For ctj.

There came the sound of scuffling shoes, struggling, and a loud smack of man against wood, followed by two grunts in pain, one masculine, one feminine.

Linebeck opened his eyes to the pressure on his shoulders releasing, and suddenly he was free to stand up at his full height and make sense of the situation, however difficult it was to see against the dark backdrop of night.

Garrickson was crouched in a position halfway between the aftermath of collapse and in the process of standing. He quickly staggered to his feet, and Linebeck followed his furious gaze to the figure before him. Ciela stood tensely, chest heaving with breathlessness. It didn't take Linebeck a moment more to realize she had managed to throw Garrickson to the ground.

Her knees were buckling but, Linebeck thought, certainly not out of fright.

"By God, woman!" Garrickson cried hysterically, nursing the back of his throbbing head with his palm. "You could have killed me!"

It seemed unlikely that Ciela's force was sturdy enough to have done such damage, but Ciela nonetheless showed no remorse.

"I'll do it again," She threatened viciously, "if you don't get below deck now."

"You can't order me around," Garrickson protested. "You've assaulted an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy. I hope you understand the severity of this—I could have you lot thrown in prison for this: it's as good as mutiny, you know!"

"Not if you can't get off the ship," Ciela warned.

Garrickson audibly swallowed. "If you have intentions of killing me, British justice and God will pity you not."

"I'm not going to murder you," Ciela said with resolve, and to Linebeck's partial dismay. "But I want you to let Link leave with me without any trouble."

Garrickson took two cautious steps forward and extended his hand forward before putting an arm on Ciela's shoulder and directing her towards the dinghy. "Look, Miss. I'm not interested in any more violence—"

"Could've fooled me," Linebeck managed, louder than he would've liked.

"—But I can't have a lass taking the cabin boy from His Majesty's Navy. Do you understand? And in a few years, he might well climb the ranks. Maybe he'll become a petty officer, if he's got the talent."

"Oh, bollocks," Linebeck swore, wiping the blood off of his upper lip. This time, he caught the attention of Garrickson and Ciela, the two of them frowning disdainfully while he wavered between confidence and cowardice, unsure of how he would continue.

"I've been slaving away in this ship for longer than this boy's been alive," He ventured icily, the remnants of rum in his veins speaking far louder than he would have normally been inclined to. His voice fell easily and deeply into its natural lilt the more he spoke: "And I've never done nothing besides pull ropes and scrub decks like a common fool—I've wasted me whole life waitin' and hopin' that I'd get meself a promotion from the likes of you, but he's lying, because no man without good blood or a father kissing the captain's arse is going to get a promotion 'round here."

Frustrated, Garrickson pursed his lips and shook his head. "You make a fool of yourself. Did you ever stop to consider that perhaps your lack of promotion has more to do with your bloody incompetence than your farmer blood?"

Linebeck recoiled involuntarily, but Garrickson continued, "The Navy needs laborers. There's nothing exceptional about what you do, nor how you do it, Linebeck. If I were you, I'd be happy any ship would take you aboard."

Garrickson took an abrasive step forward, but Ciela stepped swiftly between the two of them. "I know a drunk sailor when I see one," She explained warily, "And you promised no more violence, so if both of you would kindly—"

With a swift and perhaps unintentional movement, he shoved Ciela out of the way, where she stumbled and fell, projecting her hands behind her to break her fall. Garrickson glanced at her with sudden regret, but Linebeck could tell that Ciela was not one to forgive easily. (Especially since she had been deceived twice in one night.)

Drawing his attention away from Ciela, Garrickson appeared once more interested in engaging in a fight, and Linebeck had to admit he wasn't entirely satisfied with letting this pompous man go free after having thrown a woman to the ground.

But that battle never came, for there was a loud and resounding smack, and Garrickson crumpled to the ground, revealing behind him Ciela, oar propped against her shoulder as if an axe, still quavering from the momentum.

She dropped the oar instantly, letting it fall to the deck with an ear-splitting crack, and brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She hesitated, and silence fell upon the ship as Linebeck, Jolene, Kreeb and Link stared at her in both horror and wonder.

"Is he dead?" Ciela whispered.

Jolene sauntered possessively towards the body, crouched down, and listened. "He's breathing all right," Jolene confirmed. "You aren't strong enough to kill him, but you did knock him out cold. Well done."

Ciela looked at Jolene in terror, eyes vibrantly wide, "Well done? What do we do? I could be hanged for this, couldn't I?"

"Not hardly," Jolene ventured, running a relaxed hand through her dark locks. "And even if that were the law, which one of us would be cruel enough to turn you in?"

Ciela seemed to consider this. Her eyes darted from Garrickson's limp body to Jolene's satisfied expression, before finally settling on Linebeck.

