Alright, chapter 11 is complete! Again, I've added some back story to this, but we'll learn more about Killian and Anita instead of Anya. Also, the last paragraph of this leads into a scene where we'll discover a lot more about the characters, which will be in the next chapter. I would like to mention too that I can't believe the show used Anita's name as Red's mother. First the King Leopold thing, and now they've got a character named Anita. Next, they'll introduce a new character named Anya...Complaints aside, before I get to the story, I would like to send a big THANK YOU to Nicole Hayley, who created the incredible new cover for this story, which you might have noticed, so applause, applause! Anyways, to the chapter...

Anya's pale and cold palm was clutching Killian's cheeck as she whispered his name feebly, struggling to get the one word out. She was so fragile, and yet so beautiful in that moment. Her skin was whiter than a sheet, her face hollow and emotionless. Her hair was tangled and untamed, her eyes red and irritated. And yet, she was beautiful. Everything about her was so delicate and ethereal it made Killian's heart ache with the sheer artistry with which God had exercised in making her. It was as if she was a porcelain doll made by the most skilled toy maker in the lands. Killian wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and whisper in her ear that it would all be alright, he would keep her safe. He would save her from whatever sickness had over taken her. But he contented himself with smiling.

Though her eyes were unfocused and staring right through him, it seemed to Killian that Anya knew he as smiling, that she had sensed it, as she too smiled slightly. It was an inconspicuous thing, so small and insubstantial that it was practically unnoticeable, but Killian still saw it; the slight tweak in her colorless lips. And that small tweak gave him hope. Hope that Anya was not lost, that she would survive. It gave him hope that she would go through this unscathed, and that she would remember everything about him and his crew. It gave him hope that if she lived, he could get to know her. He could grow closer to her, call her a friend one day. All because of one silly little tweak of the mouth. What are you doing, Killian? the pirate thought angrily to himself. This girl is nothing. This girl is unimportant. What does it matter whether she lives or dies? She's my slave. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a connection to her, one more profound and important than that of a master to a slave. He felt inside himself something he had long thought was dead, something that he had buried with Milah. It was not full-on love; he hardly knew Anya. It was perhaps more of an infatuation, a curiosity. He saw in her an innocence and vulnerability he never thought was possible. He saw within her an honesty and virtue that made him want to improve himself. She made him what to be a better man. What do I care of being a better man? I sail the high seas, plunder and kill and rape. There'll be no path of virtue for me; it'll be straight to hell, he told himself. He could never handle the idea of living his life justly, earning his money respectably. He had learned everything he knew from Anita, who had had no patience for honor or truth. Killian could still remember her chastising him for not stealing as she had instructed him to in the market place.

He had been a seven years old when she set him out for his first thievery. She'd told him to approach the apple cart, where there was the largest crowd of people, and pretend to trip. He was to grab the food cart to pull himself up, at the same time grabbing hold of an apple in each time. "Then, K" Anita had whispered sternly in his ear, "you run like Hell." He had been uneasy about doing it, wondering whether or not the merchant had a wife, children that he had to feed. He didn't dare voice his concerns to Anita; she would only give him a good spanking and tell him that nothing in life came by doing the 'right thing'. Taking as deep a breath as a seven year old boy could take, Killian walked over to the cart. Considering the fact that there were about a dozen adults thrusting money in the merchant's face and that Killian was about half their height, it was not hard have been hard. Killian had manged to pretend trip very well; no one had suspected a thing. There had been a few angry shouts from the woman whose feet he landed on, but other than that, Killian came out unscathed. It was the next part that would be challenging. Sighing deeply, Killian pulled himself up using the cart as leverage and quickly took two apples in his hands. He turned back to where Anita was, feeling uneasy. The man certainly had children, his age and worry lines revealed that much. And if he had a children, then chances were he had a wife as well. Killian knew that he would be okay without the apples, too. Anita always managed to find them dinner. Why should today be any different? Really, there was no harm in putting the apples back. At least now Killian knew that he could do it, if the situation ever necessitated it. But now, neither he nor Anita were starving and it was best to leave the apples behind. Killian did so.

Anita stirred again, as if she were going to say something, and drew Killian from his memory for a moment. Her mouth hung open for a moment, no souond coming out of it, before Anya shut it again. She let her hand drop from the captain's jaw and brought it back under the covers. She closed her eyes again, even though she had not felt tired seconds before, and drifted off into a deep sleep. Killian chuckled at the girl's expression as she slept, one of excitement and shock. It was as if she was illustrating for him the dream she was having. It seemed to him that at that moment, she was either seeing God himself or...something else. Killian couldn't think of a witty comment. Instead, he let himself fall back into the day dream he'd been having...

