HUD: Thanks for the love! Here's the next chapter (so soon, too!)

The quarters aboard Sleipnir were surprisingly well kept, not something at all that Anthony expected from a pirate ship. He was ushered into a room similar to the one he occupied on HMS Cavalier, quite close to the galley. It boasted a small cot and bolted down desk, both relatively clean. He almost could have fooled himself into believing nothing at all had changed.

If he didn't account for the shackles around his ankles that kept him confined to his small space.

Anthony was able to keep in high spirits by only one fact alone - every time Gibbs came to torment him, he was treated to a wonderful sight. The gruff pirate had quite the large bruise along his right jaw, exactly where Jack had punched him before they were pulled apart the final time. It made Anthony grin broadly, larger still when Gibbs spat and cursed at him to 'fix yer gob, boy'.

The thought of Jack was becoming bittersweet. There was a small window above his cot through which he had seen the side of the Cavalier. The pirates had looted all they wanted from her, Anthony and his things included. All manner of weaponry and food were seized, but they left her floating. Anthony was relieved - even watching the ship grow smaller and smaller on the horizon was better than watching her sink. Especially with Jack now her captain, and still very much on board.

Had Anthony sailed away to watch her sink, he wasn't sure exactly how he'd be feeling.

"Oi." Anthony turned from the window, sitting on his cot, to look pass the curtain that gave him some semblance of privacy. It wasn't Gibbs, but a short man holding what Anthony assumed to be dinner. "'Ere be yer food, mate."

Anthony mumbled a thanks as the man passed it over. He recognized his face, having seen him during his 'tour' of the ship. The man nodded, his hair pulled back under a grubby red bandana. His face was weathered and tan, and Anthony was fully willing to assume it felt like dried leather. "Try an' not to look so solemn."

Anthony didn't answer, just looking at the thinned stew between his palms and not at all hungry. He felt the man linger a moment as he obviously wanted to say more.

"Cap'n said yer free to go where ye please," he said. Anthony looked up as he came closer. He kneeled at where his legs turned off the edge of his cot and produced a large brass key. A few turns later and Anthony's feet were free. The inventor absently rubbed his ankles, sore from days bound.

"What is your name?" Anthony asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. The man still kneeled beside him, his palms now down on his thighs. He was the only one to call him 'mate', in all the days aboard the ship.

"Me Christian name be Joseph, but 'ese sea dogs call me Goldie," he said, his lips pulling back in a wide grin. Goldie's eyes glistened a bright blue that surprised Anthony.

"I am - " Anthony began then paused. Not Anthony. "I am Tony."

"Pleased t'meetcha, lad." Goldie pushed his hand out to Anthony, who shifted his food to the desk and took it gently.

"Why do they call you Goldie?" He asked, curiousity leaking into his tone. Goldie grinned wider and pointed to his teeth.

"Half me teeth were punched out when I was 'bout yer age," he said, and now Anthony could see the quick glisten as he spoke. "Had 'em fixed right good wif gold."

Anthony couldn't help but grin back. "I imagine your jaw is worth quite a bit to these pirates."

"Aye, but not til I be dead," Goldie said, his eyes twinkling. "Jus' ask the last fool wot tried to pull one over on ol' Goldie."

Anthony smiled. Goldie seemed kind enough. "I bet you give them all hell."

"Damned if I don't!" Goldie announced with a laugh, his lips pulled back widely. His teeth were checkered pale yellow and gold; the fake ones glistened with his laughter.

Anthony felt himself relax as he and Goldie spoke. He was older, by far the oldest Anthony had met on this little disaster of a voyage, nearing the beginnings of sixty. Anthony knew of the elderly from aristocracy in Rome, all poised and regal in gold and silkened finery. All staring down their noses at Anthony's tinkering as a child and well into adulthood. All stuffy and stiff and disgusted. Goldie, with his bright gold teeth and even brighter blue eyes, put them all to shame.

Goldie sat on his haunches as they spoke, the position not at all bothering him. Anthony found himself crossing his legs and leaning forward, interested in all the old pirate had to say. Soon the light from Anthony's window trailed away, replaced with a paler shade and now oil lit lamps.

