Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you enjoy the next chapter. It's where things start getting awkward…

Ivan paced the length of Francis' cabin, polished black boots striking the floor. "So we have a problem," he said. A soft accent lilted his words. "Our agreement was that neither one of us would disturb the other by encroaching on his territory. You are powerful, I am powerful. We would destroy each other in a fight."

"The storm blew us off course. I didn't realise how far we drifted."

"It is forgiven, comrade." Francis looked up in surprise. What…? Opposite him, Ivan smiled encouragingly. "My sister tells me you have someone for me?"

Francis frowned as if confused and Ivan's face darkened.

"One of my prisoners escaped. He was an insubordinate thief, and I had been teaching him a lesson when he broke out. The guards were useless, I had to have them… Replaced."

Francis suppressed a shiver. The look of cruel satisfaction in the Russian's eyes revealed the true meaning of replaced, and it wasn't something Francis wanted to dwell on. "Describe him?"

"He was a Prussian, albino."

Francis furrowed his brow as if trying to remember. Finally he shook his head. "Sorry. I haven't seen anyone like that."

Ivan's smile stretched thin with barely concealed menace. "Stop protecting him, Francis. Or I'll really make you sorry."

"Ivan -"

"Hand him over."

The door slammed, disrupting their conversation, and Arthur flew in, eyes blazing with anger.

There was a silence. Then Ivan smiled gently. "Hello, Arthur. How have you been?"

Arthur growled and sprung forwards faster than Francis had thought possible. There was a hissing flash and suddenly Arthur's knife was buried in Ivan's side.

Ivan's smile widened. He yanked out the dagger and grabbed Arthur's wrist in a tight grip. "That was rude, Arthur. All this time and not even a proper greeting? What happened to those aristocrat manners you used to have?"

Arthur's eyes flickered down to his wrist. "I wouldn't waste my time being polite to filthy scum such as yourself."

"Arthur!" Francis said sharply. He turned to the Russian. "Ivan, he is my property. I will discipline him myself."

Ivan laughed lightly and let go of Arthur. A welt was already swelling from the force of his grip.

He turned to Francis. "You're sure you don't know anything about the whereabouts of the thief?"

Francis nodded. "He sounds like he'd be hard to forget."

Ivan kissed his teeth. "That makes things more difficult. You remember the agreement we made, don't you?"

"I do."

"Just this once, I'll allow you safe passage."

"Thank you," Francis said, waiting for the catch.

"But in exchange, I want Arthur."

A muscle jumped in Francis' jaw. "Why?"

Ivan smiled. His violet eyes hardened. "He needs to learn his place."

"No."

Ivan lunged forwards and roughly jerked Arthur's face upwards. "See that expression; he defies you, Francis. Those are not the eyes of a man who has been broken. He is not afraid of you. You need to show him pain, show him fear."

"I shall. But when I break him, I want to have the pleasure of doing so myself," Francis replied, ignoring Arthur's furious glare. "Recently we robbed a Spanish ship carrying treasure from the New World. Would you let us leave freely if I gave you a quarter of it?"

"All or nothing," Ivan said.

"A third."

"Half."

"Done. I'll have it loaded onto your ship by nightfall."

Ivan nodded. He turned to go, before stopping and looking back. "Oh, Francis. I was wondering about Jeanne?"

Francis stiffened. How did Ivan know about Jeanne? He nodded warily.

"She was in the navy, wasn't she?"

"Army."

"Ah, that's right. We met her, didn't we, Arthur?"

Arthur's head flew up. He stared at Francis, guilt stark on his features. "She was…?"

"Mmm," Ivan smiled pleasantly. "She was a brave one, wasn't she? She went through nearly a week of torture before you shot her. Never gave us anything."

If Francis had been able to move, he would have shot Ivan where he stood.

His Jeanne, brave, sweet, proud Jeanne, in the hands of this sadist?

Ivan touched his hat in farewell. "A pleasure as always, Francis."

Arthur dug his nails into his palms. He stared at the door, noted how it hung slightly loose in its frame, how the surface of the wood was slightly scratched. The knots in its grainy surface stared back at him.

He tore his gaze away and forced back the tide of memories that threatened to drown him. Francis' eyes were shut and Arthur was relieved because he knew the expression they would hold. He could read it on every line of his face.

He licked his lips. "Francis?"

The pirate's eyes flew open. He stood fluidly. In one smooth motion he flicked open his coat and drew out a pistol, which he leveled at Arthur. He aimed straight at his heart.

The last time he'd seen a gun like that… No. Arthur's heart squeezed painfully. He'd spent so long carefully building barriers, forcing himself to forget. But now the walls were down and the memories were flooding back stronger than ever.

Click. The safety was off.

Francis' finger teased the trigger.

"Shoot." Arthur spoke through cracked lips. He heard his voice, but it wasn't his own. This was a half whisper, the merest rustle of dry leaves. He swallowed. "Shoot."

Francis closed his eyes. His lips worked soundlessly.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Arthur, but it didn't hurt. It felt like his arm had gone, as if it had never been there. He pressed a hand to it and felt the warmth of blood. His fingers were shaking as Arthur held up his hand in front of his eyes. Arthur stared, mesmerised.

The pistol in Francis' hand clattered to the ground. He stared helplessly at Arthur before burying his face in his hands. "Go."

Arthur went.

Arthur's head spun. He couldn't think clearly and his arm had started to ache. Some strong whisky would help, wouldn't it? Clutching his arm Arthur headed for the galley.

He couldn't have walked more than ten paces when darkness took him and he knew no more.

When he woke up he was in Francis' cabin. Salt-crusted ropes dug into his wrists, binding his hands behind his back. His shoulders ached and he couldn't feel his left arm. His right was on fire with pain.

The tip of a knife pressed suddenly against his throat, lifting his chin and forcing him to raise his head. He met Francis' blue eyes, and for the first time they were cold.

"Murderer."

If you liked it, please do review :) And have a happy 2021! Plus a happy 2012 to all those readers who don't travel in time ;)