A/N: Long time no update my lovelies... so, apologies for that. A number of problems arose over the pass few weeks that I needed to deal with prior to the uploading of this chapter and unfortunately that took precedence - the first being my graduation from high school... that was a very long, fun but sad event that unfortunately was very time consuming. The second being the arrival of school holidays and work for me, which meant little time for chapter writing and for study which is unfortunately *sigh* is more important at the moment than my fan fiction. The last reason for my lack of progress is that I have been quite sick over the past few weeks and have only just started getting better - who knew that the common cold could be so destructive to my health and daily schedule!

I will do my best to keep my updates regular but as my finals approach, study is unfortunately more important which may mean in more delays, so I apologise profusely in the hopes that you all forgive me and enjoy the next instalment of Down the Rabbit Hole.

-AshTree13 xoxo

Chapter 17:

Fort Matías burned.

It was almost as if the sea itself was on fire.

The raging flames that engulfed the once proud, heavily fortified garrison in its deadly grasp, illuminated the dark blue waves of the ocean, already dyed a soft red-gold due to the rising suns' rays.

Despite my bodys' close proximity to the flames, I find myself shivering as a cool breeze whispers around the collapsed ruins of the fort. It is not only the returning nights' atmosphere which causes goosebumps to appear on my pale skin; it is a combination of frigid air and what I assume is post traumatic stress disorder as I recall the details of my previous encounter with the occupants of this esteemed fort. Wrapping my leather-clad arms around my torso, I glance over my shoulder to watch Edward and his crew storm the war room of Fort Matías - a stoned, gray and almost circular room with one passage leading to what was without a doubt, the treasure room; the only other route for escape, besides the narrow windows which overlook a sharp cliff-face and rough seas, is the heavy, almost ancient-looking wooden doors from which Edward had paraded through.

We have him right where we want him… but Edward too is enclosed in a small, contained space and it is that little nugget of information which causes my nerves to bubble and boil in the pit of my stomach.

"Your excellency," Edward sneers, raising both his arms in a somewhat welcoming gesture, unabashed by the answering sound of silver being swiftly drawn from their scabbards.

In the Spanish Soldier's defence, Edward was heavily armed - as were the numerous members of the Jackdaw's crew, including its faithful quartermaster, who followed in their captain's suit. It was a perfectly reasonable course of action for the men to draw their blades and ready their own defence, particularly when the jewel of Edwards' eye was something incredibly important and influential in the governing of the Caribbean Colonies, particularly those of the Cuban coast.

"I know your face, pirate," comes a lightly accented voice that, despite my hearing it only once, I could never forget.

Removing my sharp gaze from Edward's back, my eyes travel to the man who condemned me to a near-death at sea, sitting straight-backed and unafraid of the armed pirate before him, lording over the minuscule, cramped room and its bounty with his usual and distinct air of superiority. Governor Torres of Cuba leans forward in his plush, embroidered chair, resting his chin atop his wizened, tanned hands clasped before his thin, willowy form. Cool eyes survey Edwards' every movement, flickering occasionally to the other pirates loitering about the room before coming to rest upon my face.

For a brief moment - which felt to me as if it had lasted hours - Torres's cold eyes study my face with a mixed expression of cool amusement and intrigue, before slowly returning his sharp gaze to Edward's handsome and bloodied face. "But," Torres continues in a light, somewhat conversational tone as if Edward and him were merely sharing a light tea instead of grappling with Edward for his life, "your name was borrowed the last time we spoke."

"Ah, yes… I do recall," Edward contemplates, striding the length of the table lying before Torres, it's smooth surface laid down by bags and mountains of luminous, desirous gold, "mister Duncan Walpole, was it?"

He glances over at me for confirmation.

I nod.

"I miss that one," Edward sighs, shaking his in mock disappointment.

I almost smile at the notable sarcasm.

"So…" Edward continues, reaching for a single gold reales, pushing the large coin down the length of the table before colliding it with another few medallions, letting the gold fall to the stone ground; his eyes never leave Torres despite his actions. "What's a Templar Grand Master doing so far from his Castillo?"

"I'd rather not say," Torres answer, reaching for his cup of still-warm tea and taking a long, exaggerated sip of the amber liquid.

"And I'd rather not cut your lips off and fed 'em to you," Edward snarls in response, bracing the desk with both of his calloused hands, leaning forward so his face is close to Torres. There is no joke lacing these threat-filled words; Edward's face is a mask of pure loathing for the man sitting before him, blackmail is clearly his method of choice in this situation .

