Disclaimer: I do not own Treasure Planet; Finn and Konrade, however, are entirely my own. ^^

Author's Note: I really have no explanation as to why I haven't updated in almost a year beyond that I was just STUCK. So my sincerest apologies, and I hope this lil bit of chapter will maybe make up for my transgressions. Please enjoy!

The door cracked open slightly, and Jim saw a single hazel eye appear.

"You bring the goods?"

He held the bag up, and the door clicked shut. Jim heard the sound of the chain being removed and then the door was opening again. Konrade snatched the bag from him and turned into the room, leaving Jim in the hall to roll his eyes.

"I'm being used, aren't I?" he asked sarcastically as he shut the door behind him. Konrade glanced at him and tore open the bag.

"Never! You're my mate, Jim, why would I ever use you?"

Of course, that statement was accompanied by Konrade shoving two whole cookies in his mouth at the same time, and Jim shook his head.

"Look, did you get what I asked for or not—?"

In favor of another cookie Konrade merely jerked his head towards his paper-covered desk, where a thin, steel grey piece of metal rested atop maps and text books. Jim went over to it and picked it up, examining the green glow of the letters in the top right corner that formed her name.

"This is it?"

"Everything," he replied through a mouthful. "I told you she's a bloody mystery."

Jim flipped back the protective cover of the file and the inside screen came to life, a glowing stream of words appearing and flooding the "page." The data usage flashed at the top next to a picture that smirked back at him, and he frowned slightly. When he'd asked Konrade to get the file for him this morning at breakfast — an "easy enough" feat for the right price, apparently — he had been expecting something with some meat to it, some substance. But this… they probably had more on him than they did on her.

"You're sure this is everything?"

Konrade nodded again. "Her whole file. That's all they've got on her."

Still frowning, he skimmed over the information. They didn't even have a last name; just an age and a brief history that he'd already deduced — she was from Selcinorce, she had no family, no connections in Carviene. He brought up the next page and his eyes widened.

Konrade froze in the middle of a cookie. "What is it?"

"Her record."

"Oh, yeah. Quite the criminal, our Finn."

His eyes scanned over the lengthy list, the word 'theft' popping out at him every few sentences. "Only proves my point."

Konrade rolled his eyes. "You're not still going on about that letter, are you?"

"She stole it and I'm gonna prove it."

"How?"

He snapped the file closed. "I'm gonna get it back from her."

Konrade actually laughed, the cookie that had been on its way to his mouth suspended in mid-air. "What are you going to do? Sneak into her room or something? She sleeps in the servants quarters downstairs with all the other girls, you can't just—"

"I know that, I live down there too. And I know when she's not there. It'll be easy."

His friend sighed and set the cookie bag on his bedside table, then folded his hands in his lap and turned to Jim with a rather matter-of-fact look on his face.

"Jim. It's not that I don't think you're smart enough to get into Finn's room. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's just that, well… you can't get in there whenever you want."

"Why not? It's the same as every other room and you don't get special privileges for being a bitch—"

Konrade rolled his eyes and broke his professorial act. "Jim, I don't think you understand everything about this girl yet. When you do, then you can try getting your damn letter back. But until then, I would suggest staying clear of that room."

Jim met his eyes, and their gazes were locked in a contest for a while before Jim sighed and looked away. "Whatever. Look, if you know so much about her, tell me about this." And he shoved his hand, palm up, in Konrade's face. The cadet stared at it for a second, then raised an amused eyebrow.

"Where'd you touch her?"

Jim leaned against the bedpost and crossed his arms over his chest. "She stuck her finger in my face. What is it?"

Konrade shrugged. "Never figured that out exactly. But it'll come off eventually. Unless you keep touching her, then it'll just stick forever…"

Jim found himself nodding halfway before he stopped and frowned at him. "Wait, how do you know?"

He shrugged again, but there was a wry grin on his face. "Part of that 'things you don't understand' bit."

Jim's frown intensified, but he decided he'd be better off not asking about it.

"So you don't know what it is."

"No idea. She's a Selkie, though, and that's proof if I ever saw it."

Jim stared down at his hand. The golden sheen reflected brightly despite the weak lamp light, and he could still feel the cool tingle of electricity buzzing from it. It had been a whole day, and even after numerous scrubbings and submerging his hand into various cleaning solutions, it stubbornly stayed put. For all intensive purposes it could've been mistaken for solarsail residue, but if Konrade could recognize it so easily, who was to say that others wouldn't, too?

Konrade must have seen the look on his face because he smirked and said, "Don't worry, mate. No one's gonna notice it. It'll come off."

Jim nodded absently, but his mind was in full throttle now. The sheen might go away, but would the buzz?