"Tony," Goldie began, breaking a companionable silence that had settled over the pair. "It's been three days now, lad. 'Bout time you clean dat face o' yers."

Anthony brought his fingers to the long mark over his left cheek. The wound had long since stopped bleeding, now rough with healing scab. Anthony despaired that the mark would most likely be permanent, even with his best efforts to clean it with what little clean water he was given.

"I appreciate your concern, Goldie, but I doubt more cleaning will prevent permanence," Anthony answered heavily. Goldie shook his head.

"Not yer cheek, mate." He nodded his head and pointed a knobbed finger higher. Anthony followed the point with his own fingers, coming to a rest when he felt a crusting at his temple. Confusion lighted his expression before realization dawned.

The crust was Jack's blood, left at his temple from the fleeting press of his lips. Without the distraction Goldie had unwittingly brought, Anthony felt himself being dragged back to the deck of the Cavalier. Three days weren't long enough to erase the sight of Bill gored before him, or the image of the sailor Jack had passed him to getting his neck blown apart by a pirate's pistol. It was all too real, all far too fresh. Anthony absolutely doubted that three year's time would be enough to rid him of that day.

He pulled his fingers back and gazed down at them. His fingernails were black around the edges and beneath the small bit they had grown in his travel. Anthony rubbed the blood that had dried and flaked off at his touch between his fingers.

Jack had to be alive. Anthony hadn't seen much else of him after boarding Sleipnir, his only comfort being able to still see the splintered side of his ship through the port window above his cot. What felt like days later they pushed off of her, leaving the Cavalier floating in the literal middle of nowhere, but not burning. Word reached him from the passing crew as they either purposely ignored or leered at him that the ship remained afloat, captain's orders.

The very same captain that had been willing to send Jack to his death to simply get Anthony's name.

Goldie sat patiently before him, not pressing the matter of washing again. He knew he had to have drifted off for a moment, but this old man seemed patient. But he was one of them - one of those damned pirates, regardless of how kind or thoughtful he appeared.

Don't trust a drop of them, Jack said. Oh, Anthony certainly wouldn't.

"That would be most appreciated, Goldie," Anthony said with a small smile. The same smile he used when dealing with the men who attempted to buy his father's plantation from him when he was eight years old. Quiet and tight.

Goldie didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything if he had, as he rose to his feet. He paused to wipe his palms on his knees and popped his back. "Aye, I be gettin' too old."

"Not at all, Goldie," Anthony called as the old man moved around the sheet that acted as a makeshift wall for slight privacy. He disappeared from sight for only a moment, rounding back with a soiled but wet rag. Goldie passed it to Anthony who took it with a smile, using it to dab gently at the press of crusted blood at his temple. The motion pulled the strands of his hair but Anthony didn't mind. He was too busy trying to convince himself that washing this bit of Jack away wasn't killing him, that he would still be alive out there and trying his damnedest to find him. Hardly a second later, he pushed the rag back into Goldie's hand and feigned a yawn.

"Thank you kindly, Goldie," he said, smiling. The old man practically beamed at him, and Anthony felt a pang of guilt. They had literally just spent hours talking about the sea and Goldie's life - he wanted to trust the old man so bad it hurt. The only person aboard this entire floating prison that gave him the time of day. Yet, he was no Bill. No large bellied man with a laugh that could shake the rafters; instead a man stooped by age and profession with a blinding smile and sparkling eyes.

Yet, he still was no Bill.

Goldie bade him good night with the offer that he was in the galley should he need him. It was comforting to hear, even if all Anthony could place was Bill saying something similar to him during the beginning of his travels.

Anthony stood up and drew back the curtain over the entrance of his...area. It gave him comfort to shield himself from prying eyes for the first time since his capture. He drew his legs to his chest as he sat back on the cot, resting his unmarred cheek against his knees.

