In the end, Arthur told Gil everything.

It was probably crazy, baring his soul like that to a guy he'd only just met, especially one as flippant as Gil. But at the same time, Arthur had seen the way the Prussian was with his supposed brother, Ludwig. There was definitely a lot of affection between them, despite their differences. Arthur felt that Gil would understand the things he'd done for his brother.

By the end, Gil seemed more impressed than horrified. For a moment Arthur wondered whether trusting him had been a good idea after all.

Then Gil clapped him on the back and said, "I know ya can't get over it easy, but when ya do, remember that blood ain't the only thing that makes family. I'm not sayin' replace your bro, but it helps to know someone's there for ya."

Arthur smiled. Judging from the blush that stood out clear on Gil's pale cheekbones, that hadn't been easy to say as Gil was trying to make out. "Thanks, Gil."

Before Gil could reply, Ludwig stomped out and clipped him round the head.

"Ow, Luddy! Jeez, what was that for?"

"Stop bothering Arthur. He's a guest on this ship, he doesn't deserve to have you inflicted on him. There's several people who are not pleased with you at the moment," He said sternly. "Right now, Roderich wants to talk to you."

Gil paled. "Oh shit. This is about Lizbet, isn't it? Wait! Before ya do anythin' rash, remember I'm your brother, yeah? Luddy?"

The rest of his pleas faded as Ludwig dragged the struggling Prussian below deck.

Arthur shook his head, grinning fondly. He turned to lean against the ship's rails, staring out at the open sea. He hadn't thought about the - about what had happened, for almost a year now, blocking it out as effectively as he could. Now that he was thinking about it he realised that the memories were as potent and painful as ever.

He reached for his watch, needing to feel its weight. He cursed fluently when he remembered that bastard Bonnefoy had taken it. The memory of his brother's grin drifted intangibly through his mind.

That was it. He would get his watch back - he had to. Tonight, he would sneak into Bonnefoy's cabin and find his watch, and then he would do what he should have done days ago.

He was going to kill Francis Bonnefoy.

Francis couldn't sleep.

For the thousandth time, he drew out Arthur's pocket watch, holding it up to the shafting moonlight as if the silver rays would illuminate whatever it was he was missing.

Whichever way he looked at it, it was just a normal watch - maybe a little older and a little more worn than most, but there was nothing spectacular about it. It had been crafted in dull metal and a window in the back showed cogs that were much too old to be functional. The initials on the watch, A.K., were Arthur's, so there couldn't be some sentimental value to it.

So why was Arthur so het up about being without it? There was no other explanation for what he'd seen earlier. He'd come up on deck to see Arthur leaning over the side of the ship, and he'd watched the Englishman's hand come up to reach for the watch, only to drop in disappointment when he remembered where it was.

Guilt gnawed at his insides. Maybe he should just give the watch back and try acting decently towards Arthur.

No. He was a pirate. Acting decently was not his forte; guilt was an occupational hazard. Closing his hand over the watch, Francis turned over and tried twice as hard to fall asleep.

The sky was unusually clear, and Arthur had no trouble seeing as he made his way into the captain's cabin. He held the dagger tightly. The gilt handle pressed its pattern into his palm. The blade was short but wickedly sharp. He took a shuddering breath and looked down at Bonnefoy.

Suddenly an image of the only other person he'd killed flashed before his eyes. That person had had the same blond hair as Bonnefoy.

He shifted the dagger. Why should that matter? This was a pirate. A man who had stolen from him, imprisoned him. He shouldn't be hesitating because of something that had happened so long ago.

But the feeling of knowing that a life had been snuffed out because of what he had done was something Arthur never wanted to feel again. He lowered the dagger. Nothing, not even freedom, was worth that. He couldn't kill Francis.

Shaking, Arthur buried the dagger in the wooden table. His head spun as he stumbled out onto the deck, gulping in the midnight air.

It wasn't until several hours later that he remembered about his watch.

Francis tapped the rim of his spyglass thoughtfully, thinking about what his conversation with Antonio earlier.

"Maybe he hates you, maybe he doesn't. At least he feels something for you, right? And there's a fine line between love and hate. Like my little Romano, he always claims to hate me! But then he says something or does something and I know he really loves me a lot."

"Merci, Antoine. I just hope you're right."

Francis sighed and raised the spyglass to his eye to scan the horizon.

All of a sudden, a red eye blinked at him from the other end of the telescope, and he nearly yelped in surprise to see Gil's scowling face in front of him.

"Hey, Bonfoy," he said angrily. "What you doing to Artie?"

Francis blinked. "What?"

"After me and Artie got drunk together, Luddy said ya looked after him. And then next morning I see Artie hurryin' out your cabin, pullin' on his jacket and scowlin' away. And now Luddy says that Artie was in your cabin last night as well? Are ya molestin' him or summat?"

"Not yet, sadly. But are you sure? He wasn't with me last night. What time did Ludwig see him?"

"Dunno, but it was late. Why?"

Francis frowned. He was still alive and Arthur's watch was safely in his pocket. So why had Arthur bothered sneaking into his room?

Maybe Arthur had taken something of his in retaliation. Muttering an apology to Gil, Francis hurried back to his cabin.

Nothing was missing; the only difference was that the knife he'd given Arthur to kill him with had been driven deep into Francis' previously unblemished mahogany desk. Grasping the hilt firmly Francis yanked it out, wincing at the gash left in the dark wood.

He turned the dagger over and frowned. So Arthur had been in his room last night. It must have been the perfect opportunity for him to kill Francis.

So why was the dagger embedded in a table rather than between his ribs?

Arthur knew he looked like shit, but it didn't help his mood when an immaculately dressed Francis recoiled in horror at the sight of his tousled hair and dark circles.

"What do you want," he said.

For a moment Francis almost looked guilty. Then his face returned to its usual unreadable mask. His hand, which had been toying with one of the weapons at his belt, moved to touch Arthur's forehead.

This time it was Arthur's turn to flinch back. The cold metal guard-rail pressed into his spine and he was reminded of that first day, when Francis had effortlessly pinned him to the side of the ship.

"You haven't got a temperature," Francis mused. "What's the matter? You seem different."

He grunted noncommittally. "Didn't get much sleep."

Francis sighed. Reaching into his coat he drew out the dagger. He held it out to Arthur.

Arthur looked at it, hands stubbornly in his pockets.

Francis sighed again. "Whether you take it or not, I'm not going to let you go."

"I know that. But this is my choice, and I'm choosing not to take it."

"Francis!" Someone was calling from the poop deck. They both turned and Arthur saw a figure waving urgently, backlit so that only a silhouette was visible.

Francis signalled that he was on his way before turning back to Arthur. The dagger was still in his hand; flicking open his coat, he shoved it back into his belt. "Je suis desolé," He said softly, blue eyes earnest.

Then he strode off across the deck, leaving Arthur to curse his lack of knowledge of the French language.

A/N - Okay, so that was the first continuation chapter :) Good? Bad? I'd love to hear from you either way~ Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a review! :)