I don't want to take up too much time, but I want to say that I re-read some of my earlier stuff...yeah, it kinda stunk. Really bad. I'm going to try and rewrite some of it-not change anything, but make it better. My writing still isn't perfect, but I feel it has improved a bit since, say, chapter 5. So yeah, I apologize if I hurt your brains from the stinkyness :P I shall do my best from now on!

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She always dreamed.

Every night, without fail, they would come. Whether or not she had hours of sleep or only a few moments, she would fall into that chasm, and the sights were always the same. She was in a busy street. People pushing past her, running, walking, talking. Horses calling, dogs barking, carriages creaking. The place was familiar but she couldn't place why.

She would just be standing there, looking around at the crowd. The faces would suddenly change from their previous looks of normality to dead stares, right into her eyes. Fear would hit her, a feeling of having to get out. Caroline would run, bolting across the street (to where she was running, she could never say) but always was stopped midway across. A horse, a carriage, riding towards her. Faster, faster, faster— her legs wouldn't move, couldn't move. The people stopped walking and just watched the spectacle. She'd scream and scream for someone to save her, someone to help, but they'd always just watch.

The carriage would grow closer and closer, it's driver head concealed by a tipped hat, but she knew who it was. Closer, closer, closer, and she'd give one last scream, then wake up.

Always the same, always exactly the same.

She'd grown accustomed to this. The first few times, she'd wake up in a cold sweat, with tears running down her face (a couple times, she'd even cried out, "Help me! Please!" while still mid-dream); but after a few weeks, she learned to be able to handle it in a more subtle manner: volunteering to take someone else's night watch. Sleep was a impossibility after the dream, so why should someone else have to loose rest when she could simply take double duty?

This time, however, the dream did not find her. That was her first thought when she awoke, the thought that she hadn't dreamed, odd. For a few precious moments, she lay there, breathing in and out, relishing what she would call the best night's sleep she'd had in a very long time—then she realized that she wasn't in her hammock. The sun was far too bright, far too warm on her skin. The air far too salty for the lower decks, and the creaking of the ship was missing.

Caroline opened her eyes slowly, and was met with a large piece of wood in her face. For a few seconds, she stared at it, trying to think of where she may be, and attempting to swallow back a awful taste that had settled in her mouth. Then, she remembered, and the boat shook rather violently as she shot up into full awareness.

Water. Everywhere she looked. Blue skies nearly melted into it in such away that one could hardly tell where one ended and another started. A light breeze drifted by, and hair went across her face. She went to sweep it back, and was met with a rather unpleasantly painful sensation down her skull.

"Ah-" She winced, drawing her hand back and seeing crimson stains. What had happened? She touched the side of her head, felt cool blood and her matted, sticky hair. A graze? A bullet? It didn't feel as she'd been shot—but Jack. Yes, Jack. He had a gun, didn't he? But he'd missed, although not by much. And then Archie...where was Archie?

He should have been next to her, or at least somewhere nearby, but wasn't. She surveyed the whole boat, but saw nothing, no a soul. Has Simpson done something with him? Her thoughts started to connect, and she realized a horrible thing; would Simpson have thrown him over board before cutting the boat loose?

She jumped to her feet, but keeled over when she stood, as the world heaved about her and dizziness set in. The mere jostling of her head sent cold pain up her neck, and she was reduced to a meager crawl, climbing over the seats one by one, across the boat.

Not even a seagull was heard up in the skies—they were obviously too far from land—and all that was to the listened to was the clanging of her knobby knees against oars and oak. Caroline had crawled the length of the boat, and had only Archie's dress jacket, pistol, shoes, and sword to show for it. If Simpson had thrown him overboard, why leave his jacket? She sat back, and gently swept back a sheet of her slightly waved chestnut hair. Her eyes lay upon her discovery, then were cast back over the never ending sea.

Although she loved the sea, this may have been a bit more than she'd want; in the middle of it, possibly alone, with but a extra jacket and two pistols (she maybe could use them to kill fish, but would have to save at least one bullet, as a last resort). At least she had the oars. Maybe she could row.

Funny, she thought, by the look of his things, it's almost as if..

"Caroline?"

A surprised scream escaped her throat; she spun around while simultaneously falling backwards against a seat, and then there was Archie. He was over the side, in the water, but in the middle of pulling himself out; totally soaked, with a fish in his hands and a sly grin.