He made his way over to Anita with head held low, not out of disappointing or shame, but for fear of what she might do. She seemed to notice his posture, but still asked him flatly, "Where are the apples?" The young boy shook his hand and answered in a reserved voice, "I don't have them." She had bit her lip at those words, the tell she had right before she exploded. Killian noticed it and his eyes widened in apprehension. "Look, I'm sorry, but it's not like we're starving or anything and I'll bet that man had kids...and...and a...family..." The cold, hard stare his sister was giving him made Killian want to shrivel up and hide under a rock. His mouth went dry when he saw that stare, and knew that whatever he said, it would not help him. He just hoped that the punishment would not be too cruel. However, as Killian knew all too well, if hopes were dreams, wishes would fly.

Anita was dragging him through the street by his hair, him screaming and kicking in protest the entire time. She did not yield, though, she never did. Instead, she drug him into an abandoned building she had found in an alley, and threw him down. "What do you think you were doing, you little shit?" she yelled at him, voice shaking with anger. Killian backed slowly away on the ground, trying to do anything that might calm her down. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm stupid. You were right, I should've taken the apple." Anita only laughed condescendingly, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "I know all this, idiot. What I'm asking is why you didn't do it. What possessed you to disobey me?" Her words were dangerously low and dripping with insanity. "I...I...didn't think...it was...was...fair to...take that...man...man's...apples." he started, voice stuttering. "We're...we're...not starving...so I...though...why should...I...I...steal?" he told her. She was listening with faux interest, nodding as though it all made sense. "Oh, well if that's why you did it, I suppose it's okay, little brother." she said, her voice kind and silky. Killian knew better than to trust her, though. He knew she was being sarcastic. He knew she was degrading him. This was the calm before the storm. And he was certain this particular storm was going to be a savage one. "Do you know why we're not starving, K?" she asked in a scornful tone. Killian shook his head; he honestly had no idea where Anita got the food he ate. "I work every single night in the brothel, K." she told him, keeping her calm. "Do you know what a brothel is?" she asked. He nodded his head. "I work there every night, getting men's cocks shoved up me and their sweat all over me. I have to pretend to love it, little brother. I have to kiss their asses and suck on them every single night to bring you home your food." Her eyes were getting wider and wider with every word now, and Killian knew the eye of the storm would soon expose itself. "I have to get fucked every night because you want your bread, because you want your apples and your treats and your food and toys." she yelled, positively fuming. She was slowly approaching him, taking small dangerous steps towards him. "And I ask you once to get your own food, to steal two measly apples and you're too much of a pussy to do it!" She was stomping her foot on the ground, and shaking, her emotions getting to be too much. "Fuck you, K! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You can starve for all I care. Starve, little brother, starve!" she yelled, picking him up by the shirt. A tear had escaped his eye. "Is the baby crying? Is the baby fucking crying?" Anita yelled incredulously. "I'll give you something to cry about!" she shouted, smacking him across the face. The force threw him to the ground and he bit back a cry of pain as he could taste within his mouth his own coppery blood. "You know nothing. You know nothing of hardships, of pain! You know nothing of starving, Killian. Nothing!" His sister was blinking back pained tears, refusing to let him see her as the weak one. Anita always had to be the one in power, the one in control. She never had anyone to confide in and didn't trust anyone enough to let them see how truly tortured she was, not even Killian. "I'm done protecting you, I'm done taking all the shit I take in the brothels for your ungrateful ass! I'll let you go hungry, I'll let you starve, and then stealing won't seem as bad, then you'll understand, K!" Her voice had cracked and she spun on her heels, racing out of the shack. Killian crawled into the corner, hugging his small legs to his chest and began to cry. He did not know how long he was in there, how long his sobs ravaged his body and his tears streamed down his face, he only knew that by the time it was done it was dark outside and his eyes stung with a vengeance. He worried shortly if his sister had truly abandoned him, if she had truly meant what she said, but when he returned to their hiding place, their home, a small bowl of soup and a piece of bread was laid out for him, still warm. Anita might be cruel, but she did care for Killian.

