Disclaimer: See last 11 chapters. Of course, you should already have done so, if you've read this far. If you start here, you're gonna get kinda confused so please, if you haven't seen any of my other disclaimers, you should go back and read from the beginning like a good monkey. Thank you.

Chapter 12

Murphy lay in the cargo hold, his head pounding and waves of dizziness coming and going over him. He kept his eyes closed, Ferriman's damning words echoing back to him again and again.

"…You never gave her what she needed..."

"…She'll do anything I tell her to…"

"…It's surprisingly easy to make her think I care..."

Murphy pressed his hands to his head, willing the words to go away, to leave him alone, but they kept coming back, cutting him deeper and deeper each time.

The pain from the Mark had spread up his arm and enveloped his right shoulder. It was already creeping towards his chest, driving with it the sense that he didn't have much time left.

But damned if he was going to give up. Ferriman thought he had him beat with mere words, but he didn't know Murphy well enough to know that words were nothing. Words were substance to fill an empty space, but whether they meant anything was up to the listener. Murphy had never taken time to regret leaving his would-be family behind, and even knowing what he did now there was nothing he could do to change the past. He wouldn't if he could, because otherwise a lot of things would never have happened. By leaving Canada behind, Murphy had lost one family and had gained another, one that was just as real as any. Epps, Santos, Greer, Munder, Dodge. They were his family. And now Epps was lost to him, and the rest all stood there by him now, lost in another way but just as distant because they were now under that bastard's control.

Grunting slightly, Murphy pushed up onto his elbows, leaning more toward his left side to put less pressure on his right. It still hurt, but he managed to wrest himself into a sitting position, sweating and shaking. He wouldn't give up, wouldn't let Ferriman take the lives of more innocent people. He would fight until his last free breath, not just for Ashe and the family he never had, but for Epps, the daughter that he had found and had loved as if she was truly his offspring. Because he had lost her, he wouldn't, he couldn't, lose Ashe as well.

Of course, Epps wasn't lost. She was still alive. But she was lost to him, who had died and left her. She had escaped on pure chance, and Murphy felt sure that had he been a bit smarter, a bit sharper, he could have lived long enough to save not just Epps, but Greer, Munder and Dodge as well. He had failed, had lost to that evil bastard's schemes. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

With another savage heave, Murphy staggered to his feet, swaying. He clutched at an overhanging pipe for support, waiting for his vision to clear. When it did, he saw four pairs of warily amused eyes gazing at him.

"You alright there, old man?" Dodge said, a smile tugging at his lips. Murphy had known Dodge for a long time now, and so he caught the hint of concern hidden behind the blonde man's nonchalant façade. He saw it in all of their eyes. No matter how corrupted they were, these four young men were still his crew, his family. And they still cared about him.

Biting his lip, Murphy nodded slightly in response, regretting it when the world took the opportunity to begin spinning again. When it ceased, he released the pipe and managed to cross to an unoccupied crate to sit down. He hung his head between his knees, fighting the urge to vomit while the pain in his arm continued to eat away at his resolve. Not much time left. He had to get out of there fast.

Greer rose from his seat and came to sit closer to Murphy, gripping his good shoulder in a brief squeeze.

"I don't know why you try, Murph," the black man said quietly, shaking his head slightly, "I don't know why you bother. You have to give in sometime. Why not just make it easier on yourself? On all of us? We don't like seeing you suffer any more than you like experiencing it, you should know that."

Greer. His death had come right before his intended wedding. He had had a full, happy life ahead of him with a good woman. He had wanted a family, wanted to settle down in a way that Murphy had never been able to fathom. Greer had been a close friend, a good first mate. Always the voice of reason, always the calm messenger of faith, of hope. And now he was telling Murphy that there was no hope.

"Hey, Murph, you never told us you had a daughter," Munder chimed, ignoring Greer's scathing glance. Trust Munder to say the thing that was on everybody's minds without giving any thought to the emotions involved. Munder had been the clown of the group, the funny guy who spoke his mind and tended to do so before he thought about what he was saying. He had always ground a bit on Murphy's nerves, in fact had ground on everyone's nerves at times, but like in any family that annoyance had simply been a part of what made the rest of the crew like him even more. That and he was the best damn welder in the business.

