Chapter 3

The knock came again, harder. By this time it was nothing more than an incessant background noise in Arthur's dream. He stirred uncomfortably, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in the hopes that it would somehow make the noise go away.

Two faint, small taps came at the door, then a large thump. Arthur gritted his teeth, thoroughly annoyed. A superior thump came, followed by what sounded like an explosion. Arthur sat up hastily, alarmed, clenching the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles began becoming discolored and staring at the door, which he saw was now on the floor. In the doorway stood Alfred. Dust and splinters of wood settled contentedly on the floor as Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and smirked triumphantly.

"What the hell!" Arthur spat furiously. "I go to my cabin for ten seconds and you break down my damn door? What on earth is wrong with you!" Alfred's arms dropped awkwardly to his sides. He looked away.

"I waited five minutes. Anyway, you belong to me now, so come on!" he decreed, pouting like a child. Arthur sighed. Alfred had two wholly contrasting personalities- one was a sadistic, homicidal psychopath, and the other a whiny, impatient child. Arthur never knew which to expect during his encounters with Alfred. Usually it was both.

Arthur didn't say anything. He glared at Alfred, his gaze going leisurely from the stilted door that sat busted on the floor up to make eye contact with Alfred, staring fiercely into the other's blue eyes. He stood and strode over to Alfred with assurance, so close they just about touched.

"You listen to me, Jones. You can take away my ship and my crew, you can strip me of my titles and ranking, I don't care about any of that." He spoke with his hands, emphasizing his point. His eyes were the center of a burning hot fire. "But I will absolutely never belong to you."

Alfred's smirk turned to a scowl and his vivid blue eyes clouded to grey with anger as the other spoke. He snatched Arthur's wrist out of the air and held it with an iron grip, purposely grinding his bones together so that Arthur unintentionally let out a cry in pain. He tried to pull his arm away, but unfortunately, Captain Jones was stronger than him. Alfred held Arthur's hand above in the air above his head, watching it change from a pale peach to tinted red, then on to a grotesque almost purplish color.

"Let go of me!" Arthur assented, grinding his teeth. He struggled against Alfred to no avail. Least he could do was make things difficult, and this he would do. With his other hand he pushed against Alfred's chest, trying to make him release his grip. However Alfred's cheeky smirk returned.

"Not until you submit to me. It's not too late for me to get my knife back out." His smirk became a sadistic grin. He released Arthur's wrist and his hand returned to his side. Arthur rubbed his pained appendage, sneering up at Alfred. "It doesn't matter what you say. You can't even say anything."

"You're sick, you know." Arthur said with buoyancy, his gaze returning to his still slightly discolored wrist. Alfred roughly grabbed Arthur's face in his gloved hand.

"I should cut out your tongue. How dare you speak to your master so rudely, after I've been so kind to you? You've truly no shame." He let go of Arthur's face and lightly tapped his cheek with the tips of his fingers twice. His expression, so holier than thou, was what really was pissing Arthur off more than anything. "You've ten minutes. Gather your worthless possessions," Alfred stopped for a moment to kick a bit off wooden rubble out of his way- "and come up to the bow. We must prepare for your transfer, must we not?" Alfred looked at Arthur with the most smug expression the blonde had ever beheld in his 23 years. A brown eyebrow perked, challenging the Brit to answer.

"We must," Arthur growled through his still clenched teeth. Alfred smiled, apparently satisfied, and turned to leave. Arthur turned away, hearing only Alfred's boots clicking rhythmically against the wood of the stairs as he ascended to the bow.

Arthur sighed yet again. Why did the bloody American have to make things so stressful for him? Didn't he know how infuriating this voyage was on its own, without him messing everything up? Arthur would never know why Alfred loved to torment him like he did. Perhaps it was just his sadistic side showing. Maybe this was how he got his cheap thrills. He probably thought this was funny, the bastard. It wasn't damn funny. It wasn't.

It wouldn't take long for Arthur to gather his things. There wasn't much he'd need. Really, as long as he had his clothes, he figured, he wouldn't be in need of much else. He swiftly grabbed a lighter and his favorite carved pipe, his pocket watch, given to him as a child by his late father, and an extra set of clothes. With these items and the clothes he wore on his back, there wasn't much else he thought he needed. His eyes roamed over the room; looking at all he was being forced to leave behind, wishing he could take it all with him. Or better, wishing he didn't have to do this at all. That damn Alfred. Suddenly the thought of murder occurred to the Brit. He was a pirate after all, but he couldn't. Not to Alfred. Though they were enemies, there was something about their rivalry that Arthur would miss if he was gone. He would have no competitive spirit. Without that, he would possibly lose his motivation. That said, murder was out of the question.

For now.

Arthur, in his remaining time, busied himself with straightening up the room, trying to keep his mind off what he was having to leave. It was all that he had known for as long as he could remember. Losing it now was like losing his home. But no matter! He was a pirate, damn it! He wasn't supposed to have these pathetic emotions. He would find a way to trump Alfred F. Jones! He would not let this ruin his voyage. He was supposed to adapt to what was new, not mourn what could have been! He would find a way to make this work, he knew he would. He was Captain Arthur Kirkland, the best damn pirate to ever sail the seas.