AN: Look who's back! :D My brain decided not to do English today, so editing this was fun u_u If you spot any mistakes, please do tell. Hope you like it anyway n_n"

TIGHT ROPE

Chapter X

Bonnefoi.

That single word had been playing on repeat in Lovino's head for an hour already.

Francis had showed up in his bedroom a little after Lovino had been shown to it and had insisted that he accompanied him and Alistair for a tour of the mansion. Lovino had accepted — he wasn't thrilled about following Kirkland around like a duckling (after all, the pirate had been the protagonist of most horror tales in his childhood), but Francis' enthusiasm was contagious and, why lie, he did want to take a look around the castle.

It had been better than expected, until Alistair had taken them into the biggest room.

"Oh, you have a ballroom!" Francis had squeaked in delight. Then he had danced his way around, chanting "un, deux, trois; un, deux, trois" as he moved with grace. Lovino had thought that he was a great dancer (yet still refused him, embarrassed, when Francis tried to make him dance with him).

And then Alistair had snarled something at him.

Lovino wasn't fluent in English, and the Scotsman's thick accent made it nearly impossible for him to understand anything. He had, however, caught one word: Bonnefoi.

It sounded so familiar, yet Lovino couldn't quite place it. The tour had ended a while ago, but he had kept wandering around, getting more frustrated as time went by and his stupid brain wouldn't recall. So focused on the issue, he didn't realize where his steps were driving him to.

And he wouldn't have realized at all, had it not been for the music.

Lovino stopped dead on his tracks, effectively kicked out of his thoughts and back into reality when the melodic strumming of a guitar reached him from behind a half-open door. The first thing that surprised him was hearing such beautiful music in a nest of pirates. The second thing was noticing that it was Carriedo's room.

Curiosity took him over: Lovino sneaked closer to the door and peeked inside.

Antonio was sat on his bed, a beautiful guitar resting on his lap, and he was playing it with ease. His fingers slid with mastery over the strings, drawing beautiful sounds from the instrument, and he bobbed his head to the rhythm, sometimes humming along. He looked like a completely different person from the dark pirate captain Lovino knew.

"You should know better than to snoop from behind closed doors," Antonio said suddenly, startling Lovino. "It's bad manners."

Embarrassed, Lovino walked into the room. "The door wasn't closed," he replied. "And I wasn't snooping."

"Ah, you weren't?"

"No."

"Then what were you doing?"

This time, Lovino's embarrassment manifested in the form of a blush. "Listening," he answered, immediately wishing his voice had sounded a little less weak.

Antonio snorted. "Okay." He hadn't stopped playing, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, and Lovino found himself following with interest the movements of his hands. They played the guitar with reverential care and such a skill that, for a moment, Lovino forgot that those same hands were stained with the blood of dozens of people.

"Where did you learn how to play?" he asked quietly, afraid that the music might stop if he spoke too loudly.

"Would you believe me if I said that I taught myself?"

"No."

"Why not? Doubt my honesty just because I'm a terrible pirate?" Antonio said in mockery.

"No. You're just too good to be self-taught."

Antonio raised an eyebrow at the compliment, and the start of a smile that had been on his face for a while grew into a proper grin. "How observant of you," he jeered.

And then, much to Lovino's surprise, he actually answered his question.

"I learnt when I was a kid. I made friends with an Austrian musician who was staying in town; he said I had talent and taught me for free."

"An Austrian musician?" Now it was time for Lovino to jest: "Who was it, Edelstein?"

What he wasn't expecting was a completely unironic reply:

"Roderich Edelstein, yes. Why, do you know him?"

Lovino's jaw fell. He couldn't believe his ears. Slowly, he said: "Roderich Edelstein is probably the most famous and respected musician in Europe as of today."

"Is that so?" Antonio mumbled. It seemed to genuinely be breaking news to him. "Well, that's good. I'm happy for him. He deserves it."

"So…" Lovino cleared his throat. That conversation had reanimated his curiosity, which he had tried to keep at bay for a few days now, and seeing that Antonio seemed to be in a good mood, that might be his chance to get some answers. "I suppose he's not the man you want to kill?" he asked casually.

