Hello dear readers! I'm back, with a somewhat heavy chapter that was surprisingly difficult to write! ^.^

This is the first time I'm writing anything even resembling angst, so I apologize profusely beforehand if it's sub-par. . I am here to take a long journey and improve my writing skills, so constructive criticism is of course welcome.

All chapters are dedicated to my readers, for without them, I am a lonely writer. An author gets their joy from having their work read, after all. But this chapter extends its dedication to Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag because that game was awesome. :D It also kind of inspired some action scenes hehehehe.

Warning: mild swearing, minor character death (yes, readers, minor character DEATH so harden your hearts)

Enough blabber. ON WITH THE SHOW.

Sixth Plank: Friend

The rain was blurring his vision. The thunder was assaulting his ears. The strength of the downpour was making it hard for him to breathe. People were moving around him, shouting things, pushing and shoving. But his brain blocked all that out. His brain blocked out everything, everything but that figure that lay hunched on the saturated wood: tawny locks plastered to pale skin, water adding a translucent sheen to the white shirt and muddied brown pants.

'Oh no,' he heard the American whisper beside him, but he didn't hear what followed because before Francis knew it, the Frenchman found himself vaulting over the poop deck railing and onto the main deck at a full run. He skid over the slippery wood and stumbled down onto his knees near his fallen comrade. Antonio had scrambled to his feet and lowered his sword, the figure of his enemy crouched at his feet. As Francis approached, Antonio looked away.

'Arthur, Arthur,' Francis held the Englishman's head between his hands. The man's face was ashen, a look of pure hopelessness in his eyes. 'Answer me, damn it!' Francis yelled. What in the world just happened to him?

Arthur's eyes had glassed over with unshed tears, and he blinked them away. His eyebrows drew together in shock as he stared at Francis's taut expression before realisation relit the fire in his eyes. 'Francis…' he gasped and slapped the man's arms away, looking up at Antonio. The Spaniard's mouth was a thin line and he wasn't meeting anyone's gaze. 'Captain Carriedo, I…'

'I accept your surrender,' Antonio muttered curtly, his light-heartedness gone. 'Go back to your ship, Kirkland, and take your crew with you. I am sparing your life.'

Francis growled. 'Antonio…'

'Francis,' Arthur warned, standing up unsteadily. The Frenchman went to help him but Arthur waved him away. 'Carriedo is right. I surrendered. He won. You are no longer part of my crew.' His voice was steady when he spoke, but his wavering eyes betrayed his emotional state. Francis could always tell what he was thinking through those eyes of his, and it hurt to see it now.

'But Arthur…' Francis felt Antonio's hand on his shoulder.

'Let us go, mi amigo. We will talk in my quarters.'

Francis watched as Alfred spoke quietly into Arthur's ear and glanced at him. The American shook his head at the Frenchman's worried face. Later, he mouthed.

And so Francis, smart enough to know that the time was not right to cause a spectacle, followed his Spaniard friend into the ship. And thus he turned his back on the Briton he had become rather fond of.

'I'm guessing you wanted to go to France?' Antonio asked as they entered his room. It was a beautiful room, more lavish than Arthur's and less cluttered. Handsome drawers with intricate engravings lined the walls. A large mirror bordered with golden seashells hung above a larger hammock, complete with embroidered pillows and sheets. The windows on each side of the mirror would have spilled sunlight directly onto the polished wooden floor, if it wasn't for the ongoing monsoon.

Francis nodded, silent, still getting his thoughts into order. The fight was going so well for Arthur – what had happened to make him surrender so suddenly? And that look he had on his face – Francis couldn't get the image of it out of his head. He needed to get back on the Britannia Angel. He had to sort this out.

'We're sailing for France anyway, so your problem is solved. We will not have to make any detours,' Antonio added softly, his tone lightening. 'I'm glad you're finally safe, free. I was afraid of what someone like Kirkland would do to a hostage like you, especially since you're French-'

'You don't understand, mon amie,' Francis cut in.'I wasn't in danger, I was never imprisoned. I wasn't his hostage, Antonio, I was his cook!'

Antonio was dumbstruck. '¡Que?'

'What is this?' the Frenchman threw his hands up in exasperation. 'From the beginning you have been treating him as though he is torturing me, as though I needed to be saved. Ever since I boarded that ship, the crew have been nothing but kind to me.' In their own way. 'Alfred gave me a job as a cook as payment for taking me to France, and Arthur has accepted me even though I am French.' Although he doesn't go easy on the creative insults.