"You," She seethed, "This is all your fault! If you hadn't had delusions of grandeur in some small tavern, neither of us would be in this predicament." Tossing propriety to the wind, she stalked after Linebeck and yanked on his collar, "I don't know any decent man who'd trick some girl into stepping aboard a ship under the pretense that she would be getting a new worker for a tavern. It's ridiculous!" She seemed to have had her way with him and released her grip, turning on her heel in frustration.

"I'm not the one who believed me," Linebeck countered daringly, and before she could retort, he reminded her: "And the pretense still stands, if both of you so choose."

Ciela chanced a glance at Link, who had remained quiet enough during the ordeal to leave the appearance of having disappeared entirely. With a nod of his head, Link accepted. "I've never worked in a tavern before, but I can't imagine it's worse than thirteen lashes."

There was a deep harrowing silence, in which Ciela found herself unwittingly drawn to Linebeck's gaze. The gap between them was several feet in length, but it might as well have only been them on the deck. Ciela tightened her mantel around her shoulders. "Lashes?" She said softly. "That's what this is about?"

"Aye", Linebeck confirmed, "…A bit. Garrickson sentenced the boy to thirteen lashes at dawn, and with you needing a new worker, I sensed the opportunity."

"If you'd have told the truth, maybe this would've been a lot easier," Ciela offered coldly. "I'd have been sympathetic to Link no matter if you were a captain or not."

Suddenly finding the knots in the wooden floorboards to be painfully interesting, Linebeck took sudden notice of them. He knew he ought to speak, but no words came to mind. And for that, maybe Garrickson was right. Maybe rope-pulling and sail-raising was all he was capable of. Perhaps becoming and failing as a captain all in one night had given him a taste of promotion and taught him properly that it was not his prerogative to seek the top of the proverbial ladder.

"Both of you are so dramatic," Jolene moaned, drawing attention to herself as she filtered through Garrickson's coat pockets. Fortunately, the man did not rouse as Jolene removed a small wallet.

"Can I help you with your nose?" Ciela asked suddenly. When Linebeck looked at her oddly, she clarified; "It might be badly broken. I suppose the least I can do is help you wash off the blood."

True to her words, Linebeck's nose was throbbing and stinging painfully, both numb and aching simultaneously. Across his upper lip, he could feel the caked layer of dried blood, sticky and reeking of metal. With a nod of her head, Ciela gestured for him to sit on a crate beside the Quarterdeck while Kreeb wordlessly brought them a bucket of water and a distressed cloth before returning to affix a dinghy to the rigging.

Link, deciding he wanted to listen rather than speak, sat on the deck, his back against the side of the crate while Ciela began working.

Linebeck watched silently while she dunked the cloth into the bucket. The water was bitterly cold against the night air. She wiped the cloth somewhat forcefully across his upper lip, then around the crevasses of his nose.

"You should apologize," Ciela reckoned absently as she dunked the cloth into the bucket, turning the water the color of wine against the lantern light, "For bringing a young woman aboard a ship on false pretenses and endangering her, but I wouldn't expect you to."

"Why not? Do you not think I'm capable of decency?"

Ciela shook her head woefully. "Well. A lack of decency is different than simply refusing to admit guilt."

"You think I'm stubborn?"

"I think you're rather yellow, Linebeck." Dropping the rag in the bucket, Ciela stood. "But I'd rather have an adventure with a coward than no adventure at all."

Despite himself—and despite his aching nose, exhaustion, and the unsteady and brittle wind—he smiled. Behind him, Kreeb had readied the dinghy for departure. Silently, so as not to stir Garrickson's unnerving form, Linebeck, Link, and Ciela crept across the deck and stopped at the rampart.

"You'll be in trouble," Ciela realized suddenly. "When Garrickson wakes, he'll tell the captain that you had some wench knock him unconscious before running off with the cabin boy."

With a sigh of worry, Linebeck shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, think of it now." Taking a nearly bold step forward, she steadied her voice. "Come back with Link and me. You could work at the tavern and, if you were careful, the Navy would never find you—it's a perfect plan."

For a moment, he watched her silhouette in the darkness, a slim figure drawn in on itself by the warmth of her mantel, her hair slightly unkempt and windswept from the hours of adventure, and, from the faint silver light of the moon, he noticed her cheeks were pink from the cold, exhilaration, or perhaps both.

He looked at her, and for a moment, realized—though fleetingly—that despite her naivety and somewhat abrasive personality, Ciela was kind and genuine, something of which he rarely knew and saw little.

"No," Linebeck found himself speaking before he could hardly think about it. "I mean, it would be an honor to help your tavern, but if I was ever found as a deserter, you and your family—and Link—would be put in harms way. And, as much as I'd fancy leaving at times," he chanced a glance at he sails behind him, "I am a part of the British Royal Navy."