For the first time since Lovino had been listening, Antonio missed a note. The guitar whined, and the pirate sent him a glare that, while not the deadliest he had been subjected to, still managed to send a shiver down the boy's spine. And yet, Antonio's voice was calm when he spoke:

"He's probably the only person from my past that I don't want to see dead." He stopped playing for good and, before Lovino could keep interrogating him, it was him who fired the next question: "Why do you do medicine?"

Taken by surprise, Lovino gave his default answer almost by instinct: "It's a hobby."

"A hobby, really?"

"Yes."

"Weird hobby for a merchant."

"It's not."

"Rich people hunt or throw expensive parties just to rub on other rich people's faces how much richer they are. Rich people don't have medicine as a hobby."

"Well, I do," Lovino snapped. His legs were shaking, and Antonio's intense stare on him wasn't helping.

"You do, indeed," Antonio muttered. His gaze narrowed, focusing intently on Lovino, and the boy didn't like it one bit. He felt like he was being read like an open book. After what felt like an eternity of deep silence, the guitar no longer filling that void, the captain finally leant back, drummed his fingers on his instrument, and dropped the last question:

"Who did you lose?"

Lovino recoiled, as if the question had been a physical hit. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking — they still remembered all too well the feel of Feli's little hands clasped around them, his ears could still hear his little brother's sobs, his heart still broke at the sad look on Feli's face when the child, only seven back then, had faced death for the first time.

A single chord played on the guitar snapped him back to the present. Antonio was still staring at him, but now with a satisfied expression on his face, as if he were pleased that he had been correct in his assumptions.

It angered Lovino. He took a deep breath and gathered all the rage he could conjure (a lot, in that moment).

"It's none of your business," he spat, furious, before storming out of the room.

As he stomped away, he could hear Antonio's amused laugh behind him.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It was dark outside.

Matthew had brought him dinner before, apologizing on Alistair's behalf for not being there. "He said he wanted to keep an eye on your crew and make sure they grasp who rules here—literal words." Then he had stayed, claiming that it was too sad to eat alone.

Antonio had asked about Alfred. Matthew had sighed. "He sailed with Owen and the twins to the Caribbean. We haven't seen them in months. I miss him," he admitted, making a sad face.

"They'll all be alright," Antonio had reassured him. He didn't have any siblings, but Matt's worry wasn't entirely foreign to him. He'd feel like that, too, if he were separated from Francis.

That had been hours ago.

Everyone was in bed now, regaining strength.

Yet Antonio couldn't sleep.

His mind kept drifting back to earlier that day, when he had caught Lovino listening to him playing his guitar.

At first, when he had noticed the boy behind the half-lidded door, he had felt defensive. That music wasn't meant to be heard by others. But he had masked his anger behind a polite remark; one he had hoped would embarrass Lovino and make him leave. The boy, however, had taken it as an invitation to walk inside, and Antonio wasn't sure what to make of the conversation that had followed.

On the one hand, he was genuinely happy for Roderich. The news of his well-deserved fame across Europe had stirred some of the few truly happy memories from his childhood: the weight of a guitar on his lap, his fingers clumsily strumming the strings, Roderich's stern voice correcting his mistakes. Back then, all those years ago, music had become an escape route from reality that he still took in the present — he was forever grateful to Roderich for giving it to him.

On the other hand, he didn't like one bit that Lovino seemed interested about his past.

It's not yours to know, he had thought, upset, when he had been asked (again) about him. The man he wanted to kill… No, the man he was going to kill. Lovino would be wise to keep his curiosity at bay.

You hypocrite, a tiny voice whispered in his mind.

"Shut up," he hissed at himself.

You're curious, too, the voice whispered back.

Antonio growled and covered his face with his hands.

When he had asked Lovino who he had lost, he had done it purely to piss him off, to show him just how annoying it was to have someone you dislike asking you personal questions; but his reaction had been so explosive that it had generated proper curiosity in Antonio.

