A/N: Oh, look! A plot! Sort of. Well, stuff happens? Thank you so much for sticking with me on this one. My plan is for this to be five chapters, so there's three more to go. I hope you enjoy!

"Yes, miss, your name?" a man with a leather notebook asked as he looked the woman up and down; not leering, simply assessing.

"Mariah Pemberton."

"Yeah, you're on the manifest, come aboard," he said jerking his head towards the Eloise, his short queue bobbing in with the movement.

Mariah Pemberton, more commonly known as Abigail Ashe, walked up the gangplank, her small carpet bag firmly in hand. She had no other baggage with her and her heart beat loudly as she walked over the harbour water and onto the ship bound for Liverpool. A sailor held out a hand and with a thin smile, she accepted the help on deck.

"Cabins are that way, miss," he said, his Irish accent thick and his wink more than a little cheeky, so Abigail was sure to only nod as she headed towards the hull of the ship.

She found her room, a small bunk she could hardly turn around in, but private, and set her bag down on the bed, sitting herself down beside it. Abigail tried to breathe slowly, but her heart couldn't stop thrumming and her hands shook. She pressed them to her middle and heard the crinkle of her important documents that she had sewn a secret fold into her chemise to hold and tried to reassure herself that it had worked; her subterfuge had worked and she was well on her way to independence.

However, she knew that she would only begin to feel at ease when the ship was well at sea and the Cape was a distant speck on the horizon. The sailors shouted and moved on deck above her head and she listened to their distant voices and breathed in the scent of wood and salt.

After what seemed like hours, she felt the sway of the ship as it moved. Abigail closed her eyes, certain that at any moment, the door to her cabin would fly open and someone would demand that she return to shore at once. But the ship continued to move and when the shouts above had lessened, she opened her eyes. She swallowed hard and got to her feet.

She stowed her bag beneath her bunk and smoothed her dress, the now familiar crinkle of paper below her breasts reassuring her once more, and on a whim, she removed her bonnet, then left her bunk.

The ship was used primarily for cargo, but there were a handful of passengers that Abigail saw as she walked past the other small cabins, two men and what looked like a mother and father with their small child. She nodded when they looked at her, but did not stop to talk; she just carried on to the deck. She emerged into sunshine that made her blink and drawing upon her previous voyages, she kept to the side and out of the men's way. She cautiously made her way to the railings and looked behind her.

The eastern seaboard of the Americas was nothing more than a dark line on the horizon and Abigail finally breathed easily as a smile touched her lips.

Life after the death of her father had been lonely, at best, and dreadful, at worst. She joined her father's 'friends', the Blakes, in Savannah, but they quickly moved north when Flint and his men started to terrorize the coast. Abigail could admit to herself that there had been times she would have preferred the company of those men than that of her 'friends'. It became apparent very early on that the Blakes had very little to recommend them and were of the puritanical sort and expected Abigail to fall to her knees daily thanking them for their Christian charity. They also expected her to pay all of their debts and while Abigail had been happy to finance some of their needs, it became clear that she was nothing more to them than a change purse. The final nail in that particular coffin fell when Abigail came across correspondence directed to her and her alone explaining the contents of her mother's will that came to her when she reached her majority; which Abigail had done six months previously. The contents included a small parcel of land in the north of Wales which contained a modest house. The correspondence also included a letter of introduction from one of Abigail's distant relations who resided nearby the property.

In the end, it wasn't so much the appeal that Wales might have held, as it was the desire to escape the Blakes and their increasing attempts to marry Abigail off to their profligate eldest son, Ethan, a scoundrel and a bore that spent the majority of his time staring at Abigail in a manner that spelled all sorts of terrible things should she actually marry him. So, while outwardly being as demure and polite as she'd ever been, Abigail began to make plans, and then set them in motion.

As she planned, she thanked her parents daily for the ability to read, write and do sums to a more than decent degree, as all were needed to make the arrangements to travel to Wales. Abigail made her travel arrangements using the name of a woman she met once at a party who had been about to venture further west. Once Abigail was settled back in Britain, she would do her best to write the actual Miss Pemberton to thank her for the use of her name.

The wind was warm on her face as she stood staring at the land she'd hardly had a chance to discover, and eventually she turned her back on the past and looked down at the ship. Truthfully, she hadn't spent much time considering what her voyage back to Liverpool would be like, only that she had to make it. Now, she took her time to examine the ship.

