Two days passed on the Dutchman, and still Ophelia was not put to any sort of work. In fact, if anything, Jones refused to do so, even when she asked if there was anything she could do to help. This made her job of protecting and aiding Will difficult, as she only got to see him when his work was done. Both days thus far he had been too exhausted to spar or even talk.

On the other hand, she was able to introduce herself to the crew of the Dutchman, many of whom were not anything like their Captain. Ophelia was thus able to retrieve information about the ship and the crew from a few select members—Clanker and Bootstrap were two whom she found a relatively good solace with. For some reason, Bootstrap was oddly familiar…

The second night of their enslavement, Ophelia was going to introduce Will to the two. She wondered if perhaps they might help protect him from any future wrath of the Captain; she figured it was worth a shot.

When Will returned, however, he was clearly worn out. His hands were bleeding, and there were large purple welts on his neck and collarbone.

Ophelia gaped and sprinted to him, immediately sitting him down on a stair. "What happened to you?" she gasped, frantically appraising the wounds.

He laughed and shook his head. "Do not concern yourself, Ophelia. I only need to rest."

"You need to get off this ship!" exclaimed she, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. Will winced at the gesture, however, and she quickly removed it. It saddened Ophelia to gaze upon him… She quickly applied a salt salve on his hands, but she knew there wouldn't be enough time for his hands to heal before he was expected to return to work. Softly, she asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Thirty minutes' rest," exhaled Will—he slumped over and was promptly asleep.

Seeing him, Ophelia felt tears well in her eyes. He'd never once been so taxed, not a day in his life, and he had worked one of the hardest trades in Port Royal. The reality of what Jack had done returned to her; Ophelia felt herself broil with rage and betrayal—she now wished she had slapped him at least one more time before she left the Pearl.

Her rage immediately vanished upon gazing at Will's face again. She knew his breaks were an hour long, and that he would sleep through half of it and spend the other precious thirty minutes talking with her. But seeing him, Ophelia figured it would be more beneficial to Will if he slept the entire hour.

For fifteen minutes, she sat, gently pressing the salves over Will's hands. She wished she could do more—even working with Will under those strenuous conditions would be better than this.

"Contemplating, missy?" asked a growly voice. "Seems yer regrettin' comin' aboard now, ain't ya?"

Ophelia sighed, knowing it was Clanker. His tone of voice was joking, but the topic was dead serious. Because of this, she had no idea what to say.

"Tis a simple yes o' no question, missy," laughed Clanker.

"There was no choice," retorted Ophelia, narrowing her eyes and glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. "Not for us. You know this."

"Aye. I do."

"Then what do you hope to take out of this conversation?" questioned Ophelia, trying to restrain the smirk that threatened to come over her face. "There is nothing else to say, is there?"

Clanker merely chuckled, though with how much sea life his body was comprised of, that was a raspy sound, and not one at all that sounded human. "The question was me tryin' ter ask if yeh need anything, missy. Tis been a long time since the crew has felt gentleness. Many want ter preserve that."

Ophelia sighed and looked down at Will. "If there's anything you can do for him… then it would practically be done for me."

Slowly, her crewmate nodded. "Aye. We'll do our best. Just be sure that the Captain don't know 'bout this. He won't take kindly ter it."

"I am not afraid of him," growled Ophelia. "He hasn't hurt us thus far."

Clanker's eyes widened as he whispered, "Don' put it past him. Yeh've only been here two days… The Captain seems ter have found no need for yeh yet, but yeh can bet that he will. Soon enough he'll be as rough with yeh as he is the rest o' us here. If yeh ain't afraid o' him yet, yeh will be."

And with that, he nodded and walked away, leaving Ophelia wondering why she was treated differently than everyone else, and when her first sentence would be.

The full hour of Will's break passed. As Ophelia had expected, he spent the whole time of it sleeping… but when Jones roared for Will to return to his post, she reluctantly had to wake him.

When Will's eyes opened, she smiled sadly at him and murmured, "The Captain wants you back at your post."

"Has it been an hour?" he exclaimed, his beautiful brown eyes wide.

Ophelia nodded sadly. "I'm sorry, Will… I wish there was something I could do to prolong the time."

"No, no… I cannot believe I slept the entire time…" Will looked nothing short of tormented; the expression stabbed at Ophelia's heart. "Ophie, you should have woken me. I hardly have any time to talk to you now."

Laughing softly, Ophelia shook her head and replied, "You need to regain your strength as often as you can, Will. Do not worry about me. I worry more about you. We shall find time to talk to each other when we can."

Before Will could respond, they both heard the familiar clumping that signaled the Captain was nearing their spot. Hearing it, Will immediately shot up, kissed Ophelia's hand, and launched back to his post so neither of them would be punished.

