A/N: I hope you enjoy!

Billy sat and stared up at the night sky. It was a clear night and he could almost feel the ice forming on the deck. The lads would be busy later making sure the sails were loose and no ice had built up in the wrong places, but for now, he simply stared up at the stars and listened to the sound of the waves as they hit the sides of the hull.

They'd been at sea for three weeks and he'd been accepted as one of the crew with an ease that unnerved him. He had a feeling that the captain suspected Billy wasn't all he said he was, but he wasn't about to let a man of Billy's experience go. The captain was a decent enough man and the lads were all old enough to know about the rebellion in Nassau, but not first hand. So, Billy kept his mouth shut and his mind on the sails and the ship.

And her.

Abigail fucking Ashe. Older than she'd been when he first met her, but just as solemn and as well-bred. He'd wondered about her after seeing her with Flint and the Barlow woman; he'd wondered what it was she'd written in that journal and when he'd had the chance to read it, her insights had surprised him. It had been some time since anyone from the upper classes had surprised him, but she had. She'd done what very few had done before – look at him and his brothers as men; as human beings capable of a myriad of emotions and motivations, not just as monsters hellbent on anarchy.

But then she was off the warship, deposited into her father's hands, and she'd faded from his mind like so much flotsam on the waves.

Until now.

He shifted where he sat on a barrel tucked away in a corner on the deck and rubbed at his bearded chin. She was clearly running from something or someone, to be so desperate to take on an assumed name and travel all alone with no companion. Christ, she'd been fucking lucky to land on a ship where the captain and the crew were decent and not prone to… Well, she was fucking lucky, that's all he had to say on the matter.

He knew he'd be better off if he just ignored her and treated her with civility but nothing more; and that had been his aim. But then she'd just appeared the other night, and he hadn't been able to refrain from speaking to her. And then he just had to move close to her and she smelled of something that he couldn't quite place. Something clean and sweet; something distinctly…English. Flashes of his mother and kind shop women flashed in his mind as he'd stood behind her.

Once again he scrubbed a hand over his chin and cursed himself for a fool. Talking to a lady about still points and stars as though he were anything other than a god damn pirate; what had he been thinking?

No more, he thought as he lightly thudded his head against the wall. No more.

But even as he thought about keeping his distance, he heard a light tread of feet rapidly approaching.

Abigail.

He watched as she headed straight to the same spot as the other night and noticed how she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell sharply and she kept swallowing, as though she could hold back her emotions by swallowing them down. It was clear that she'd been dreaming again, her colour was high and her eyes were wet. She bowed her head over the rail, and his eyes traced the curve of her cheek in the moonlight. After several long moments, she lifted her head and he could tell she was seeking out the stars he'd shown her. Once found, he watched as her posture eased, her hands loosened their tight grip on the railing and she closed her eyes, letting the wind lightly buffet her face and her hair.

After a brief, terse argument with himself about keeping his distance from this woman, Billy spoke to her from his spot in the shadows, "If you look high up and to the right, there's two lines of stars that curve up and come to a point."

At the sound of his voice, her head had turned to the side as her lips curved up, but she didn't look for him, just turned back to the stars. After a moment of looking, she pointed and asked, "Those?"

He stepped out of the shadows and drew up close to her, he tilted his head to match her height and followed the line of her arm.

"That's it," he said breathing in that sweet scent of her. "She's always high in the sky this time of year."

"Andromeda," she breathed, lowering her arm. "Perseus rescued her from the sea monster using the Gorgon's head, turning the monster to stone. Andromeda then went with Perseus on his adventures." She turned up to look at him and smiled. "My teachers always said she went with him because she had to, as payment for saving her life. However, my mother always said that she went with him to see the world."

He smiled down at her, ignoring the thoughts in his head that yelled for him to walk away. "She sounds nice, your mother."

"She was," Abigail said turning away to look up at the stars. "I often wonder if my father would not have acted as he did had she been alive. She listened to him." She sighed. "But then again, perhaps he would have ignored her in favour of money and power; as he ignored me."

"He ignored you?" Billy asked.

She turned to him and he almost took a step back at the flash of her eyes.

"I was there," she said through gritted teeth. "The night Lady Hamilton was murdered. I saw it happen. She was shot down in cold blood after discovering that my father had betrayed her. Betrayed her and her husband and Captain Flint." She shook her head, her mouth downturned and her eyes angry and sad. "I never blamed any of you for what you did later. Never. My father brought that upon himself for refusing to tell the truth."