'But he is a pirate!' Antonio replied, shocked. 'An infamous pirate whose head holds a bounty larger a sum than you could ever earn!'

'Then why did you spare his life?!'

Antonio pursed his lips. Then he said the last thing Francis was expecting. '…because I cheated.'

'You what?'

Antonio jerked his head at one of the profligately cushioned chairs as he sat down on his hammock and Francis followed his direction, seating himself. 'I cheated; played dirty,' he shrugged, but clearly looked uncomfortable.

Francis leaned forward, confused. He hadn't seen any foul play. 'What did you do?'

'I said something I shouldn't have. I thought it would work. I had to use it. It was a last-minute decision but I thought I would lose my life if I didn't,' Antonio looked up, his face beseeching. 'You understand, don't you?'

Francis stared. 'I have no idea what you're talking about. You have to start from the beginning,' he sighed, suddenly feeling extremely weary. 'You've been lying to me a lot, Antonio, about your entire life. It's about time you told me the entire truth.'

The Spaniard bit his lip, running a hand through his chocolate coloured hair. 'There was…an incident, about five years ago. I-I wasn't there personally, but I met someone who barely escaped with his life, and he could remember the ordeal perfectly, what was said word for word.' Antonio screwed his eyes shut. 'He told me everything, and it was terrible. He was part of another pirate's crew, and this pirate was out bounty-hunting for Kirkland's head. You must understand, before this, Kirkland was a monster. A bloodthirsty, murderous man who–' his voice cracked, quite uncharacteristically. He cleared his throat and continued.

'He was a man you did not want to cross, and yet he was a man who loved his crew and they loved him back. The same people are with him today. This pirate, he attacked Kirkland's ship in the Pacific…and it didn't go very well, for both of them. Kirkland's crew boarded the other ship, and the fight went so out of hand that gunpowder barrels got involved and the whole ship sank. Most of Kirkland's crew made it out safe, but everyone thought Kirkland himself was dead,' he took in a deep breath. 'I'd heard the rumours, about his return, about his changed attitude, about his…kindness. I thought they were all lies, that Kirkland was dead. I thought I was seeing a ghost when I laid eyes on that ship this morning.' He looked at Francis, a small spark of what resembled excitement in his nervous expression. 'It's true what they say about him. Not even the devil can keep that monstruo underwater.'

Francis shook his head. 'Most of his crew made it out? You mean…?'

Antonio refused to meet his friend's eyes. 'Francis, you know, I actually look up to Kirkland, in my own way. Even though I don't particularly like him, he's…he's the kind of pirate others dream of becoming. He's been all over the world. They know his name in all the continents and oceans.'

'Stop avoiding the question, Antonio,' Francis cautioned, standing up. 'Who didn't make it out of that fight? Is that the reason Arthur is as he is? And what did you do?'

The Spaniard rubbed his temple. 'I betrayed what little trust Kirkland had in me. I had no idea those measly words would have such an effect on him, I never expected him to break down like that. But to experience such loss…I can't even imagine it.'

'Just tell me already, damn it!' Francis shouted, his own voice ringing in his ears.

Antonio looked him right in the eye. 'I can't.'

Francis felt like slapping him. 'Why?'

'It's not my story to tell. Not this bit. Not the bit that changed Kirkland's whole life. I don't deserve to be the one to tell you,' Antonio's face was sad, ashamed. 'Please don't go, Francis. You don't need to know what happened. Stay here where it's safe. Let the past remain in the past, lest the ghosts return. All you need to know is that my duty is always to my ship and my crew.' He approached the Frenchman and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'But also to my friends. I would do anything for them.'

Francis placed his hand on Antonio's. 'My duty is to my friends as well, and I have a friend who needs me right now more than you do. I'm sorry, Antonio, but I cannot leave this as it is.'

The storm had calmed and left the sky clear, painted orange by the last rays of the setting sun. Francis was surprised to see both the Britannia Angel and La Serpiente Encantada slowly bobbing on the waves, side by side, metres apart. He had expected – and feared – that the British ship would have sailed as far away from this incident as possible. He ignored all the looks of curiosity the Spanish vessel's crew threw at him and without wasting any more time, he grabbed one of the ropes that swayed lazily from the mast. Wrapping his arm around it, he took a few steps back, and before anyone with a brain could stop him, he swung like a monkey from one deck and onto the other. He landed with a loud thump right in front of an amused American.