She gaped at him for a moment, her head severely disciplining her for the sudden movements, "Archie. What are you doing in the water?"

"I" He pulled himself up over the side, and landed in the front most part of the bow, "was trying to catch us some fish. It could have gone better, but luckily I was able to find a very dumb one." the sound of his laugh seemed to make the pain go away, it made her want to believe that whatever had happened, it would all be alright. For a while, she forgot the fact that they were stranded in the middle of no where, and laughed with him.

"Yes, well, you could have been a bit more subtle about it." He settled himself down, then reached for his sword, "How long have we been out here?"

"Well..." Holding the fish in his left hand, he gently began to slice down the gut, "..I would place the time around late morning. The tide seems to have taken us farther out to sea, which is rather unexpected-" He reached to give her a part of the creature, she took it, and looked it over.

"Exactly how do you think that we'll be eating this?"

"You don't see a stove anywhere around here, do you?"

He couldn't not be serious, "Raw? Archie..."

"Oh, come on," He insisted, "we've done it before, don't you recall?"

"That may be so, Archie," Hesitantly, she looked over the fish, "but that doesn't mean that I would like to repeat it."

He looked as though he was going to say something smart in reply, but all joking disappeared from his face as his vision focused on something past her, "What is that?"

Caroline turned her head around and eyed the horizon; Archie was already on his feet and climbing to the stern. There was a dot on the horizon, but one getting closer; possibly sails, a ship, "One of ours?"

"Can't tell." He squinted out for a moment, then bellowed, "Ho there!" meanwhile grabbing a oar and waving it in the air, frantic in trying to attract their attention.

She scrambled to her feet as well, but tumbled about for a moment, "Archie, what the hell are you doing?"

"Would we want to miss them if it were?" He hastily said, "Over here! To your starboard!"

All manner of thoughts jumped into her head all at once, but one was prevailing, "Would we?" quiet at first, but then again, "Archie—" He looked down at her, "-would we?"

Their eyes met, his serious, hers questioning. He must know what would await him back on the Indy, who would be there waiting; it was Simpson who set them out here in the first place, what evil would he perform if they came back alive?

Archie was silent for a moment, then looked away, "We can't stay out here, Caroline...you wouldn't make it long enough." Then back to yelling, and Caroline eased herself back into the bottom of the boat, to ponder. What was that suppose to mean? Wouldn't survive—starve to death, drown, get eaten by sharks? How long would this small boat last, anyway?

He was right, as always. She may not last, but he would. Her thoughts started to get all tangled, bending in on one another until she finally bid them cease, and just simply watched as the boat sailed closer and closer, sliding further into view-a ship of the line. Just like the Justinian, but with no flag flying. Neutral? Or enemy? Or friend? Whoever they were, they knew their ways; pulling down the flag was a simple and easy way to assure your identity hidden (for the most part, anyone; some especially experience sailors could tell ships apart simply from their build). The tactic was common in surprise encounters, and the capture of the enemy.

Prisoners.

The ship loomed over the jolly boat, the large waves it created rocked them absurdly until Archie managed to grasp one of the ropes hanging from the bulkhead. They didn't hear any voices, hardly a sound. He looked at her, she back him, then over at the pistol lying prostrate on a seat. It was tempting, but then a voice, and another rope flying over the side of the deck, "Climb!"

It didn't sound foreign—actually, the accent was English. It was encouraging, and Archie wasted no time in starting to climb up, with her following suit. The bulkhead felt cold against her hands, but she managed to hold on well enough. Just as they reached the top, Caroline about to put her hand on the last slab of wood, arms appeared from over the banister and grabbed Archie by his—more hands grabbed her; they were hard, big, sturdy. She was thrown over the side and onto the deck. Her face collided with the wood in a burst of pain and a exploding light, but then were was just a lingering numbness.

"Caroline-!" A slap, a sound; everything started spinning again, but lots of voices, and all of them in English.

"Shut your bloody mouth!"

"Oh, oh ho! We got ourselves quite the catch today, gents!"

" 'Ow is it 'at 'ou oolways get 'da best stuff?"

"Captain's gonna like this one, fetch us a pretty penny at the markets. "

"Who da ya think'll pay more for 'em—the Frenchies or them Spaniards?"