It wasn't as grand a ship as the Spanish warship, or as large as the one Ned Lowe had abducted her from, but it was certainly large enough and the deck felt sturdy beneath her feet. The sails unfurled even more above her head and she looked up at the great whoosh they made as they caught the wind. The speed of the ship picked up and Abigail was surprised to feel herself smiling fully as the wind whipped her hair out of her updo to fly about her head.

The men looked to be industrious and she spotted no one sitting or standing idly, everyone had a task and Abigail had the sudden thought that she should have remembered to bring something to occupy her time. Perhaps the captain would loan her some paper and ink...

She lifted her chin and decided to head back to her bunk for a spell and perhaps even sleep some as it had been some time since she felt she could relax. The ship pitched over the waves as she walked towards the stairwell and she did her best to stay out of the way of the men, most of whom ignored her or gave her a quick nod. Just as she reached the stairs leading down to the cabins, the ship rolled over a large wave and Abigail found herself falling backwards.

"Oh!" she said, but a pair of strong, warm hands caught her by the shoulders and set her upright. "Oh, thank you, I'm so sorr-"

She looked over her shoulder at her rescuer and she froze as she recognized the blue eyes that stared back at her. Said blue eyes widened and before she could say a word, his hand covered her mouth and pushed her into the stair well, up against the wall, his body blocking her from sight.

Abigail gave a muffled yelp and her hands came up to grasp his wrist, her eyes wide with bewilderment more than fright.

The man she knew as Billy Bones glanced over his shoulder and then back at Abigail, and said, "Don't scream. And don't say my name. All right?"

Abigail nodded under his hand. He swallowed and then lowered his hand from her face. She breathed out and just stared up at him.

He frowned. "Uh, I'm... I'm sorry I grabbed you, but...fuck. Do you even remember me?"

"Of course, I remember you," she said tucking her hair behind her ear. "I remember all of that time with your crew. I surprised you remember me."

"Hard to forget the time I returned the daughter of a governor to him," Billy said drily before he winced. "Uh, sorry."

She shook her head. "You didn't kill him."

"Good as," he said. "And probably-" He stopped talking but Abigail could fill in the rest of the sentence. She'd had a great deal of time to realize that her father had not been a favourite of pirates or even seamen in general.

"Are you no longer with Captain Flint's crew?" she asked awkwardly.

He snorted. "No. And I know I don't have any right to ask you to do me any favours, but they don't know me here."

"How could they not know you?" she asked confused.

"They only know me as a man willing to work the rigging," he said. "I go by another name now. I know that sounds mad, but..."

"Actually, it sounds rather reasonable," she said smiling down at her hands. "As the name on the manifest is not my own."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that right?"

"Mariah Pemberton," she said. "I...couldn't use my real name. For various reasons."

"Henry Gates," he said. "Well met, then, Miss Pemberton."

Abigail smiled and he actually grinned back, and tension she hadn't even realized remained in her chest eased as he stood close. All too soon, he looked away.

"I have to go," he said, looking worried. "Probably best we don't act, uh, familiar with each other. Not that I'd, ah Christ." He winced and looked away. "I hate to ask this of you. You are the last person to show any of my kind any kind of loyalty."

"Your kind?" she asked. "Do you mean as a pirate or as a man? For I came to the conclusion a long time ago that that is what you are. You're men. And like all men, you have the capability to be monstrous, but so do those who would call themselves civilized. I've found there is very little difference...in the end."

Billy's eyes had stayed on her during her entire speech and Abigail looked away, her cheeks warm after her impromptu speech, and added, "Besides, I rather feel relieved, knowing that someone else knows my secret. And my real name. I don't feel as alone as I did an hour ago."

She met his gaze and placed her hand on his arm, only to snatch it away. "I'll keep your confidence. I'll not breathe a word of it, Mr Bo, ah, Gates."

A pained look came into his eyes, but he just nodded, before he said, "Look, watch your step around here. The lads seem decent enough, but you're on your own, so be careful, yeah?"

"I will," she said. "I'm more worried that I'll run out of something to occupy myself with."

His mouth quirked a bit. "Right, well." He turned, but then looked back at her. "Do you sew?"

"Sew? Yes, of course," she said.