'Nice to see you, Francis. Looks like you're getting used to our kind of travel,' Alfred smiled, but there was no light in his eyes. 'What are you doing here? Although we pretty much expected you to come back anyway. You left your stuff in your room.'

'I need to see Arthur,' Francis said urgently. 'Are you moving soon?'

Alfred nodded. 'Yeah, we're headed for France. We need supplies and the storm has gotten us closer to France's port anyway. Captain's in his cabin, but…' Alfred rubbed his head. 'I'm worried, but I'm not really good at this...emotional stuff. The crew's getting restless too.'

'Antonio told me about what happened five years ago,' Francis blurted out before he could stop himself.

Alfred was taken aback. 'Carriedo knows? Ah, who doesn't,' he waved his hand. 'Yeah, we don't really like to talk about it. But you're right, it probably has something to do with that. Captain always gets…unsteady when that's brought up, understandably. I just wish I was able to help him more,' he frowned forlornly. Francis had never seen him look so miserable.

'Can I help him?'

Alfred looked sceptical. 'Maybe. He doesn't like talking about it to us, so I don't think he'd be too open with a newbie like you. But you can try. Aren't you French supposed to be good at this emotional stuff?' he grinned, attempting to retrieve his happy-go-lucky attitude.

Francis winked, his mood lifted. 'Oui, oui!'

The door wasn't locked, so that was reason enough to continue. Francis slipped inside.

Arthur was bent over his desk with hands gripping the table, his back to Francis. The small click of the handle made him swivel around. His eyes were red and his skin was pale. Bushy eyebrows drew together in confusion, then in anger. 'What are you doing here?'

'Oh,' Francis placed a hand on his heart in mock pain. 'Is that how you greet me?' He seems fine enough at the moment, but there's something off, he thought to himself.

'Get out. Carriedo won, you are no longer part of my crew, nor my hostage,' he spat out the word like it burned him.

'Yes, he did win…' Francis stepped closer. 'But how? What happened on that deck, Arthur? What happened five years ago?'

The Briton visibly stiffened. 'How do you…? You know what, I don't care. It's none of your damn business.'

'I want to help. I'm not doing this out of my own curiosity, Arthur,' Francis took another step forward. 'You'll feel better once you tell someone your problems. Don't shoulder the burden by yourself.'

Arthur's eyes had hardened. 'Why do you care so much? Last I saw, you were happily following that Spanish bastard. Go back to your friend. I don't want to see your face ever again.'

Francis felt those words sting. 'I did go back to my friend. You.'

The captain's grip on the wood tightened. 'No Frenchman is my friend.' Francis frowned at the remark, his eyes landing on the twin cutlass display that hung above Arthur's hammock. He grinned, walking over to it and drawing the two swords out. Arthur's eyes widened. 'What in God's name are you doing?'

Probably ensuring my death, Francis though grimly but continued smiling. He tossed a sword to Arthur and the pirate instinctively caught it at the hilt, blade facing downwards. 'Challenging you to a duel. If I win, you tell me everything. If I lose, you'll never see my face again.'

'Are you an idiot?' Arthur hissed, voicing Francis's own thoughts.

'If it's the only way to get you to open up, then I think I'm pretty smart,' Francis winked. 'You can't refuse a challenge from a Frenchman, now can you? Or are you scared I'll win?'

'Quite the contrary,' Arthur frowned. 'I think it's a waste of time, seeing as we both know how this is going to end.'

Francis lifted the blade and got into position, legs spread apart and one arm behind his back. 'Don't underestimate me. I did fencing for five whole years when I was at school.'

'This isn't fencing, you dimwit,' Arthur growled. 'But if you want to, I won't refuse. And when you lose, you leave.'

Francis was feeling pretty confident. I'll show this silly rosbif just what I'm made of. I'm sure I can hold up well against him.

It turned out that the confidence was very misplaced. In seconds Arthur had Francis backed up against the wall. Francis was holding out surprisingly well, but the strength behind the captain's strokes was getting stronger, and Francis knew any second he would be disarmed. As a last minute plea, he glared straight into the other's eyes. 'I worry about you. It's about time you let someone understand your pain!'