Who had Lovino lost? Someone close to him, surely. Perhaps a relative.

Maybe the two of them weren't so different after all…

Don't go there, Antonio scolded himself. Don't. He didn't want to think of Lovino as an equal. They're all the same. One of his hands travelled a little higher, tangling on his hair, until his fingers found what they were looking for: a scar on his scalp, old, but that still itched from time to time. They're all the same.

"Toni?" a voice whispered from behind the half-open door.

Antonio flinched, startled, but relaxed the moment he realized it was only Francis.

"Are you awake? Did I wake you up?"

"Yes and no. Come in."

Francis pushed the door open and slid inside the room. "You couldn't sleep?" he asked, perceptive as always.

"I'm not the only one, it seems," Antonio replied. He moved to leave a space for Francis on the bed and his friend promptly laid by his side. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Francis answered, making himself comfortable next to him. "I just felt nostalgic."

Antonio smiled and wrapped his arms around Francis, pulling him closer. He knew exactly what kind of memories his friend was recalling. "Seeing Alistair is like getting a trip to the past, right?"

Francis hummed in agreement, nuzzling his nose into Antonio's neck. "It made me remember the first time we met. I thought you were the prettiest boy I'd ever seen," he confessed with a chuckle. Antonio snorted. "But then," Francis went on, a melancholic note in his voice, "then you looked at me with such a cold glare that I was seriously scared of you."

"Not scared enough," Antonio replied, playfully kissing Francis' stubbled jaw.

"Not enough," Francis agreed; and, before Antonio could recoil, he grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss.

Smiling, Antonio closed his eyes as the gentle touch of Francis' lips on his evoked one of his most precious memories.

One of them had had guard duty that night, and the other had insisted on staying to keep him company. Who had been who, Antonio wasn't sure. What he could clearly remember was the way Francis had taken his hand, delicately, and had paid him a compliment; the way Francis had pushed some rebel locks of his long hair off his face and told him he needed a ribbon; the way Francis' trembling hand had pressed against his cheek and held him in place as he leant for a kiss.

He could clearly remember the way his heart had jumped in his chest at the feeling of his friend's lips on his; how it had taken him less than a second to kiss back.

Just like now.

Their relationship had evolved so much over the years that for a while Antonio had struggled to find a word to define it. They weren't just friends; they weren't lovers. They were both and neither at the same time.

"Francis…" Antonio breathed out when they parted. He opened his eyes and his gaze fell on Francis' striking blue pools, which stared back at him with tenderness.

Francis hushed him and kissed him a second time, and a third. There was absolutely nothing sexual about those kisses. They were merely a silent, effective way of conveying a message: I love you.

If anyone were to ask, Antonio would say that Francis was a close friend whom he was very fond of; maybe he'd even admit that they used to be lovers. But, truth be told, Francis had lost those status years ago, when Antonio had finally found the term he had been looking for.

Francis wasn't his best friend, nor the love of his life.

He was his soulmate.

The kiss ended. "We should sleep," Antonio whispered over Francis' lips, a finger tracing his well-defined jaw.

"Yes, we should." Careful, putting special attention on Antonio's injury, Francis wrapped his arms around him and rested his head on his chest. "Good night."

Antonio smiled and buried his fingers on Francis' golden locks.

"Good night, Fran."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Waking up in Antonio's arms always did wonders to Francis' heart.

He knew he would no longer get more than a few heartfelt kisses and cuddling, that Antonio had long ago stopped seeing him as a bedmate. And yet he always returned to take whatever he could get, little as it may be.

Sometimes he'd start to overthink about their relationship. What exactly were they?

It doesn't matter, was his usual conclusion. We love each other, and that's what's important.

Antonio squirmed and mumbled something. Francis smiled, kissed his cheek and got out of bed, careful not to wake him up. It was still early.

Alistair's mansion was quiet. The crew must be taking full advantage of, for once, not having to wake up early to man the ship. Francis made his way to the kitchen, not expecting to meet any crewmate there, but hoping that either Matthew of Alistair would be having breakfast.