"Check with the cook," he said, ducking his head to meet her eyes. "There's always a need for a pair of hands to sew things up. Clothes, even the occasional sail, most men hate to bother to take the time. You may need to clear it with the captain, but I can't imagine he'll say no." He flushed. "That is, if you don't think it's beneath you. I mean, you're a lady-"

"Not here, I'm not," Abigail said. "I'm just a traveller. But, thank you. I'll talk to the cook later today."

Billy quirked his mouth briefly, then said, "Take care, Miss Pemberton."

And then he was gone, back on deck. Abigail waited a moment, then emerged briefly to watch him join some other men, one of them clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a large amount of rope. Billy nodded and then headed up one of the masts. Abigail watched him climb until he stopped and perched on the mast to uncoil the rope. His hands were steady and he perched atop the tall mast without a second thought to his safety and Abigail could only marvel at the deftness of his skill. A shout from another sailor startled her, and she ducked her head before she turned away. With a peculiar feeling in her stomach, she headed to her bunk, all sorts of thoughts flying about her head.

As Billy, Henry, predicted, both the captain and the cook were happy to have her help and Abigail found that she very quickly had plenty to do. It may have been unorthodox for a passenger to take on the sailor's tasks, but Captain McGann, while kind, was a God-fearing man who ran a decent ship and firmly believed that idle hands led to all manner of mischief, so Abigail was more than welcome to mend to her heart's content.

The first week on board the Eloise passed quickly. The cook, an elderly gentleman by the name of Stevens, was gruff and taciturn, but welcome to hand over simple mending to Abigail. Once the crew discovered someone was willing to mend their clothes, she found herself inundated with odd trousers and shirts. In fact, not twenty-four hours had passed between her making her offer and clothes appeared outside her cabin door.

What surprised Abigail the most was how she truly didn't mind it. As she sat on deck, in a little alcove out of the way with plenty of sunlight to see by, she marvelled over the freedom that came with assuming another person's identity. Billy had been right, Abigail was, in fact, a lady and a lady did not sew men's tears and rips. But clearly, Mariah Pemberton did. She hid a smile as she wondered what else Mariah Pemberton did and against her better judgement, her eyes lifted, as they always seemed to, up to look at the riggers on the masts.

He was up there, as he almost always was, guiding the other younger sailors with a sure voice and a steady hand. Ignorant as Abigail was about sailing and crew positions, even she knew that he was currently performing tasks well below his capabilities. The rest of the crew seemed to be aware of this as well as she'd noticed how they'd defer to him almost instinctively.

Right now, he was instructing a young rigger, no more than a lad, on how to adjust the sail to unfurl smoothly.

"Tie the knot around the edge," he called and Abigail watched the young rigger imitate the movement Billy had just performed. "Good. Now, throw it over."

The rigger, in his enthusiasm, flung the rest of the rope to Billy with a great amount of force. The weight of the rope hit Billy in his chest that the grunt he made could be heard from Molly on deck. She was on her feet before she even knew it, the boatswain's trousers on the ground at her feet, as she stared up at Billy who fell backwards off the mast.

"Gates!" cried several crewmen and the young rigger even stretched out an arm to catch Billy as he fell.

Abigail gasped when Billy's arm caught one of the low-hanging ropes and managed to stop his fall. The rope went taunt and Billy swung into the sail.

"I'm all right!" he shouted. "Throw another rope, Davies!"

The young rigger did as he was told and Abigail watched, her hands pressed to her stomach, as Billy caught the other rope and levered himself down to the deck. He winced as he looked down at his hands and she thought she saw blood on his palms from where the ropes had cut into his skin.

Soon he was surrounded by the crew and the captain.

"All right, there, Mr Gates?" Captain McGann asked.

Billy nodded. "Yes, sir. Davies just needs to work on his aim."

The crew laughed and Abigail relaxed a little. She remained on her feet however, even as Billy accepted claps on the shoulder and a flask of something from his crewmates.

"Let's get you bandaged, Gates," Porter, the ship's physician, called. "Then you can head back up there."

"Yeah," Billy said nodding as he took a drink and then handed the flask back to the boatswain. As he headed up to the quarter-deck, he noticed Abigail still standing. She tried to school her expression, but she must have still looked worried, for he smiled, ever so slightly, and nodded his head to her, before disappearing below deck.

With a shaky sigh, Abigail sat back down and picked up her mending. Her fingers trembled as she tried to focus on stitching the tear in the trousers.