In that moment, it occurred to Billy that this tiny young woman was an extremely dangerous person and could inflict serious damage upon his soul should he let her get close enough. She was far stronger than any of them had supposed and he was thrilled to see it, as well as, quite frankly, fucking terrified of it. There was so much more to this woman than kindness and sweet smelling skin; and for all his sins, he was greatly tempted to learn more.

He swallowed hard. "You hold the truth to be important?"

"Don't you?" she asked frowning at him before she blushed. "Although, I suppose you're right to question my beliefs, as everyone on board calls me by a name that's not my own."

"They do the same to me," he said leaning against rail and looking out over the sea. "But it's just a name. Hell, the name you know me by wasn't even my real name, either."

"I know," she said. He looked over at her and she bit her lip and looked worried.

"How could-? Ah, wait," he said chuckling and some of the resentment that he usually managed to hold in check bubbled up. "Captain fucking Flint. He told you, did he?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking down. "He told me that you were taken off the street when you were a boy and impressed into service."

She paused and he said, "Go on. What else did he say?"

"He said you killed the man who captured you," she said, her voice a near whisper, but steady in the dark.

"I did," Billy said. "I ran him through with a dirty cutlass. I watched him die and my only regret is that I wasn't able to do it sooner." He looked down at her only to realize that she was looking at him with eyes filled with… "Are you angry at me?" he asked his face twisted into a sneer as his resolve to be civil fled. "That I took someone's life? If that's the case, you're going to be angry for some time yet, Miss Pemberton. I've taken many a man's life. These hands have run red with blood. The things I could tell you-"

"I'm not angry with you," she said blinking up at him, her mouth downturned. "I'm angry at what was done to you. I'm not… I'm very aware of the things you've done. Of what you've had to do. I'm very sorry for it." She hesitated again before she shook her head. "Why would I be angry with you?"

He stared at her, completely at a loss and he blurted out, "I gave your journal to Charles Vane."

It was her turn to stare at him. Her eyes clouded over with confusion, then they cleared and she straightened.

"You read what I wrote?" she asked.

"I did."

"I see." She looked up at the stars. "I meant it. Everything I wrote about the crew. You're just men at the end of the day. And once upon a time, my father would have agreed with me. He idid/i agree with me." She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. "Once upon a time." She looked at him and furrowed her brow as she said, "I always wondered if it had been you to take my journal. I knew one of you must have done."

"I'm sorry," he said tearing his gaze from her to look out over the ocean, only to look back at her when she chuckled.

"No, you're not," she said smiling a little while she shook her head. "You did what needed to be done. I was only ever a pawn in the whole matter; I hardly counted for more than that in anyone's eyes, let alone yours." She lifted her chin and he watched as her spine became a perfect line, as though it was lined with the strongest of steel. "I no longer want to be a pawn."

He stared at her and then said, "Do you know, this whole time I figured you were running from something. But you're not. You're running to something."

She looked at him and with a smile that reached her eyes and eased something inside him, she replied, "Perhaps. In truth, it's really more like a bit of both." Her smile dimmed and she cocked her head to the side, she said, "But it's not the same for you, is it? You're not running to anything. You're just…running."

Billy's heart thrummed in his chest and his hands shook before he clenched them into fists as he stared at her. Thoughts flew through his mind. Wild thoughts. Thoughts that said to flee, to stay, to touch her, to throw himself overboard, to—

A loud crash had them both jumping, Billy whirled around, his hand going to his short sword and pulling it free of the scabbard in less than a heartbeat while he pushed Abigail behind him.

But it was just Timms, who cursed as he righted a coil of heavy rope that he'd knocked over in the dark.

Billy watched him for a moment, then slowly straightened and returned his sword to its place on his belt. He glanced behind him to see Abigail staring up at him with those dark eyes of hers. Billy felt leagues out of his depth as he stared at her.

"Better get back to bed, Miss Pemberton," he said, keeping his voice low. "New shift'll be on deck soon. Get some sleep while you can."

Frowning, she nodded, but before she left him, she tentatively touched his hand and said, "I hope you find something to run to, Mr Gates. No one should be without purpose in this life."

Billy watched her go and when she disappeared below deck, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his still thrumming heart.

"No more," he whispered. "No more, my lad. You stay away from her, Billy."

With a scrub of his face with his hand, he headed off to find something to occupy him until sunrise.