The ship moved beneath him softly, the waters forgiving as the moon rose higher. Anthony strained his eyes, attempting to pick out anything over the dark expanse. The moon was high and bright but there was not a star to be seen, and as he watched, the moon became obscured by thin clouds. Those times, Anthony would be entirely submerged in darkness. Only the sounds of shuffling above on the deck and an occasional shout from below reminded him that he wasn't dying, that this was now his life.

When the moon appeared again, Anthony looked beyond the foot of his cot to his single traveling bag. The men had done what they were told and gathered his things, but not before going through them first. Anthony, too beyond himself to care, had yet to look through his things to see what exactly would be missing. Pirates were thieves, if his current state was anything to account for, and he absolutely would bet his pardon that the very item that granted it for him was missing.

With another sigh, Anthony rested his cheek on his knee and looked back out across the sea again. The end of the third day, and still he wished to see that paled canary of the Cavalier on the horizon.

When Goldie woke him the next day, a new bowl full of stew and bread in hand, Anthony was ravenous. He ate the stew quickly and even wiped the inside of the bowl clean with his hunk of bread, both to soften it and to not miss a drop. Goldie laughed, having pulled over a chair to sit and share their meal.

"Glad it be to yer likin', mate," he teased, those blue eyes sparkling with joy. Anthony rubbed the side of his mouth sheepishly and grinned.

"Thank you," he answered, passing over his empty bowl to Goldie's outstretched hand. In truth, it wasn't so much that the stew was good (hardly - he was Italian, and nothing was as flavourful as his nation's cuisine) but the act of actually eating. The last meal he had was made by Bill, three days ago, that hadn't sat well in his stomach at all after watching the man die. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if his vomit was still in the spool of rope he had passed to get below deck.

The deck. Anthony blinked. It certainly was stuffy below deck, which wasn't really something he noticed on the Cavalier. There he had spent his days watching sailors pull the sails and fasten rigging, all at Jack's command as he held the helm. Anthony ignored the flip his stomach gave at the involuntary image his mind conjured of Jack - holding strong to the helm and barking orders with a wide smile on his face, the wind tossing the feathers atop his hat to and fro.

"Goldie," he said abruptly, drawing the man's attention. Anthony hadn't even seen him leave to put away their bowls.

"Aye?" He called in acknowledgement.

"I am free to move as I please, you said?" Anthony asked.

"Aye!" The old man answered, his weathered face popping from around Anthony's open curtain. "Want to see the deck?"

Anthony felt a small genuine smile grace his lips. "I would."

Goldie whooped and slapped his knee, disappearing from sight. He was back a scarce second later with a wide grin. "Come along, mate."

Anthony was incredibly grateful to be free of the dank damp air the belly of the ship birthed. It was nice to feel the wind in his face again, the warm sun on his skin. It was almost therapeutic as it seemed to push the cold Anthony had felt creeping into his bones away.

The crew moved at a leisurely pace, and several seemed nearly drunk. Goldie kept him away from several of them and snapped at those who got too close. Anthony didn't mind - he had no need to want to socialize with the men who killed his friends. Goldie was the only exception - Anthony hadn't met him until he was already taken captive.

To pass time, Goldie pointed out more of the ship to Anthony, who drank it all up with wonder. The workings of a ship was still amazingly fascinating to him. How the shift and pull of the helm caused the entire vessel to maneuver effortlessly, but only by the aide sailors offered as they pulled and tightened and loosened the main sails awakened the inventor in him with a fervor.

The door leading below deck opened and several men poured out, all laughing boisterously. It drew their attention, and the sight made Anthony frown. Gibbs was at the front, his jaw still purple from Jack's punch. Anthony felt satisfied at the mark but wanted to do more damage himself. Maybe shove his face to the deck with his boot and snatch him around by his greasy hair.

Goldie seemed to sense the shift in Anthony. "Careful, mate," he warned, taking a small step closer to Anthony. "Gibbs 'as a bit o' a grudge against ye."

"Let him," Anthony answered, louder than Goldie's low warning. His voice drew Gibbs' attention, a sickening smile spreading across his mug.

"Ahoy, mates! Lookit wot we 'ave here," Gibbs announced, holding his arms out wide. His nasty brown hair, slick with grease, managed to be tossed by a strong gust. "The Italian has come out to play with the big boys."

