"Will you still allow me to be your captain?"

Three days. Three long days, seventy-two hours, passed before Alfred finally admitted – despite his attempts to tell himself otherwise – one simple fact: it was awkward. The situation, the very air, between the merman and himself was agonizingly awkward. Each morning waking up, he would glance at Arthur, who without fail was always awake before him. They would greet each other; Alfred would smile and shuffle about as he got dressed in silence – apart from when he made half-hearted attempts at conversation. There was no other word better equipped to describe the air between them other than awkward.

Though it was not for a lack of trying on Alfred's part, (or so he assured himself vehemently). At least he was not running away – quite as much, at any rate – as he had done before when the mood had been… tense between them.

Arthur read plays, Alfred red maps. He brought the merman food, and every now and again, they would embark on casual conversations, managing a shallow outward façade of normality. However, below the surface, Alfred's brain was firing on every engine whenever he was around the merman; measuring his own movements and words to the finest details only to end up regretting more than half of them. Such as the time when he had forgotten himself and sat staring at Arthur reading until a knock on the door had woken him, the quartermaster having wanted something Alfred did not catch at all. Or, that time when he gave Arthur dinner and sat down on the tank edge, -or heaven forbid all the times he had turned on his heel, about to enter his cabin, losing his nerve and coming up with one laughable excuse after the other as to why he was suddenly needed out on deck for a little while longer.

It was not until the early hours of day four that he realised something that gave him enough pause to stop, halfway toward the helm, without noticing: Despite being cramped together in the relatively limited space that was the ship he had completely forgotten about the existence of his crew for a full three days. He had been so preoccupied with Arthur, even simply steering the ship slipped his mind more than once per day. A bitter aftertaste crept in on him as he slowly got himself moving up the stairs. Whilst the situation with the tailed creature in his cabin was indeed very real, also another situation sorely needed his attention. One that should have been his first priority, but which he had managed to avoid, then forget, these past few days. In a weak moment, one might claim he was only doing what was necessary to keep his sanity and health, but that excuse was definitely pathetic.

The men scurried to and fro in varying degrees of urgency and leisure. Loud and spirited, they were every bit the crew Alfred knew from years as a captain. However, after everything that had happened during this voyage he found he could not find peace observing them. Instead, creeping in on him was a paranoid worry that the same thing was going to happen again, that it was only a matter of time before this return to normalcy too would be ruined. His grip tightened subconsciously around the wheel as his thoughts trailed hotly after each other in his mind. He knew what he had to do. He knew it should have been the first thing he did after they escaped the pirates. He wondered if he would be the sole reason for everything falling apart again. It seemed impossible that it would be smooth sailing from here on home, though a small part of him feebly tried to protest that the downs had to stop eventually.

And so it was, that this fourth day was subject to a bout of Alfred's heaviest procrastination yet. Midday slid into afternoon, which grew darker far too quickly. A low sun and early-lit lanterns bathed the deck intermittently in a warm glow, and long, cool shadows. Gathering more courage than he had ever needed before to talk to… well… anyone, Alfred called Toris to him. But he was unable to proceed from there. As the quartermaster softly walked up the few steps and came to stand beside him, Alfred stayed frustratingly silent. Toris, from what Alfred could see of him from the corner of his eye, looked neither surprised nor concerned, merely joined him in gazing out across the crew.

Alfred sighed. An involuntary, barely noticeable motion. Between his brows a small crease had formed.

"The crew," he began, but his voice drifted off away from him before he could finish the sentence. Yet, to his left, Toris smiled, giving one soundless, soft chuckle.

"You underestimate them, Captain. They trust you now as they have always done."

The frown did not leave Alfred's brow, but Toris' steady, assuring voice managed to soothe his unrest slightly. Alfred had to marvel for a moment at his quartermaster's unfaltering ability. He sighed again, though this time it was less of a spasm. He noticed Toris glancing at him, then the quartermaster was suddenly headed back down the stairs. With unrivalled efficiency he soon had the entire crew gathered on the main deck – some showing signs of just having gone to bed – during which time Alfred could only watch the growing group in disbelief from the helm. Toris wasn't… he found Toris' eyes as every single man had been rounded up, and the quartermaster gave him an encouraging smile. Alfred knew several captains would have sprung into rage at the very nerve, but he just stared back, speechless.

