A/N: Apologies for the delay on this one; I was editing and ended up adding about two more pages. So, before I turn this chapter into a separate book, I think it's time to step back and let you all take a look. Please review!

Chapter 25: Wild Child

There had been, in the years past, several instances during which Koleniko had taken time to seriously consider his life, his choices, and all consequences stemming from the aforementioned. Occasionally, when the day was done and he had little else to do with his mind, he would recall the fateful day when an unforeseen encounter with the East India Trading Company had left a ship in tatters and him the sole survivor, clinging defiantly to life as he'd been brought before the captain. The legends of the Dutchman had never passed him by, and he'd stood determined to be anything but the weak and terrified soul pleading for mercy. He had not pled or begged, and he certainly hadn't sought favors when he'd never offered them to begin with.

The captain had clearly noticed, and thus his ascent through the ranks had been swift and sure. His past travels and knowledge of proper navigation had more or less fully secured his high rank; his cold stare and unmovable heart had secured his reputation shortly thereafter. He seriously doubted there was another crewman who quite possessed this reputation, save the first mate. He was among the Dutchman's elite, among the most ruthless and indomitable of them, and he was well proud of it.

And so, he sometimes wondered how he had gotten to the point where he opened his heart enough to let the girl in. Often he wondered and contemplated and doubted himself; questioned when, why, and how a figure such as himself had fallen away from the earlier feelings of disdain, impatience, and overall derision towards the orphaned wench. And then she would turn that smile of hers on him—coy and knowing, demure and without innocence, inviting and mischievous—and suddenly he didn't doubt so much because it was bloody impossible to continue questioning himself when that smile was directed his way.

He wasn't soft, of course. He absolutely wasn't soft. He'd never be soft and would happily remove the tongue of any man who suggested otherwise. But she had an uncanny ability to make him lower the walls and take off some of the proverbial armor, just for a little bit, and then he made the transition from a superior crewman to her teacher. And it was all because of the change.

The first time he'd seen the change was some five months ago. At first, it had just been a new gleam in her eyes, one that lacked childish wonder and instead spoke of maturity which hadn't existed before. And then it was the confidence in her stance, in the way she moved and the way she spoke. Nearly overnight, she had left childhood behind; the only traces of it remained in the rare smiles she would give with genuine delight and a radiance that would make even the sun burn with envy.

Koleniko had no questions as to who was responsible for the change, and he had his own suspicions as to just what had transpired between them to invite such a change. Now, there was a greater obstacle in place: emotion was now involved, full-fledged and in full bloom, no matter how much the first mate might deny it or try and fight it, and emotion in combat was the fiercest opponent to be faced. The mind could only battle the heart for so long, and if you were facing the one for whom you carried any kind of emotion, properly battling them was almost a lost cause.

Nevertheless, he had—at least initially—been disinclined to inject himself into the matter. It was none of his affair; if she and Maccus had mended their differences, regardless of the manner in which they had done so, it would at least relieve the heavy tension and things could progress as normal. Furthermore, he'd assumed, as it was only natural to do, Maccus would be resuming his place as her teacher. Koleniko personally had concerns with that—when the heart was involved, Maccus would be subconsciously going easy on her and thus depriving her of any real lessons. But again, it wasn't his concern.

He'd been a little disappointed—he'd admit to as much—for the loss he would suffer. She'd been a terribly enjoyable partner in sparing, and he'd had as close as he would come to having fun when it was with her. Besides, watching her grow and blossom under his guidance had been a secret, but nonetheless very real, source of great pride. She had come a very long way from the spineless child of five years earlier, and he would have liked to continue seeing—and ensuring—her furthered growth.

But he had resigned himself to the fact and stepped back. No sense in getting Maccus riled up. He'd been insufferable enough when the girl was only a child; now that she was his claimed mate, Koleniko had no doubt he'd be as possessive and protective with her as a thief with the Crown Jewels.

And then, one day, as he'd been cleaning his blade with her mending a line nearby, she'd suddenly changed the game.

"Koleniko," she murmured, pausing briefly in her task to look at him, "Can you teach me?"