Anthony's growl must have been louder than he thought as Gibbs drew his arms back in a show of mock fear. "Oi! An' he's got a temper. Too bad yer pretty quar'ermaster ain't around to protect ye."

"You watch yourself, Mr. Gibbs," Anthony ground out. The pirates around Gibbs hooted loudly, all too amused by Anthony's show of bravado. It wasn't a show - were there to be a cutlass handy, Anthony would gladly go down if it meant Gibbs would join him.

"Or wot're ye gon' do?" Gibbs demanded, his eyes daring to see what Anthony would say.

"Come off it, Gibbs," Goldie answered for him. He stepped between Anthony and where Gibbs had been edging closer. "'Ave ye no manners?"

"Shaddup, Goldie," Gibbs snapped. "Wot manners be owed to him? A boy amongst men, scared shitless to be without 'is protector?"

"That's enough from ye, Gibbs," Goldie answered darkly. "I suggest ye be back to the bowels before I send ye there meself."

Gibbs laughed again, looking around at the group that surrounded him. "Aye, aye, mate. We just be givin' the boy a run. No hard feelins."

Goldie visibly relaxed but scowled. "Off wif ye, then."

Gibbs waved a hand and turned, but not before shooting Anthony a dark look. Anthony held his gaze icily until he fully turned away. "I would have been fine."

"Aye, I believe ye," Goldie answered, crossing his arms over his chest. "But Gibbs be a dirty fighter, a downright scoundrel. He would rather stab ye than face ye."

"Hmm." Anthony answered. He kept his eyes on where Gibbs was, now climbing the stairs to the helm. The man behind the wheel wasn't the dark captain, but instead someone new Anthony had never seen. He watched Gibbs lean towards him and mutter amongst themselves, his gaze occasionally lifting to Anthony. Whatever that man was planning, Anthony knew he wasn't going to like it.

Goldie attempted to distract him with tidbits about the ship again, but he wasn't as invested as he was before Gibbs graced his consciousness. His eyes drifted from pirate to pirate, looking in the direction Goldie would be pointing. After listening to Goldie explain the shift in the watch and how to properly oil a cannon, he spotted it.

There, atop the crown of one of the pirates who shadowed Gibbs, was Jack's hat. Anthony would recognize it anywhere - black trimmed in thick red ribbon and topped with a white feathered plumage. Only the feather wasn't as white anymore, edging more on a deep maroon, but still standing as proudly as possible through dried blood.

Anthony felt his throat contract with a tightness that had nothing to do with dryness.

Suddenly, he was pushing away from the railing of the ship and crossing towards the pirate in long strides. He dimly heard Goldie calling for him but paid no heed. He didn't stop until he was directly behind the pirate, his anger now blazing.

"Oi!" He snapped, surprising the pirate in Jack's hat. He turned slowly, and once Anthony could clearly see his face, he recognized him to be the pirate that had knocked Jack to his knees before he couldn't see him any longer. "Remove that hat."

"Wot?" The man groused, eyebrow raised. Anthony grit his teeth.

"Remove. That. Hat," he said slowly, careful to add emphasis to each syllable as he would with a child. The pirate was immediately offended, which was exactly what Anthony wanted.

"Sod off," he growled, turning his back to Anthony again. The inventor decided he had made his mind up for him.

Anthony tapped his shoulder. The second the man turned, presumably to tell Anthony where he was willing to shove that hat, Anthony made a solid connection with his right fist.

Silence took over the deck as the pirate pitched wildly to the left, flailing against the railing in surprise. His jaw went slack as he cradled his chin with his other hand. Anthony took his chance, snatching Jack's hat from the crown of the dazed pirate and dropping it over his head. He looked down his nose at the sprawled invalid and smirked. "I did ask kindly."

Anthony turned to walk away, only to have a strong hand grip his bicep and spin him around into the blazing eyes of Gibbs. His eyes were as dark and greasy as his hair, making Anthony sneer. "Unhand me, fool."