Silver watched with a wary eye from the corner as the men came into the pub. It was a seedy tavern by the docks, and the men walking up to the bar fit the bill well — ratty sea coats, scum-covered boots, grubby faces with sunken red-rimmed eyes. There were two of them, both of whom had a look about them that caught his attention, and Silver watched as they ordered a pint of grog each. One took up a hushed conversation with the creature next to him, while the other began casting his gaze around the dark and smoky room. He met Silver's eyes once and did not return to him, and it was that that clued him in that these were the men he was looking for.

And so he shrunk into his corner, quietly smoking his pipe, waiting for the men to take their leave and for the moment when he could make his move.

They made few exchanges with the patrons of the pub, but the ones they did make were quick and quiet. Money was slipped across the table, and a small brass packet was passed in return. These were awaited with anxious eyes, and Silver didn't have to wonder much about what the packets contained. He also no longer had to give much thought to why the man that had hired him wanted his delivery so urgently.

He wasn't sure what it was or where it had been manufactured. He didn't even know what the effects were beyond turning the user into a needy coward. But Silver knew what sort of trade was being made: the kind that went under the radar's radar, the kind that most pirates turned their nose up at and ignored. The kind even he wouldn't be involved in, if it weren't for the money.

Drugs.

The only advantage of working as a cook's assistant, Jim figured, was that it gave one a lot of time to think.

Jim Hawkins wasn't at all a stranger to thinking; in fact, he could well have been considered a champion at the art. His specialty was brooding, and as he'd discovered upon the Legacy, washing dishes was the perfect task to put one into a brooding mood.

He'd found himself brooding a lot lately, and the amount of dishes he had to clean did not help that problem. Of course, he wouldn't admit it, but having time to think (even if it was too much time) was helpful. And he needed all the help he could get at this point.

Usually he brooded over childish things such as not getting his way or being treated like he was ten, but as of late his musings began to focus sharply on what seemed to him like more pressing matters.

First, there was the fact that he was supposed to be a student, not a cook's assistant. He'd come to Carviene for a reason, and that was to be enrolled in the Academy. He didn't spend much time on this subject, however, because it always led him to another one: Finn.

She'd stolen his recommendation letter. Why, he had no idea. To be honest, Jim didn't really care why. He just wanted the damn letter back so he could quit this servant business and get on to what he was supposed to be doing. But she still denied the letters existence and refused to talk about it. In fact, she refused to talk, period. She would have nothing to do with him.

This, naturally, was a prime specimen of brooding material, and Jim spent many hours with pots and pans mulling it around in his brain. The golden sheen on his palm had worn away, thankfully, but his hand still buzzed and served as a constant reminder of… whatever it was that had happened. She was a Selkie, but what did that really mean? They were urban legends, myths made up by spacers and miners to keep young men from marrying the first beautiful girl they met in a new port. Besides, anyone from Selcinorce was called a Selkie — it didn't have anything to do with the myth. Konrade seemed convinced that she was a shape-shifter, though, and Jim still had a sneaking suspicion that the Elysian man that had pointed him in the right direction that first day hadn't been what he seemed. But whether or not she could change shape really didn't seem important compared to the discovery of her with John Silver.

That conundrum was enough to keep Jim thinking for a week.

What had they been looking for? And in the belly of an unladen galleon, no less? It wasn't like Silver to go snooping around in tight spots like that. But why was Finn with him in the first place? How did they know each other? She was hardly pirate material, but then again, what did Jim know?

"I believe that that pot is already an exemplary definition for cleanliness, Mr. Hawkins."

Jim jumped slightly and turned his head to see Smrott looking down at him with those beady oil-slick eyes. He nodded sheepishly and set the pot aside before starting on another one.

"Seems as though you've something on your mind, Jim," said the cook. Jim shrugged and kept scrubbing the remnants of yesterday's meal out of the pot, but he continued. "Drabloon for them?"

Jim chuckled and shook his head. "Not worth it, really."

Smrott cocked his head to one side, eyeing his assistant intently.

"You know, Jim, I've noticed that you've been rather reticent as of late. I understand that this could very well be how you are, but I'd like to think that you've more vocabulary than that."

Jim tried ignoring the itching feeling to spill, but he cracked and sighed, putting the pot back into the dish water.

"Remember my first morning here? When I met Finn?"

Black eyes sparkled at him, and a smirk lightened the Corbae's harsh features. "Yes, I recall it quite vividly."

Jim frowned, then said, "How long has she been here?"

Smrott folded his arms across his chest. "Why don't you ask her yourself? I'm sure she'd tell you all you wished to know if you asked her."

Jim scoffed. "Yeah, right."

But the head cook raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "She is… difficult. But no more difficult than you, I'm certain. Give her time."

"Can you just tell me one thing, though?"

"I suppose I could, yes."

He had too many things he wanted to ask, but he decided they could all be summed up in one question.

"Why's she here?"

Smrott was silent a moment, and then cocked his head to the side again, peering down at the young man with a small smile on his face.

"Because Jim, everyone deserves a second chance."

(Please review and let me know if any of you are still reading this! The more reviews, the sooner I'll update!)