A/N: Standard disclaimer, etc. Blah. Ok, boring stuff out of the way…

First of all I'd like to thank all of those who commented and added this story. And then I'd like to respond to the comments I can:

Marie S Zachary: I'd love to hear your ideas and I'm glad that you thought it was so good.

PhantomVarg: Thank you, I'm glad. I'll be getting things up quicker, I hope.

Awahili: I didn't find any either. Hey, I'd love to see it if you wrote one, though. Will do.

sasunaru-lover1029: Haha, alright. Thank you.

saphirefox-irl: Sure thing

iPod Junkie: Thank you. Me too, seeing as how things pop unexpectedly in my head.

incarnate of evil: Haven't the foggiest. We'll have to see, won't we? Sure thing.

UnkeptMind Thank you! Me too. Hm, I'll have to use that nickname for him later on.

Thanks for reading!

Oh, and sorry about the shortness. It'll get longer later.

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The White Streak

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Chapter II - Monotony

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Life on the ship was monotonous. Barker remained in the dark hold for an unknown amount of time, days only being marked by receiving his rations of a slop that was some cross of soup and oatmeal.

All he could think of was his beloved wife and daughter. He would find a way back to them, somehow,

Barker had recovered completely, and was healthy enough to pace about the hold, sometimes jumping to look out to the main deck, only to have his fingers trodden on as he hung from the bars. Mostly he sat, brooding in the dark.

One day a patch of light came from one of the walls, accompanied by creaking. A door had opened. Barker knew from exploring the area many times that the door was the only way in or out besides the grate above him. Food was delivered and dishes and buckets of refuse were taken from there, most likely because they didn't know whether or not he was sane, and decided to be safe.

A man stood in the doorway. "Benjamin Barker?" He called cautiously.

Barker walked calmly out of the shadows he had fled into at the arrival of his unexpected visitor. "Yes," he croaked out in affirmation. After so many days of disuse, he had almost lost the ability to speak.

"Come with me then, lad," the sailor told him grabbing onto Barker's chained arms. They went deeper in to the ship until they reached a celled paddock.

"'ere's where you'll be staying, mate."

Barker said nothing, only stared at the brig while the sailor unshackled his arms. "Thank you," he croaked, massaging his blistered wrists as the sailor pushed him into the cell. As the door closed and locked behind him, he observed his new living space.

"Not much one for talkin', is ye?" The sailor asked with a chuckle.

"One would think I'd forgotten how to," Barker croaked ruefully with a slight smirk on his face. He had to briefly wonder where the smirk had come from, as he rarely did so in England. It was all smiles back in the place he belonged, after all.

The sailor chuckled, breaking his reverie. "Ye ain't forgot yer humor though, it seems, lad. Though I can imagine you forgot yer voice. Yeh were so quiet we fergot yeh was in the hold."

Barker did not reply, and said nothing for a time, so the sailor respectfully left him to his thoughts.