"Teach ye what?" he returned, not paying too much attention to her with both eyes trained on the rag removing rust and other annoying attachments from his blade. The small part of his brain actually listening and comprehending her words thought such a question a bit strange: she had a teacher. Perhaps not the teacher he would have been, were she to continue under his guidance, but a teacher nonetheless. What more did she want?

For a moment, she didn't continue, and he wondered silently if his harsh tone had made her reconsider. But in the next breath, she spoke, "I'd like you to teach me to be worthy."

In retrospect, he'd be embarrassed at how quickly he came to dropping the sword from his lap. His head shot up, straining the neck muscles, and he fixed her with a scrutinizing glare. Oddly impressed that she hadn't squirmed away or lowered her gaze, he simply responded, "What?"

Seemingly reassured by his interest, she met his eye and repeated, "I'd like you to teach me to be worthy. Of this ship, of this crew, and of the captain. I want to learn how to belong here. I want to prove that I belong here. And I want you to help me."

Really, Koleniko thought she was underestimating herself. She'd already quite proven herself to be quite the little manipulative vixen—her performance with Sparrow still earned rave reviews from the crew—and she was fast learning skills with a sword. That, coupled with her keen mind and witty tongue, could certainly destroy any thought that she might still be a child. By most accounts, she was already worthy. But, when he'd told her as much, the look on her face said it all: she wasn't satisfied with herself. She wanted to be better.

And he'd known exactly what was missing.

There was one key element lacking from her otherwise impressive makeup: ruthlessness. She could hide it and deny it all she wanted, but she had a compassionate heart that sometimes peeked its way through and upset her attempts at a cold façade. That might have sold somewhere else, but he knew too well that a gentle heart could be easily pierced and would bleed to death in seconds. Here, aboard this ship and sailing these seas, she couldn't survive like that.

The plan had formulated rather quickly, perhaps too quickly, within the first moment she'd insisted he continue as her teacher. Intellectually, yes, he knew he should have refused, played the gentleman and urged her back to Maccus. He didn't, and he wasn't sorry for it. He had plans to be unfurled and a potential to be unlocked. That heart had to be hardened, made fearless and incapable of registering pain. If she was to be compassionate—and only in select instances—it had to be with a solid reason, otherwise she'd have people second-guessing her, left and right, day and night. Such was his self-appointed task.

She'd made it all the easier by being perfectly receptive to his intentions.

Sometimes he wondered if it was a sign—and not a good one at that—that she was so willing to engage in his chosen tactics. His methods of training were questionable, in every possible sense of the word. And he knew that even entertaining such a doubt probably meant he should find other courses of action to take with her. But, as it were, he wasn't soft. And he didn't grant mercy. And he didn't do favors.

Yet the gods must have approved in some regard, because they had granted him an exceptional student.

A notably windy day found him in the crow's nest, eyes trained straight ahead and blinking against the chill. The gust brushed firmly against him, nudging the hem of his cloak, but it was ignored. All attention remained on the figure walking along the highest post of the mast, the one just below the crow's nest, where winds blew hardest and with determination and every rock of the ship could upset a delicate position—which was precisely the kind of position Lena was presently in: walking barefoot upon wood that permanently retained water within its splinters, with a sash bound across her eyes.

Stealing her sight from this height was odd, possibly a bit cruel, and highly dangerous. He never once called for her to stop, or remove the cloth from her eyes. He simply watched and waited. She had to be fearless, and was fear of heights not among the most devastating of fears known to man? If she was to rise above them, she certainly had to be above fears that he'd seen weaken many a strong sailor.

Once or twice, she paused, and he'd caught his breath as her footing wavered…and then with a careful movement she was back on track. He thought her skin might be displaying signs of chill from the winds, but her body never trembled or shivered, and he was pleased.