Much to his surprise, the one who was there eating some bread and cheese was Lovino.

The boy looked up from his food when he heard him walk in, and frowned when he saw it was him. That uneased Francis — he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of Lovino's scowls. He and Raúl were the only ones the former prisoner would greet with smiles… or a neutral expression, at least.

"Good morning," Francis smiled at him, deciding to believe for the moment that Lovino simply had had a bad night's sleep.

But Lovino only frowned deeper. He was eyeing Francis intently, almost as if he were trying to read his mind. "Bonnefoi," he said then. He spoke the word slowly, as if he'd been thinking about it so much that it didn't even sound like an actual word to him anymore.

Francis blinked. "Yes?"

"Alistair called you that yesterday. What does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. It's my surname."

Lovino's eyes opened wide, as if he'd suddenly had an epiphany. "Of course!" he yelled, slapping his own forehead. "One of the most powerful noble houses in France; my father made some deals with them a couple of years ago." He breathed out and sank on the chair, relieved. Then he processed all the information. "Wait, did you say it's your surname?"

Francis smiled, amused, and bowed theatrically. "Francis Bonnefoi, at your service."

"B-B-But…" Lovino stuttered.

"Come on, don't freak out," said Francis, taking a seat next to him.

"I'm not freaking out," Lovino replied, freaking out.

"You really shouldn't. When it comes to surnames, Vargas is a far greater one than Bonnefoi."

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"How… How did you end up here? Why would you leave a rich, easy life to become a pirate?"

Francis snorted. He toyed with a piece of bread before taking it to his mouth and chewing it slowly. He could feel Lovino's inquisitive gaze on him. "I was born out of wedlock," he finally said. "I was lucky enough to have a father who wasn't a dick and provided for me and my mother. He also took me in after my mother died when I was five; he let me take the family surname and raised me as a proper son."

"Then why did you leave?"

"Because my father died, and my brother—his firstborn and heir—kicked me out. He'd never liked me, and got rid of me at the first chance he got."

"Ah."

"I keep using the surname mostly to piss him off," Francis confessed with a chuckle, winking at Lovino.

"I think… I think I've met your brother. He travelled all the way to Naples when my father traded with him. You don't look like him."

"No, I never did. He looked a lot like his mother, whereas I got our father's looks. I think that pissed him off the most." Francis leant back on his chair, lost in thought as he chewed a piece of cheese. "I'm surprised he got rid of me by kicking me out and not by sending someone after my head."

Lovino hummed. "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem. I've the feeling you'll sleep better tonight," Francis joked.

Lovino blushed and looked away.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis' story had kept Lovino thinking for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He couldn't help but wonder how he'd react if his father showed up one day with a five-year-old and told him he had a new sibling. Could he accept that kid into his life? Yes, I could and I would, he kept telling himself, yet he couldn't shake off the doubt. Maybe he'd feel attacked. Maybe his fierce protection over Feli would make him reject the new kid. Maybe he'd be hurt by the thought that his mother, Feli and himself hadn't been enough for his father. But that wouldn't be the kid's fault, he argued.

Eventually, he reached the conclusion that he'd need to live it to finally have an answer.

Although, perhaps the fact that he didn't want to live it at all was already an answer.

Lovino shook his head to get rid of those disturbing thoughts and rushed to Antonio's room. He had promised Francis that he'd check the state of the captain's injury. Determined not to provoke another embarrassing moment like last night's, Lovino knocked loudly on the door.

The faint chattering he could hear behind the closed door died, and it took Antonio a few seconds to say: "Come in."

Lovino pushed the door open and walked inside. Antonio and Alistair were standing next to the window, apparently in the middle of a conversation Lovino had interrupted. He considered explaining the reason for his visit, but he needn't — Alistair patted Antonio's head in a fatherly fashion, said something to him in English ("We'll talk later", if Lovino had understood him correctly) and promptly left. Antonio sighed.

"Can you walk at ease? Does it hurt?" Lovino asked, deeming it better to skip the awkwardness and go straight to the point.

