This fic is dedicated to Lykosdracos. As promised, a gift fic. Be forewarned, this is an angst fic. The activities forthwith are neither condoned nor participated in by the author (me). If this offends you, I'm sorry....

And thank you for the release from my bindings. I'm eternally grateful because now I can write this. Just a tiny request, d'ye think I could borrow that blowtorch for a moment? --Stares menacingly in direction of Plot Bunnies and muses (and little sister)-- Roasted Bunnies anyone?

Anamaria's PoV, again. I don't know why, but she's been the easiest to write from lately.

Angst, to the extreme, just as a warning. SI (Self-Injury), J/A

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Feeling

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Perfect Cure

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I hold my arm against the flame

The bubbling flesh hissing my name

The burning pain soothes my soul

This is my choice, my control

And though they try, none can take

This perfect cure to my heartache

My world is left in chaos

I've no decision, I have no say

So I just watch my skin blacken and burn

And, with it, the pain just melts away

I know it'll become just another scar

Disfigured, discoloured, just like my heart

But I don't care. Let them see

The broken child that once was me

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- I watch in awe as my hand sizzles in the hot flame. This is a pain I can handle. This is a pain I can control. I may hide behind my wall of indifference —— I may pretend that my emotions aren't there, that they don't matter —— But they still are, and they still do. The loneliness burns more than the smoldering flesh.

- The scent of cooked meat wafts up from my arm. The dancing flames of the candle have eaten to the muscle on my wrist. I should move it, start on another spot before my arm becomes unusable. I hold it there a moment longer before removing it. I stare at the freshly made wound, as my other arm replaces the first. The skin is black, pealing in places. A white film of dead skin clings to the charred area.

- So beautiful. So.... entrancing. The chocolate skin is even darker from the burn. I just sit at my desk, gazing intently as the fire licks my other wrist. I should be careful. If it were to get infected, I may not be able to do my work. 'Ana....' The fire whispers, 'Anamaria....'

- "Anamaria?" This time my name is called from the door. If I ignore it, they'll go away. My attention never leaves the brightly blazing candle before me. A knock comes once more from the door, yet I make no movement to answer it. The scorched skin is too enchanting. The sight of the flesh, melting away, is too.... perfect.

- "At least with this I can feel." I breathe. The pain that flairs from the wounds does nothing to hinder my speech. I've spent too long hiding pain —— both physical and emotional —— that I can pretend they're not there. Usually. Sometimes the pain becomes so strong that tears sting my eyes. That's when I turn to my candle. Or, if it's after lights—out, I turn to my knife.

- Higher up on my arm, rarely exposed to the view of the Captain or crew, are crisscrossing lacerations. Patterns formed over time. Now, however, they're as plain as day. Raised scars, some almost decorative enough to be called inkings. Without the ink, of course.

- The flame jumps irregularly for a moment, before returning to its normal dance.

- "Ana?" I emulate the fire's prior actions. Damn, I thought I locked the door. I quickly slide my sleeves back down to cover my scars. The last thing I need is for him to see my wounds. I so did not want him to see my release.

- "Aye, Captain?" I try not to sound as startled as I am. I try to force my anger out, to sound annoyed. Anger is often the best mask one can ask for. "What is it that ye need from me?" I wait a moment, hoping he doesn't approach any further. He remains silent, and —— as far as I can tell —— still. "Well? Is there anything I can do for you, or are you here just to waste my time?" I think I achieved the anger.

- The candle's movement changes. He's coming closer, I know it. 'Please, don't let him see.... Please don't let him see....' I chant the prayer to myself, hoping for him to stop short of my desk.

- The flame stops moving. He must have stopped as well. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I jump as I feel his hand on my shoulder. Damn.... Bloody.... Not good.

- "Be there a reason for you hidin' your arms the second I came in the room?" His words were spoken right next to my ear. I shook my head, not trusting my voice to remain neutral. "Then you won't mind me takin' a look—see, would you?"

- Buggar! I can't show him. He mustn't know. This is my control. "Why?" I can sense that he's perplexed without even looking. "Why should I let you see?"

- He grabs my wrist, eliciting a hiss of pain from me. He lifts my sleeve, exposing both old and new injuries. I turn my head away from him, and hide behind the long, tangled ebony locks that fall into my face from the movement.

- I feel the warmth of tears fill my eyes. I'm being so bloody weak. Yet there's nothing I can do. I feel so.... exposed. I'm fully clothed besides my one arm, yet I feel completely naked before him.