Getting her accustomed to varying elements—a key tool for survival, naturally—had been among their first lessons. Positioning her aboard the ship in the very heart of a storm, when the water had been merciless and frigid as wave after wave had poured over her body with all skin—save for the most delicate parts of her anatomy—exposed to the torrent, had certainly accomplished his desired goal. Surprisingly, her endurance levels had proved far more resilient than he'd originally thought. To have seen her standing tall and confident afterwards, soaked from head to toe but with a sharp and self-satisfied gleam in her eyes, had been quite worth the first mate giving him a glare that spoke clearly of his desire to flay Koleniko alive with a rusted blade.

He allowed a brief smirk, watching her now, fully aware of her willingness to trust him and his absurd methods, all while Maccus observed and likely thought up inventive ways to kill him every day. The first mate's protective streak was almost endearing. The only thing more amusing than knowing how possessive he was over the girl was to see it continue clashing with his attempts at maintaining proper distance between them. Maccus would save himself trouble if he just did away with his pride, but Koleniko was convinced the man would sooner cut off his own head than lose face with the crew.

Eventually, he might realize secrets were very difficult to keep aboard the Dutchman. Some secrets, in particular, were especially difficult.

Lena finally reached the edge, pausing as she felt the telling curve in the wood that meant its length had ended, and then stood there for a long moment. He allowed her this brief reprieve, watching her draw in slow and deliberate breaths with arms at her side as the wind crashed over her, and after a few minutes called out his next command, "Take it off."

Her hands obediently rose to the scarf and untied it quickly. Eyesight returned, she turned carefully and faced toward the horizon. Here, the wide span of the ocean was visible; miles and miles of foaming waves and pale tides. He watched her take it all in, exhilaration written across her face. Only after several more minutes did she finally look down. One, two, three blinks, and then a new expression came over her features, one which brought a burning gleam to her eyes. He recognized that gleam. This was not the first time he'd seen it, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. It was the sign of a new thought, a new daring feat blooming within that crazy mind of hers. Yet one more strange and obscure desire to push the limits, test her strength and, frequently, push her luck in ways it shouldn't be pushed.

"Lass," he called, lifting a wary brow as she turned her head and met his questioning gaze. The way her legs moved, almost twitching with anticipation, gave him a thought as to her plan, and he shook his head slowly before adding, in a low warning tone, "…What if ye can't catch yerself? What happens then?"

Her lips quirked upward, and there it was: the smile of a young woman who was meeting his every challenge and becoming fearless with each passing day; a sailor eager to prove herself to the crew, to the captain, and to herself; and, somewhere in the soft corners of her mouth, lingering remnants of a child's curiosity and thirst for new challenges and new sources of excitement. It was a gleaming and stunning expression, and he wondered how Maccus ever accomplished anything if and when he had that smile turned his way.

"Only one way to find out." She answered calmly, eyebrow cocked and lips curved.

And with that, her body fell forward with arms stretched out in imitation of a bird descending from the nest. The wind rushed up as she complied with gravity's pull, blonde curls flailing wildly around her face, straining at their roots. Unprotected, her exposed skin stung with the chill pushing against her, as though to stop her descent with its force alone.

But she could not be stopped. Nothing could stop her.

Her eyes opened, blinking firmly against the cold wind slamming into them without the cover of eyelids to provide a defense. She couldn't see, not really, not with the dizzying speed at which she was falling, but the blurred colors provided an image in and of themselves. The image of life and how easily it could come to an end. One careless step, one foolish move, one slip of composure; one doubt, one regret, one lapse from overconfidence, and it would all be over. It really was just that easy to end it all. Life was fragile, its exact duration unknown, and with almost no effort at all, it could be cut short. This blur of color and moving shapes and shadows could be the last thing she ever saw.

But she had no plans to let it end. Not yet.

With barely a second to spare, Lena closed her eyes, brought both arms forward, and arched her body into a delicate downward angle. In the next moment, the waves surrounded her as she crashed into the depths with an explosion of foam-laced waters.

The current swept her up immediately, and she quickly reopened both eyes to see the familiar wonder of the ocean around her. The wind was barely a consideration in this place; fish moved calmly about their way, only a scant few interested in her sudden appearance as they swam alongside her, and the reef was virtually untouched by harsh and churning tides.