She seemed to understand. "If you're sure?"

"Aye."

"Then, Linebeck," Ciela extended her hand as Kreeb helped Link clamber into the boat. She averted her eyes from his, and Linebeck didn't blame her—he had gone from dashing, generous captain to a sly, clumsy, deck-scrubber in the matter of a few hours. In the process, they had unfortunately broken a menagerie of rules and she had learned far more than either have them would have liked, but now she was leaving with whom she came for: the cabin boy that was not his to give.

He accepted her hand and kissed it, and for one last moment, they were Captain Lenzo and Lady Ciela once more, able to pretend they were in different circumstances and people who they were not.

"I doubt we'll meet again, and yet…" She visibly fought a smirk and managed to look him in the eye. "I'm glad I met you. I enjoyed watching you caught in your own lie— not to mention the look on your face when you recognized Jolene."

Linebeck found that he couldn't help but return the grin that she was giving him—so surely giving, because he felt no guilt in accepting it. "Well, if I've made your evening, Milady, then I'm much obliged."

She laughed. "I must admit, I enjoyed pretending to be a Lady of Leisure, even if it was only for an hour or so—and I'm sure you absolutely loved being a captain for the evening, hm?"

"I might've fooled you, too," Linebeck lamented, "If it hadn't been for Garrickson and Jolene—ugh, sod them both."

Ciela scoffed. "What if I told you I had known all along?"

"Then I wouldn't believe you."

"Oh, Linebeck. Who's ever going to believe you now?"

Overcome, perhaps by the seclusion of night or by the unassuming thrill of having narrowly evaded death, he kissed her gently and briefly, but it was enough to set his heart ablaze in the frosty sea air.

When they separated, he extended his hand, which she graciously accepted and teetered into the seat beside Link. As he and Kreeb began preparing the rigging, Ciela spoke once more:

"Oh, and Linebeck?"

He looked at her and waited.

"My mother was Irish."

"Was she?" He beamed as he and Kreeb began unfurling the ropes and the dinghy began groaning down the side of the ship. "I suppose that makes sense, then, that you've got Irish blood."

"Why?"

"No one bickers with an Irishman better than an Irish woman."

"Farewell, Linebeck!"

With Linebeck and Kreeb's combined effort, it took no more than another minute to finally lower the occupied dinghy into the water. As they returned the rigging to its original position, the sound of oars persistently breaking water joined the chorus of night, and Linebeck found himself satisfied to watch Ciela and Link's figures churn across the water until the moonlight no longer illuminated their small vessel. From here on out, he would only be able to hope that the rest of their journey went smoothly.

"You think you'll ever see her again?" Kreeb asked suddenly. "We come to Liverpool frequently."

"Oh, I dunno," Linebeck mused, leaning against the ramparts dreamily. "Perhaps, someday the two of us can get a drink at the tavern—the boy will be a whole head taller and with two sailors in the place, Ciela's grandpapa will lose his bloody mind."

"Whatever women and wine the future may bring us, we still have more important matters to take care of." Kreeb nodded towards Garrickson's thankfully still unconscious body. "As soon as he gets up, if he isn't inclined to kill us, he'll have us in for mutiny."

Linebeck stepped away from the dock and circled Garrickson thoughtfully. "What time is it?" He asked.

Kreeb looked heavenward. "Oh, hm… about half past two. We've got another four or five hours at least until anyone boards."

"As much as I hate the man, I don't want to kill him or send him overboard," Linebeck sneered at Garrickson's expressionless face. "But there's really no way we can keep his mouth shut forever. We have nothing to threaten him with, no family secrets or the like."

Kreeb leaned slothfully—and with less attention to the situation than Linebeck would've liked—against the mast and began absentmindedly picking at his fingernails, "We could tie him in the brig, or—"

"Boys, boys," Jolene said slowly, and Linebeck jumped. He had been so caught up that he had—fortunately—forgotten about her. Sauntering past Linebeck as if he were not there, she pressed a boot-clad foot atop the edge of the remaining dinghy aboard and raised her eyebrows. "Both of you have sea cucumbers for brains. Your answer is here."

"You mean we're all going to run away?" Kreeb scoffed. "We can't run away from the Navy. It's the only place a working man can get a decent meal for miles around!"

"No, you buffoon!" Jolene cried. "You lot need Garrickson off your backs but not dead, and I need off the ship. And here's what I propose: set me and Garrickson off in a boat full of supplies, then I'll dump Garrickson somewhere and head off by myself."

"You?" Linebeck laughed cynically and Jolene sneered at his jest. "What are you going to do with the boat? Row across the high seas?"

"I'm doing you a favor, Linebeck," Jolene insisted testily. "I wouldn't be picky if I were you."