"I didn't think you needed to know," Murphy replied, his voice rough with pain and exhaustion. "Besides, I never really thought about her much either. I left before she was born. Chose to forget about her. No use regretting what's already done."

Murphy wasn't sure if he believed all of that, but it was the best answer he was willing to give at the moment. He had to think of some way to escape, some way to get out of there. He was running out of time.

He slumped lower, his elbows on his knees and his forehead cradled in his hands. "I can't just stand by and watch her die. I know she'll probably never forgive me, but I need to do this. For her…and for me. So she'll remember me the way I am and not the way I would be if I gave up. Can you guys understand that?"

Murphy looked up, almost too exhausted for that much effort. It would be good to rest, to just let it all go. But not yet. He couldn't bring himself to submit just yet.

When Murphy looked up at his former crew, he saw the same in each of their expressions: the yearning to let Murphy have this one last chance warring with fear of Ferriman's wrath.

Murphy smiled at them, trying to put some of his old fire into it. He hoped it looked convincing.

"C'mon, guys. After all we've been through together, you're gonna let that bastard think he can scare you? What can he do to you that he hasn't already done? I thought…"

Murphy took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I thought we were the dream team, guys. We were the best goddamned salvagers in the business. Nothing could stop us. And now…now you've let this amateur beat you? He's nothing compared to us. Until a few days ago, we were unstoppable. Then Ferriman shows up and does exactly what he came to do: divided us, broke up the team. He counted on the one thing he had on us, and that was the element of surprise. He used it to scare us, make us run right into his traps. He tricked us into fixing that floating piece of Hell of his and then he disposed of us. He made fools of us, took away our dignity. But now the element of surprise is gone, and guess what? He's back to being nothing. We fucked up the first time, let him use us for his little games. And you guys are just gonna sit here and let him do it again? I thought we were better than that."

Not sure if he was getting anywhere, Murphy blew out his breath, puffing out his cheeks. "Look. We fucked up on our first chance. But Ferriman made a huge mistake in keeping us here: he gave us a second chance. And if we don't use it, then we're no better than he is. Then we're nothing. I'm not gonna pretend I didn't make some bad decisions in my life. Like leaving Ashe. But I think my life credits more than just giving up. I think that second chances count. And I'm not going to give it up just because that fucker tells me to. I'm going to go up there and keep my daughter and the rest of the people on this ship alive or burn myself out trying. The only question is, are you guys gonna help me or am I going to have to force my way out of here?"

Stunned expressions met this last outburst. Murphy didn't know when he had stood up or started yelling, but he was on his feet. He stared at the four young men in front of him, willing them to somehow understand.

Greer lowered his head. "You're right, Murph. You're the only one of us who's still your own man." The black man raised his head and looked at Murphy with eyes that showed the old spark that Greer had always had, that absolute love for life and all it had to offer. "I'm not going to stop you."

Murphy nodded. "Thanks."

Munder grinned. "Hell, Murph, I always knew you were a screwloose, but now you've proved it." He stood up and slapped the older man on his good shoulder. "If you want to go up there and make some trouble, by all means do so. It'd be damn funny to watch till' Ferriman kills you. Again. Dude, you've humbled me. I'm not gonna get in the way."

Murphy smiled at the younger man, somehow comforted by Munder's sarcastic outlook. It was good to see him back to his old self, if only in that small way.

Murphy looked back at the rest of his crew.

"Santos?" he asked, regarding the Hispanic man inquiringly.

"I've got nothing to say, man. There's nothing that I can say to change your mind. I see how important to you this is. It's good to have something important to try and achieve. Go kick some ass, man. That's all I gotta say."

Murphy grinned. "Thanks Santos," he murmured.

All eyes turned to Dodge. The blonde man cleared his throat and looked up from the spot on the ground he had been studying. He pierced Murphy with a haunted look.

"Murph…I'm sorry about your family. Both of them. I know what it's like to leave something you treasure behind."