She let herself be carried along with the waves, extending both arms to brush fingertips along the coral formations and gathering of sea life. A rather large eel poked a curious head out from its hidden home, taking her in with massive, bulbous eyes before returning to the protective darkness. Along the ocean floor, a trio of crabs skittered along in her shadow; to her right, a gathering of stingrays glided through the water. The pale light from above danced over their bodies, like sunlight on a diamond. Beautiful.

Shadows above suddenly caught Lena's attention, and it was with a smile that she found the source: hammerheads, a large group drawing nearer without pause. It was as though her presence alone had brought them to her side. Though—and she smiled with the thought—perhaps it had. After all, she had little trouble drawing another shark to her side. Why would these be any different?

Cold and slick bodies bumped against her thighs and ankles; a dorsal fin dragged the line of her shin while another trailed beneath her fingertips; the elongated shape of one skull nudged her hip before drawing up to meet her gaze. As she met its eye, a shiver crept along her spine. Each touch was similar to one from his hand; every brush of bodies was like hers against his; the gaze meeting hers in this moment was almost his, but lacking the blazing intensity he carried within cerulean depths.

She bit down into her lower lip, attempting to stifle a smile. She was behaving like a fresh-faced maiden, blushing under the approving gaze of a wealthy merchant or royal figure. She needed to pull herself together before she returned to the ship and found herself back in the crew's company. Clanker in particular had been unforgivable lately, reminding her that if she kept smiling, her features would become frozen in the expression. His comments about the marks up and down her neck and shoulders were even worse. He'd made her blush once or twice. It was absolutely mortifying.

When she was convinced all traces of her adoration were gone from sight, Lena kicked herself upward. Her head broke the surface and her lips emitted a soft gasp, drawing in air and forcing herself to ignore the resulting sting to her lungs. Propelling herself forward, legs churning beneath the tide, she waited only a brief moment and then took hold of the Dutchman's planks. With a tight grip keeping her steady and long nails scoring the wood as supporting anchors, she began a slow ascent. At the rail, she found both Clanker and Koleniko waiting for her. The latter had an approving gleam in his eye, while the former was wearing an expression of exasperated amusement.

"Have a fine swim, did ye?" Clanker inquired, extending a hand to pull her on deck.

Lena smirked with an idle shrug, finding her footing before both hands twisted her hair and wrung it dry, "Refreshing, as always." She answered smoothly. The wind was definitely cold against her now-soaked skin, but though the flesh responded instinctively, she otherwise didn't pay it any mind. Koleniko's lips quirked upward in what she thought might be a smile, but it was gone before she could fully confirm the suspicion.

"Indeed," Clanker huffed, folding his arms across a broad chest and shaking his head, "Ye ever stop to think, one day ye may not pop back up?"

"Mm," Lena shrugged again, pushing her heavy and damp mane back with both hands as she drew in another slow breath. It was a bit of an annoyance, having to wait for her lungs to readjust to normal air. As of late, her body had become more content to draw in water instead of air, and her bare feet stung slightly when forced to set upon the wooden planks, as though the texture was suddenly too harsh for her tender flesh. It was uncomfortable and demanded constant adjustment, but she was an adaptable creature. More to the point, she was determined to show no weakness. No pained grimace or hint of discomfort would grace her features while in the presence of her crewmates.

"Mm?" Clanker repeated, "Yer not immortal, lass. One day, that luck of yers'll run out."

"Then I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She answered, stretching out her arms with catlike grace as she strolled to the open hatch and descended to the lower decks. "Now, if you're done with the lecture, I've starving."

Clanker rolled his eyes, marching to follow with disapproval on his tongue as he muttered, "Goes for a swim and can't even bring back a bite to eat…"

The rest of his mutterings were lost to the wind, and Koleniko was simply left alone to savor his personal victory. Quite a student he had indeed.

"Fifteen?"

A smirk lifted his mouth as Koleniko nodded, dragging a small stone across his blade, "Fifteen."

"Fifteen…" the word was repeated with heavy emphasis and sheer intrigue, "Fifteen countries…how is that possible?"