"Who the fuck d'ya think ye be?" He demanded, his grip tightening.

In that second, Anthony had had enough. By now, he should have already been in London with a meeting scheduled with the King. He should have been tinkering away in a royal workshop, perfecting his invention. Most of all, he should have been by Jack's side the remainder of his voyage and perhaps for a fine week after docking as the ship was repainted. All of this, his entire situation that brought him to the need to procure Jack's hat back from pirates, could have been avoided were it not for Gibbs. He certainly seemed like a wonderfully willing scapegoat and in a most convenient light.

Which was why Anthony reared back and added a matching bruise to the other side of his jaw. The pirate growled as he staggered, but this time Anthony did not have the element of surprise. Gibbs righted himself disappointedly quick, lunging for Anthony's chest. The inventor's breath left his lungs as his back hit the deck, Gibbs' weight settled heavily on his chest.

Pirates gathered around in a circle, several leaving their posts to cheer Gibbs on. Their voices were loud and rough with more than a few slurred from drink.

"Get 'em, Gibbs!"

"Show 'at nancy how it be done!"

"Aye, aye, Gibbs!"

The rush of blood in Anthony's ears drowned out their voices as Gibbs clambered up, drawing his fists back and taking aim. One connected with Anthony's shoulder as he attempted to roll away, the second with his collar. He hissed, knowing damned well this wouldn't end in his favour if he didn't move, and attempted to push Gibbs off with his waist. The older man didn't budge, only shifting his weight forward enough to thoroughly pin Anthony down.

The younger endured two punches to his chin before he was able to shift his weight enough to throw Gibbs over his head. The momentum tossed Gibbs beyond his reach but that was fine - his head was swimming and his vision blurred from the last blows. Still, after a quick shake, Anthony was up to his knees and drawing his fists up to his chin. He needed to protect his ribs, already sore from Gibbs' unbearable weight and the most likely target.

Gibbs rose and snarled, blood trickling from his nose. Anthony grinned at him and cocked his head, surprised to see the dangle of Jack's feather over his shoulder. He figured the hat would have fled at the most opportune time but was glad to see it stuck around. Gibbs let out a loud roar that was met by even louder cheering and charged, his arms raised. Anthony had enough time to evade, spinning out of his way and pushing down roughly on his back. Gibbs stumbled and slammed into a crate, losing his balance.

Anthony straightened up. "Just stay there and save face, old man."

Gibbs thrashed about the crate, wood flying. "Shut yer GOB!"

Anthony shook his head and grinned. "I got what I wanted; I shall be - "

Strong arms snatched Anthony's arms behind him and pushed him forward. He bit his lip, using his newly found angle to peer through his legs. Two men stood behind him, each holding one of his arms. Panic began to settle as he realized what had happened. Or rather, what was about to happen as Gibbs regained his footing and headed towards him.

"Wot was that, lad? Stay down? Why, from me eyes yer in quite the predicament," he said, his voice dripping delight. He grabbed Anthony's chin roughly and pulled him forward. "Now be still so's I can beat th' pretty from yer face."

Gibbs held his chin in a tightly bruising grip as he pulled back. Anthony screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain he knew that was to come. The first punch had his entire head spinning, and the second he was blinking away stars. The sounds of the cheering crowd were beginning to grow distant as the pain numbed him; by the fourth, he could feel a wetness sliding down his cheek.

Then, it was all over. Gibbs dropped his chin and the two pirates helping him fell away. Anthony dropped to his knees and braced himself on his hands. Slowly the dark wood of the deck swam into focus, accompanied by a pair of black boots just within his sight.

Anthony looked up after spitting a mouthful of blood between his hands. His stomach flipped with panic for the second time that day; he found himself staring up into the poison green eyes of the pirate captain, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"My, my," he drawled, his lips quirking. The captain crouched down before the broken inventor and took his chin gently, turning his face left and right. Anthony swallowed, unnerved by the chill touch of the captain's fingers. "What mess have you caught yourself in, I wonder?"

A/N: Wellll, there's that lol. Anthony always seems to need saving, of sorts. Tell me what you thought!