A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry about the huge hiatus- I really lost track of the story and I didn't know where I wanted to take it, but then I had an epiphany at like 2am this morning and all is well. Thank you for bearing with me and I hope this is worth the wait…

In all the world of awkward mother-son reunions, this one has to take the cake.

For starters, the chances of a former slave stumbling upon his family are slim enough as it is. Throw in the matter of that teensy little language barrier, and you're getting there. Oh, but did I mention? Mother dear thought it was appropriate to take the entire crew of the Pearl prisoner, for purposes currently unknown, and for all I know she's probably dispatched a party down to the beach to investigate the ship itself, too.

Not even Evangeline can whinge to me about her family issues now.

I don't know where they've put the others. I mean, I don't know where they're being kept. Of course the only geezer who can speak English here- a former slave too, would you believe- doesn't know enough to understand please let them go. I mean, I said please, and everything. But no, Kalepi gets coddled through the jungle and into the village, paraded around and showered with foreign murmurs and plonked down in a hut where I imagine this woman- I can't quite think of her as my mother, not yet- has a tear-jerking reunion scene all mapped out in her head.

Much to her probable disappointment, this particular familial atmosphere isn't exactly exuberant. We sit across from each other, cross-legged on a very nicely woven mat, and the old slave man sits to the side, translating whenever either of us speaks (which isn't very often). Funnily enough, we haven't exactly got much to talk about. What do I say? Ask about my father? Probably dead, otherwise he'd be here. Tell her about life as a slave? Not exactly an uplifting story. Cry and fling myself into her arms? Might dispel the silence for a while, but then what?

Good Lord. Nobody prepared me for this whole family life. I wonder if I have a brother somewhere out there. Maybe he can acquaint me with this thing.

She says something, in a rolling language that's got lots of tongue in it. Of course I don't understand it. If I ever could, I don't remember it- if they don't thrash the English into you on the ships, you pick it up soon enough. Anything else is unholy. But old habits die hard, right? Mother tongues can't be that hard to pick up again. Can they? This all sounds like a load of gibberish, but I suppose with practise-

Focus, Kalepi. The old man's talking, and he's not the spring lamb you are. The English he has picked up is broken enough as it is without his ancient old brain leaking words out all over the place. Wonder what his story is. I'd ask, if he had more teeth and didn't look like he was about to expire with every seventh breath.

"The white be gone soon," he says thickly, with a grin I imagine is meant to be comforting. "You be free."

What? "No! No, they never-"

Well. They never hurt me. That's true. But they are the white people (except for Marty, and maybe Evangeline, because they're more of a brownish colour), and there are plenty white people out there who have hurt me. Is this my chance for vengeance? To do unto others as has been done to me?

Don't be stupid. They're pirates. The only people who care about them are bounty hunters, and that's if they've got a nice price on their heads. Killing the Pearl's crew on a remote island won't hurt anyone but them, and by that point they'll be past caring. And what favours does it do me? Solace for some terrible dinners? That hardly merits a death sentence.

My slavers, on the other hand… That would be different.

"They never hurt me," I finish lamely. "They're my… please, just let them go. They've done nothing wrong."

The old man stares for a moment before relaying my message back, albeit with a lot more wheezes and heaves than I ever used. It takes forever, even though the message is short, and I wonder how much of my message actually got across.

The woman- Mother, Mother, Mother- says something back. The old man listens, nods sagely, turns back to me.

"Hurt you?"

"No." What will it take for that to get through your withering brain, old man? "Let- them- go."

He says something back to her, and they talk for a while. I sit like an idiot and wait, until she finally stands and offers me her hand. Maternal gestures. What a wonderful day it's been.

"Bring them." Huffing and puffing and groaning as he pulls himself upright on his skinny brown legs, my trusty translator. "Talk them."