"I-" he began feebly after several long moments of nothing, but knew at once his voice had no hope of reaching the crew below him. He quickly rinsed his throat, and tried again.

"Men," he began, with a sturdy self-assuredness he did not feel at all. "It's been long since we passed the halfway mark of our journey, and if our course stays true, it should not be long until we are home. As it is however," he stood evenly on both feet, "there is one thing I wish to bring up with you before we continue." Only his years of chasing murderers and swindlers kept his expression from betraying his coiling innards. "A lot has happened these past few days alone, which has left certain matters unresolved. While I am grateful none of you have brought it to my attention again, I highly doubt either of you have forgotten it." A breath. Minute hesitation.

"Will you still allow me to be your captain?"

Silence.

He did not mention when or whom had first taken the title from him those days ago. That was not an accusation he wished to make. Alfred looked at them, all these faces he knew and trusted and cared for, and waited, heart pounded in his chest. Though, he realised, slightly surprised, it was not out of anxiety, but soft despair. He had failed his duties as Captain to his crew. A captain was the keel of a crew. A captain, while he knew many who disagreed with him, was a position that was slowly granted through trust and not by promotion.

Gradually, a quiet murmur spread. However, among them, he could see a few whom did not partake, and their faces nudged at a warm feeling of affection and gratitude. Yet, were they to attempt influencing the rest of the crew in their decision, he would still have stopped them. But he believed they knew that, for they remained steadily looking at him, silently waiting; Eska, James, Toris, Corey, and Adrian.

Eventually, the older carpenter stepped forth. "From here onwards, what will the situation with the merman be?" Alfred briefly bit his teeth together. It was a question he had expected, and suspected they had wanted to ask for a while. He inhaled deliberately.

"If I remain as captain, he remains with us as well. I believe there is a lot we can learn from him, and, with time, we may be able to forge peace with the ocean."

A soft mutter fluttered through the men. The carpenter, having momentarily turned away, met Alfred's eyes. "May we speak frankly, Captain?"

"You may." Alfred dipped his head once. The carpenter came half a step closer. "Alfred," he said. "We recognise that the merman saved our lives, and we are not taking this lightly. But the crew and I are not comfortable with him on board, especially with the general history of events of this voyage."

Alfred nodded.

"You have behaved in what we experienced as a reckless manner throughout this mission, as well as in ways we have never known you to before."

Alfred nodded again.

"However, you have never let us down before either, and we are all humans – even captains. And no one here is better equipped for leading a crew and ship than you. We have therefore decided that we shall let all those years we have served under you weigh heavier. We wish to keep you as our captain." Alfred couldn't help the relief washing through him. The carpenter caught his eyes once more; "This of course on the understanding that we have the freedom to at any time appoint a new captain should we feel our safety is threatened unnecessarily."

"Understood." Alfred nodded a final time.

There was a pause of silence as private familiarity slid back behind a professional working relationship.

"Dismissed," said their captain, and the group swiftly dissolved.

As they returned to their posts or beds, Alfred noticed their fertive* glances, and he realised the meeting had suddenly brought the same question to them all: Where were the merpeople? Alfred's forehead creased. The possibility that they had given up was simply not plausible.

Soon the ship had succumbed to the cool quiet of early night. If the men on first guard seemed to keep an extra eye over the edge of railing, it didn't matter.

He breathed in deeply, trying to calm the tension still left in his joints. Absently drumming his fingers against the wheel, he peered up. At the very top of the main mast, dancing tiredly in the wind, the flag of the British colonies was barely visible. All its colours faded to black, it could have born any sign at all.

Was Arthur still keeping the merfolk at bay?

Far above the flag, the very first stars blinked at him. There was no drastic borders in the weather – in fact, there was not a cloud to be seen. It would be a beautiful night, and Alfred deemed that reason enough to stay where he was, watching the sky change its covers and James settle on the forecastle. It wasn't until Eska came and pointedly took the wheel from him that he resigned to his human need for sleep. He smiled bleakly at the helmsman who nodded back.