Billy stood just off to the side as he watched Martin, the quartermaster, play his fiddle like he was born to it. A smile hovered just at the edge of Billy's mouth when two of the crew members started to sing along and stomp their feet in time to Martin's playing. Soon, both crew and passengers were clapping and laughing when another set of lads started to dance a reel of some sort, their feet happily pounding the deck. He glanced up at the captain, who grinned as he looked over them. Billy couldn't remember the last time he saw a captain truly at ease with his lot in life, but considering who Billy had been crewing with over the last few years, that had to be expected.

The back of his neck prickled and he fought the urge to look behind him, knowing that nothing would be there. He may have gotten others to believe in ghosts, but he didn't believe in them himself; he never had. The prickling was just something he'd have to get used to. Someone, at some time, would come looking for him for some mad reason or another and he was...at peace with that.

To tell the truth, he was surprised that none of the crew on the Eloise had twigged onto him, but it appeared his secret was safe with him.

And her.

His eyes found Abigail Ashe easily. They always seemed to find her easily these days. Always sewing or reading or simply staring out at the endless waves, Billy always knew precisely where she was. At that moment, she was standing beside the family from Pennsylvania who were headed back to Ireland. The wife and Abigail sometimes sew together and they seemed to have struck up some kind of friendship or whatever it was that women did when thrown together. The little boy clapped his hands in front of them and then with a look at Abigail, he stopped and turned to her.

She ceased clapping and peered down at the little boy with an open expression that quickly turned into a bright smile as she nodded. Then she held out a hand and curtsied to the little boy who bowed.

Then they were away and Billy snorted at the awkward steps the lad took while Abigail just laughed and gently corrected the lad. Soon enough, they were circling the deck while the crew cheered and stomped. The lad's parents laughed and something ached in Billy's chest. Absently he rubbed at a spot just beneath his pounding heart and turned away from the happy scene. He caught the captain's eye and nodded when the man nodded at him as Billy headed below decks. He was on the late night shift later and he needed to catch some sleep while he could. But when he lay in his hammock and closed his eyes, all he saw was Abigail's warm brown eyes and swirling skirts.

He wasn't a man given to self-pity, but he could admit that there was a part of him that fairly itched to go find her and take her hands and see what it felt like to spin around the deck, carefree and in receipt of her smiles. But he wouldn't. He's far too practical for that. Connecting with people got him in trouble in the first place and he wouldn't be making that mistake again. He'd already let this 'familiarity', for lack of a better word, with Abigail Ashe go too far as it was.

Two conversations he's had with her in the moonlight and he was unsettled in a way he couldn't ever recall being before. He wondered if she was the same kind of witch he'd heard the Barlow woman had been for Flint; able to see into a man's soul and pluck out their most vulnerable desires. Her parting words for him the other night hadn't left his thoughts since.

I hope you find something to run to, Mr Gates. No one should be without purpose in this life.

He stared up at the wooden beams that vibrated from the stomping feet above and knew she was right and for a moment, he hated her for it. He hated that somehow she knew that he needed purpose to his actions for them to hold meaning. He hated that she had found the one thing that lurked in the back of his mind, the thing that had stirred him out of that tavern in Savannah and got him moving.

Billy Bones longed for a cause. He always had and he feared he always would.

God damn it.

He rubbed his eyes and let out a groan.

Something fell on his chest. He opened his eyes to see a small flask and craned his head to look over at the man who'd thrown it.

Jeffers, an old grizzled sod of a man, just grinned at him. "Drink up, Gates. Get some sleep and stop moaning about life."

"That your sage advice, old man?" Billy asked, arching an eyebrow and snorting a bit.

"That it is," Jeffers said with a wink. "How else do you think I made it this far? Sure as hell wasn't by luck."

"Or skill," Billy muttered, but he opened the flask and took a drink. Then another. The rum was sweet and felt like candy on his tongue.

He made to toss the flask back to Jeffers, but the old man shook his head. "Nah, looks like you need it more'n me. 'Sides, I know where to get more."

"Ta," Billy said raising the flask.

"Remember, if you're too busy drinking, you won't waste time thinking," Jeffers said before cackling like an old woman as he headed to the galley.

"Mad old bastard," Billy said, but he took another long pull and then another, and another and let the alcohol dull his senses. Eventually, he capped the flask and, despite the dancing and the music above his head, he fell asleep.

He woke in time for his shift and crawled out of his hammock with a groan. He grabbed the flask and tucked it into his belt before he headed above deck.

It was another clear night and after he secured the rigging and got things in order, he retreated to his usual space in the shadows. A cold breeze rippled over the deck and fluttered the sails and Billy gritted his teeth against it and opened the flask and took a drink.

