A/N: I finally have an update for my exceedingly patient readers. I once again apologize for the ridiculous delay and hope you will equally patient with me in your wait for the next chapter. Don't forget to leave a little review on your way out. Thank you kindly.

"Respect" defined – to feel or show deferential regard for; to avoid violation of or interference with. However one defines respect, the truth still remains that respect cannot be demanded or forced. Respect must be earned.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or any affiliated character, only my personal characters and my plot.

Chapter 3: Respect

A brisk morning chill teased her pale curls, carefully drawing Lena out of a sleep that had been empty but restful: an odd but pleasant occurrence. Her eyes remained closed for the moment, preferring to blindly take stock of her surroundings. It was quiet around and above her; the other crewmen must not be awake yet. Her ears tuned in to any proof that would affirm this suspicion, and found it soon after in the heavy, rumbling snores echoing throughout the room. This meant she would need to be careful in the process of rising and moving up to the deck. She didn't suppose they would be the most understanding of creatures if rudely awakened.

Something heavy and rough was covering her, stretching from her shoulders to her feet. Curious thing…she was certain there hadn't been anything over her when she'd gone to bed. Or had she done so, and simply could not recall in the fog of first awakening…?

Her eyes finally consented to open, looking down the line of her body to find some kind of material draped over her body—burlap, perhaps…or maybe some kind of animal hide? It was far too thick and weighted to be made of the cotton and silk which she'd dressed herself in. It was slightly damp—not that there was a great deal of material on this ship that had not come into contact with water some way or another—but it was still warm, and she found herself entertaining the act of simply curling herself down beneath this covering and returning to sleep. Or at least remain silent and motionless until she would be called up with the rest of the crew.

Chink. Chink. Chink.

Her ears perked up, catching the familiar sound from up above. Carefully, making sure to not upset anything around her and disturb the peace, she pushed the heavy cloth down to her feet, folding it as neatly as possible; it was an old habit formed over the years, one of many. Then she moved on silent feet for the stairs, climbing the short distance to the deck. Her eyes scanned the surrounding area for a short time before finding her fellow crewman at the rail.

Her arrival on deck had not escaped his notice. "Morning, lass." Clanker said with a tip of his hat and a pleasant smile. "Sleep well?"

She answered with a quiet nod, fingers brushing a few loose curls from her eyes. The clouds lingered above them, pale and lifeless without the sun's light—though she doubted there would be any sun this day. If anything, she suspected there would be rain before night had fallen.

"Lass," Clanker's voice brought her attention away from the skies, "I know it doesn't look like the friendliest of days, but that's no reason to keep that smile of yer's away from the world."

She stared at him, carefully absorbing his words for a long moment. Her mind tried to recollect any kind of moment when she had been invited—no, requested to smile, for anyone or anything. She could think of no such moment. There were plenty of other things she'd been requested to do—the word meaning she hadn't a choice in the matter—but smile was not one of them. Of course, she couldn't ever remember having a reason to smile, even if someone had asked her to do so.

She thought that perhaps she might like it. Of course, she had learned over the last two days that there was probably a great deal he could say to her, ask of her, or tease her with, and she would like it…very much so, in fact.

"I do believe you have been without female company far too long, Mr. Clanker." She answered, a smile playing at the corners of her soft mouth. "To be asking a child to smile for you, just because she is female."

"Oh, now, lass…let's not be insulting about this." he lifted the brim of his hat to throw her a wink, "If all I wanted was some female company, I'd pay attention to more than just that smile of yer's. As it stands…I just happen to like seeing ye smile. Makes me think I can give ye something to smile about."

Lena shook her head slowly, reaching to tuck a few strands behind her ear. "You shouldn't doubt yourself, Mr. Clanker." She murmured quietly, "Your company is more than enough reason for me to smile. Only forgive me if I don't do it very often." Her eyes turned back to the waves, lolling steadily over one another in broken lines of white foam. "I have never had too much to smile about."

"Not quite the carefree, idle years of childhood, hmm?"

"Hardly." Her response was quiet, with a strange darkness seeping into her tone, "I haven't been a child for years."

He paused, considering her words for a long moment. "Would part of that happen to be related to the private matters the captain had ye tend to?" he inquired quietly, a soft tone to keep this discussion away from wandering ears.

Lena seemed to appreciate his discretion, for what it was worth, at least. She did not respond, but he doubted it really merited a response. If the presence of a young girl—one who was barely out of the realm of "childhood"—didn't say enough, her words to the captain upon their first meeting should have made her purpose on the ship perfectly clear. Her hands slowly slipped around to cradle her shoulders, eyes downcast to the lapping waves.

"How long were ye with him?" Clanker asked, idly cleaning a blade. It couldn't be for any real purpose other than keeping him occupied while awaiting her answer; the blade looked as though it had been cleaned yesterday.

"As long as I can remember." She said at length, absently running a loose curl through her fingers, "I have very few memories of my past…but what I can remember begins with the Master." Another pause followed, then she gave a bitter smile and added, before he could ask, "I was five when training began. Two years later, he called me to his private chambers."