He barked out a laugh, shifting slightly to prop his sword across both knees while fixing an amused expression upon the young woman seated across from him on the rail, "Ye travel aboard a ship, ye go to different places. Why be ye so surprised, hmm?"

Lena shook her head slowly, eyes on her own weapon but wide with intrigue, "The thought of going to fifteen different places—the languages, the people, the cultures and experiences and adventures…it's amazing!"

"I be flattered," he smirked further; he hadn't expected his casual admission would inspire this childlike enthusiasm, but let it never be said he would turn down an ample chance at having a conversation with her when she was in a mood, "but ye best not act as though ye haven't had a few adventures of yer own—sailing aboard this ship and all."

She shrugged idly, tossing a loose lock from her eyes; a bit of her earlier intrigue faded as she answered, "Not a true adventure, though."

"All yer little bouts of insanity, diving about like a bird and swimming through hurricanes," the spike-faced sailor commented, "And ye don't have a single story to share?"

"That's different." She argued with firm eyes, "You scold me and act like you don't approve, but we both know my little bouts of insanity are just part of our training. I mean a real adventure. Some wild and crazy tale of which I could tell again and again and again and never grow tired of sharing." Another shrug, accompanied by a smile as she looked up at him, "Doesn't every one dream of such a thing?"

"I once thought it only young boys with eager eyes and careless minds held such thoughts." Koleniko observed, mirroring her smile for a moment, "And then it was the young ladies who dreamed of wealthy men and fancy homes and fine silks and a happy ending."

"Well," she lifted a slim brow in a coy expression that was now quite familiar to all aboard the Dutchman, "I suppose that is true…but I find adventure more thrilling a dream than silks and linens and gated mansions. A day aboard this ship," she abruptly stood, slipping her dagger back into the leather strap fastened to her right thigh, and then extending both hands to Koleniko, "offers far more than petty civilization ever could."

"Ah, lass," he shook his head, amusement blatant upon his features as he accepted her offered hands and stood upright, "We don't be deservin' of ye."

She rolled her eyes with a careless laugh and darted across deck. One hand lazily traced the mast's girth as she roved slowly in place and gazed outward. It was still bright, with blue skies above, but soon the day would be ending and night would bring the company of all the crew. Anticipation tingled throughout her system at the mere thought; she'd come to enjoy her crewmates quite a bit, far more than she'd ever have expected as a child. Odd as it seemed, once but an impossible dream, it was beginning to feel as though they'd accepted her as one of them. She was no man, of course, but she wasn't one to behave like a dainty lady of society. She could only assume it was helping her integration into their circles.

A sharp whistle caught her attention from above, where Clanker sat perched upon the crow's nest with one hand waving down to her, "Come, lass! This be one view ye can't miss."

Lena shook her head, "Are you meant to be taking in a view, or working on mending lines?" she called back, a smile betraying her attempts at seriousness.

"Come here and find out for yerself!" he returned, and she knew even from far below that he was smiling. It was almost infectious, the energy and enthusiasm he could possess in the most calm and relaxed of moments. Nearly childish, yes, but still endearing.

And it was such a strange shift from the man she knew when they were raiding a shipwreck. In those moments, his easy demeanor hardened, and the chain-shot on his belt were no longer casual ornaments but deadly weapons, and he was prepared to take prisoners or take lives, depending on the circumstances and the captain's given orders. She'd seen him crack a man's skull with but a deliberate flick of the wrist and swing of the arm. His heart was taken by contradicting forces, one side the brotherly figure she'd known since her early days aboard the ship, and the other a ruthless and determined hunter. And he could shift from one to the other with the ease it took someone to blink their eyes.

It was a skill she had set about obtaining, practicing, and solidifying. She had to prove herself. Partaking in the evening's casual activities—save for the drinking—was one matter. She had already proven she could be one of them in the lighter moments. But she was still struggling to prove she had the will to do whatever was necessary. Even kill. Taking lives with the captain's order was easy enough, but she'd seen Clanker, Koleniko, and Maccus commit the deed of their own accord, without waver and without any hint of uncertainty. She had to join them, somehow, someway.

But, everything in good time. She would worry about it later.

