"Wait! Oh, Captains, please wait!"
Teague grunted, spinning around to find the Weyard sisters hurrying over to them in their fussy way, each one pulling on a leash that led straight to their bear.
"Don't let it get me!" Ragetti screamed, scampering behind a tree.
"We're prepared for it this time," Pintel said, tapping a heavy wooden bucket. "We'll just catch it off-guard and..." He jumped backwards when the sisters reached them, the bear sticking out a curious paw.
"Orson's on his leash, dear! He's no more than a big dog," Serenity said.
"A big sweetheart," Salome cooed.
"Was there something you ladies needed?" Teague asked, his headache and heavy eyes returning at their mere presence.
"We have some more information," Salome said, clapping her hands.
"For your quest," Serenity clarified. "The Italian man is being held at the Desrosiers Inn in Nova Scotia. It was quite a vision, wasn't it, Salome?"
"Indeed, yes. All the rose bushes and the bluest sky you'd ever seen. It would be a very enviable trip if not for having to rescue a kidnapped man."
"I know, Nova Scotia and Cygnus! You must try to sightsee while you're there."
"Desrosiers Inn. Thank you," Teague said.
"Wait! There's one thing more! Where's the girl, the one I hit?"
Groaning again, Teague craned his head in search of his King. Snapping his fingers at her, he pointed over to the sisters.
"Elizabeth," she snapped at him.
"How's your head feeling, my dear?" Serenity asked.
"It's better now. Thank you. You really don't need to inconvenience yourselves anymore." Teague chuckled. All the tact in the world wouldn't keep these two at bay, and he was sure there had never been a King with more tact than this one, when she felt like using it, of course.
"This is for you to take with you." With as much gusto as if they were old spinster aunts of hers visiting at Christmas, they held out a crossbow. Teague took a step back. A relic, to be sure, he fought an oncoming laugh as the other sister presented her with a quiver of bolts.
"It belonged to our father..."
"...who always used to say Cupid gave it to him to ensnare our mother!" They giggled again.
"Take it with you."
"Under the circumstances, we thought it might be better for you than a sword," Salome said.
"But, oh dear, look! She has a pistol."
"Oh, that does spoil it. We haven't anything else, do we?"
"Maybe she'd like a shovel instead..."
"No, no, thank you," Elizabeth sputtered. "This is so generous. I couldn't take something that belonged to your father." She held it out for them.
"Oh nonsense! Father had dozens of these..."
"...and he only ensnared our mother with the first one..."
"...and this is the fifth one, don't you see?"
"He was a collector."
"And an ensnarer."
"If you insist." Elizabeth smiled and shrugged. "What do you mean 'under the circumstances?'"
"Well, one can be stationary when using this..." Salome said.
"As opposed to a sword."
"Not as exerting." Serenity let out a heaving breath, stifled a sob, and kissed their hands one right after the other. "Oh, God speed! Have a good time and save that man and the sword before it's too late!"
"That is one I haven't heard tell of," Gibbs whistled as they set sail. "A shame I wasn't there."
"Well, we're all here now and good riddance," Teague said, stepping up to his helm. Each spoke felt warmer to him, the flapping of the sails entwining with the wind a more passionate song than any gypsy's dance. His eyes adjusted to the near-white sunlight gleaming down, making everything seem new. Tipping the brim of his hat with his forefinger and thumb, he exhaled. The Golden Queen, Oria Regina Pettirosso.
"I can't go with you." In three days, just three days, he knew what her foreign words meant. The tears glistening in those large chocolate eyes, softer and lighter than his black ones, the way her lip trembled just before it tucked into stubborn stillness—he knew. Missing from his arms when he awoke that morning, he tracked her to her church, kneeling and bathed in the amber gold. Her saints and Savior surrounded her, their eyes all saying the same thing to him.
"Perché no?" She smiled, the movement in her face causing two tears to drop.
"Your accent...it's terrible."
"Why not?"