"He'll be all right, miss," a voice said beside her.

She looked up and over at Timms, the Irish fellow who had greeted her when she boarded, who was now checking the knots on the bow.

"I know," she said smiling briefly. "It was just startling to watch. A man almost falling."

"Aye, but Gates, he knows ships and he knows winds and he'll be right as rain, don't you worry," Timms said grinning.

Abigail nodded and then went back to her mending. She stayed on deck much longer than she usually did, only going back to her cabin when Billy emerged from below decks, his hands wrapped in tight bandages. He spared her a quick glance and a smile before he scaled back up the main mast, calling to Davies to be ready to try again.

She watched them for a little while longer and then went below, utterly unaware of the gaze that followed her.

With a sharp gasp, Abigail sat up in her bed, her hands outstretched into the dark. Dark. God, it was so dark. Her breath rattled in her chest and her eyes streamed with tears as she blinked in the darkness. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the very pale moonlight that shone in through her tiny window. Pressed against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, she looked around the cabin.

Empty.

Of course, it was empty.

She let out a sob and pressed her forehead to her knees. She hadn't had such a strong nightmare since she'd come aboard the iEloise/i but she figured she was due for one. She lifted her head again to make sure no one was crouched at the foot of her bed, waiting to grab her in the darkness.

No one.

No Ned Low, or Ethan Blake, or any of the hateful men who had filled her father's house in Charles Towne.

Her fingers swiped the tears away from her eyes and she stared at the pale light of the moon through her window. Her chest still sore from breathing so hard, Abigail threw back the thin sheet and got to her feet. She made sure her papers were in her chemise pocket and forgoing her stays and stockings, she pulled on her dress and slipped on her shoes. Aware that her hair was in a simple braid and that it was most certainly late at night, she still walked out of her little room and headed to the main deck.

There was only a skeleton crew on deck, consisting of two lads in the crow's nest and a gentleman at the wheel. He nodded to her when she passed and she nodded back, intent on getting to the side. She clasped her hands on the railing and tilted her head back, inhaling deeply. Some of the ache in her chest and head eased, but she still felt traces of her nightmare at the edges of her vision and she stared out at the dark sea. She breathed in and out and a tear escaped her eye, but it was borne out of frustration at herself and not of sadness.

"Are you ill?" a soft, low voice asked behind her.

She turned, wiping her face and she saw Billy standing in the shadows. He must have been there when she arrived, but had stayed silent. Until now.

"Not ill," she said trying to smile. "Just…ill dreams."

He nodded and didn't reply; Abigail wondered what he dreamed of, if his nightmares were as terrible as she imagined them to be.

She turned back towards the ocean and closed her eyes, her face tilted upwards. Sea spray lightly wafted over her face and she smiled a little, feeling much more refreshed. She glanced over her shoulder to see Billy still watching her.

"Are you working?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Ill dreams."

"Amazing how they follow a person across an ocean," she said sadly. "How are your hands? That was quite the fall the other day."

"Healing," he said finally pushing away from the wall to stand beside her, crouched over the rail, looking out at the sea. "Had worse moments."

"I have no doubt," she said laughing a little.

"How are your hands?" he asked nodding at her fingers. "I see the crew is keeping you busy."

"They are and they're fine," she said smiling down at her hands, spreading her fingers on the wooden rail. "I'm glad of it. I hate being idle and it's nice to be of use." She lifted her head. "The men have been very grateful."

"Any problems?"

"Problems?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Anyone behaving as they shouldn't. Trying to take advantage..."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no. Everyone has been very polite and well, kind."

"Good," he said with a sharp nod. "If anyone isn't, tell me. I'll set them to rights."

"Thank you," she said smiling down at the waves that splashed against the hull. "I have a feeling they'd listen to you. They seem to follow your every command."

He went very still and Abigail could feel the tension that thrummed in his body. Eventually, he said, "They shouldn't."

She turned to look at him, really, truly look at him. The beard was the biggest difference from when she saw him last, but there were lines beside his eyes; lines that seemed to have been etched into his skin through pain and sorrow. His hands were large and scarred and they gripped the railing so tightly she imagined she heard the wood creak under his palms.

"My God," she breathed. "What happened?"