With a look of mild shock and concern - for his own safety, no doubt - Torres replaces the china cup to the lined tables surface, his grey eyes watching Edward with a similar hawk-like intensity my own gaze shares.

It's obvious he's testing to Edward to see the seriousness of his claim.

"Answer him," I say, speaking up for the first time since this meeting had come into play, "it will benefit you far more if you do."

Edward glances over his shoulder at me in surprise but I only catch a glimpse of those inquisitive azure eyes as I turn away to watch the blood-red ocean once more.

"Two years ago… shortly after your 'visit'," I hear Torres disclose, evidently taking my advice to heart, "we offered a reward for the Sage's Recapture… and today, it seems that someone claims to have found him. This gold," I can picture Torres gesturing to the endless wealth sitting before him, itching to be taken, "is his ransom."

"Who found him?"

There is no answer.

Fed up with Torres's reluctance in answering Edward's quite simple and in my opinion, reasonable, enquires, I find myself turning sharply on my heel and marching into the frigid war room. I am barely conscious of the fact that I draw one of my silver knives, striding past Adéwalé's mountainous form and Edward's lean, tense body before any of them can fully absorb the knowledge that I have left my post by the doors. Leaning my own willowy form across the desk's gold laden surface, I point the tip of the minuscule blade against Torres's wrinkled throat and patiently wait for the man in question to register my presence and the obvious threat I hold in my surprisingly steady hands. Starting forward, Torres flinches as the blade casually pricks the skin of his tanned throat, easily breaking the flesh which in turn causes a tiny bead of blood to wheal at the wound sight and dribble down the length of his jugular.

"I'm getting real tired of your shit," I mutter, gradually raising my head so my eyes eventually fall upon his worn face, "so answer Edward's question or I'll make sure his earlier threat is carried through… besides, last time I checked, I owe you for your mistreatment of my comrade and I all those years ago… remember that, Torres?"

"I do indeed," the man replies, his scrutiny of me amazingly steady despite the situation he had found himself in - this man was hard to break, I had to give him that. "You've changed, child," he notes with a subtle glare as if that fact heavily displeased him.

"You're right," I acknowledge with a small nod of agreement, "I have changed… I'm not scared of you."

"Tess," Edward whispers, placing a hand on the small of my back, the touch meant to calm and restrain me.

"Then you should stop shaking, my dear."

Biting my lip, I steady my trembling hands and defiantly raise my chin, daring Torres to make a move against me or Edward, whether that be a physical or oral attack.

"Do not speak to her like that, scum!" Edward growls, pressing closer to me as if to defend me from Torres's scrutiny, his grey-blue eyes narrowed in what could only be described as the purest resentment and loathing.

"It was a slaver by the name of Laurens Prins," Torres eventually concedes, clearly deciding that answering us was indeed the best course of action - this is probably due to Edward's threats and the knife pressed against one of the most important veins of his body, in which one cut and little to no attention would ultimately result in an early grave, "he lives in Kingston."

"Excellent," I answer in a falsely cheerful voice, removing my blade from his neck.

Edward fails in hiding his excited grin - obviously pleased that we were finally making a headway in both this conversation and his mission to track down the Observatory - and glances over at Adé, inclining his head in a silent enquiry of Torres's report.

The dark-skinned quartermaster nods in return and returns his silver pistol to the safety of its' holster, an action which many of the other crewmen follow, a soft chuckle echoing around the room.

"We like this story, Torres," Edward informs the greying man, watching as I prop myself up onto Torres' desk, combing my fingers through my red-gold curls as I release the dark, chaotic ponytail, his expression mildly amused and most certainly, undeniably pleased. His fingers catch a strand of hair - as I knew he would - before returning to the awaiting pile of gold, his digits running over the unscripted surfaces with an almost tender touch. Reaching for the china pot - steam still curling from the teapots spout - he offers me a cup of tea, which I immediately decline with a quick shake of my head, before pouring himself a cup and raising it in mock honour of the man before the two of us, "we want to help you finish it… but, you see, we're going to do it our way."

Pausing, Edward takes a hearty swig of the tea, sighing in satisfaction as the lukewarm liquid quenches his thirst. "Using you," Edward continues, inclining his head towards the displeased and no doubt frustrated old man, "and your gold."

"I think you mean our gold, Edward," I correct, snatching the teacup from Edward's usually nimble hands and draining the last few drops, a smile caressing my lips.

"Too right you are, my dear. Our gold."

