Author's Note: Back again! Once again I have attempted to write fighting scenes, and I'm sorry. I am appallingly bad at it, but I try my best. If anyone knows anything about sword fighting, I'd be happy to take on any advice that you have!

There are some phrases used here that not everybody may be familiar with, so I'll explain them here:

Keelhauling: a particularly horrible punishment, where the victim is dragged by rope under the ship from one side to the other. They could easily drown, or at least be cut to ribbons by barnacles and such on the hull.

Kissing the gunner's daughter: another punishment, where the victim is tied over one of the cannons and flogged.

Holystone: Bar of sandstone used to scrub the decks.

Bulkhead: A wall, basically. Except they're not called that on ships.

I think that's all I used, though I'd be happy to explain anything else. Thanks so much to everybody who reviewed—I really appreciate it!

Disclaimer: They are borrowed, borrowed without permission, but with every intention of giving them back…

Walk away to save your face,
You never were a genius.
Walk away to save your face;
You let it come between us.

Walk away to save your face,
You never were a genius.
Walk away to save your face,
You never were, you never were…

Yes it's just the second night
That I would break back nights for you.
Yes I know you're the jealous type,
'Cause I'm cursed with second sight so…

Walk away to save your face,
You never were an actor.
Walk away to save your face,
Here comes the morning after.

Walk away to save your face,
You never were an actor.
Walk away to save your face,
You never were, you never were…

Yes it's just the second night
That I would break back nights for you.
Yes I know you're the jealous type,
'Cause I'm cursed with second sight so…

Third verse same as the first.

Walk away to save your face,
You never were a genius.
Walk away to save your face,
You let it come between us.

Yes it's just the second night
That I would break back nights for you.
Yes I know you're the jealous type,
'Cause I'm cursed with second sight so
Walk away…

Chapter Four: Saving Face

It took all of Pintel's discipline not to slug Twigg right there and then, and he could see the other man struggling to control his own temper, dark eyes flashing. Heat coursed through Pintel, rendering him impervious to restraint or counsel, and the snarls of the other man only curdled his burning anger.

"Curse yeh, yeh confounded bilge-rat!" spat the usually placid Twigg, "Keelhaulin'd be too damn good fer yeh!"

"Yeh wouldn' even be worth the damned effort," Pintel growled maliciously. "Scurvy dog that y'are, Davey Jones'd kick yeh right out; ye're worth less'n a filthy landlubber!"

It would have been much more satisfying to knock his crewmate's teeth out, of course, but to strike another man on board would result in kissing the gunner's daughter, if you were lucky, and both Pintel and Twigg had had enough experience of that. It was only a heavy hand on his shoulder and the looming presence of the Bo'sun behind Twigg that ceased their quarrel.

"Now, mates," the gravely voice of Koehler was accompanied by hot breath on Pintel's ear. "Yeh know yer Articles."

Twigg's gaze met Pintel's, fury still evident in his face. They both knew their Articles, certainly. Captain Sparrow's script, as wandering as his gait, had laid out the rules of the Black Pearl clear as day.

"ARTICLE VIII. - None shall strike another on board the ship, but every man's quarrel shall be ended by sword or pistol in this manner. At the word of command from the quartermaster, each man being previously placed back to back, shall turn from eight paces and fire immediately. If any man do not, the quartermaster shall knock the piece out of his hand. If both miss their aim they shall take to their cutlasses, and he that draweth first blood shall be declared the victor."

Usually, disagreements would be worked out on shore, but with the Pearl at least three days away from the nearest port and the tempers of the two pirates raised so high, Koehler, as quartermaster, decided that the matter would be settled there and then.

Ragetti sighed, settling his bony chin in his hands, his elbows bent upon his knees where he sat on the quarterdeck, attempting to keep out of the way. This had been brewing all week, this tension between Twigg and Pintel. Usually they got on fairly well, but both possessed sudden tempers and their snipes had been growing in savagery since they had set out from San Juan eight days ago. Still, he had a feeling of certainty that Pintel would win this encounter: he was an excellent shot, whereas Twigg held a preference for his cutlass.

Koehler set the two men back-to-back, and stepped away. "Eight paces!" he barked. The Bo'sun was watching with a hungry fascination, and from the corner of his eye Ragetti could see Barbossa and Captain Sparrow on the quarter-deck, disdain mingled with interest on each of their faces. After eight paces both Pintel and Twigg froze, backs to each other. There was a short pause, laden with tension, before Koehler's cry of, "Turn!"