Slowly, his eyes moved to meet hers and she held very still, as still as she could while he looked at her. She didn't flatter herself to think that she could read the past in his eyes or even come close to understanding the specifics; all she knew was that he'd been fighting a war for so long and had lost so much, he was barely holding on to the pieces of himself. His brow furrowed as he looked at her and he bent his head. Abigail fought the urge to lay her hand on his exposed neck, to rub circles with her fingertips over his pulse.

"Look up and out over the sea," he said after a very long moment, lifting his head. "Look up at the sky."

Abigail blinked, but did as he said. The stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky, twinkling in the black.

"See the stars over there," he said coming to stand behind her and pointing. She struggled to look in the direction he was pointing in as the heat from his body overwhelmed her, but she lifted her eyes to look at the patch of sky he pointed to.

"The small square of bright stars?" she asked.

"With two smaller stars trailing off from the lower corner, yes," he said. "That's Pegasus. It's always up there when you cross the Atlantic. It may move up and down in the sky as we cross the sea, but it remains there. After we're long gone from this world, it'll still be there as it was before we were born." His hand fell to rest on the railing, so close to her own clasped hands, but not quite touching. "It's my still point when the seas are rough and I fear I'm to be lost."

"Your still point?" Abigail repeated and once again, she fought the irrational urge to turn and bury her face in his chest while she held him close, wanting to take away the pain she heard in his voice and feeling like a fool for being so fanciful.

"If you wake in the night again," he said, finally moving away, the cold air of the sea chilling her and sucking away the warmth his body had given her. "Look for Pegasus. It hasn't let me down yet."

She smiled. "It wouldn't. It rescued Perseus several times over as I recall."

His mouth quirked a little as he shifted away. "Been some time since I heard the stories the stars are based on."

"I had a lovely book my mother gave me of the Greek myths," she said, her smile fading some. "I wore some of the pages down from reading them so often." She looked up at Pegasus. "That book is long gone, sadly, but now I have one of the stories back in the sky." Her gaze fell back on Billy. "Thank you."

He just inclined his head and the winds picked up, along with more sea spray and Abigail shivered.

"It's still some hours before dawn," he said. "You should go back to your cabin. Stay warm."

"Yes," she said nodding as she wrapped her arms around her waist. "I… Good night, Mr Gates."

"Good night, Miss Pemberton," he said.

She gave him a quick smile and moved back towards the stairs leading below decks. She paused when he called her name, and turned and said, "Yes?"

"Which myth was your favourite?" he asked.

Confused, she thought for a moment and then said, "Well, we spoke of Perseus earlier and I always rather liked Andromeda. My mother said that she went on to travel alongside Perseus after he rescued her from the sea monster."

"Well, then," he said leaning on the railing. "The next time you have ill dreams, I'll show you were she lives in the sky."

Abigail's heart thumped loudly in her chest and she smiled, even as she looked down. "I would like that."

She took a deep breath and lifted her head to meet his gaze. Then she bobbed a small curtsey to him and quickly walked back to her room.

Once inside, she fell upon her small, narrow bed and stared up at the worn wooden ceiling, her thoughts tumbled over themselves and if she closed her eyes, she could still smell the leather of his vest and the salt of the sea spray on her skin. Sleep came to her swiftly.

"The thump of that metal leg was something to hear. The crunch of the ill-favoured Mr Dufrense's skull… I'll tell you, lads, the sound of a coconut being split still does something to my spine. Sends shivers up and down, it does."

The group of young lads stood around the stranger who had just entered the bar and sat all alone nursing drink after drink, his brown eyes wild and his voice mesmerizing as he told tale after tale. The lads hung on every word. They were too young to have played any kind of part in the Nassau battles, and they longed for adventures and swordfights of their own.

"Did he live?" a young fair-haired boy asked the man. "The ill-favoured Mr Dufresne?"

The man fixed his wild gaze on the boy. "It a man stomped a metal leg up and down on your skull for an entire evening, do you think you'd live to tell the tale?" He shook his head. "Nah, boy. If Long John Silver wants you dead, you stay dead, you hear me?"

"How do you know all this?" one of the older lads asked, suspicion laced in his voice.

"I was there, lad," the man said grinning. "I saw it all. All of it."

The older lad shifted on his feet, but still he asked, "Well, who are you, then?"

"Who am I?" the man asked, his eyes widening. "Why, I'm Billy Bones, I am."

And then the brown-eyed man grinned at his audience.