Some time passes after this and I find myself in the courtyard of the smouldering fort, arms folded across my chest, watching the notorious black flag of the pirates flutter lazily in the sea-breeze rising off the oceans of the Eastern Cuban Coast, casually noting to no one - but someone - in particular the removal of the Garrisons Spanish Flag for one of such notoriety.

Edward sidles up next to me, reaching for and successfully obtaining one of my hands which he carefully examines with sharp, crystal-blue eyes which, as they always do, cut my breath short and catch me in their studious gaze. "I noticed it early," he murmured, examining the fair skin of my palm, "the burn on the palm of your hands… how did this happen? Does it hurt?"

"You're concern is beginning to worry me, Edward."

"Don't joke about your own injuries," he argues, tugging my arm so I lose my footing and fall forward into his waiting arms, his face inches from me for a few silent, heated moments before returning to his exploration of the red, non-blistered skin. "Seriously," he continues in a softer tone of voice, his lips pressing against the heated skin, "does it hurt when I touch it?"

"It's a burn, of course it hurts," I say incredulously, flinching away from his hesitant touch.

"You weren't concerned about it prior to now."

"I wasn't really aware of any bodily harm until now," I reply incredulously, whimpering when Edwards' fingers lightly graze the first-degree burns' surface. "Ow," I moan, trying to pull my hand away but as always, his grip remains firm.

"It doesn't look too bad… some cool water or ice should help slow any swelling," he mutters, ignoring my cry of pain in favour of examining the inflamed skin with a kind of gentleness which hints at previous experience dealing with burns.

It shouldn't surprise me that Edward had some knowledge of injuries; he had been a pirate and a privateer for as long as I was aware of his life upon the high-seas and I was certain that every now and then he would have had to face injuries of varying seriousness. His earlier treatment of my fever should have been some indication to a small amount of medical knowledge, although, I wasn't sure how extensive this knowledge and I was sure that it was incredibly lacking in modern healing techniques that I was familiar with.

"Ummm… are you going to let go of my hand now?" I enquire, giving it another painful tug that fails to seek the release I was desperately hoping for.

"How about your fever?" Edward then questions, throwing the query at me out of the blue.

"Fine, Edward, I'm fine."

"You're absolutely-"

"Edward," I interrupt, finally managing to weasel my hand out of his tight grasp, my face crinkling into a tiny smile of amusement as I seek to reassure the paranoid man, "I told you, I'm fine."

"I…"

"Thank you for worrying," I tell him, touching his cheek with the hand that was uninjured, "but you need to stop thinking about me and consider our next move… I assume it will include dragging Torres, hopefully bound in chains, to Kingston in order to seek out this Prins character."

"Something like that," Edward chuckles in response, wrapping his arms around my body in a gentle, very-much-welcome embrace which I instantly snuggle into, breathing in his delicious scent marred only by the smoke residue clinging to the wind and the faint but unmistakable cologne of rusting blood.

"Hey… wasn't Prins that slaver-"

"Back in Tulum?" Edward finishes and I feel him nodding his head slowly as the name spurs some sort of recollection, "thought the name rang a bell. Yeah, he was the one that Kidd got so worked up over not being able to catch. Ironic that he happens to come into the equation yet again, no? It seems like no matter what, our fates are to be tied with that of the Assassins…"

"It's your own fault for pursuing the Observatory," I point out, giggling at the depressed and what could only be noted as a 'kicked puppy' expression that etches itself onto Edwards' face.

"And here I thought you supported my somewhat crazy and possibly delusional dream."

"Just remember, you're the one who pointed out that the Observatory is an unrealistic fairytale."

"Cruel," he grunts, pressing a kiss to my forehead, "you are a cruel, merciless woman…"

"That's new," I chuckle, amused by Edwards' description, one which I would never have thought would ever be associated with me.

With a loud groan, Edward pushes me away from the warm of his body only to then grasp both of my wrists in his usual steel grip, spinning my body so my back crashes instead against his chest and my face is looking out to the ocean and the marooned Jackdaw. The vessel gently rocks in the breeze as men clamber aboard the vessel which is once again singing to life with a renewed vigour, the notable figure of Adéwalé easily distinguishable amongst the faces of such, as he would put it, 'fairness,' barking orders to each member of the crew as he prepares the Jackdaw for its' new mission.

"Edward, should we-" the words catch in my throat as I feel the notable touch of Edwards' lips against my skin, my cheeks burning in embarrassment as the soft pads whisper across the back of my neck and along my collarbone.