"I don't know anything about you!" Oria whimpered, her head lowering, curls of raven hair spilling over her. "It's too sudden..." She rattled off more in her native tongue, Teague able to catch only a few familiar words. Just yesterday they'd laughed at his clumsy Italian, trying so hard to be eloquent when she was content to praise him on the simplest words and sentences.
"Please." He kissed her, cupping her cheeks and fighting his own sobs. This is what a slight, elfin pickpocket had reduced him to, a blubbering mess not fit to return to his own ship. Breaking away from her, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around long skinny legs. Her body tensed, so he kissed her skirt, sinking lower to place his lips on the hem. Here was his icon, his saint, the shine in her hair enough of a halo.
"I love you." His confession, not that she hadn't heard it before, the English words not lost on her. And she loved him, too, damn it! Teague knew it the way he knew the days of the week, the phases of the moon. To know she went about her life here while he went about his somewhere else was death, no Last Rites from her.
"What's keeping you here?" he murmured into her skirt. "You have no family, poor as a church mouse..."
"Flatterer," she sighed, wiping her eyes.
"I'll take you around the world and back. I swear! Everything I have is yours. My ship? Yours! I'll give it your name, and everyone we meet will ask about it and I'll say it's you. Your ship, your servants, your world..."
"John."
Her hands found his, her fingers locking through his, gently pulling him to his feet. Not goodbye. He'd maroon himself on some island and starve to death first. He'd gaze into the jaws of the most fearsome monsters the world had to offer. He'd make a pilgrimage to the ends of the world, the very edges of the map...
"I'll come with you."
He sealed the vow with a kiss, refusing to ask if she was sure, if she meant it, if she would change her mind the minute she stepped onto the pier. His. Oria belonged to him in every sense of the word and he wouldn't let go, not for a new face or even the sea.
"We cast off at noon," he coughed, gaining a semblance of his voice back. He pressed his forehead into hers. "Just enough time to collect whatever you want to take with you."
"It's as you said. Nothing is keeping me here. Absolutely nothing..." It was her turn to kiss him, and he moaned at the sensation of it, of feeling that hair fall against his chin as she burrowed into him. Her own declaration of love, not her first to him, sent tears streaming down his face, reducing Captain John Teague into a blubbering mess, all right, he thought, and somehow building him back up at the same time.
"Now if we can manage to avoid anymore senile attempts at courses, we ought to do well." Jack trudged up the steps to him, hands behind his back in a smug manner. Nothing like one's own bastard to ruin the mood, Teague thought.
"My ship."
"My journey," Jack argued.
"Ye might have said this was all about some treasure. Here I thought this man had some sentimental value, of the fatherly type, of course." He'd missed years of scolding, and Lord knew much scolding had been warranted. He didn't wait for a response. "Is that the convoluted plan of the day? Show up under the guise of 'old time's sake' and sweep the man's sword out from under him? Eh? No need to be so secretive about that."
"Don't leave out being mauled to death by a bear," Jack said with a fox's grin. "If that was not a possibility I wouldn't have started out at all."
"Bloody hell, Jackie. You've got two hired muscle, three imbeciles, two women, and two old men out here. I'd say the bear is the least of your worries."
"Does that mean you have more tricks up your sleeve for us?"
"It means this isn't some silly chest of jewels or sacking a ship. Men have searched for ways to kill immortals since the beginning of time. That's not something to take lightly."
"Who was it so keen on coming along in the first place?" Jack balked. "I recall at no such time pleading for help of any kind."
"I came along to be with you!" Teague hissed through gnashed teeth.
"That explains why everything so far has been so unpromising," Jack whispered, motioning for Teague to "shoo" as it was now his shift at the helm. His knuckles aching to strike, Teague instead backed up and drew his sword.
"Don't push away those who want you, boy. It'll haunt you more than anything else ever will." Sheathing his sword, Teague headed below decks.
A/N: Apparently, the projectiles for a crossbow are called bolts, shorter and heavier than standard arrows. Learn something every day! The dialogue about the dangers of pursuing the sword borrows a little from Raiders of the Lost Ark.