"It hurts the most when I change between laying down, sitting and standing up," Antonio answered as he sat on the bed, grimacing, and started to take off his shirt. "It only bothers me a little when I walk."

Lovino nodded. "Okay, let's take a look at it." He sat next to Antonio and unwrapped the bandages, slowly uncovering the wound. The captain sucked in a gasp when his injury was visible (it was the first time he was seeing it, after all); Lovino only smiled proudly. He'd done a good job.

The professional stitches had resisted all those days. The cut had a reddish colour and it was going to leave one heck of a scar, but it seemed to be healing just fine. Unable to resist himself, Lovino ran a finger over the cut, starting on Antonio's chest and all the way down to his abdomen. It took him more self-control than he'd expected not to take a detour to trace his tattoo as well.

Antonio's skin twitched and shivered under his touch, but other than that, he didn't react. That surprised Lovino. He had expected the hot-blooded Spaniard to snap at him, push him away, maybe even hit him. That meek behaviour he was exhibiting was so unlike himself it made Lovino wonder if perhaps that was the effect Alistair Kirkland had on him. Antonio certainly looked calmer than all the other times Lovino had been with him.

"What do you want?" Antonio said then, startling Lovino.

Only then did he realize how close he'd gotten to the captain's bare torso. Shit. He stood up abruptly and moved away, not looking at Antonio. "It has good aspect," he said, flushed. "At this pace you could sail again in—" The question he'd been asked finally registered and Lovino turned to look at Antonio, his previous embarrassment completely wiped out by the surprise. "Wait, what do you mean what do I want?"

Antonio looked at him with a serious expression. "You saved my life," he stated, slowly. "I think it's only fair that I repay you. What do you want?"

"Can I ask for anything?" Lovino said, incredulous. "And you'll grant it?"

"As long as it's in my hand and it doesn't put me or my crew at risk, yes."

Lovino stilled. Truth be told, he had thought he may receive an offer like that — only, he'd expected it'd come from Francis. The fact that Antonio had been the one to ask had thrown him off.

But he already knew what was it that he desired.

"I want to go home," he said quietly. "Forget about the ransom and everything, just… Take me home."

Antonio stared at him for a few seconds, not moving a muscle, and then he slowly nodded. "Where's home?"

"Naples."

"Naples…" Antonio repeated, narrowing his eyes as if locating it on a mental map. "Very well." He nodded again, and Lovino couldn't hold back a smile. "However," Antonio continued, raising his voice to make sure Lovino payed attention, "don't expect the ride to be a holiday. There's a simple guideline in my ship: if you want food, you must earn it."

Lovino crossed his arms and glared at him. "In other words," he spat, "you want me to be the ship's doctor."

"Clever boy," Antonio smirked. Lovino wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk off his face.

"And if I refuse?"

"Do you miss the shackles in the brig so much?"

Lovino clenched his fists in rage; his jaw was rigid. He wasn't sure what was worse: Antonio's smug attitude or the fact that he could no longer refuse. After having been walking free for many days, the thought of being chained back in that brig was even less appealing than the thought of working for Carriedo and his pirates.

"You take me straight to Naples," he growled. "No detours and no more stops than necessary. I'll be the ship's doctor and that's the only task I'll have."

"Seems fair." Antonio reached for a handshake, a smile that was everything but friendly on his face. "That's a deal."

Lovino shook his hand. Antonio's grasp was firm and strong, and Lovino tried to squeeze his hand harder in an attempt at showing confidence. Antonio's eyes gleamed in amusement.

"Welcome to the crew," he said.

Those words felt like a punch to the guts.

AN: Reminder to everyone — and mostly myself — that this is a Spamano story. It'll come, eventually. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with the SpUK and the SpaBel (kinda) and the Frain and I just can't help myself I ship Spain with half of Europe I'm sorry u_u (I honestly don't know where that scene with Antonio and Francis came from. It wasn't planned. I swear it's goddamn Francis coming alive and writing himself what the actual fuck.)

Anyway. Hope you liked it. If you don't leave a review, you'll have ten years of bad luck.