The rum went a fair way to clearing his mind of any persistent, unwanted thoughts, but he was a large man and he'd need a hell of a lot more rum to make them disappear entirely, so he leaned back and stared up at the night sky.

He smelled her before he saw her. That light scent (A flower of some kind, wasn't it? It wasn't tropical, it was something else, he knew it, he just couldn't place it…) drifted on the wind and then he heard her footsteps. But they weren't hurried or frantic as they'd been in the past. No, they were measured and steady and…

Fuck, she wanted to be out here. She deliberately came out here.

Billy's heart beat faster in his chest and he took another drink before he stilled and waited for her to appear at the railing.

Her legs were bare and like before, she wore no corset, just her dress and her underclothes. Her hair was loosely tied back with a ribbon and Billy ached all over. Every inch of him just fucking burned.

He took another drink, his eyes opened the whole time as he watched her.

Her head tilted back as she looked up at the sky and he wondered what kind of spell she'd cast to make him burn so hot.

"Those three stars, all in a line," she said, her voice hesitant even as she pointed. "Orion, the great hunter. Destined to chase, oh what was it, a scorpion, I think, across the night sky for all eternity. My father pointed him out once when I was a child. It's the only one I know, actually." She sighed. "It always struck me as rather sad. All these stories of these incredible people who did incredible things only to be placed in the night sky to repeat their actions night after night. It makes me wonder if that's simply a reflection of us mortals here on earth. Are we also destined to repeat our actions, be they good or bad, until we die?"

Billy realized that he hadn't breathed while she spoke and he exhaled as he got to his feet. He knew he shouldn't, every single instinct in him told him to turn the fuck away from this woman who saw too much and who he'd give everything to if she asked him, but his body ignored him and came to stand behind her.

"I don't know," he said, his voice pitched low and his breath stirred the hair atop her head and he felt a burst of pride when she shivered. "Perhaps it is. Eventually, we might get it right."

"Hmmm. I think that's partly why I took someone else's name," she said. "To escape the path that everyone seemed so certain I was to take."

"Is that the only reason?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I—"

"Wait." He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to his chest, his palm flat on her ribs. "Quiet."

She'd gasped when he touched her, but she fell silent and Billy squinted into the darkness. Then he called, "Timms! Snuff out the lantern."

"Aye," Timms said somewhere down towards the stern. "What do you see?"

"Another ship, port side," Billy called.

"Where?" Abigail whispered.

"See where the sky goes too dark at the horizon," he murmured beside her ear. "Where the stars disappear?"

"Oh. Yes!"

"That's it."

Billy stood there in the darkness, his arm tight around her as he watched the other ship. He didn't think they spotted the iEloise/i, but it couldn't hurt to sail as silently as possible. The crew was a decent one, but none of them would be much good against a ship bent on violence. He watched the other ship as it sailed on and eventually, Billy relaxed.

"All clear," he called to Timms when the ship had moved well out of their sight.

"Should we worry?" she asked looking up at him. "Are we in danger?"

He shook his head. "Nah. She was too small to do much damage, most likely cargo."

"Good," she said breathing out as she smiled a little.

He made to say something, and shifted his hand where it splayed across her ribcage and he felt something odd. Her eyes widened as he pressed and something hidden in her shift crinkled under his palm. Something like papers. Pink flooded her cheeks, but she stayed quiet, merely lifted her chin as she held his gaze.

"Keeping your secrets close to you, Miss Pemberton?" he asked, his voice low as his hand pressed against the papers once more.

"Don't we all, Mr Gates?" she replied, arching an eyebrow as she emphasized his name.

He smirked a little and dropped his hand as he took a step back, but kept his eyes on her the entire time. She breathed a sigh of relief but shivered as he moved away.

"Cold?" he asked.

"A bit," she said. "I suppose I'd better get used to it, however. England is far colder than the Americas."

"Yeah," Billy said turning away to grab the flask. He took a sip and then handed it to her.

She eyed it, then with a sniff, she gingerly took it from him. Her nose wrinkled as she lifted it to her lips, but gamely, she took a drink. He chuckled as she made a face, and he continued to grin as she took another sip before she handed it back to him.

"You like rum?" he asked.

"Not particularly," she said wiping her mouth. "But perhaps Mariah Pemberton does."

"Yeah," he said draining the last of the flask.

"I never took you for a man who favoured spirits," she said.

"I'm not," Billy said. "But it appears Mr Gates is." He met her eyes. "At least he is today."

