hardly gave a damn.

The Spaniard's personality reminded Arthur too much of him for his liking. And he didn't need this, didn't need a constant reminder of what he'd left behind in that provincial town so many years ago.

And dammit, he was drinking again.

"Hey," a voice prodded him as he sat slumped over a chair on the deck.

"Go 'way, Gilbert," he ground out. Gilbert didn't go away.

"Is that rum? Again, Artie?"

"You gon' tell me to prohibit alcohol on this ship, Gilbert? Why, I thought I'd never see the day."

"I meant it when I said you should stop drinking so much."

"So the kettle calls the pot black." Pfffffft. They were pirates. He knew of a few crews who were all inebriated day in and day out, pillaging and sailing under the influence 24-7.

The albino threw his hands in the air with an irritated groan. "At least I don't drink until I can't feel anything anymore! You're just running away!"

Gilbert had been the one person he had told, though the reason why he'd done so escaped him.

"Shut up." Any other man would have flinched from the dangerous tone in Arthur's voice. Gilbert knew he was treading on mines and kept walking anyway.

"Please don't treat me like that, Artie," he said in voice softer and more serious than he'd used in a long time. "You wouldn't have told me about anything if you were fine about it like you always say you are."

Arthur remained silent.

"And Vash wouldn't say it if you asked, but he's worried about you too! We all are! You've been drinking yourself to sleep every day since that Spanish guy came aboard."

"Just…leave me alone, Gilbert."

"No, Artie. I'm you're first mate. And yeah I probably don't take that position seriously enough for you, but I'm also your friend! Aren't I your friend, Artie?"

"Go check on how dinner's coming along, Gilbert." For all the times he'd chastised him for his crazed antics, Arthur found he much preferred normal, obnoxious, self-centered Gilbert over this one. This Gilbert was too prying, too…knowing…no. He just knew Arthur too well.

His first mate (best friend?) stared at him for a few fleeting moments with an expression Arthur couldn't see, for he had turned his own face away to stare at rolling waves, and he eventually heard the other man's footsteps walking away and off the deck. He didn't take his eyes off the water.

At this time of day, the waves—which reflected the sky—were a dark and inky blue: safe.

There was one thing that Arthur would never forgive himself for, and it was the fact that that person constantly plagued both his waking hours and his dreams, even now, no matter how hard he tried to forget. Because every time he gazed at a clear, blue sky, he was reminded of a pair of eyes the same shade that sparkled just so, someone with hair the color of sunshine and smiles and laughs and hugs just as warm.

He was still quite sober, really he was, but his vision had started to get blurry and it must have been raining because those could not be tears wetting his face.

The Spaniard's dinner was delivered by Vash that night.


"You've been ignoring me," was the first thing Antonio said when the pirate captain finally graced his room with his presence once more.

Arthur sniffed and sat down on the chair. "I didn't know I was obligated to pay visits to my prisoners.

"Well, Arthur, you and I both know how much like a prisoner you've been treating me so far." He wasn't sure when the pirate had ceased to be "Captain Kirkland" and become "Arthur" to him. But when the other man didn't raise a riot at being called by his first name, Antonio decided to take it as a go-ahead from there.

"What would you do if I released you?" Arthur inquired rather suddenly.

He laughed, although he knew that he probably should have taken the matter a little more seriously. "Well, the Spanish navy probably thinks I'm dead by now, and I don't think I'd be able to keep my position after such a failure anyway."

"Serves them right for sending only one ship against us."

Antonio laughed. "I think I would just like to sail down to Italy again and stay there instead. I have a nice tomato garden in Taranto, and Lovino's still waiting for me there."

"Lovino?"

"He's my…special person."

Arthur gave a slight smile. "Special person, huh…"

The Spaniard decided that he much preferred this facial expression to Arthur's many others of eternal irritation. "Do you have someone on land waiting for you, too?" he prodded, hoping to lighten the mood and almost regretting it immediately.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a frown, and the pirate shook his head. "No one's waiting for me on the land. Not anymore, I'm sure." When Antonio looked into the man's eyes, he thought he could see devastation as ghost swimming behind them. He wondered when he had learned to read the pirate so well.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Truly.

Arthur gave a huff and looked away. "Don't worry your little Spanish head about it. 'S got nothing to do with you."

Now, he had to argue with that. "I disagree, amigo. You should tell me about it."

For a long time, there was silence. Then, "His name was…Alfred."