Clanker was seated with both legs swinging idly over the rail, tossing in a senseless pattern while his hands rested upon both knees. As she climbed inside to join him, she noted only two of the lines he was meant to be fixing actually showed signs of repair, and she wondered with a hidden smile how many of the remaining she would be persuaded to fix with—or perhaps for him.

She did not assume his same position, but sat with her legs safely tucked within the nest as she looked out from this new height. Here the turquoise clarity of ocean waters gleamed beneath pale light as the waves moved, and she felt a tug on her heart to watch the silent dance. Every moment spent upon the water offered contentment, but she longed for those times when she was permitted to slip beneath the waves and find relief within the depths. When her lungs drew in water as easily as they once had air, and the creatures below embraced and caressed her like a lover.

A nudge to her shoulder made it apparent that Clanker had not missed the longing expression on her face. "Soon, lass," he said quietly, "Soon. Ye know the cap'n don't mind ye taking a swim now and then, when there's not work to be done. Until then…" he grinned with a sly wink, "Perhaps ye can find something…or someone to make ye smile?"

Lena blinked and turned to face him, "Do you know what would make me really smile?"

"Do tell…"

She placed a hand over the face that was teasingly drawing near and gave a deliberate shove, "Seeing you do the work that's needs to be done!" She finished with a laugh. "Now, come on," she tossed a line at him, "the first one to finish earns the first shot of rum tonight."

It was always an empty bet; they both knew that much. Lena didn't drink and probably never would. Any and all liquor threatened composure and turned men and women alike into completely different creatures. Men, in particular, could become downright scoundrels. And women…as little as she'd actually seen in person, she'd heard tales that in turn made her cringe at the very thought of even remotely following suite.

Scoundrels or not, she really didn't mind her crewmates drinking, and they did. Quite heavily, to be precise. And at some point, at some unknown time, she had stopped objecting to being in their company while they were drinking. They were far more open once the liquor hit their brains, and real conversations—the kind of which she normally wasn't allowed—could be had, even through the slurred speech and rambling thoughts.

But rum was still rum, and consequently, there was more than one blatant and—more often than not—clumsy sort of advancement made. She'd become quite skilled at easing her way out of the situation with good grace. Clanker had complimented her on such a talent more than once. High praise indeed, as he was often the one flirting when there was a rum bottle in his hand.

Tonight was a pleasantly warm evening, and the usual drinking and gambling had been moved to the upper decks. Lena was quite fine with this arrangement; it meant she could take in fresh air instead of the smell of stale liquor churning throughout a confined cabin. More importantly, she could be closer to the ocean and listen to its quiet song over her crewmates' drunken shouts and expressive conversations.

But tonight, there was another song she was interested in.

It was one she'd heard many, many times and would never grow weary of. Leaning against the farthest wall, she rested her head and hand to the wood and listened to the melody stream out, played to life by her captain's hands. It was softer tonight, and she suspected he was playing idly rather than with his entire focus. That could only mean he was engaged in conversation, using music as a casual backdrop. And as there was but one crew member missing from the gathering, she had little trouble guessing with whom he was speaking right now.

"There has been talk. Stories and tales stretching far and wide—"

"As there often be," Jones commented dryly, "How does this concern me, pray tell?"

Maccus resisted the urge to scoff aloud at the captain's dismissive response. He believed himself invulnerable and untouchable, and in many regards he was, in fact, exactly that. But that didn't mean there was not a way to touch him. As first mate, Maccus knew this fact quite well, through the secrets that had been shared with him after a long stretch of obedient servitude. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough.

"Someone is looking for the chest."

The atmosphere abruptly stiffened, as though an invisible hand swept in and suffocated the air from the cabin, leaving a thick and stifling tension that always appeared with mention of the chest. None were allowed to speak of it, at least not within earshot of the captain. As such, most didn't, for the simple sake of self-preservation and not wanting to entice the captain's wrath.

Unfortunately, current circumstances didn't allow for much digression.