That could mean anything, but what choice do I have? I take the offered hand, and nothing has ever felt so strange as we emerge into the sunlight. Mother barks some orders at a group of men striped with colourful ochre. They scoop up spears and run off with high knees and kicking ankles, which would be an awful lot more amusing if I were anywhere but here. I'm lead out- a little roughly, to be honest- to the middle of what I suppose would be considered the village square, and this seems to attract the rest of the population of our humble little village to gather around us.

Feeling small and stupid as I cling to my mother's hand, I look at them all. Some fat. Some skinny. Some jollier than others. Men wear ochre, boys don't. Most of the girls' heads are shaven, but they're pretty. Some of the women have half-woven bowls in their hands. Very few of them wear any proper clothing- in my threadbare trousers and too-big shirt I feel like royalty.

I look at them and wonder if my uncle is among them. Or my aunt, or my grandfather, or my brother or my sister or my cousin. For all I know, they are. This is my family. And all this, this hustle and bustle- the fires and the huts and the tents and the singing and the dancing, I was a part of all this once. And I'm a part of it again. I'm home now. In a few years I'll be wearing ochre and carrying a spear and running with high knees and kicking ankles. I'm home.

Speaking of which. My elder brethren reappear, with the Pearl's crew in tow. Bound by the wrists, they shuffle in, all looking rather dirty and dejected and suddenly I can't meet their eyes. Suddenly, my feet are incredibly interesting.

The old man shuffles his way to the front and faces the crew. He points a bony, trembling finger at me.

"Hurt him?"

"Wha- no! Of course not!" Evangeline has never sounded so shocked. Should've known she'd take it on herself to speak for the crew when it came to my wellbeing.

"If anything, we've brought him home." Should've known Jack'd take it on himself to worm his way out of trouble.

The oh-so-reliable translator is overwhelmed by this stream of excuses and English. He limps back and whispers into Mother's ear, and my hand in hers feels impossibly heavy and I can feel Evangeline's eyes on me. I can't look at her. What did she expect? She found her daddy and went on swashbuckling adventures with him. I've found my mother now and I'll be making my own adventures here.

The old man clears his throat again and sucks in a deep breath. Oh boy, this'll be fun.

"Last white come, destroy all. Take man, wife, baby." Again, gesturing at me. Can we please just leave me out of this? Please? "Hurt. Too much risk again." He points eastward, to the beaches below. "We take everything on big boat. Everything. You leave. Boat empty."

I can't look at them, I can't. It's not so bad, I think, at least they won't die. We'll just ransack their ship, take all their essential supplies and let them take it from there. It's a fast ship, Jack's a clever captain, he'll sail them somewhere safe. Somewhere with supplies. And he'll buy them with… With…

Oh. Oh, no.

Evangeline.

Of course. She's pretty, and young, and any man with a shred of sense would pay a good amount of silver for a night with her, provided the Pearl makes it to Tortuga. Jack would make her do it, family means nothing to him. He would, he would make her stay there, for however long it took, and longer still to pay off Jack's own women, and all the foul rum he drowns himself in. Failing that… she's a noblewoman, she'd fetch a handsome hostage fee if Jack could sail into a noble port of call without being blown to smithereens, or simply dying of thirst on the way over. Either way, Evangeline will pay for everything, and it'll be my fault-

Shut up shut up shut up! This isn't my problem. Why do I care? They were going to kill me, or worse- those Gates of Hell, and whatever else goes on in those dark supernatural circles. I don't want to know and now I don't have to, because I'm home. What happens to the Pearl and its crew is none of my concern. This is where I belong. It feels strange now, but then so did Port Royal, and it was cosy enough in the end. This is different, this is my home. Where I'm meant to be.

Distantly, I process more orders being made. The same men from before herd the crew away, but Evangeline manages to linger.

"You'll take… You can't do that, we'll die out there!" And if you don't, it will be so much worse for you. She knows it, too. "Kalepi- Kalepi, we'll sail out of here, we won't toucha thing, you know that- please, tell them! Kalepi, please! KALEPI!"

No-one else seems to hear them, and I wish I could share in their deafness as Mother turns me away and leads me back to the hut, but Evangeline's screams follow me all the way.