Murphy's throat clenched. He and everyone else had known about Dodge's thing for Epps, but nobody had ever mentioned it. It was an unspoken rule out on the ocean, where there was no escape from the people around you. It wouldn't have been fair to either Epps or Dodge to say anything, making them uncomfortable with each other. It had been tacitly agreed to that Dodge should handle it on his own. Now his loss shone in his eyes, reflecting Murphy's own pain at their family being separated.

Dodge closed his eyes, and Murphy released the breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

"Go, Murph. Save your family – at least one of them. Do it for yourself. Do it for her. Do it for me…for us."

The young man hung his head, burdened by a weight that he shouldn't have to be carrying at his age.

Murphy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. After a minute, he cleared his throat. "Thanks guys. I won't let you down. That bastard's gonna learn what it's really like to mess with the best damn salvaging crew in the business."

Without another word, Murphy rushed away, a hard lump forming in his throat. Clearing it with effort, he made his way up the staircase and tugged open the door leading to the passenger decks. His arm still throbbed, but he ignored it as best he could.

Free of the oppressing darkness of the hold, he strode along the corridor, realizing he had no idea what he was going to do. He had no clue of where to find Ashe, and even if he did, she wouldn't trust him.

Just then, he caught sight of movement down the corridor. Making himself invisible, Murphy flattened himself against the wall and watched as the figure approached. It was walking rapidly, almost stomping. As it came into view, he realized with a jolt that it was Ashe! She was crying, wiping tears furiously away with the heels of her hands. She was wearing a beautiful black dress made of some strange silky material he had never seen before that seemed to form to her, displaying everything about her to best advantage. This was quite a change from the bedraggled girl Murphy had seen in the bar. Striding toward him was a beautiful young woman. The skirt billowed around her legs like a black cloud, swishing as she walked.

'Dear god,' Murphy thought, 'What have I created?'

As Ashe passed him, he heard her muttering to herself.

"Shouldn't have come…shouldn't have listened…can't do this, can't do this…why can't I be normal…why can't I be like everyone else…how could I have been so stupid…?"

Then she was past him, storming down the hall presumably to her cabin. Without thinking, Murphy hurried to catch up. He hesitated, then made himself visible. Taking another stride forward, he gripped her shoulder.

She spun around, her face a mask of fury and fear. What Murphy saw in her eyes almost killed him. Hatred, self-loathing, fear and apprehension, and flight reflex. Like a frightened rabbit provoked enough to bite.

After a moment, recognition registered and her face settled into a politely wary expression. It was clear that she didn't want to be bothered right now, especially by him.

Without a word, Murphy put a finger to his lips, motioning her silent. He didn't know who else may be listening. He beckoned her back to the stairway behind him, needing someplace private so that he could…what? What was he going to do? And where was Ferriman?

Instantly, Ashe's eyes blazed. There was fear there, as well as indignation.

"I don't think so," she said, her voice chilly. Everything about her stance was posed for flight. Suddenly, it dawned on him what she must be thinking, what she must have thought he…

Revolted, Murphy prepared to apologize for the misunderstanding and say something else, but by then she had turned away. He watched her make to walk away from him, feeling as if his heart would explode. She didn't trust him; she even feared him. Despair rolled through him in a downward spiral, threatening to drag him down, but before he could give in, he saw her hesitate. Her back stiffened, then slumped into a posture of defeat. Slowly, she turned to face him again, a critical look on her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

Once again, Murphy was caught by her beauty. The way the black dress fell around her, her suddenly straight, defiant posture and the look of resigned trust written in her finely shaped features. She looked like her mother. She looked like an angel.

She smiled tentatively. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me," she said meekly. She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor a foot in front of her, visibly undecided. When she looked up again, she flashed him a smile – a real smile.

For the first time since he had met her, Ashe seemed to trust him – at least for the moment. It wasn't the familial love he yearned to somehow have, but it would do for now. Giving her his own small grin, he once more beckoned down the staircase.

"Come here, Ashe," he said quietly, gently, "I have to show you something."

He turned and led her halfway down the darkened staircase, silently relieved when, after a slight hesitation, he heard her follow.

Now, what was he going to say?