'What would you know about pain, you bloody Frenchman!' Arthur roared, and Francis's sword went flying out of his hand. 'You wouldn't know pain if it hit you in the face! Why don't you just go back to France with Carriedo, where you can lounge all day drinking French wine and eating French croissants while the world suffers around you!' the last word had him bringing the cutlass down double-handed, and Francis instinctively moved his head a little to the right.

Thunk.

The blade found itself embedded in the beautiful wood of the walls, and a lock of Francis's golden hair drifted to the floor. Both blondes stared at the hair, shocked.

Arthur stumbled back, the blade clattering to the ground. His eyes widened, and they had that look in them again, that look of pure powerlessness, that hopeless, despairing dullness that squeezed Francis's heart.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, tears shining in his green eyes. Francis felt as though the apology wasn't directed at him. He slowly approached the emotionally unstable man, hands extended towards him.

'It's okay, Arthur, I'm alright. I'm fine, you see?' Soon Francis was close enough to brush a strand of Arthur's hair away from his face, and peer into those defenceless eyes. 'What's wrong? Please tell me, I want to help.' He led Arthur to sit on the hammock and he sat beside him. Arthur buried his head into Francis's shoulder and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed and Francis just sat there, rubbing his back.

'You must feel disgusted,' Arthur whispered into Francis's shirt. 'A man my age crying like a child.'

'Not at all, mon amie,' Francis whispered.

'I was born into a poor family,' Arthur began quietly, after a few silent minutes. Francis stiffened. This was it. The moment when the cold, icy exterior of Arthur's demeanour was finally melting, where the doors of his heart were finally opening. 'Typhoid killed my mother, so the three of us – my father, my younger brother and me - we survived off what little money my father earned working at the London docks. He was smart, he taught us a lot, and we learnt a lot from the foreigners that came. Then he died. Tuberculosis.' Arthur choked out a dry laugh. 'It was just me and my brother, living on the streets. Then one day, when I was fifteen, I saw them. Pirates.

'They had come to the dock under a false name. The ship – the Britannia Angel – had barely survived a raid, and most of the crew had died or were fatally wounded. The captain needed a new crew, and we needed a way to earn money. So we joined. For five years we sailed around the world. His First Mate had died in the raid, so he decided to make me, a teenager, into his next one. Said he saw some kind of potential,' Arthur added, voice raspy. 'The captain died. Infection. So I became the captain of the Britannia Angel. Nobody liked that, though, except my brother. They all left me when we reached America. I met Alfred, and his brother Matthew. They joined me and we sailed around the world, picking up people here and there. I loved it. I could feel it in my blood,' his hand tightened where it was fisting Francis's shirt. 'The previous captain was right. I felt as though I was born to be a pirate. I met Carriedo, fought him, beat him. I thought he was actually a damn fine pirate so I didn't kill him, just robbed him blind. And then, five years later, we were confronted by pirate bounty-hunters.'

Arthur was silent, and Francis could feel the beginnings of another cry. He rubbed the Briton's back again. He could tell they were getting to the real crux of the matter. Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself and continued.

'There was a battle, a big one. We boarded their ship first, in fact, and kept them on it while I made Alfred sail the Britannia Angel away. There was no way I was getting my ship destroyed. And I thought he was on it…' Arthur peeled away from Francis's shoulder and buried his face in his hands. 'I didn't know he'd followed me. In the heat of the battle, I had no idea he had followed me. It's my fault.'

Francis frowned, worried. Was this what Antonio refused to tell me?

'My brother. He was barely twenty, and he wasn't very good at fighting. But he was confident, that idiot. Thought he was the best, thought he could do anything. And when I ordered my men off the boat as I set fire to the damn pirate's ship, I saw him,' Arthur's speech sped up, like he was holding all this inside of him and it was finally coming out; the floodgates had opened. 'I saw the captain run towards me, fight me, but I was better than him. And he knew it. I fought him. I had him cornered against an open crate, and unknown to me but known to him, my…my brother was hiding inside it.' His hands tightened in his hair. 'I drew my sword back, and just before I skewered that captain's heart, he…he turned around and pulled my brother in front of him.'

Francis's breath caught in his throat. No. No, it couldn't be.