The Captain arrived mere seconds after Will disappeared. He looked only slightly surprised to find only Ophelia there—snorting, he asked, "The whelp returned to his post, then?"

"Yes," retorted Ophelia, daring to glare at Jones.

Jones seemed to notice this slight spark of rebellion; but he seemed amused by it as opposed to angered, something that Ophelia found quite odd. As it was, he only snickered before shaking his head and turning around—

"Captain!" Ophelia found herself calling at his back. Jones stopped walking, but did not face her. She used this opportunity to again request, "Can I do anything to help the crew?"

In answer, she heard a heaving sigh and an exasperated, "Why d'yeh desire to work so badly? D'yeh enjoy pain?"

"No, but if I am to be on this ship, I may as well have a purpose."

"It appears teh me that your self-appointed purpose is to watch over that whelp," returned the Captain evenly. He finally swerved around to face Ophelia; his expression was unreadable. It unnerved her beyond belief.

Somehow, however, Ophelia managed to swallow and say, "Yes, I know. But I am not given much opportunity to do so whilst parted from him like this."

Jones snorted and stomped forward, a look of disbelief on his face. Ophelia stepped backward once, but she refused to let herself quail under his contemptuous gaze.

After staring her down, however, the Captain merely laughed and exclaimed, "Fine, then! Yeh can join young Master Turner on the mast, if yoehso desire. But when yeh melt from the pressure of the work, no mercy shall await yeh!"

Ophelia raised her chin and defiantly glared at the Captain. That was all she allowed herself to do before spinning on her heel and jogging to her new post.

Once she reached the mast, she pushed aside a couple crew members to reach Will. Her dearest friend did not notice her coming until she was helping to yank a rope that was attached to a cannon.

"Ophelia!" cried Will, his eyes wide. "What are you doing!"

"Helping!" she grunted as she pulled. The cannon moved a decent amount; she was lucky it had wheels. Seeing that she was working, Clanker moved over to help her.

Will swallowed. "This is not what I wanted for you," he whispered.

Clanker and Ophelia hauled the cannon where the Bosun directed it. After that was done, she sighed and moved forward to Will before replying, "This is not what I wanted for you either, Will. I wanted to see you happy by now."

Will sighed, not quite sure what to say. His brown eyes gazed over Ophelia's face for a little while until he merely murmured, "Just be careful, Ophie. Please."

Ophelia, seeing this, nodded. "I will."

It didn't seem Will could say anything else. He just swallowed and continued heaving the rope, moving the cannon to its new place on the ship.

Two hours passed, and before long, there was only one more cannon that needed to be moved. The only problem was that this would be the hardest to relocate; it had to go up by the wheel, which meant the crew would need to haul the heavy artillery into the air.

Ophelia sighed heavily when she was told this… Although she was not anywhere close to quitting, her hands were bloody and raw, which made her all but useless to the rest of the crew. Clanker had tried to find a cloth for her to tie around her hands, but it didn't help much.

Will, seeing her soak her hands in a barrel of salt water, moved over and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind if you took a break," he mumbled.

But Ophelia shook her head in protest. "No, Will. I won't look like a weak fool. Not after I worked so hard to be by your side."

And with that, she removed her hands from the water, the cuts stinging from contact with oxygen and salt, and marched back to the crew. Will, left with no other choice, followed her.

With a renewed force, Ophelia heaved the rope as best as she could. She would not back out now.

Suddenly, however, a voice screamed, "Secure the mast, Mr. Turner!"

Both Ophelia and Will whirled around to face the mast. There was a loose rope that needed to be tied down immediately.

Will launched up the staircase and nearly collided with another man. Ophelia continued working where she was, though she watched Will beadily. She noticed that Bootstrap was attempting to help…

But he let go of the rope.

Will, not expecting this, cried out and was yanked to the floor as the rope ascended and the cannon began to fall. Ophelia looked up and noticed that it was heading straight for him—

"No!" she shrieked, barreling up the stairs. Her hands still bloody, she seized Will's arm and, with all the power she had left, dragged him away from the cannon's path.

The cannon smashed into the deck two seconds after she and Will were clear of its path. The wood cracked and splintered, some of it showering over them.

There was a dead silence as everyone simply stared at the fallen weapon. But then, there was the expected, if not dreaded, command.

"Haul that weevil to his feet!"

It was the Bosun. Ophelia recognized his voice immediately… As always, it was cruel and full of anticipation. She knew that punishment would be enacted.

"No!" she shouted again, standing in front of the Bosun. "It was my fault. I should've helped him!"

"Out o' the way, female!" the Bosun snarled. "Twas not your command. Move!"

Ophelia, however, stood resolutely in front of Will. For a moment, she and the Bosun glared at each other.