The present day captain shivered at the memory of his broken seven-year-old self, still hearing his sister's sorrowful shouts of how he knew nothing, still feeling the sting of his cheek after she had struck him. She had only been about fourteen, maybe fifteen at the time, but she certainly had power within her. Working on the streets, she had had to have it, else she would have been dead within a fortnight. And as Killian thought of his sister, of the sacrifices she had made to protect him, he felt the familiar painful knot in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of regret and pain and sadness. It was something he had experienced many a time after Anita's death, something he had forced himself to suppress and forget. He would drown it in ale or whisky, or lose it in the heat of a woman. But now, sitting next to his unconscious princess, having no alcohol or...other suppressants...it came back to him full throttle, filled with anger and bitterness for being buried for so long. "I'm sorry, Anita." he whispered quietly to himself, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you as you did me. I'm sorry I couldn't save you." The image of two royal guards dragging his fighting sister to the gallows flashed in front of his eyes. There was a crowd around him, all eager to see the 'disgusting pirate' get sent directly to Hell. All of them wore excited smirks while a few were bold enough to cheer. Normally, Killian would have gone directly over to them and given them a piece of his fist-er, mind-but today, he found that he could not even move. He was going to witness his sister die, and he was doing nothing about it. True, he had promised her he would do as much. He had promised her that he would not risk his own safety for her, but that did not mean that would do it happily. He gritted his teeth as he saw them shove her to her knees and bound her hands behind her back. Helplessly, he stared up at the shining blade that hung directly over her head. He looked directly at Anita, stared into her beautiful brown eyes, watching the scene unravel. And as the executioner cut the rope, and the blade came tumbling down, he swore that Anita saw him too. Amongst the hundreds of thousand of people gathered in the square, all staring at Anita, Killian swore that his sister had seen him, and that right before she died, her mouth twitched into an apologetic smile. He swore it.

"Captain? Captain Killian? Wake up, sir! Wake up." Lanoria was gently shaking Killian's shoulder, leaning over him concernedly. His eyes opened up and he gave his surroundings a confused glance. He had fallen asleep while watching over Anya. "Are you quite alright, captain?" the woman asked. He gave a groggy nod and straightened himself in his chair. The woman smiled delicately and turned to the beautiful blue eyed princess who was asleep in the bed. "Has she gotten any better?" she asked hopefully, dabbing at her forehead with a moist towel. Killian nodded. "She is. She opened her eyes a little while ago, said my name. I think she recognizes me." he told her. The woman nodded again, forming a cross on Anya's forehead with her finger and a white powder. "That's good, it means she's coming to her senses." Lanoria said softly. Killian only responded with a grunt. "You look dreadful, captain. You havn't slept in a good long while. Why don't you go take a rest in your quarters? I'll look after the girl for a while." However much Killian disliked the idea of leaving Anya alone, he did have to admit that he was exhausted. Giving Lanoria a grateful smile and Anya an optimistic pat on the shoulder, he left the small room.

Lanoria continued her work diligently, forcing Anya to swallow the mixture of caraway and water whenever she came to, watching over her when she was asleep. She had to admit that the child was a beautiful specimen, even with her sickly state. And it was clear that the captain felt some affection for her, however much he tried to hide it. The idea seemed impossible, wrong, almost. The idea that a master could be in love with his slave. It was something unheard of, something frowned upon. And yet, there was an undeniable sense of longing in the captain's eyes whenever he looked at Anya, a need to protect her from the disease that was ravaging her body. Lanoria wished futilely that someone would look at her that way again, that she could be reconnected with her beloved Anson so that they might live their days loving each other and relishing each other's company. She could continue her work as a witch doctor, providing care for the peasants in town. He could find a job in the town, as well, as a blacksmith's talents were never overlooked. She wished that she could be happy again. She wished.

It was nightfall when the captain returned to Anya's quarters, insisting that Lanoria get some rest too. The woman nodded politely and dismissed herself, leaving Killian alone with Anya once again. In the brief four hours that Lanoria had been with Anya, she had worked miracles. Her cheeks had regained some of their natural pink and she no longer felt like she had just dove into the arctic ocean. Her breaths were deeper and steadier, instead of shallow and sporadic. Her chest raised and lowered at rhythmic intervals; it seemed to Killian than she was just a healthy girl sleeping in her bed.

Anya had just taken her vows, been accepted as a sister into the monastery. She had sat a puerile and verdant child, and risen a mature and holy nun. And then, she was a bed made of straw, with the ground underneath her shifting uncertainly. Beside her was Killian, whose face and name she remembered readily. She smiled briefly, remembering the sweetness of her dream, and raised her hand drowsily to grab his. He seemed at first surprised by her uncharacteristic boldness, as he flinched away, but after he realized what she was doing, he gave her hand a delicate squeeze. She smiled at this. "Killian" she whispered sleepily. "Anya" he responded mockingly, his childish grin playing at his lips. "I'm cold" she told him innocently, looking up at his face. Quickly, he got up and pulled a pile of blankets out of nowhere. Leaning close to her bed, he piled them all on top of her. Anya, however, just shook her head as a response. "I'm still cold. Come lie with me. Pl...please?" A shiver ran through her spine and caused her to begin softly chattering her teeth. Sighing, Killian lifted the covers up and crawled in the bed behind her, his chest flat with her back. Anya smiled contentedly, feeling warm and thankful and...loved.

So...next chapter there's going to be the rest of this scene, with Killian and Anya talking about their pasts, so look forward to that. Also, don't forget to review my lovelies! -Airel