'I killed him, Francis,' Arthur whispered. 'My own brother. I killed him.' He drew a shuddering breath. 'I saw my sword slice through his shirt, felt it pierce his flesh, I felt him die.' A tear dripped down his chin. 'I saw him cough blood as I pulled the wretched piece of metal out of him, I felt him shiver as he fell into my arms. He looked up at me, and I couldn't speak. The first thing I said was sorry. I said sorry! As though that would fix everything!' Arthur lifted his head, his eyes red. 'I said "Sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry." Over and over again. And he just looked at me. First his face was terrified, but then he smiled as though nothing was wrong.' Arthur's hands shook. 'He gripped my shirt and he said that if it wasn't for me, we would still be on the streets. If it wasn't for me, his life wouldn't have been an adventure. And his last words to me were "I'm sorry, Arthur. Take good care of the ship",' his voice broke. '"It was fun. Thank you for the fight." And then he closed his eyes and never opened them again.'

Francis and Arthur sat, side by side, in silence.

'Those words…'

'Yes,' Arthur sighed. 'Carriedo reminded me of that day, and I lost all thought. I'm a monster, Francis. I couldn't kill Carriedo. In fact, I felt like dying when he said that to me,' his voice shook. 'I don't deserve to live.'

Francis pursed his lips. 'I know quite a lot of people who disagree.' Arthur blinked at him. 'Your crew, for one. They know you'd give your life for them. Antonio too. He looks up to you, you know. He'd be disappointed if you died. Your brother Peter. I have a feeling that he didn't blame you for what happened, so if you died because you felt guilty, that would be nonsense. This is the reason you do not kill anymore, right? So that something this horrible will not happen again? So you really don't need to beat yourself over it,' He rubbed his head bashfully, looking away from those emerald eyes. 'Ah, and I don't know if it matters to you, but this Frenchman would also be quite miserable if you were to leave the land of the living.'

Arthur smiled softly. 'Of course it matters, Francis. If after hearing what I did, you still view me no differently. It feels so good to get it out of me, to let it all out. I can't thank you enough. Even my crew doesn't know the details. They just know that my brother died on that ship, and that's why I changed my ways. I wonder if they will react the same way, if they knew everything.'

Francis raked a hand through Arthur's golden hair. 'Of course. They'd understand. I've only been with you for a few days and I do. They've been with you for nearly ten years.'

Arthur was silent. 'But you're leaving anyway, aren't you? Carriedo won.'

The other rolled his eyes. 'If I remember correctly, I never agreed to becoming the prize for your little duel.' He grinned. 'I believe I have a choice in whose ship I want to use to get to France. If the captain will accept me, of course.'

'Why are you even asking, you frog?' Arthur snorted, not unkindly. 'Now get back to work. I'm hungry.'

'Ah, but we are low on supplies. Shall I ask Antonio if we can have some?' Francis asked. Francis had realised that Arthur hadn't asked him how Antonio knew his brother's exact last words. Maybe he has forgotten. I can't bring it up myself. But I guess I understand why Antonio did it. He wasn't sure Arthur wouldn't blow a hole in his head and butcher his crew. He hadn't yet met the gentleman pirate Arthur is now. In his memories, Arthur's form is the blood soaked, merciless devil of the seas.

'My pride isn't that low!' Arthur scoffed. 'After losing to my enemy, I won't them ask for help! What do you take me for?' he stood up, straightening his clothes. 'I'm sure we can survive until France. We have plenty of rum.'

'You haven't tasted alcohol until you've tried vin français!' Francis chuckled at the look Arthur shot him. 'Don't worry, mon amie. You will enjoy France,' he winked. 'Some of the few things the French know very well are defeat and broken hearts, after all!'

Peter Kirkland: Sealand (I'm so sorry. D: But it had to be done, for the PLOT. /runs away from pitchforks)

As I mentioned earlier, I've never written angst, and I don't expect my first try to be perfect, but I have to start at the bottom of the ladder. So constructive criticism is welcome! Please drop a review to let me know what you thought. I'm very self-concious about this chapter hahaha...

This is the planned second-last chapter of the series, but I do in fact have a lot of ideas for continuation. :D More like fun adventures, with mermaids, krakens, Davy Jones' Locker, treasure and the whole shebang. We still have to meet a lot of other countries as well, since I limited the cast to the core characters. But more on that in the last chapter. For now, and always, I hope you enjoyed reading and thank you for your time. :)