Both men spun around, and two shots fired. Ragetti saw Pintel side step, at the same time as Twigg whipped to the left. Both men remained unharmed, although a bullet buried in the mizzenmast at a level of Twigg's head indicated that the pirate's time would have been cut short had he not moved as swiftly as he did. Ragetti felt his heart sinking: this meant cutlasses. Not that Pintel was inept with a cutlass; he was, in fact, a dab hand. Unfortunately, Twigg was renowned for his quickness of foot, which gave him an immediate advantage over his heavier counterpart.

As Pintel drew his weapon, his gaze fell on Ragetti. His quirk of an eyebrow was reassuring, though Ragetti knew that ultimately the blame for this fight with Twigg fell entirely on his own shoulders. Had he not been so shortsighted… but he did not doubt that his friend would give him his fair share of grief later on.

Koehler and the Bo'sun retreated from the gun-deck to join Barbossa and Jack Sparrow, as well as a few other curious crewmembers. The two pirates left on the gun-deck squared up to one another, cutlasses resting together in an accepted pre-fight position. Pintel could feel his nerves wound tight, though his hand was steady. The silence seemed to stretch on, until upon Koehler's order it snapped as an over-taut rope. The sharp, staccato rings of metal upon metal rang out over the ship, and Pintel kept his eyes fixed firmly upon Twigg's face. No glimmer, no hint of wariness. Cocky bastard. The shorter pirate could feel already that he was at a disadvantage: his steps were not as sure, not as light as those of his counterpart, and it was showing. He was constantly parrying, reflecting the sharp edge of Twigg's weapon, whilst never getting the chance to employ his own.

They moved full-circle again, before Twigg lunged, trying to catch Pintel off-guard. Unfortunately for him, better swordsman though he was, his opponent's grounded logic prepared him for sudden attacks, and his blade was deflected. Taking advantage of Twigg's momentary pause, Pintel leapt forward, weapon thrusting for Twigg's chest, but the other man recovered in the nick of time. Pintel then found himself backing away in an attempt to ward off Twigg's constant attack; the clashing of their weapons becoming faster and faster, and Pintel could feel himself struggling to keep up with the beat. He was almost backed against the bulkhead of the gun- and quarterdeck's, and in a desperate attempt not to be blocked in he parried more forcefully against Twigg's cutlass, and sought an attack; the plan worked, and he managed to back the other pirate into the open. All he had to do was draw blood, but Twigg was too good a swordsman to allow Pintel's weapon anywhere near his body, and his attacks were becoming simply more fast and vicious.

Just let 'im win, the logical part of Pintel's mind urged. It's on'y one argument. Jus' let yer guard down and let 'im win. 'E's 'ardly goin' ter run yeh through.

Don' be daft. That was his pride, blasted thing. After the way that bastard's been?'E deserves ev'rythin' yeh throw at 'im.

Pintel blocked out his warring conscience and tried to focus fully on the fight, on the flashing metal, on Twigg's grim face, on the beats of their struggle: one, two, three, one two three… it was getting faster, still. The Pearl rolled with the ocean; her pitching decks would have given less-experienced seamen an extra disadvantage but the sea legs and bare-feet of the warring pirates meant that this was barely an issue. Still, Pintel knew that he was in trouble when Twigg allowed him a chance to recover. The other man knew exactly what he was doing, and he was not afraid to let his confidence show, nor to re-double his attack. Pintel began to wish that he had tied his long hair back; it was amazing how much of a shortcoming it was in the high breeze that was whipping up.

Through his parries the pirate began to look for weaknesses in his opponent. He had never fought Twigg before, and had previously known nothing of his style. It soon became clear, however, that though his confidence was making his assaults faster, he was beginning to leave his left-side open for attack. A thought began to formulate in Pintel's mind: Ragetti was a left-handed swordsman, and the only times he beat Pintel in a fight… that was it. Ready to throw caution to the winds, the heavy-set man struggled to keep pace with the nimble Twigg, finally setting his new plan into action with a more forcible parry. Twigg was knocked back on his heels, and Pintel used that split-moment to switch his cutlass to his left-hand. This hand was not as sure as his right, but it might just be enough… Twigg leapt in for a new attack, but registered too late what his rival had done. Pintel whipped his blade upwards, catching it on the grimy cloth of Twigg's shirt and, barely able to believe that it had worked, he saw the telltale sign of red blood seeping through the dirty yellow material. Twigg felt it and backed away, dropping his arm to his side. Pintel followed suit, feeling exhausted.