- I hear his trinkets jingle softly as he shifts positions. His hand is still on my arm, gentler now, as he moves to kneel next to me. The candle's flame is distorted; rays of light encircle it, as my tears refract the fire. I know what he'll say. It's what others have said. Other people, claiming to care for me, then trying to take away the only thing in life that really helps. He'll ask me why I do it. But he won't understand. They never do. He'll try to make me stop. I can't stop. I don't want to stop.

- "I won't stop." I meant it to be too quiet for him to hear. Not that it matters, we're so close I'm sure he heard anyway. He made no indication to tell me if he knew what I said or not, though. He remains silent. Too silent, if you ask me.

- His (blurred) hand came into view as he placed it under my chin and turns my face to him. I fight, hoping he doesn't look. Hoping he doesn't see my weakness, my tears. He forces my head around, removing his hand from my arm to brush the hair from my face. My hair is matted to my face from prior tears, and I curse myself for being so pathetic. How dare I let my feelings, my useless, pitiful emotions, get in the way. Why does he have to see them? Curse him for making me question myself. Curse him for making me feel in the first place!

- He entered my life years ago, and just left again. Then he shows up years later, to steal my boat! And I had to be stupid enough to let him under my skin again. It's my fault for letting him in, but it's his fault for being.... so.... him!

- His hands cradle my face, one on either sides, and we just sit there a moment, not moving. His hand slowly moves to brush away the salty trails from my cheeks. I want so much to let him. I want so much to feel loved; to feel.... cared for. I want him to hold me. I want him to kiss me. I want him.... Then why am I panicking? Why does the mere thought of letting him care for me terrify me? Why can't I just let go; just feel for once? I've spent my whole life pushing my heart into the shadows; building a wall between me and my emotions; 'til now I can't remember how to feel.

- A new line of saltwater falls, and this time, he moves forward and kisses them away. Why is it that I want so badly to fall into his embrace, yet at the same time, I feel like slapping him and throwing him out of my cabin and overboard? How can both be true? The only thing that I know for certain is the pain on my wrists. That pain I can deal with. That pain I can understand. That pain is real.

- Hi beard scratches my face as he kisses away my tears. My heart is pounding in my chest, the candle's flame is calling to me, and he is the cause of it all. I try to pull back, but his hands hold my face firmly in place. He does, at least, pull back a bit himself. Our faces are still almost touching, though. Naught but a breath lay between us. In fact, I can almost taste his breath. Rum, sweet, bitter, and a bit salty from my tears.

- He breaks our tableau by closing the minute gap between us and capturing my lips with his own. The kiss starts out chaste, careful, but I soon feel his tongue on my lips, asking entrance.

- I place my hands on his chest, pressing gently against him in an attempt to pry him from me. My burn is aching from the movement and his clothes rubbing against the open sore, but I still push harder. When I finally (even if it only took a few seconds, it still felt like eternity) get him far enough away to think, I wipe his taste from my mouth. That is definitely not what I imagined it to be.

- "Wha's wrong, luv?" His trademark smirk isn't there. All I see is concern.... For me. I just look down guiltily. I've tried so hard to rely on only myself, that it never crossed my mind that someone could want me to need them. I take in a deep breath. This is going to be quite the challenge to explain.

- "Where to start...." I mumble to myself, trying to find a good place to begin my reasoning.

- "How abou's you start with how you got these" He runs his hand lightly over my scars. The caress of my sensitized flesh made a shiver run through me. "and why you did this." His hand stops just short of my open wound. His fingers lightly circle it, being very careful not to touch the injury itself.

- A shaky breath begins my answer. "I.... I was.... clumsy. I got most of those when I was first learning to use a blade...." He just looked at me like he knew I was lying. Of course I am, so I guess he's right.

- "How about the real reason you go' them?" He looks me directly in the eye. There is none of his usual daft insanity, only serious, honest, worry. "Why'd ye hurt yerself?"

- How am I supposed to explain to him why I do this? How could I ever describe to him what it's like.... how it feels when the cold steel or scalding fire first touches your flesh? How relieving it is to feel the pain washed away in the fire's warm embrace.... or the cooling metal. "I just can't explain it....."

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To Be Continued.....

I know this one is good, my.... someone I know.... does this (SI) and she was actually talking to the story! (As in saying stuff like "Slap him! Damnit, Beat his arse!") So yeah she liked it. And that's coming from the point of view of someone whose 'Been There, Done That'.

I still welcome feedback, good or bad. If you didn't like it, why? If you did, what was your favourite part? See that little button at the bottom? The one that says "Go"? Just click on it and tell me what you thought. I love your reviews. So please, keep me satiated, and I'll keep posting. (As soon as I can).

Thank you!