She nodded. "Abigail Ashe would never have found herself stitching men's trousers, but Mariah seems to have no problem with the task." She held up a hand and smiled at her index finger. "She's even developing a thicker skin than Abigail."

Billy, before he could consider the action fully, reached out and took her hand in his. He pulled her hand to him and as a result Abigail had to step closer. He looked at her finger and rubbed his thumb over the developing callous on her finger, the skin hardening due to the repeated prick of a needle.

A breeze stirred her hair around her face and it tickled his arms, that fresh scent filled his nose.

"What is it you smell of?" he asked, his brow furrowing and his voice soft. "It reminds me of England and I cannot place it."

"I don't… Is it the rose water I use?" she replied, her own brow crinkling and she curled her fingers in his hand. "I've tried to use it sparingly as I don't have very much left in the bottle."

"Roses," he repeated with a small laugh. "Of course. You smell of roses, Miss Pemberton." He lifted his eyes from her small hand to meet her wide eyes. "Billy Bones would never stand thus with a lady and comment upon her scent."

"No?" she replied looking up at him, her voice barely a whisper on the wind.

He stood, utterly arrested by her. The dark of her eyes drew him in and he wondered, if this was something Billy Bones would never have done, what would Gates have done in this situation?

The answer was clear as the night sky.

Billy bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

Her lips were soft and her hand came up to rest against his chest as he moved his mouth over hers. He felt awkward and too large but when she made the slightest noise of pleasure as her body rose to meet his, he groaned and his hands lifted to cup her face.

He kissed her again and again, pressing his lips to hers while one hand slid to cradle her skull. He flicked his tongue against her lower lip and her mouth opened on a gasp. She was so warm and soft everywhere. Her hair tangled between his fingers and a rough breeze blew her skirts to buffet against his legs and she shivered as his tongue slid against hers.

With another groan, he bent slightly to slide his arm beneath her bottom and he carried her over to the barrel in the shadows. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then slid up his throat to dance along his jaw as they kissed over and over. He felt the callus of her finger as she traced the curve of his ear and he bent to nuzzle her throat, his tongue moving over the tendons under her lovely, pale skin. Her head fell back as she breathed in and out, her chest moving in a wonderful way under her dress. The crinkle of her secret papers made him smile as he found her earlobe and he pulled her lobe gently into his mouth.

She shuddered and made the smallest of surprised noises that went straight to his groin. Christ, he wanted her to make that noise again.

His hand smoothed down her side, his thumb grazed the side of her breast as he felt the curve of her. He reached the flare of her hip and ran his hand under her thigh as his mouth found hers once more. She pressed up against him as she met every one of his kisses with as much fervour as he bestowed them.

His wandering hand slipped beneath her skirt and his palm met the bare flesh of her calve, the back of her knee, the incredible softness of her thigh. He shifted her leg slightly to the side and stepped in close, his groin pressed tight against the apex of her thighs.

She froze. Her hands stilled on his neck and her lips trembled beneath his.

Breathing hard, Billy lifted his head to look at her. Even in the moonlight, he could see her cheeks were red and her eyes were luminous and...apprehensive.

"I'm sorry," he said as his hold on her gentled, but not letting her go completely.

She shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I don't think I could stand it if you were sorry. It's only that… I'm afraid I don't really know what happens next." She flushed and made a face. "Well, I know what happens next, but not the precise actions. Oh, dear. I sound ridiculous."

"You sound like an intelligent being who likes to know what they're doing before they do it," he said chuckling a little. He winced as he shifted on his feet, mentally ordering his erection to subside, as he looked up at the sky and then back down at her. "I'm not sorry I kissed you. But I am sorry that I...took advantage."

"You didn't," she said smiling at him and cupping his jaw. "If you had, you wouldn't have stopped."

"Still, you're a lady," he continued, but stopped when she laughed and shook her head. "What?"

"I'm not," she said, smiling a little sadly. "Well, the title may still be there, but the money certainly isn't." She pressed her hand to her bodice where the paper crinkled between them. "They stripped my father of his lands and his money after Charles Towne. There was some that should have come to me, but my guardians," her mouth twisted slightly, "took it before my majority." She took a deep breath. "For my own good, naturally."

"But," Billy frowned. "Surely you have...something?"