Nothing more was said, though Twigg met Pintel's eyes and the anger had vanished. It had been a fair fight, and nothing more could be done. A glimmer of good-humour passed over Twigg's face before he turned and left for the main deck. Pintel just stood and watched him go, dimly registering the heaviness in his limbs. Koehler shoved roughly past his shoulder as he followed Twigg, acknowledging Pintel only with a grunt. Too used to this to care, and without even bothering to sheath his cutlass Pintel climbed slowly up onto the quarterdeck, to be immediately handed a holystone by the Bo'sun. Pintel glanced at the captain and saw a glimmer of… was that admiration?

"Sly trick there, Master Pintel." Jack's golden grin flashed momentarily in his direction. "Waitin' fer the opportune moment, was it?" Well, it certainly was not admiration. The captain seemed to approve though, which was something. Pintel glanced at Ragetti, and saw that his friend also had a holystone clasped in his thin fingers. Together they wandered back to the main deck to start scrubbing, not exchanging a word.

Ragetti chewed on his lip so hard that he became very close to biting through it. He risked a glance over at Pintel, whose scrubbing had begun short and brusque, but was now drifting into a vague and non-committal action. His gaze, which had previously been centred on the deck as though all the wooden planks had personally offended him, was now distant, the blue eyes seeming almost clouded over. Ragetti decided to try his luck.

"Pint?"

"What?" Despite the change in his countenance, Pintel's annoyance with Ragetti had not been displaced. It was sink or swim, now.

"'m sorry, Pinters." Ragetti kept his voice quiet, and did not look into his friend's face. Pintel was silent, though Ragetti could feel his glare. "I d-d-dunno what else t-ter say…" Damn that bloody stammer! He bit his lip again, trying to relax and stop the contraction of his throat. He did not trust his voice for a while, knowing that as soon as he tried to speak his words would stick in his throat, or on his tongue, rendering him practically incomprehensible.

"Yeh don' 'ave ter say anythin'." Pintel sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumped. "I'd like ter know why yeh was so bothered, though."

"I-I-I dunno meself," Ragetti finally managed to say. "I d-dunno, Pint. I know it was stupid—"

"Damn right, it was," Pintel growled. "Christ, Rags, yeh didn' give me any credit at all, did yeh?" Ragetti remained silent, though guilt shadowed his face. "Why the hell would I want ter be mates with them, Ragetti?"

The quiet sternness of Pintel's voice shook Ragetti, as did his use of Ragetti's full name. "Dunno. I guess I figured I annoyed yeh too much…" he trailed off, feeling miserable.

"Yeh do annoy me too much." Pintel said. "But when you make me feel like killin' yeh, I don' actually want ter. 'alf the time I'd like ter smash their damn faces in."

"Oh."

"Oh," Pintel mimicked, though his tone was not cruel.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the four bells, marking the second hour after noon. Ragetti tried in vain to find something to say, but he could sense already that no word would pass his lips; he was just too tense. Eventually, Pintel sighed.

"Look, Raggers, yer me mate, so I ain't gonna fight with yeh. I done enough fightin' with people this past week, an' I'm done tired of it."

Ragetti did not answer. Hot guilt was prickling his skin; Pintel was a typically intolerant man, and this sudden lenience on his behalf only made Ragetti feel worse. He was not even sure how this whole situation had come about: Pintel's sudden friendship with Twigg had been what had sparked the disagreement (if it could be called friendship: that was a rarity with pirates), but there had been something brewing under the surface beforehand. A tension between the two pirates had been making them both irritable for the past few weeks; Pintel had sniped at Ragetti far more often than usual, which had turned Ragetti into even more of a fumbling mess than he was customarily.

Looking back, Ragetti decided that they had both most likely been suffering from cabin fever. They were rarely out of one another's company, and he supposed that it was only natural to finally become exhausted of a person. He felt now, though, as he did after a storm: the fresh sharpness in the air, and the sense of picking up the pieces.

"Yeh know too much fer me ter fall out with yeh, Pinters."

Pintel laughed, and swiped Ragetti's head. "Sometimes I think I know more about yeh'n I want ter."

Ragetti grinned, giving his friend a shy glance. "Yeh ain't mad at me?"

"Not right now. I might change me mind, though." A literal ear-to-ear grin removed any edge his words may have had. Silence descended between them once more, the only sounds those of the Pearl cutting through the ocean, and Jack Sparrow's rambling, off-key singing floating down from helm.

I will be going into more detail about Pintel and Ragetti's fall-out soon, I promise. This story will be taking on some semblance of structure soon enough! I will try to get chapter five up soon, but then there may be a break, since I'm starting University this autumn and I don' t know how soon I will be able to get into writing again.

Special thanks go to Dancing Namek for recommending this story and "Feeling" for the C2, "The Best of Pirates of the Caribbean". I have only just noticed and I am very honoured, as is Fran, lovely author of "Feeling".