Arthur was awake. Of course he was. His green eyes followed Alfred as he undressed, asked the merman if he was hungry – to which he received a no – and climbed into bed.

Alfred had every intention of falling asleep. But of course, after what was more than minutes but less than an hour, he caught himself still with his eyes open. Suddenly, and without thought as he stared at the wooden wall, he had said,

"We are on a trial period."

Having been facing away from the room, he now he turned on his back. Arthur didn't make a sound in return, but Alfred did not need to look at him to know he was listening.

"So we have to be on our best behaviour." It was a frail attempt at a joke that promptly fell flat in the still air. He turned around with a half-hearted grin. Sparkling emerald, enhanced by water and glass, looked back at him. And somehow, a still calm settled over him, his grin melting into a genuine, small smile.

"They're warming up to you, you know. It may not seem like it, and it will take a long time yet, but I believe we will get there." In the quiet night air all was peaceful, the reality of daytime seeming far away. Arthur's eyes gleamed in the dark and Alfred felt so content just gazing into them. "How's the water?" he asked at last, voice barely a slow, drowsy whisper. Arthur blinked once. "Is the temperature comfortable?" Alfred went on. "We should change it in the morning." His eyes travelled along the wooden edge and a forgotten memory rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind: an excited voice, a glowing face. Arthur after he swam under the ship for the first time. Arthur after his first swim with his kind, his family. Compared to the whole ocean, so much of it uncharted by men, the tank was not even the size of a grain of sand. Yet here he was, by his own decision. A warm sensation filled Alfred, as his eyes drifted. But along with it, it brought a stale aftertaste. Why?

His time in freedom with his family had been so short-lived, he had given it up for a small box with barely enough water to be called a puddle. Alfred inhaled sharply. But he didn't actually intend to speak.

"Do you-" the words stuck in his throat. Do you regret it? His mouth was open, only the smallest sounds coming from it as he grasped for the words. Arthur slowly emerged from the water, now eyeing him through air from across the tank edge, the smallest frown between his brows. Do you regret it?

He couldn't. Alfred closed his mouth, smiled, shifted slightly. "Do you need anything?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Good," Alfred still smiled. "That is good. Good, good." He tucked the duvet all the way up to under his chin. "Well, if you do need something, just spray some water at me and I will probably wake." Alfred grinned, confident he had made it look convincing this time. "Probably," he added for painful comic effect.

"I will," replied Arthur, slipping back underwater.

Alfred nodded several times, remained for a moment looking at the tank, then lifted the duvet and turned back around to the wall. Needless to say, he did not sleep that night.

Alfred pulled a hand through his hair, ruffled it wearily, and let his hand fall back down to briefly rub his face. With nothing to be said on the weather, and men who had been bedridden from their encounter with the pirates steadily declared healthy by Gervase, the day had all the qualifications to be marked as perfect. Regardless, Alfred was not the least bit relaxed.

He was not on the helm for a change, instead standing on the forecastle with the seemingly never-ending ocean spanning out in front of him in every direction. Midday had passed, dinner was approaching, and Arthur had been given fresh water.

Alfred sighed, rubbing his eyes with the one hand that had yet to leave his face. Yes indeed, such a simple task. What had been a thoughtless side note yesterday, was the summit of naïve, stupid things to say today. The crew had formed a human conveyor belt from tank to shipside with four buckets. James had helped him lift the merman, Toris preparing the wet blanket. Alfred had submerging his arms in the tank, the edges of his rolled up shirt arms touching the surface and water immediately soaking them and climbing up the fabric. Standing in the fresh evening air he feebly wished rubbing his face would eventually rub away his thoughts, but no matter what he did, he could not rid himself of the feel of Arthur's skin. The last thing he had wanted was to let go as James and he had lowered the merman to the floor, and as he wrapped Arthur in the blanket he had accidentally let his fingertips come in contact with the merman as much as he could get away with. Alfred groaned silently. His hand stopped over his mouth and he looked up at the charmingly blue sky, and the same question that had been troubling him for many days swirled in his mind.

How did this happen?

Never mind he had never felt attracted to another man before in his life – Alfred chuckled humourlessly at himself. What would normally have been of great concern was less than trivial in the face of all the other issues with this. For instance how a human developing such feelings for a being of a completely different species was even possible.