"I do," she said lifting her chin. "I had suspected for some time that my guardians were hiding my post from me. I made a point of rising early enough and bribing the footman to bring me anything addressed to me. A letter came from me from my mother's solicitor in England. Before she died, she and my father had put aside a very small plot of land that had been left to her by an uncle who has long since passed. This land was left to me." She smiled. "It's located near the Welsh border in Herefordshire and is apparently only suited for sheep, but it's mine. I can even claim to have some distant relations in the area." She shook her head. "So you see, I'm no longer Lady Abigail Ashe who is returning to England with an immaculate reputation and a generous dowry. I'm simply a woman travelling to a bit of earth that may or may not provide enough of an income to exist upon."

Billy could only stare at her and marvel at her strength and determination. He was filled with admiration and not a little envy. He remembered what it felt like to have a purpose; to have a goal.

"I envy you," he said, admitting his thoughts aloud to her.

"Oh, I wouldn't," she said. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do with sheep, apart from serving them with mint sauce."

He snorted and she grinned a little as she giggled.

"I wasn't referring to the sheep," he said tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears. "You were right the other night, when you said that no one should be without purpose." He shook his head. "I have none."

"Don't you?" she asked, her voice quiet and kind.

"Not anymore," he said as he looked down at his hand where it cradled her cheek. "I don't even have my own name."

"You have your mind," she said running the pads of her fingers over his brow. "And you have your heart. Those are two things no one can take from you; no matter what you're called."

He couldn't help himself, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his once more. Her fingers curled against his scalp and he pulled her as close as he could and tried not to just mindlessly rut against her.

Eventually they parted and he pressed his mouth to her forehead. "You need to get back to your cabin, Abigail."

"I know," she said, her palm rested over his heart. "When I wake in the morning, will this have been nothing but a dream?"

Billy considered her words and then shook his head. "No. I have no wish to forget touching you." He tilted her face to meet her eyes. "And I have no wish for you to forget it either."

"As if I could," she said a bit wryly.

He grinned and then lifted her easily off the barrel and set her on her feet. "You'd better go, before I decide to see what else Mr Gates would do with a young lady in the moonlight."

"I know that you mean that as some kind of threat," she said stepping close to him and rising up on her tiptoes. "But it really feels more like a promise."

She kissed his lips quickly and was away before he could reply.

Billy stood in the darkness and then he turned to lean against the railing. And try as he might, he couldn't make himself regret ianything/i he'd done.

He grinned up at the stars and then headed off to work.

Mr DeGroot was more than willing to admit that he had managed to get to his advanced age with a good deal of applied skills and luck. He'd survived the Nassau rebellion, Captain fucking Flint, Long John fucking Silver, and a dozen other mad men and all he wanted to do before he shuffled off this particular mortal coil was drink and fish.

Which was why he remained in Nassau even after all the violence had passed and the former Walrus crew had disbanded and either died or set off for other waters. People in Nassau still needed to eat and Mr DeGroot was a fair fisherman, if he did say so himself. Plus, people had overlooked him the majority of his life, and they continued to do so now.

However, he found himself in something of a moral quandary one night as he indulged in a pint at the tavern in Nassau. He drank steadily as he listened and watched as a man of decent height told story after story about the deadly Walrus crew and Captain fucking Flint and Long John fucking Silver as though he'd witnessed such events himself.

He hadn't.

Mr DeGroot had never seen this man before in his life, but he kept his counsel and just watched as the man drew a decent crowd with his stories as well as drink after drink.

Now, Mr DeGroot had no problem with someone telling tall tales; hell, that's what half of piracy was made out of – making god damn sure that your bloodthirsty reputation preceded you. So, Mr DeGroot didn't mind this man telling tales.

What he did mind was the fact that he did it under a name that was most certainly not his own.

Mr DeGroot's vision may have been worsening with age, but the man telling stories was sure as fuck not Billy Bones.

He watched and stewed in his moral quandary and considered whether or not he needed to speak up and denounce the charlatan for what he was, which was a liar and a thief. (Mr DeGroot had no proof of the latter, but if a man was willing to steal another man's name, he probably didn't feel remorse about stealing a change purse.)

Eventually, Mr DeGroot decided that this was none of his lookout and finished his pint before he headed back to the docks.

However, he paused just outside the tavern and looked back at the man whose brown eyes seemed to flash every now and then with something Mr DeGroot recognized as pure madness.

"May God have mercy on your poor mad soul," Mr DeGroot muttered. "Especially if Billy Bones ever finds you." He paused. "Even more especially if Long John fucking Silver finds you first."

His hands washed of the whole thing, Mr DeGroot headed to the docks and wondered if he should find another island that needed a capable fisherman. Nassau had too many memories that just wouldn't fucking die.