"Ophelia," said Will's voice, breaking the silence. "Please move. This was not your doing. I would have died without you. Do not let my repayment be punishment."

Before Ophelia could say anything, Will got to his feet and gently moved her aside. His eyes fell upon her scarlet hands—with a sad smile, he turned to Clanker and said, "Please get something for her hands," before facing the wrath of the Bosun.

"Will!" hissed Ophelia, but she was unheard.

Seeing that Will was waiting for his sentence, the Bosun shoved him into the awaiting arms of other crew members and roared, "Five lashes will remind you to stay on it!"

"No!" shouted a voice—Ophelia looked over to see it was Bootstrap.

"Impeding me in my duties?" demanded the Bosun, a whip curled in his hand. Ophelia choked. She wouldn't be able to bear it if she were to watch Will be whipped. "You'll share the punishment!"

"I'll take it all," contradicted Bootstrap.

Ophelia blinked somewhat. Bootstrap had always seemed like one of the kinder crewmates, but she never expected him to volunteer for punishment.

"Will yeh, now?" asked an incredulous voice. It was the Captain's.

Ophelia sidestepped towards Will. She did not know what was about to happen, but she feared for Will's well-being… She put a hand on his arm, and they exchanged looks. Ophelia knew that look—Will was entering a mode of protection. She wished she could do the same, but the fact was if the Bosun or the Captain wanted Will penalized, there would be little she could do to help him.

Seeing the resolve on Bootstrap's face, Jones sneered and asked, "And what would prompt this act of charity?!"

"My son," replied Bootstrap instantly. He turned to Will and, with a pained expression upon his face, repeated, "He's my son."

Will froze, his grip on Ophelia's arm suddenly painfully tight. She knew what he was thinking—it was impossible. Will's father had been lost at sea many long years ago.

And yet, with each double-take that Ophelia made, she could see more and more of a resemblance between the two. Their face shape, their nose; and when Bootstrap smiled slightly, as if perhaps hoping to save his son, she saw that their smiles were the same.

Jones seemed to notice the similarities as well… He soon began chuckling, as if the whole idea of family was comical. As it was, he guffawed, "What fortuitous circumstance be this! I find this all very coincidental. It appears we have two families reunited aboard this blasted ship."

"Two?" asked Ophelia, glaring at Jones. She hoped she could stall the Captain, make him forget about Will's reprimand.

The Captain swiveled towards her; sharp was his gaze, but Ophelia wouldn't let herself flinch.

He stomped towards her, seeming almost enraged as he spat, "Yes, two! How d'yeh think I knew about your scar? Because I gave it to yeh."

Ophelia blinked, not fazed. She wouldn't let herself be fazed. He was attempting to manipulate her. She knew this game. And so she declared, "You did not."

"Give me yer hand, then."

"No."

"Give it to me or that boy will get ten lashes as opposed to five!"

Ophelia, furious, thrust her left hand out, making sure to narrow her eyes and fill it with a fire as hot as the one that would burn in the forge whenever she and Will would work.

Jones seized it, not caring to be gentle. Ophelia glared at him as he removed the bandages that were sticking to her hand; when finally they were gone, he thrust her hand close to her face and spat, "There! There's yer proof!"

Glowering, Ophelia growled through clenched teeth, "What proof is that?"

"I gave that scar to yeh myself! Yeh want proof? Give me yer right hand."

Knowing that Will's punishment lay in the balance, Ophelia obeyed. She gasped as Jones mercilessly sliced his lobster claw into the skin on her hand—as soon as he cut it, however, he thrust it back at her and roared, "Now look at it!"

Ophelia did so and immediately knew this was no trick.

A lightning-shaped scar, inky black, was mingled with blood from the cut on her right hand just as there was on her left.

"No…" she murmured, shaking her head. "No, this can't be it—how did you know about this! Who are you?!"

Jones merely laughed derisively. "I see in yer eyes that yeh've already put it together, Ophelia. Not the name I would've chosen, but yer mother was always stubborn."

Ophelia didn't know what to say. There was a lump in her throat that she was sure she would choke on. She watched as Jones's mouth opened again and felt oddly numb as she heard him say, "Yer my daughter, Bennett."

Then he clumped a step back, leaving her staring, wide-eyed, at the floor of the deck. Seeing this, Jones chuckled before shouting, "Now, Bootstrap! Five lashes to yer brat! Don't think I've forgotten about his punishment."

Hello to everyone who's reading! I just wanted to apologize for the delay in this chapter posting... It's been hectic back at college again, and I'm doing my best to keep up! I also would like to thank you for reading and following this story, and for leaving comments for me. It means a lot! Thank you!

~Avalain Nightshade