The initial heart-pounding, cold-sweating confusion that would overtake him when he mulled this over and over had eventually subsided after a few days, now only leaving confusion as Alfred was still unable to get it from his mind, day or night. At times he could not help himself plucking at accusations his crew had made so many times, but he always landed on the same conclusion. It was simply not possible or plausible that this in any way could be the merman's intentional doing. After all, Alfred gazed blindly at the wood of the railing under his fingers, he knew what it felt like to be controlled by their power. That was not to say he doubted they had the ability to affect humans in a subtle fashion like that as well, but who could have foreseen it would truly feel this genuine. ...No. No, no, no, no. Certainly, the merpeople's powers were a mystery, but it just was not possible. There was one vital detail that did not add up: Arthur would have no motive. If this indeeed had been his doing, he would have indirectly been his own reason for being trapped back in the small tank.

Alfred shook his head, trying to clear it. None of this made any sense; it only sent him in circles. No, there was only one reason for this, and that was himself. There was something wrong with his head, and whether it was caused by stress or trauma, it was something that could not be known to anyone else. He leaned his face in hands, propped against the rail. Fanning out his fingers he peered dully down on the water below. In the shadow of the ship's bow the water was pitch black, white crustations bursting to life, tumbling over each other only to be swallowed again and again and again, and again. In the end a silent voice in the back of his mind pointed out that regardless of the variables, the bottom-line did not change:

Alfred was happy to have Arthur there.

However, closely following was the nasty aftertaste of guilt. Whenever he looked at the merman, the mental image of the cramped, tiny tank plastered itself to his eyelids. The knowledge that that would be Arthur's home from now on – maybe even for decades onwards – made his gut plummet even further to the point of self-loathing. Yet, nothing made this notion stronger, than his own treacherous little streak of selfishness. If Arthur asked for freedom, he did not know if he could grant it.

Alfred closed his fingers, closed his eyes, but despite his attempt could not close out the world. The merry wind, the merry waves, the merry bustle of sound all around. The day was so damned merry Alfred wanted to be sick.

How long he remained like this, he did not know. He only untangled himself and straightened when he grimly reminded himself he didn't need to give the crew any more excuses to worry for him. With a heavy sigh he gave the railing a couple quick taps with his hand in what was intended to be a brief, merry rhythm. Then he turned around, opting to causally lean against the rail instead. Dinner must have been served, he noticed, for there were far less men milling around than he remembered there being. Tipping his head back he saw Aaron descending the rope works, his post having been taken over by another sailor, which only confirmed Alfred's assumption. He watched for a while as the younger man nimbly made his way down, more closely resembling a monkey than a human. His familiarity with the rough rope and deathly height was clearly recognisable.

Alfred pushed off from the rail. It was time for dinner, he had no doubts he would eventually hear about it from the quartermaster otherwise. No matter how non-existent his appetite was.

He was already halfway across the deck before the sound of running footsteps caught through his deep train of thoughts. Throwing a glance across his shoulder, not actually actively curious, but more as a reflex. He had to look again however, when he saw it was the look-out and realised the man was in fact headed straight for him.

Having been discovered, Aaron slowed, nearly falling into a hesitant shuffle for a second before he must have caught himself. Alfred stopped; that was not at all like the normally brash look-out.

"Is something the matter?" Alfred asked. Just as he verbally reached out to the other man, it hit him how long it had been since he had talked to Aaron. They had been rather close friends, similar in character and having shared many twinkling glances of amusement when others were annoyed or otherwise in a foul mood. Where he stood, he could not even remember when exactly it was they had stopped talking.

"May I have a word with you, Captain?" the look-out asked, uncharacteristically tentative.

"Of course you may." Alfred took half a step toward the other. "What can I do for you?"

Aaron's gaze flickered, and for a moment it seemed he would not say anything after all. "Actually," he said slowly in the end. "I was hoping we could take it in your cabin." More confused for each second that passed, Alfred simply nodded, indicating with one hand for the look-out to go on ahead. He obeyed equally wordlessly, quickly opening the door and holding it for Alfred to walk through first.

"Thank you," he said, trying to emit a comfortable aura in an attempt at easing the look-out out of his strange mood.

