Matthew

The screams of the men on the ship pierce my ears. I can still hear them as they scream for help while being burned alive. Within seconds after Carl dropping the match, the ship went up in flames. Apparently Carl knew he'd die this whole time. He'd cut all but one lifeboat from the ship and locked the door to the gun cellar. The officers didn't have a chance. It was only by chance that some officer had a gun on hand that I got shot.

The air chills me to the bone, and I can only imagine what it does to her. She sits, her back to me, and shivers as the wind blows to her directly. You'd think these officers would pack a blanket or two while sailing during October, but apparently they weren't that smart, unfortunately for us.

"Hey," I say, teeth chattering, "are you okay?"

She shakes her head. "No."

I gingerly press my hand to her shoulder. Her clothing is soaked, and she's absolutely freezing. "My God. Come here." She slides over to me without much dispute. I doubt she has any argument in her at this point. I start unbuttoning her clothing, but she pulls away.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Saving your damn life." She doesn't question me again as I strip her down to her undergarments. Her lips are blue, her skin cold as ice. Much more of this and she'd be dead by morning. Finally, I unlace her corset and press herself to me.

"I'm so cold," she whispers, her voice shaky.

I run a hand down her neck. "I know." I pull her down to the floor of the boat and remove my coat, wrapping it around her. I pull gloves from a pocket and put them on her feet. "We're almost to land, less than a kilometer. It'll be okay."

She still shivers, but a smile lines her lips. "Why are you helping me after all the trouble I've put you through?"

I let out a sigh. That's a question I've been asking myself for quite some time. "Because it's the right thing to do." The right thing it may be, but we both know I'm lying.

"H-How's your arm?" she whispers, her breath puffing out from the cold.

Truth be told, I hadn't thought much about my arm until now. I've had plenty of injuries throughout my line of work, and this has definitely be one of my least obtrusive. "I'll probably need stitches if we ever get into a town, but other than that I'm perfectly fine." But I'm not fine. I never will be fine. I haven't been fine since I was banished from my home by my father's wife.

"

"I'm sorry this is happening to you. You don't deserve it."

A smile tugs at my lips. "Trust me. I deserve this and more for all I've done."

"And what have you done, Matthew?"

The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. I should know by now that she'll question anything and everything about me. "I'll tell you what I've done when you tell me your name."

Her eyes narrow, though I can see the playfulness dancing in them. "Touché."

We say nothing for a few minutes, the only sounds being shaky breaths and the steady splashes of the water. Even with my clothing, she's still chilled to the bone. Even with my clothing, she won't make it to the morning. We need help, and we need it fast. If God ever did show any liking to me whatsoever, this would be the time to show it, if not for my sake, then for hers.

"It doesn't matter, you know," she whispers, her voice so faint that I almost miss it.

"What doesn't?" I take her hand and run my fingers down them, hoping to warm them at least a little.

"If I die. It doesn't matter."

I shake my head. "It matters to me."

"You just met me. How could it matter to you?"

"Do you realize how much easier this could've been if I just let those men have you? You've been a real pain in my ass."

She lets out the slightest laugh, her breath clouding. "That doesn't answer my question."

"You matter to me, unknown female, because I've risked a lot for you. I've risked my life on several occasions."

She scoffs. "Excuse me, but I believe most of the problems we encountered were because of you. And it doesn't help that apparently you're very popular with Prince Henry."

"Prince Henry is snobbish pig that can't find a woman to marry him so he beds all the maids instead."

She snorts. "And you know this how?"

I shrug. "I used to work there, remember?"

Rolling her eyes, she says, "Whatever you say, Matthew. If that even is your real name."

I open my mouth to answer her, but out of the corner of my eye, I see a light flash. "My God," I breathe.

"What?"

"A ship."

She sits up, wrapping my coat tighter around her shoulders. "English?"

I narrow my eyes, searching for anything that could identify the English. The only thing that could be worse is pirates. The lights on the ship are dim , but they're close enough for me to see the slightest tint of blue. "No, French."

She closes her eyes and lets out a relieved laugh. "Thank the Lord."

"Don't get too excited yet. We don't know if they've even seen us yet." I look off into the waters again. "Do you have anything to signal?"

She grabs the supply box and digs around in it for a moment. "Matthew," she breathes, "look."

I glance at her, and my eyes immediately find the weapon she holds in her hands. "My God." I grab the pistol and run my fingers across its metal. "Carl was a gift from the heavens." Cautiously, I aim the gun toward the sky and fire. The sounds pangs violently in my ears, but I force myself to shake it off. I fire again, hoping to get the ship's attention, but after waiting a few minutes, they make no motion to come.

"Give me the gun, Matthew."

I glance at her and send her a strange look. "What?"

"Give me the damn gun." I obey her, but shock does not wear off my face. "How many bullets do we have?"

"Uh, five, I think."

"They're watching us, you know."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What?"

"They're watching to see what we do. It's a tactic. They can wait for weeks if they find us interesting enough."

"Well, we can't wait for weeks."

"You don't think I know that?"

"You're a woman. I don't exactly automatically assume you're educated in militia tactics or weaponry."

A fierce smirk spreads across her face, and I suddenly believe I made a mistake. "Watch me, Matthew." One shot. Another seconds later. Another. And then another once more after ten seconds.

"You just used most of our bullets," I hiss.