"Sounds like a charming bloke…" her companion muttered, shaking his head. She felt a surge of satisfaction at his apparent disgust. No one had ever shared her contempt before.

Lena lifted her arms slowly, stretching them to the skies and banishing any further exhaustion or weariness. Though she could not be sure of the time without the sun hovering in the sky to serve as an indicator, she could recall easily from her time aboard the Master's ship that the crew would be summoned on deck very soon. She would not be called out for something as minor as sleep deprivation.

"Here," Clanker offered her some dried fish meat, "Tastes a bit better this way than it does fresh from the net…least I think so." He added with a light shrug, "Ye might not want to take my advice on everything though; could get ye in trouble."

The light and pleasant air between them suddenly fell heavy; she was half-expecting to hear it shatter across the deck. Clanker had abruptly straightened up and made for a bucket located nearby. He hastily pressed it into her hands and nodded to the wooden boards below. Perhaps it was a sad testament to the kind of obedience that had been engrained in her, displayed in the way she quickly took the bucket and dropped to her knees. She was ready by the time he handed her two small rags, and quickly moved to scrub. Her questions could wait for later, if they weren't already answered by the sound of a door opening.

Her eyes discretely lifted before falling back down to her work. Earlier, she had privately wondered whether her eyes had deceived her, or if those distinct etchings in the wood of the ship were actually the foundations of a doorway. Having found a large plank of wood ajar, leading to what appeared to be nothing but a dark, empty room, she found her curiosity sated.

Clanker was hunched over the rail, his blade in one hand, a narrow and round bit of metal in the other. The distinctly shrill hiss of metal running against metal was especially familiar to her, though it no longer burned her ears as it once had. The look on his face, from what she could see with nothing more than a stolen glance, was one of extreme concentration. He either had decided that now would be a splendid time to start sharpening the knife, or he was a master at feigning intense focus. She suspected it to be the latter.

Footsteps, heavy yet uncovered, moved closer to both of them. Dismissing a brief bout with curiosity, she maintained her focus. It was easy enough to do; whoever had cleaned this deck last had not done the most stellar of jobs—not that she was fool enough to openly say it.

"I trust you're keeping yourself occupied, Clanker?"

She fought down a shiver at the cold hiss wrapped around every word. It was not the first time she had heard this voice—at least five times since joining the crew, she had heard him call out orders to the crewmen in that same tone—but it seemed his was a voice that never failed to intimidate. Even she who had been addressed by all manner of tones could not deny the fear that lingered over her senses just from hearing his voice and being in his presence. Only the fact that his attention was not directed at her brought some relief.

"Aye," her companion answered, and the shrill echo ceased, undoubtedly due to him straightening up and maintaining some eye contact with the first mate, "Just doing a bit of maintenance. Thought I'd give the girl a break from the cannons. Her arms need time to heal, or she'll be of no use to anybody."

Now she felt his gaze turn to her, and the icy intensity of his stare struck her clean to the bone. For the first time since setting foot on the Dutchman, she was unsure of what to do. Would it be proper to continue working, or did she need to demonstrate respect and look him in the eye? She highly doubted she would be able to do so, and averting her eyes would have been a sign of weakness. Weakness, most assuredly, was not something she wished to demonstrate in front of someone like him.

Carefully, she straightened, sitting back on her heels while she twisted the rag out into the bucket. Deliberately (yet discretely) she turned her arms in the direction necessary to expose her numerous cuts and scrapes, all of them battle wounds from her fight with the barnacles that she'd endured over the last few days. Most of them were exceptionally red and inflamed, looking more like infected welts. Salt water seemed to be doing the trick, but it was a slow healing process. If she could find any kind of wrappings to bind her arms and protect the skin, she would be perfectly capable of returning to the cannons. As it were…that wouldn't be possible.

"Fine," he finally answered, sounding indifferent to the whole matter (she wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or concerned), "Just so long as she's kept busy."

"I'll be sure to keep her at work." Clanker returned quietly. She felt his eyes linger on her briefly in what she imagined to be an apologetic expression.

"See that you do." He hissed, "She's in your charge now…so make sure you don't fall short."

The footsteps drew away, pausing at the open hatch leading down below. A loud, harsh summons shattered the previously tranquil morning. She could hear a great ordeal of scuffling and rushing beneath her knees. Another brief shiver trickled through her veins. A voice like that could have frightened the Devil clean out of his fiery throne.

As the deck became crowded with the rest of the crew—most of them still half-asleep—she felt free to lift her head and stretch the decidedly sore muscles aching in her neck from being trapped in that subservient position. Clanker crouched down beside her, offering a hand, which she accepted, and pulling her upright. "Sorry about that, lass…" he sighed, "Trust me though, the last thing ye want is to be idle when he's around."

Lena looked around the deck for a moment, though she needn't have looked as intently as she did. With his particular features, he was the easiest one to identify, even among this crew. Twisting the rag out again, this time over the rail, she leaned closer to Clanker. "Does he have a name other than 'sir'," she whispered, "Or is that the only thing he wants to be called?"