Alfred settled against his desk, half sitting on it, turning his attention to Aaron, who had stopped right inside the door. "What has happene-"

"I came to apologise."

If Alfred thought he had been caught off guard earlier, he was stunned to silence now.

"To you both."

This was not a conversation concerning ship or crew or faulty equipment. Alfred fell serious. "To my knowledge, you have nothing to apologise for," he said matter-of-factly, but not unkind.

"It may not be of your knowledge at present, but I have both gone behind your back and betrayed you on more than one occasion during this voyage."

Alfred shifted over into his chair. With eyes steady on Aaron he leaned forwards, fingers intertwined and forearms resting against his knees. Like this, without a word, he told the look-out he would be carefully listened to, and taken seriously. But he would also forgiven, no matter what the younger man thought he had done and how he appeared to think otherwise. Aaron inhaled, briefly closing his eyes before steadily directing his gaze straight at Alfred – or at least as steadily as he could muster, though his eyes had the slightest flicker to them.

"I was the one who first made the crew aware you seemed to have…. That you had started to think differently of the merman than just an item of work to be brought back. I was the one who made the crew believe the merman was controlling you. Without me, the crew would not have reacted as strongly as they did."

For a time Alfred said nothing. He caught Aaron's eyes and held them, mulling over the younger man's words.

"Thank you, for telling me," Alfred said at last. He got up heavily. "But you are mistaken," the look-out flinched and Alfred smiled. "There is still nothing to forgive. You acted with the wellbeing and safety of your captain and fellow sailors in mind. For that you should be asking for a medal, not my pardon."

As he spoke, Alfred had crossed the floor. He placed one hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"Taking on the full blame as you have done is admirable, and if anything just emphasizes your loyalty to me. You are a good man, Aaron." Alfred squeezed his shoulder briefly, and finally the younger man's expression began to relax, tension seeping from him by his captain's reassurance. But rather than excuse himself, Alfred watched curiously as he turned next to the tank. Stopping one foot from it, he squared his shoulders and looked straight at Arthur.

Having been around him for so long, Alfred recognized the blank expression on the merman's face which at the moment most likely covered a heavy guard and suspicion.

"Mer-" Aaron began, then stutteringly corrected himself. "Arthur." He stiffly thrust out his hand, a bit too quick for comfort, Arthur flinching backwards.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's mask dropped.

Slowly crossing his arms, Alfred watch in silent amazement, an affectionate warmth swelling through him, erasing his first puzzled expression.

"I am sorry for making the crew suspicious of you. I have treated you with prejudice. I realise that merfolk are just as much individuals as humans, and I see now that you never meant us any harm. After a long consideration of the past several weeks I deeply regret my behaviour." Aaron sucked in a breath, hand still extended, his eyes steadfastly locked with Arthur's. "If…" he continued hesitantly. "If it is at all possible, I hope you can forgive me, and that maybe we can start over?"

A proud smile Alfred could no longer hold back finally spread on his lips.

Arthur stared up at the look-out, a number of emotions passing on his face, more than half of them intangible. He glanced at the hand and back up to the face, and for the longest time silence reigned.

Then, slowly, locking their gazes, Arthur accepted the hand.

AN: Today it's been exactly one year since I last updated. I can barely believe it. All I can say is life got hectic and I had to take a break because of health reasons, as well as currently starting my final year at uni. But I stand by what I have always said: This story will be finished.

There are a few people I would like to thank for this chapter. One is Sxvgwii, who gave me such a wonderful review for ch 19, I was so humbled to read your words, and I truly hope you will return to this story one day, even though I took so long.

The second is for HK (Guest). HK:It is now 2014 *still waiting for the next chapter*. This review was left for me a few weeks ago, I think. That someone is waiting, even eleven months after the last chapter, I was speechless with gratitude. It was actually what kick-started this chapter.

Third: the "Guest" who has been reviewing almost every chapter, keeping me writing with each one. You could never annoy me!

And lastly: Thank you so so much every single one of you who reads, and thank you so so much every single one of you who leaves a review. When it comes down to it, I would not be writing without all of you, and I hope you liked the chapter despite its beyond lateness.