And then I hear a shot. But it's not from our gun.

A smirk lines her lips. "What was that about women not knowing militia tactics?"

Another shot.

"What did you do?"

Another shot.

"I saved our asses."

Another shot.

She lifts up the gun and fires, discarding our last bullet. The ship's masts shift, and then they're coming right for us. "How…?"

"Don't disrespect women, Matthew. It not only makes you seem like a prick, but it also proves your raw insignificance to this world."

To my dismay, my cheeks redden. I haven't blushed over a women since I was 16 years old. I open my mouth to say something, but the look in her eye tells me to keep my mouth shut. I don't even realize how long we're waiting until the ship is not 100 feet from us.

"Who are you and what do you need?" a man shouts.

"Citizens of France! We've capsized from our ship!" I shout. Not technically a lie. I'm a citizen of France, and we have capsized.

After a moment of silence, they drop us a rope ladder. "Come up then, but make haste."

She sends me a smug glance and reaches for the ladder first. As she takes a few steps, I stand there, baffled. God, what have I done? Shaking my head, I follow her up the ladder, my arm burning with the strain. By the time I make it up, she's already deep in conversation with a crew member.

"Please, Sir. We just need medical attention and safe place to rest for a few hours."

The officer sighs. "I don't think it's possible, ma'am."

She slips her palm out, letting it face the officer. "Please reconsider."

His face grows white. I lean over to see her hand, but she slides it into my coat. Finally, the officer says, "I'll… find something for you, ma'am." He turns away, heading back into his quarters.

The ship is vibrant and full of life, quite different from the one we were just on. The blue informs are quite comforting to me after years of seeing red. It makes me feel safe. It almost feels like home.

I push the thought away before I can dwell much on it. The important thing is we're not much farther from Paris. It's still a long journey, but each step brings us closer. Hopefully it gets much better after this particular one.

"What'd you say to him?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she replies, brushing a piece of blonde hair from her face that had escaped her bun. I never noticed how short it was until now.

I roll my eyes. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

She snorts. "Don't flatter yourself, Matthew. I'm not mad at you. For now, at least."

"Then why won't you tell me what you said to him?"

She whips her body around to face me. With crossed arms, she says, "Since when have we shared every part of our personal lives?"

My hands ball into fists. "How is that personal? I'd like to know what you said to a man that could save our lives!"

"It's personal to me, Matthew. And I saved your life, so don't get all high and mighty with me."

An officer comes behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I jump."I was told you need medical attention, Sir. I'll show you the medic if you follow me." I glance at her before I turn away, and then I know I should say nothing before I make the situation worse. Instead, I follow the officer into a room below deck.

"So you're friends with that one, eh?" he asks as we descend the stairs.

"Do you know her?"

He groans. "God, I wish. She's famous. And gorgeous, I might add."

I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. I have to admit, this whole thing is rather curious. "How is she famous?"

"Well, I don't know," he says as we walk down a corridor. "Nobody here except the Captain and Rollins knows. All I know is King Louis ordered we accept anyone with this certain marking on their hand. It seems your friend has it, I suppose."

I suppose she does. What else has she kept from me? Immediately curse that thought. We've known each other not two days. I don't even know her name.

Finally, we arrive in a room, and that's where the officer leaves me. The doctor stands off in a corner, fiddling with some instruments. "Sit." He gestures to a table on the far side of the small room. I do so, narrowing my eyes as he walks over to me. At his request I take off my shirt and allow him to examine my arm. "I see no infection," he mumbles. "That girl did good pouring the whiskey over it."

"How'd you…?"

"You can smell it a mile away, son." He threads a needle and pours alcohol over it before taking a swig himself. As he begins the first stitch, I grab the liquor and take a sip myself. "That girl do this to you?" he asks as a smile tugs on his lips.

I snort. "No, but she wants to, I'm sure."

"Don't take it too roughly. Women like to play games."

"Well, she is not playing a game. She's bitter and cold and stupid and—"

"Don't call her stupid, Son. She is not stupid, and never call her stupid again."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Why? Do you know her?"

"Of course not, but I can already tell. She's one of the brightest women I've ever seen. Well-educated, I'm sure. Don't underestimate her just because she's a woman."

"Well, she's a very stupid, bright woman."

"Beware. Don't make that one mad." He pats my back when he finishes my stitching. We're silent for a few minutes as he wraps my arm up. Escorting me to the door, he nods. "I wish you good luck, Son. In business and life."

"Wait, what's your name?"

He smiles. "James."

(A/N: Wow. Ok, it's been three weeks since I last updated, and I realize you're probably wondering why. You have all been so wonderful to me, so you deserve an explanation:

I… can't write anymore. I started on FF because it looked fun, because I wanted to write. It made me happy and gave me something to do. I joined this website two years ago, and I have made so many wonderful friends. For so long writing was this surreal thing that I loved to do, that I couldn't wait for, but now, well, it's something I dread.I don't know what happened. When i was writing AATY I was SO excited, but something happened. I don't have the will to write anymore. It's a chore, something I hate, and I can't do it to myself anymore.

So I can't keep writing this way. I've tried for so long to please everyone, but I can't anymore. This is why I will most likely not continue this story. I thank you for reading this, and maybe I'll try to continue sometime, but I can't. It causes me too much stress and anxiety. I'm sorry.

Weatherbug02)