Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.

A/N: Yes. I admit that I deserve to be publicly flogged. I must appologize tenfold for the delay in posting this chapter... I had a couple paragraphs written for the longest time, and then I developed a sort of writer's block in which I knew what I wanted to say... just not how to express it. Then, I had to rewrite half of the chapter several times because I simply was not happy with it. Then I had midterm exams... which yeah. Not a good combination. So yes, I am extremely sorry for the delay. However, I took special care to make this chapter longer in retribution. With that said, I hope you enjoy it. This is the final 'setting-the-stage' chapter. Things will pick up from here. I promise. Enjoy. xo

FrUKisLove: My most sincere appologies! I hope you find the wait to be worth it. =)

"Resilient"

When most of the men had joined the crew of the Wicked Thorn, Arthur's behavior had come as a surprise to them. The crew had expected a brash sea captain—a natural cut-throat. It was an expectation that had intimidated and thrilled them at the same time. To work under such a fearless leader was an honor each crew member longed for. Eagerly, they embraced the chance to serve the great English sea captain. Therefore, it came as a shock to them when they finally met the esteemed Captain Kirkland.

When the crew first boarded the Wicked Thorn, Arthur walked before them, taking in the men who would serve him. From his eyes, he had gathered a worthy crew. He had been extremely fastidious while making the selection for his crew, simply because he could afford to. He was Arthur Kirkland, the most esteemed sea captain in all of England; he could be particular when it came to who would help run his ship. Looking at his crew, he could detect a fire—a passion—in their eyes. The assorted-colored orbs held power—strength—but in controlled magnitudes. These men would be loyal, courageous, and unyielding—as any crew of seamen should be. However, these men would also be thoughtful, and not reckless. It was the perfect assortment of men for a ship's crew—for Captain Arthur Kirkland's crew.

At the very moment Arthur was inspecting his men, the men were scrutinizing their new captain. Physically, he failed to uphold their expectations. Captain Kirkland was not a tall man in possession of bulky muscles; in fact, he was shorter and leaner than most of his fellow Englishmen. Their eyes did not perceive a single scar on his flesh to commemorate a bravely-fought battle. There was no physical trait that confirmed that Arthur would be the captain his reputation held him to. At this thought, the new crew of the Wicked Thorn deflated momentarily: the zeal for serving the esteemed Captain Kirkland dimming slightly.

However, it was in the few moments after they silently questioned what they had gotten themselves into that they truly started to respect their new captain for the first time. After the initial disappointment in Arthur's physical expectation, the men were able to view their captain as an ordinary man and not a god-like figure who was supposed to be so much higher than themselves. With that ability, the men were able to judge him as an Englishman, and in that degree, he did not fail.

The men noticed how Arthur stood proud and erect, with his head held high. Though his actions did not make him tall, his posture ascertained strength and determination within the man. The crew saw in his eyes a sense of justice—an unbiased fairness—in which he made all of his judgments. Though small in stature, the new crew could tell that Captain Arthur Kirkland was a good man. As that agreement was reached among the men, it was not difficult for them to pledge their loyalty to their new captain.

Arthur recalled this monumental moment with an inward sigh as he stood upon the bow of his ship, surveying his crew's movements. It was in that first meeting when his men had been issued a promise for their new leader. He had sworn to be strong, courageous, fair-minded, and honest to his men—all without the articulation of a single word. As an English gentleman, he always held true to a pledged vow.

Arthur Kirkland had always prided himself on the fact that he never failed to put his entire self into the task he set out to accomplish. It was a policy that he held himself to: to always give his absolute best. Arthur did not do this for fame or recognition, but because it was just how a gentleman like himself should behave. Anything less was for the weak and savage.

His current task, as the captain of the Wicked Thorn, was to be the leader that his men expected and deserved. The incident could not and would not affect that pledge at all. Thus, he had thrown himself into the façade that nothing out of the ordinary had taken place nearly three months ago when Alfred was suddenly banned from stepping foot on his ship again.

To his men, Arthur displayed nothing but the well-known stoic face of their captain. From the moment he stepped out of his cabin the day after the incident, his countenance masked his inner turmoil. As the days passed, Captain Kirkland had begun to master his indifference to the situation. It was feigned from the start, but Arthur slowly progressed to the point where he could think about that day and the memories it had shattered—with only slight feelings of loss and sorrow at the recollection.

Upon reaching that milestone, Arthur ceased his reliance on the liquor cabinet in his quarters. It took a fortnight before he was able to wean himself down to a shot or two a night, depending on the particular evening's haunting memories. Though he was ashamed to admit he had succumbed to his old habits after the incident, he was quite proud to acknowledge that he had hid his vice well. Perhaps his thespian skills had improved? Not a soul on his ship even suspected he had started drinking again—why would they? He had sworn temperance...long ago. It had been a different time, a different Arthur Kirkland. What was it now? Another broken promise.

Despite his fall from grace, Arthur felt oddly content. He had put his entire being into erasing the memories of him. His nights were no longer entirely sleepless, nor plagued with countless nightmares of his reaction. Arthur no longer needed to delude himself with alcohol, for his mind and heart had hardened to keep such trivial memories from reshowing their faces. He had commanded emotional detachment from his soul, and it had made him stronger. The old Arthur—distracted by false hopes of something more to life—was gone; that Captain Kirkland no longer existed. He no longer existed either. That time—those memories—were dead. Had they ever meant anything more to Arthur, they no longer did. He meant nothing.

Arthur pulled himself from his inner thoughts with a curt nod. He watched from the bow as his men prepared to bring the Wicked Thorn into port. Their travels had been long and tedious; it sent a warm fulfillment through Arthur's core to see the English coast again—home. He took in the sight of England's glory with a final inspection of the shoreline before turning on his heal to assist his crew. Arthur's eagerness to dock was matched by each of his men, and the captain would not prolong their reunion longer than necessary.

With a slight smirk—the closest Arthur had come to a smile over the past three months—Captain set fervently to his work. At this rate, the Wicked Thorn would be in port by sunset; tonight would be a night of celebration.

A/N: I hope it was worth the wait. I think this is the chapter I've had to work the hardest on for this story thus far. I just couldn't get it right. Anyway~~Much thanks and love goes out to all of the reviewers and subscribers of this story. I can't begin to explain how much I appriciate the time you take from your schedule to read my work. Thank you! With that, I encourage everyone to post a review and let me know what you think. I will try extremely hard to get the next chapter posted sooner~I'm hoping that since the story is going to start picking up, I will be more inspired to write it. =) Until next time, xo. -Rhea