What? Confusion set it as her vision started to clear, creating a group of scalawag looking men, of all shapes, sizes, and beard lengths. Between two of them, on yielding a long rod, was Archie; held by his arms, on his knees. He may have called her name again, but all of the sudden, everything was bocked out by a single black form, a huge black form, standing over her. Her eyes stung slightly from the sudden lack of light, but were able to make out a human face, sturdy, oaken, African. The man was huge—his feet almost as big as her lower arm, his muscles stupendously massive.

He eyed her from behind his chocolate colored eyes, then reached down and pulled her up by her left arm. His grasp was firm, but not as hard as the others. She barely managed to stay afoot, her dizziness- accompanied by the strong stench of rum and filth-was almost too much to bear; but she managed, and looked back up at the African. He gave out a hardy, thick laugh.

"She is a nice one, ain't she?" Another man, far smaller and drastically more bony. From the middle of a wrinkled face, sullen blue eyes squinted at her. His hair was gray, in wisps, his stature bent over and crinkled, his cloths old and torn, and his laugh was nothing like the negro; it reminded Caroline much of the shriek of the sea gull, "think I may keep this one for myself!" the sound was almost painful to her ears.

Then there was Archie, he continued to struggle between his two captors-"Keep your hands off her!"-but the hard wooden rod brought silence and a grunt of pain. Her disbelieving eyes were wide, and fear nipped at her heart, realizing where they were who they were with.

Pirates.

Pirates were murderers. She'd heard many a story of them, blood-thirsty men who only wanted gold and good rum. Scalawags with three sheets constantly to the wind, poor hygiene abounding, as well as vulgar language. But it was nothing compared to their rumored treatment of women.

Then the fear came full force, and it took everything she had not to run over to Archie and bury her face in his white shirt, which was the nearly only place of safety left. The refuge, where nothing could touch her.

Her eyes glided—still wide—back to the African, and suddenly she felt very small and naked. Vulnerable. The man was simply gigantic—his shoulders were broad and shimmered with sweat, his arms and legs appeared to be as strong as masts, hard and thick with muscles. He peered back down at her, a slight smile on his face (not a sinister one, but one that brought across the idea that he knew something she didn't, and whatever it was, it was at her own expense) and it unnerved her extremely.

The other man—the bony one—was eying Archie, looking him over and taking his face in his bony, grubby hands, "May keep 'im for ourselves, we may. Capin'll haveta get a good look at this bugga." a good sized crowd had begun to gather. All ruffian sort, most middle aged if not older. The feeling of their stares seemed to physically weigh her down. Too many eyes, too many looks.

"Somebody speak my name?" One man broke out from the crowd—or was it more like they parted to make way?-his walk was smug; his hair was long, blond, and frayed (but a few strands were tied back by a crud piece if leather); his beard was straggly and dirty, and his eyes had a look like they knew a thousand things, and she got the slight feeling he was a genius in disguise. Although, the half-empty bottle of 'something' in his right hand seemed to disprove that image.

"Well..boys," He looked between his two guests, scanning them from tip to toe, and she felt all the more compromised, "I see that we've picked up some new cargo." He ambled forward, hands hanging in his belt. The men were near silent, but the deck groaned and creaked underneath the his shoes. He seemed to be going towards Archie, but then he turned to her. Her throat went dry, his eyes met hers, and she couldn't help but look way.

"What do we have here?" His vision glided up and down her—while hers shot downward. Her fingers tips started to tingle, and she clenched them into sweaty fists, "Quite the unique catch I see-" And in a flourish, he bowed, "Captain Benjamin Wesley, at you humble service, miss." straightening up, he continued to eye her, and her large eyes, "No need to be afraid, m'lady-" He stretched his arm out, "We are a gentleman's crew, I assure you."

Chuckles rippled through the pirates, and somehow, she wasn't very assured.

"And who is you friend?" The Captain walked towards Archie, a tanned finger pointing, "Brother, perhaps? Or is he your lover?"

Her face felt like it was going to burst into flame.

Archie, luckily, was able to bring some dignity to the situation, "We're members of his Royal Majesty's Navy, and I demand you treat us as such!" It was forceful, almost stern, but the Captain simply grinned a yellow-toothed grin, then reached down and grabbed Archie's face in a gnarled palm.

"Sorry, lad; would if I could, but my respect for the King and his navy is incredibly lacking." He slapped Archie's face away, "Besides the fact you've been unforgivably rude, for we have yet to be introduced to your names."