Jack couldn't believe it. He had had it all in the bag. Ashe was wrapped around his little finger, that prick Murphy had been shut up for good, or so he had thought. His plan had been well on its way to finalization. But now things were rapidly falling apart, and Jack didn't like it when things didn't go his way.

As he rounded the corner of the corridor leading to Ashe's room, he caught a glimpse of a black skirt disappearing down a staircase – the staircase to the hold! That bastard Murphy was taking her to the hold! But the door was locked, Jack consoled himself silently. They'd never get through it if they tried.

Baring his teeth slightly, Jack's hand twitched, and a knife appeared there. A long-bladed knife, it had served him well in the past. It would do this time.

Taking a deep breath, he strode over to the staircase and flattened himself against the wall, listening to the sound of voices from down the stairs: one male, one female. He recognized both. He didn't know what Murphy had told Ashe; it didn't matter anyway. She wouldn't live long enough to do anything about it. Before the old man could say another word, one thought from Jack had him falling to his knees in agony. Jack spun around the corner, knife in hand, in time to see Murphy fall down the remaining steps leading to the metal door and sprawl in front of it, unconscious.

Ashe, confused, stared at Murphy for a minute before her instincts told her to look back. She swung around and her eyes widened when she saw Jack standing at the top of the stairwell, a menacing shadow outlined by the light from the hallway. He saw the moment when she recognized the knife in his hands and knew the truth.

"It's you!" she said, her teeth gritted. Surprisingly, her voice held no trace of fear, or even the wariness she had always known before. Her stance was defensive, but strong, her legs spaced apart as if in a fighting stance under her flowing skirt. Jack had to admit that at that moment she looked absolutely breathtaking. Her frizzy hair was starting to come out of the coil she had tied it back in, and her face was flushed with anger and distress and – tears? Her dark dress flowed around her body, making her blend in with the shadows behind her. She was no longer skittish, timid little Ashe. This girl was a fighter. And she was hot. But Jack didn't take the time to wonder what had suddenly brought about this change; he had come to do his job.

Smirking, he twirled the knife in his right hand, enjoying the feel of it after not using it for so long. Aboard the Antonia Graza, he had hardly ever had to use his own weapons, preferring to use his control over the ship to kill his victims. His knife hadn't been used since his earlier salvaging days, but that was another story entirely.

Enjoying the look of loathing on Ashe's face, even not knowing what had caused it to flare so suddenly, he reached out for her mind, trying to get a feel for what she was thinking. What he found was like an electrical storm. Forget the wall. Forget that prickly fence. This was a storm. He was not getting anywhere near her thoughts, that was for sure.

Looking in her eyes, Jack realized that she knew exactly what he had been trying to do.

"Stay away from me," she said quietly.

Jack smirked again, pretending he hadn't heard her. "So," he said casually, still twirling the knife. He had her trapped. Unless she could go through walls, she needed a key to get into the hold, and even if she did manage to get in, his minions would grab her as soon as she was through the door. She seemed to know this too, on some level. In any case, she didn't make any move to retreat.

"Not the partygoer then?" he continued, "Too bad, it's bound to get exciting tonight. But, if you'd prefer, we can just stay in."

He took a step toward her, expecting her to flinch. She didn't move, didn't even blink. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. 'Just kill her now,' his mind whispered, 'Before she has a chance to think about it.'

"It was you," she said, appearing to talk more to herself than to him, "You're the one I'm supposed to be looking for. Of course, I haven't been doing much looking, but I didn't need to, really. You came to me, and I was too blind to figure it out…"

She trailed off, looking him up and down as if for the first time.

Jack took another step forward. And another. Nothing. She just stood there, looking at him and muttering to herself. She seemed almost amused. What could she possibly find funny about this?

Finally he stopped two steps above her. She glared up at him, his height advantage intensified by the stairs.

"You're the salvager." She said, her words striking him like a cold blow.

He didn't know what Murphy had told her, but apparently it had been enough. And she couldn't be allowed to leave this stairwell alive.

Jack flipped his knife in his hand, ready.

"Good job," he snarled, "You found me."

Without another thought, he lunged.