"Who?" the captain's response was cold and clipped. His fingers continued to play the song, one well-practiced and needing little concentration, all while his mind considered the list of possibilities. Amongst pirates, he had no shortage of enemies: many a captain would clamor to have complete control over the seven seas, and the legend of the chest and its powers was, regrettably, not as much a secret as he'd originally hoped. The sole comfort he had—sadistic thought it may be—was in the chest's greatest secret, and the fact that few, if any, of the seekers knew of it.

"The Company," Maccus finally answered with a bitter tightness that Jones did not miss. The mere mention of the East India Trading Company brought with it a stream of memories for his first mate. Anyone would probably wish to have these recollections removed, but for Maccus in particular, there were additional, emotionally-based memories attached which made them all the more bitter to comprehend. A pity that his mind was not quite as affected by the years of servitude as others; he could probably benefit the most from memory loss.

Jones pushed the thought aside, lifted a skeptical brow, and placed the pipe at his lips. He didn't draw a breath, but pondered briefly before finally asking, "The Crown wants my chest?"

"Perhaps not the crown," Maccus returned, "but an agent within its service with his own agenda. Whoever it is," he continued before the captain could offer additional suspicion, "I can assure you, Captain…there are many such men in the King's service. Those who achieve power the fastest are the worst among the lot."

Bitterness again, and this time it was pronounced on his features in a way that lanterns brought to light with flickering shadows. The captain considered both his words and his expression for a moment, taking several deep breaths from his pipe that were released in slow, wispy clouds, and then shook his head slowly, "They'll not have it." He finally declared, "None know its placement."

"I would not underestimate them, Captain," Maccus said quietly, "Ruthless men do not know boundaries or limitations—if they cannot find it themselves, they will seek out those who do and draw the information through any means necessary."

"Rumors and sea-faring tales can only get them so far." Jones decided with a long release of smoke as he stood, "I'll have no more talk of this tonight. The chest is safe, and until I believe it to be otherwise, it shall stay as such. Do you understand?"

Arguments were futile, and he knew the first mate lacked any real conviction to form them. "Perfectly." Maccus simply replied with calm obedience. He bowed his head slowly, then exited the cabin in silence.

The captain slowly turned his attention to the organ. Then he looked at the ornate locket, perched beside the keys. The face carved into metal was distorted only by the stains of time, but he could still see it's every detail as clearly as the day he'd brought it to life. He remembered weighing it carefully in both hands, turning it over between fingers while his eyes scrutinized for flaws. But there had been none. It had been his finest work, second only to its companion.

He remembered its companion well. He remembered the day he'd set it within soft, dark palms, and slender fingers had captured it to the warm swells of a woman's bosom. He remembered brown eyes looking into his, framed by dark lashes, and a smile lifting dark lips. And words of soft endearment, and promises of devotion, spoken on hushed and delicate tones.

He'd heard those promises since, from lips more pink than dark, and he'd seen adoration in eyes golden like the setting sun. Identical promises, and yet not quite; one woman broke every last one, and in the process destroyed his heart and prompted its exile. The other…he could almost let himself believe her promises. He could almost believe she would stay forever even if he gave her the chance to be free.

But what if she knew the truth?

What if she knew the truth behind whispered rumors and tall tales? What if he were to entrust her with something not even the first mate knew? A secret he's never shared with any of his crew, and never had any intentions of sharing? What would happen? What would she do?

He resumed his seat, heavily, and casts another look at the locket. As if sensing his unspoken wish, the gears began turning of their own accord, and the soft strands of music blossomed in the air. He released a slow, shuddering breath and shook his head.

"What would you do?" he whispered aloud. No one answered.

"Mo…che…?"

"Mon. Mon cher."

"Mon...che…"

"Mon cher."

"Mon cher." Lena finally declared, eyes bright with her pleased smile as Koleniko nodded approvingly. She thought he might have even imitated her smile, but wasn't quite sure enough to tease him about it.

"Good." He praised, and she felt her smile grow with a single word of praise. It had once been a fantasy to think he would ever offer her such encouragement; in the years past, particularly the last five months, the words had become more likely to hear when they were alone—he still had too much pride to offer them within earshot of the others—and each time brought her confidence to new levels.