The barnacle-covered sailor chuckled under his breath. "No, he's got one…we just don't use it too much. His name's Maccus. Been with the captain about as long as the rest of us…maybe a little longer." he looked as though he were trying to calculate the exact years before shrugging it off and continuing, "He was here when I joined this lot. Didn't look like he'd been here longer than a year, but he was already the captain's right-hand man."

Lena's brow rose exceptionally high on her face. "After only a year?" she asked. The Master's first mate had only been selected after five years of service. To have climbed the ranks to first mate after such a short time was all but unheard of.

"Aye…" Clanker nodded, "Not sure what he did to find himself in the captain's graces, but it obviously worked for him. Now, when he's talking to ye, it's 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' and 'won't happen again, sir'. Trust me, lass," he added in an undertone, "the last thing ye want to do is argue with him. Got a nasty temper, he does…and ye better believe he don't carry that axe just for show." He nodded briefly, gesturing toward the broad-bladed weapon latched to the first mate's belt. She didn't need to take a second look; one was all she needed to see just how sharp he kept that blade.

Carefully, she lifted the abandoned piece of fish back to her lips, tearing into it with her teeth and relishing the taste. Only then did she realize that she had not tasted food for the better part of two days, perhaps longer. She could only presume her consistent intake of water was the reason her body hadn't completely succumbed to the consequences of food deprivation. It would very soon be necessary for her to learn how to catch her own meals. Perhaps Clanker would be willing to give her some tips.

Bucket and rags in hand, she carefully made her way across the deck. The other crew members seemed to pay her no mind, making her short journey all the more tolerable. She was hardly in the mood for the wandering eyes she had been enduring for the past few weeks. The constant leering, the poorly disguised mutterings that passed throughout the crew each time she move among them…it was old and tiresome. The only peace she seemed to get these days was during the evening hours, when most of the crew disappeared into the depths of the ship and allowed her to take refuge in the solitude of the main deck.

Not yet comfortable with crouching down on hand and knee to scrub the deck, Lena set to work on the cannons. They were far better to manage than the ones down below; the number of barnacles and other offensive sea life were considerably less than what she was accustomed to. Happy with this thought, she took the rag to the first cannon in the row. Her arms protested quietly, but she dismissed it. This was a pain with which she was all too accustomed by now, and it would pass soon enough.

She quickly finished with the first and moved to start work on the second. Already she could see a troublesome barnacle and, rather than ruin another rag, reached for a small blade lying on the rail. Careful not to damage the cannon, she managed to pry the shell off with only a small amount of trouble.

"Bored with cleaning the deck already?"

Had the question come from Clanker, she might have actually smiled and allowed herself to feel at ease. But the voice addressing her was most assuredly not Clanker's, and she knew there was no chance of her seeing him once she turned around. He wasn't there to speak for her this time. And there was no chance the rest of the crew would bother to help. She was on her own.

Drawing a deep, careful breath, she turned around to find herself on eye-level with the broad span of his chest. Had the situation been different, she might have taken the time to more closely examine the odd wonder of his body, of just how the mutations so prevalent among this crew had affected him. As it was, she experienced enough difficulty lifting her head to meet his eyes. The eyes she found staring back into hers were the strangest color she'd ever seen. Black as the evening sky, hollow and empty, yet there was a distinct rim of blue encasing the black, as clear as the ocean itself.

It was terrifying…and mesmerizing.

"No," she found her voice, clenching her limbs as tight as possible and ignoring the resulting discomfort, "I simply felt my hands could be better suited elsewhere. I'm still keeping busy, as you ordered."

His eyes never left her face, the intensity of his stare boring down into her as though he were trying to dissect her very thoughts. It was strange to have a man's eyes remain solely on her face, never once straying to the rest of her body. She wasn't used to it; even Clanker's eyes were prone to wander. She did know enough to admit it frightened her.

"You're not to leave Clanker's sight." He hissed quietly.

"Be sure to keep an eye on my little pet," the Master's voice was low, dark and amused at the tight anger that etched lines into a young face, "I can't have her wandering off too far…not when I might have need of her later."

"Your instructions were for Clanker to keep me busy, sir." She answered, anger maintaining the connection between their eyes, anger bringing strength to replace fear. "And that is just what I am doing. I do not need supervision in order to properly perform my duties. I am not a child or a mongrel pup to be kept on a short leash. Now, if there is something else you wish for me to do other than clean these cannons, tell me so."

The fingers—if they could be called that—of his left hand grasped her jaw in an unyielding hold, forcing her chin up. The strain on her neck sent dull spurts of pain through her nerves, but she held her ground. This was not the first time a man had grabbed her like this. In fact, it paled in comparison to the other ways she had been mishandled. The fact that his fingers dug into her skin, the appendages more claw-like than human digits, was meaningless.

"Mind your tongue, girl." He growled, each breath passing through his jagged teeth echoing against her ears as a cold hiss, remorseless and ruthless. "You will learn respect on this vessel, whether you like it or not."

Lena jerked her head away from his hold. The skin of her cheeks was left scratched and freshly bruised from the brutality of his grip. She blinked the pain away and returned his dark glare with an icy calm demeanor.

"I give respect to those who earn it," she whispered, "…sir."