Kay here. I'll be brief: between a nasty cold and a ton of work, I haven't had the time to update. Please have it in your hearts to forgive me! As usual, reviews are appreciated!

"Women." Sinbad growled, maneuvering through the streets in a anger-fueled pace. He nearly forgot to bow to the pompous judge, or the greeting soldiers, or even the sweet baker on the corner of the street. Gods, he was falling apart. Just because she ran away—without giving him so much as a look.

"No appreciation. Nope. 'Thank you Sinbad, you saved my life!'" Sinbad pitched his voice slightly higher, mocking a woman who wasn't even there. Oh, but she should be able to feel his anger—isn't that how things worked? "Or 'thank you for keeping those guards off! I don't know what I would have done if they captured me!'" He cleared his throat slightly, though sure to keep his voice low. "Not a problem! Taking out armed guards is nothing, as long as it means you're safe."

He shut his mouth quickly as he passed a couple well-dressed women. He gave them a smile and nod, trying his best to ignore their giggles as they passed. He did not need to stack another embarrassment on top of the one Esmeralda already supplied him. He watched as they turned the corner, his face hot. Nope, no relief from embarrassment today.

He sighed, murmuring to himself. "I'll do anything for you." It was true; for Esmeralda, he would walk through fire, fight the worst fiends in the seven seas, even kill. Anything to keep her safe, shielded from a world that hated people like her. Unlike Sinbad, it was not so easy for her to blend in.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something going on that she couldn't tell him. Not in public.

He paused at the entrance to an alley, looking up and down the street. The area was completely clear, most of the nearby inhabitants off to do their work in a more condensed part of the city. But this was good—he wouldn't have to linger out in the open.

Footsteps quiet, he made his way down in the deeper part of the alley, where the surrounding buildings were so close to each other that the sun could only touch the streets for a couple hours a day. Darkness was king here, but that was nothing to the king of the pirates. In fact, it was his shelter.

He came to the alley's end, where a small door lay hidden in the corner. The wood was black, meant to blend in with the surroundings. His safe house—a sanctuary he gave to Esmeralda so she could hide when things got bad. It had once been his home, before his piracy was particularly lucrative, but it was too suspicious for a rich merchant to live in a hidden place. So he took a home in the center of the city, and gave this to Esmeralda as her own. Her home and their meeting place.

It wasn't exactly like he expected her to be here. As a gypsy, there were hundreds of places for her to hide in the cracks of the city, places they could go to avoid soldiers and the violence of hatred. But he had a hope.

He opened the door quietly, locking it behind him. A small lantern was lit near the entrance, illuminating the staircase that led underground. He made his way down the stairs, passing the lit lanterns. So she was here, and fairly recently—the wax had barely started to be affected.

Finally, he made it to the bottom, where there was one last door. Another lock, another means of protection. But the door was slightly open, not quite closed. Esmeralda wouldn't be so careless as to leave it open, not when she was sure to close the upstairs door. Besides, she always took every precaution, her life keeping her controlled and away from unnecessary risk. So she was waiting for him—knew he was coming.

A smile on his face, he opened the door, only to quickly hide behind it once more. Shock nearly stopped his heart. He leaned his head against the door, afraid to look behind it once more and confirm what a mere second had shown him. Esmeralda. His Esmeralda.

Knowing it must be done, he cracked the door open slightly, peeking in the small space. He wanted proof his eyes weren't lying to him. And instead he only found something more condemning.

There she was, sitting on the edge of her bed while another man lay down in it, covered by a light sheet. A blonde man. Her bed. The one he carved from mahogany, from some stupid ship from New Zealand, as a birthday—no. Shouldn't get distracted. The man murmured something unintelligible, something that made her smile. She reached for a nearby bottle, offering it to him. He smiled. Covered in her sheet. Lying in her bed. With her sitting on the edge of it. Laughing at him.

Kale was right, if only in jest. She wasn't his, perhaps she never had been. Enjoyed the benefits of being a pirate's girl, enduring having to entertain him when he came back from sea. No, that was never Esmeralda. He could never fathom her like that. Perhaps she was lonely, unable to take being left alone so long, given only short moments and empty promises. He was a fool and a cruel soul to expect that of her.

He shut the door back to the way it had been. He tried to convince himself that perhaps it was an illusion—that he was making a mistake—but there was undeniable evidence in front of him. He couldn't fight that. He also couldn't fight the guilt that this was his fault. How could he blame her when he had done so wrong?

In anger, he slammed his head against the door, wanting to force the image out of his head. He couldn't take it, no matter how reasonable it was—no matter how fair it was.

His eyes widened. "Crap." He had just revealed himself. So much for being sly, for vanishing and giving Esmeralda what she deserved.

The door opened, nearly making him fall through. He recovered quickly, straightening and making it as purposeful as possible. Esmeralda, her hand on the door, looked at him with curiosity. Her hair was slightly twisted and tangled from her run, fluffed slightly and restrained by her little headband; bright eyes looked at him eagerly; cheeks darkened lightly with a blush—or surprise; lips curved up so slightly in her teasing smile; the life within her so vibrant and open. There was innocence about her—one that shouldn't be there. Even if it was merited, shouldn't she feel the least bit guilty?

"Sinbad!" Her voice caressed him, making him ill with how much he missed it—how he wished it was his again. "I missed you!"

He couldn't restrain himself, his sorrow transformed into anger and seeped into his words. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Still playful, mocking—so ignorant and blissfully unaware of what she was doing.

"Well, for one," he turned on her, waving an angry hand at the blonde intruder, "how about him." The man glanced at Sinbad as he was signaled to before closing his eyes, bored. Oh, Sinbad wanted to murder the stranger now. It took all the power he had to restrain himself. "Company while I'm gone?"

Esmeralda opened her mouth to protest, only to quickly think better of it and shut it once more. Her eyes were dark and fierce, challenging him more than words ever could.

Then, a change. She began to laugh, a small snicker growing into a stomach-wrenching laugh. She held her stomach, unable to control herself.

Sinbad opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to shout, to yell, but her laughter prevented it. It was enough. There was no way she would take him seriously, not now—nor ever. And he had been humiliated enough already. He would not stand for any more of it.

He turned on his heels, storming off into his room in the home that was his. Of course, he was sure to send the intruder a death-threat packaged in a glare, just before he slammed the door behind him. Perhaps, when he was more willing, he'd murder the damn man—the reason everything had fallen apart. The source of his foul mood. Yeah, that would help. Besides, it was fine to kill intruders in your home, especially when they stole what was yours. Lesser men had gotten away with it.

But, for now, he would be satisfied by staring a hole of hate into his wall, arms crossed as he lay in his hammock.