Archie was stubborn, and he simple returned a hard stare;. Caroline didn't wish to say anything to the man; yet, mustered to action by Archie's demand, said aloud, voice quivering, but loud in an attempt to be strong, "Midshipman Archibald Kennedy and Midshipman Caroline Finny of his majesty's ship, the Indefatigable."

Wesley spun round on his heels, "Thank you, Miss Finny-" bowed again, "You see now, that wasn't so hard." then took a long swing of the 'something' in the bottle; his neck bugled out when he gulped, "See, now, this leaves only one more question, and it is a very simple one." He looked intently at the two of them, "What causes a young man and a woman to become lost in the middle of the ocean?"

What could be said? Caroline shot a glance urgently at Archie, hoping for some sort of cue as to what they should say. He appeared stubborn—which was probably the best course of action. They couldn't reveal what they were doing out there without revealing their ship, and the possibility of taking a English frigate as prize would be too much to resist for this 'gentleman's crew'. It would put the hundreds of men back there in unnecessary danger; but not answering could equally do the same to her and Archie. The phrase, 'the good of the many outweighs the needs of the few' repeated in her head, and she stayed utterly silent.

The Captain looked between them, "Nothing? You have no idea? Hm.." The man at Archie's left handed to the Captain the wooden rod, "maybe this will help you to remember." and he stuck the rod into Archie's abdomen; the young man grunted, but kept a near straight face. Neither he nor Caroline spoke. Wesley peered at her, then down at Archie, "not quite?"

He hit him again. And again. And again. The dull 'thud' as wood met flesh, and Archie's attempt to muffled his pain was the only sound to be heard. After a couple batters, The Captain would look at her and say, "not yet?"; it was torture to watch, and she tried to look away, but only met with the hard eyes of the African. Oh, how she wished she could speak! Could shout! But nothing came; nothing could. Her mouth was far too dry, and her loyalty to big. But how she wished she could speak! To only shout, it seemed, would ease her a great deal.

Soon, Archie was lying on the ground, heaving, blood oozing from a cut on his head. He tried to get back to his feet, but the Captain pushed him back down with a booted foot. "I am not a vicious man, Miss Finny." He reached into his coat and yielded a pistol; if her heart could beat any faster, it did, "but I will do what I need to do..."The 'click' of pistol as it loaded seemed so much louder, slowly moving to aim at Archie's head, which lay nearly still. "..to survive."

Thoughts rushed through her mind, ideas, words. Maybe this was all some dream and she would wake up soon—but no, it wasn't. She couldn't allow happen, but her mind flew at such a high rate that she couldn't think of what to say, or how to say it. Betray everyone back on the ship—Horatio, Captain Pellew (although the thought of betraying a certain someone didn't bother her that much)—or stand by while her best friend's brains were blown across the ground.

Time slowed. Mind raced. Mouth dry. Then a voice.

"We were running away together!"

It took her a moment to realize that that quaking, squeaking voice was hers. The Captain looked over, and at his own leisure, pulled back his gun. She swallowed, but somehow her mouth still felt dry. All eyes were upon her.

"We...we left during the night. I-I don't know where our ship would be by now. We-we're trying to-to get to France. I..I have a family friend there that we were going to stay with until the war blew over."

The silence was foreboding. Waves lolled against the ship, the wood creaked, the sails blew. She silently thanked the Lord that Archie was unconscious, that he haden't heard her 'imaginative' explanation.

It started with the Captain; his laugh was accented and light—then the rest of the crew joined in. The skinny man behind with the seagull cry, the African with his heavy chuckle. Caroline gazed around at them, then cast her eyes down. They all had a good laugh before the Captain at last put away his pistol and shook his head, "Why didn't you say so in the first place? Simon! Galliger! Take this one-" motioning to Archie- "down to the brig...I'd like to speak with Miss Finny alone in my cabin for a moment"

The two men that once held Archie leaned down and grasped him from the shoulders, then dragged him away. The three disappeared amidst the crowd—which had begun to disperse-before she felt the African's large hand on her arm. It was calloused, rough, hard, but somewhat gentle. She didn't flinch away, but let him lead her down a open way below the bridge, into the lantern-lit interior. Whether her cooperation was because of fear or because her mind was flying at such nauseating speeds that she was left unable to think, Caroline couldn't tell.

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