It was strange, obscure, and unfamiliar. His praise was unlike Maccus', even if both were offered for the same task. She couldn't say why, for certain, but there was just something different about it. About him. There was something very, very different about him lately. Something that only appeared when they were together, and alone. It wasn't unpleasant…just different.

Shifting slightly on her seat, Lena recollected her thoughts and then faced him. "A…" she swallowed, mind working frantically to remember exactly how the phrase had rolled off Koleniko's tongue earlier before trying again, "Mo—mon…ama?"

He shook his head, and this time she was certain he was smiling with sincere amusement. It was exceptionally rare to see him smiling at anything, but he was starting to show the expression more often with her. It was never a tender expression—the mutations around his mouth wouldn't allow for it—but it was still identifiable as a smile. She never saw him smile with anyone else. Only her. She was the only one.

It was an unbidden thought, appearing suddenly and with surprising intensity, and it nearly broke her concentration. But she brushed the thought away and trained her eyes on his mouth, watching for the correct movements and the deliberate rolling of his tongue.

"Âme" Koleniko said, slowly and with perfect emphasis. He could hardly believe he was sitting here, teaching the not-quite-forgotten phrases of his travels to her, of all people. Yet here he was, and here she was, and here they were. Though he might like to deny it, there could be no mistaking one simple fact: his teachings were not strictly limited to building endurance and inviting the growth of her mad streak. There were softer, almost gentle moments between them. Moments when he let himself remember his life before the Dutchman and shared it with her.

"Âme." she repeated, never once breaking the connection between their eyes.

He nodded briefly, "Mon âme."

Lena fell silent for a brief moment, and he savored the sight. There was something almost beautiful about watching her mind work, remembering the proper pronunciation, the right way to roll the tongue and purse the lips and draw breath, before she repeated, "Mon âme."

His second nod of approval followed, and she released a low breath. She shifted posture, resting her palms against the rail and leaning back upon the wood with eyes gazing upward to the heavens, "Such beautiful language," she murmured softly as an evening breeze brushed her curls, "Far more than I'm accustomed to."

Koleniko smirked slightly, "No pretty words from the banks of Singapore, hmm?"

"Hardly," she returned, hoisting herself up onto the rail to perch beside him, "By the time I was seven, I understood enough of the language to identify phrases I dare not repeat. Even in present company." She added with a teasing quirk of the lips.

"Be ye implying I'd not be offended by foul and unseemly language, young miss?" he inquired, casting a frown in her direction that was wholly ignored.

"I hardly imply, Koleniko," Lena answered demurely, "I declare. You forget I've heard you talk when the rum loosens your tongue."

His attempts at displeasure failed as he tossed an idle hand that barely hid his agreeable grin, "Fair enough," he noted while rising, "Now, c'mon…it be late. Sleep calls."

Lena nodded silently, watching him shuffle down to their designated quarters below deck. Only when he was out of sight did she slip off the rail and creep along the planks. She found her destination with ease: a door hidden in shadows and barely set apart from the surrounding wood. Her fingers tingled as she brushed its tattered structure and set her ear close. Silence greeted her, and she carefully pushed and slipped within the shadowed quarters. Silence still, and then the sound of flint on stone began to echo throughout the cabin. He was here.

She smiled quietly, stepping forward to the figure resting upon his bed with fingers trailing thoughtfully along his axe. He seemed distracted, strangely so, and she crept on silent feet with shadows in her service until both arms could slide around his shoulders and bring his back to her chest. A soft hiss, halfway a sigh and halfway a sound of pleasure, passed his lips and his hand stalled in its movements.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Lena?" Maccus inquired softly, yet making no move to push her hands away from their position at his collarbone. "It's late."

"Not terribly so," she corrected him, tilting her head to kiss his throat. There was no mistaking the intentions within her gesture, not when she set her lips upon the gills carved out of his neck, where he was especially sensitive. "Not terribly so…" her voice dipped to a lower thrum as a single hand dragged a path between his pectorals; her nails scraped the skin, and his body responded almost immediately, "And I'm not tired."