Kreeb strutted coolly towards Jolene, the latter of whose temper was beginning to flare in her eyes.

"We can't just as well give you supplies. They aren't ours, now are they?"

"Fine," Jolene declared, pushing past Kreeb as she stormed towards the Quarterdeck door. "I'm sure the Captain's Quarter's will be brimming with treasures and other rather important artifacts. Lenzo wouldn't mind, would he? And when he came back, he'd find his quarters ransacked, the cabin boy missing, the Lieutenant unconscious, two sailors and a prostitute aboard. A pretty sight that would be."

"Jolene," Linebeck whined, scampering after her like a dejected puppy. "Your plan sounds bloody brilliant, but the purser would know if we took supplies and you can't just… hide Garrickson in the reeds and hope he never speaks a word to anyone. He's not some nameless fool like the rest of us. He's a Lieutenant and it doesn't take an idiot to alert the police or send a letter."

"What if I told you that I could keep him from ever telling anyone?"

"You can't kill him!"

"I won't. I've an idea, but never you mind that now. What do you say? Send me off with my own boat and you'll never hear from Garrickson again."

"Will I ever have to hear from you again?" Linebeck droned.

"Hopefully not, but the ocean isn't as large as we'd all like to think."

"All right, Jolene, whatever suits you, I suppose. It seems to be our only option if we want to save our necks. Kreeb!" He called. "Go fetch a week's worth of biscuits. I'll get Garrickson in the dinghy."

"And ten pounds," Jolene shouted across the deck as Kreeb made his way to the door. "I have to make a living, too!"

"Ten pounds?!" Kreeb retorted wildly, "You must be bloody mad! The Purser would notice if I took a ha'penny!"*

"Just go fetch it!"

Slightly frightened, Kreeb scurried downstairs while Linebeck began preparing the rigging. Jolene joined him, and to his surprise, she was quick to familiarize herself with the machinery. They worked in silence, attaching the needed ropes and hooks before finally heaving it over the side of the ship, where it hung like a dead man.

Gripping Garrickson by the shoulders while Jolene took his feet, Linebeck inched over to the suspended boat, and the two lowered him gently into the center. With his head propped against one of the seats, Garrickson's calm, unconscious expression juxtaposed the apparent pain that any waking man would feel in that position.

"It's a bloody miracle he hasn't woken up," Linebeck remarked. "He'll have a raging headache when he does."

"Good. Though, Linebeck," Jolene changed the subject, and, while both of them knew what was coming, neither dared look each other in the eye, "I hope you know it's bad form to steal from a prostitute. We've already had enough taken from us."

"I seem to do a lot of things with bad form, Jolene."

Perhaps she would have said more, but Kreeb interrupted with the slam of a door, winded, and boasting a sack of pathetic rations. He tossed the sack in the boat beside Garrickson, and produced from his pocket a ten-pound note and handed it painstakingly over to Jolene.

"How in God's name are we going to get away with this?" He cried, putting his face in his hands. "He'll notice for sure. I had to pick the lock and I've no way to relock it."

"You'll think of something," Jolene assured apathetically, tucking the note under the neckline of her dress and into her corset. "You boys need to think creatively. The Navy's made you soft in the head." She clambered into the boat with little difficulty and strategically rearranged Garrickson so as to give herself more space.

"I hope we never cross paths again, Linebeck, but I have the strangest feeling that we will." Her expression softened briefly, hardly long enough for Linebeck to notice, but she soon broke into a ferocious grin. "And when we do, I've a mind not to let you off so easy."

"I look forward to it," Linebeck cringed, and nodded to Kreeb as the both of them lowered the rigging for the umpteenth time that evening.

Linebeck hadn't a clue what Jolene intended to do with Garrickson and, as night began fading into morning, he found that fatigue was beginning to blur any sense of consequence he might have felt.

The events of the last few hours began to seep into one another with the rhythm of crashing waves until it all felt like a dream; the remaining rum in his blood mixed with images of blonde curls and angry prostitutes, the throb in his nose as a black and blue bruise formed mimicked the rhythmic cries of gulls and tap of feet and scrub of brushes against the deck, and he awoke in his hammock as golden morning sunlight beamed like an unyielding river through the porthole.

*Kreeb should be upset. 10 British Pounds in 1830 (according to the internet) is worth 993 Pounds today, or a whopping 1458 U.S. Dollars. The Purser, the man who kept track of the ship's money, would most certainly have noticed. The Purser was not paid and would make his own money by benefitting from the illicit treatment of the money-that is, he took some for his own. But he was expected to do this. Funny, right?

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! There will be one more chapter after this. (Or one chapter plus an epilogue, depending on the length.) For those of you still reading, thank you! I hope you enjoyed it.