Jonathon awoke to the somewhat violent pitching of the ship beneath him and the heavy sound of thunder above him. The nightmare of the burning ship and his father had replayed itself except this time he knew who the man being threatened was. His father had been holding a knife to Teague's throat and Jonathon had for some reason been thoroughly enraged and angered. He had advanced upon his father with blazing walls of flame encasing him and embodying his fury. But Jonathon wasn't quite sure why he was so angry at his father, nor why he was so protective of Teague. If anything it should have been reversed.

Another pounding of thunder sent shivers down Jonathon's spine and he gave up on the thought of getting any more sleep. He rolled over and sat up, biting down a yawn and slipping out of his bed. He staggered a few steps forward before he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He had fallen asleep in the same dirty white shirt and faded brown pants that he'd been wearing for weeks upon weeks and his hair was matted and dirty. He'd given up long ago on mourning the absence of baths on board the ship and as a result he'd become rather used to the disgusting smells. He leaned in closer to get a better look at himself and he noticed the dark purple circles under his eyes from stress and working and training… His skin was also oddly pale underneath his acquired tan and looked rather thin.

He backed away from the mirror and let his gaze roam to the door, where he slowly began walking to. He hadn't realized his appearance had become so pitiful. That might explain why Teague had been taking it easier on him lately. Even he was a little shocked at how much the entire ordeal had taken out of him. Cautiously he poked his head out of the door and looked over to the right, his attention suddenly focused on interacting voices. He frowned at the sound trying to discern it, but failing. Much against his better judgment, Jonathon slowly stepped out into the little wooden cove and craned his head to see if it was just his imagination, or if someone was really outside of Teague's cabin, standing in the doorway. A sudden lurch of the ship brought him slamming back into the door he'd just shut behind him and he let out a yelp as he hit his arm wrong. Another roll sent him to the ground and he found himself groaning in a curled up ball. He didn't know what happened other than he'd hurt his arm again. He'd had problems with it since Spencers had twisted it so long ago.

When he was finally able to uncurl himself he found that he was eye-level with a soggy pair of boots. Painfully he ground his teeth and closed his eyes, fear prickling him all over. Now he'd done it. No one was supposed to be allowed on deck except for the watch, after curfew and here Jonathon was. And caught snooping nonetheless. There was another pitch but the boots' owner did little more than sway with it. Jonathon answered with a groan as the boat rose and put more pressure on his hurt arm. With a panicky gasp, he registered Teague's angry voice as a second pair of boots appeared behind the first.

"Wot in tha… You spying little piece of-"

"Please! Keep your temper for once will you? It's obvious he's hurt himself. Let's deal with that first, eh?"

Jonathon cringed when he felt large hands underneath his arms, hauling him up. He tried to pull away, but the strong arms jerked him backwards and held him against a strong chest. Opening his eyes a little he registered the infuriated eyes of Teague glaring at him before he turned and retreated back to his cabin. Without much choice he was led by the man holding him up to Teague's cabin. He managed a glance over his shoulder and noticed with confusion that there were men from another crew huddling together and interacting with a few of Teague's crew, being pelted by rain.

"Easy does it lad. In there, not out on deck."

As if to prove his words, the man gently nudged him towards the doorway of Teague's cabin and continued steering them both on through it. Pausing for a moment to take all of it in, Jonathon sucked in a sharp breath at the rich decorations adorning the room. Even the Persian rug farther back towards Teague's sleeping quarters signified richness. Gently, Jonathon's guide eased him to a chair, where he cradled his arm against his chest. Teague cast them both a dark look before fishing in his desk for a ring of keys and retrieving his coat. Mumbling and swearing under his breath he left Jonathon to the unknown figure behind him, to go fetch the ship's doctor. As soon as the door slammed shut, the figure sauntered into view to the desk and twirled around to face Jonathon.

He felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked at the young man before him. He was the spitting image of Teague, save for the eye color. Same long sharp nose, defined cheek-bones and tanned, smooth skin. His hair was the same midnight black color, with a thick wavy consistency to it and he had the same regal look to him. However, there was something in those blue-green eyes that caught Jonathon off guard. But the man smiled at him and crossed his arms.

"So who are you? Teague's not one ta just open 'is arms and let anyone on board."

He grinned at Jonathon but Jonathon was careful to answer, seeing something keen in those eyes.

"Didn't really have a choice I guess."

The man frowned and looked to the door before he turned his gaze back to Jonathon and eased forward, that spark in his eye now a sharp concern.

"Are you alright? You don't look so healthy."

"I'm fine."

"I know my father has a temper-"

Jonathon's head shot up, his ebony eyes suddenly stretched to their limits. Did he say 'father'?

"I see you're shocked… Hmmm. Well I must be awfully important to be talked of so much."

He laughed and Jonathon found himself entranced. This stranger was Teague's son and yet they were polar opposites. He loosened the grip on his hurt arm as he looked to the man in awe. He was still so young too. He couldn't have been older than twenty-one.

"I'm sorry. I just-"

"Oh it's fine lad. He and I butt heads quite often. Worst fight we ever had was a few years ago."

Jonathon frowned and looked down. He didn't really want to get into the family drama. All he'd done was wake up in the middle of a storm and look where it got him. Damn his curiosity.

"He actually didn't want to let me go. From the ship I mean. We had a big argument about it. He was just too-"

He paused and churned the air with his hands searching for the right word. Jonathon, caught up in the moment, was more than ready to supply him with the right words.

"Overbearing? Demanding?"

The man looked piercingly to Jonathon and suddenly something in the air shifted. The man's young face creased with anger and knowing and Jonathon's drained to fear and understanding. The knives of pain in his arm grew sharper and the temperature in the room dropped.

"He's keeping you hostage here isn't he?"

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