"You are a cruel woman," he repeats in a low, husky voice, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear as he murmurs those words into my auditory canal. He loosens his grip on one of my wrists, using the free hand to first trace my shoulder, then my back before resting on my waist, causing goosebumps of a different kind to raise my milky-white skin which is slowly turning a deep, bashful red.

"This-um-ugh…"

Damnit! He really does know how to shut me up! I think, irritated at my speech incapability when Edward teased me like this - and considering the fact that this form of teasing was happen more and more frequently, I was undoubtedly frustrated with myself continuously. Despite this internal struggle with my own subconscious, I am incredibly reluctant to pull away and tell him to stop, simply because his gentle and knowing caresses of my body just feel so good. Somehow, I manage to pull myself away, clear my throat and awkwardly jerk my thumb at the Jackdaw which was undoubtedly awaiting its' captains' return to deck and the helm.

"We should… we should head back to the ship," I croak, unable to look him squarely in the eyes as I say this - Fuck it, I am such a coward after situations like these but in saying that, how the Hell am I supposed to respond after effectively being 'turned on' by just a few touches and kisses. God, Theresa, you are so weak-willed when it comes to this shit...

"Right… yes… ship," Edward mutters in a similarly distracted manner, his eyes slightly glazed as he looks over at his ship as if he can't quite remember as to why he needed to return to the ship so desperately. Upon the return of his senses, he gives himself a rough shake of his head and sets his mouth in a determined line upon reconnecting with his hopefully fool-proof plan - the last one did work out quite well considering we had minor casualties and now controlled a Fort strong-hold on the Cuban coast. "Right, back to the ship and onto Kingston," he says with a far more determined air, his voice losing all of its previous confusion, "you coming Tess?"

"It's Tessa," I snap, unable to help myself from venting my frustrations out on the poor bloke.

But Edward merely smiles and offers me his hand, which I reluctantly take. "You know Tess…" he starts, glancing at me from over his broad shoulder as we make our way down the ruined docks of the Garrison, his expression light and highly entertained as he gazes upon my flustered, red-cheeked face.

"What?" I demand, still in a rather foul mood, involuntarily sticking my tongue out at him like a child as I do.

"That's the first time in a long while that you've corrected me like that…"

Oh.

Come to think of it... when was the last time I told him off for calling me that catchy nickname?

I honestly couldn't recall.

"I think you're getting rusty," Edward continues to joke with a soft laugh, releasing my hand the moment we arrive at the pier, his attention captured by the men loading what appears to be a brand-new whaling harpoon to the ship. "What do we have here boys?"

"Thought we could do with a little 'fishing,' Captain," Adéwalé calls from the Gun Deck, "we could sell our prizes for some hefty prices out in the markets... even barters in Kingston would pay well for the freshly caught Bull-shark or Great White... more for a Humpback."

"That's appalling," I hiss, disgusted by the casual way they discussed harpooning innocent creatures - true, sharks were hardly 'innocent' in the eyes of many, but the fact was that they were a necessary part of the food chain and an imprint feature of the oceans ecosystem and whales... well, what could anyone have against whales? They were the goddamn gentle giants of the sea!

"Appalling, yes," Adé agrees, throwing a nod in my general direction, shielding his eyes from the rays of the steadily rising sun, "but profitable? Definitely."

"Nice to chance to see me with my shirt off, Tess," Edward teases, boarding his ship whilst laughing at the distinctly horrified expression that is clear as day upon my heart-shaped face.

"W-w-what?!" I splutter, flabbergasted at my myself and the way my heart gave a little flutter at his flirtatious and obviously tempting suggestion, trying to hide the clear red-glow of my embarrassed cheeks. "H-how... the nerve you have Edward Kenway to even suggest something to a lady," I snarl, shaking in steadily building anger and embarrassment.

"Thought you said you weren't a lady," that idiotic bastard of a pirate points out with that carelessly impish grin of his.

"Fuck you," I yell, flipping him the finger to which I find myself immediately dumbfounded at the over-dramatic reaction - the things this man made me do, both consciously and subconsciously, was absolutely astounding.

"Only if you're willing, Tess."

With a loud shriek, I throw my arms into the air and storm aboard the Jackdaw, trying to ignore the burning of my cheeks and neck and ears as I stride past Edward, muttering things like 'ass' and 'dick' and 'bastard' - this was obviously a favourite considering I repeated it over and over again and quite loudly, might I add, particularly as I passed the culprit in question - under my breath as I make my way over to the Captain's Quarters, determined that a nice long nap would cheer me up.

"Tess..."

"What?!" I scream, turning on Edward with a look that I was sure could kill.

With that attractive, devil-may-care smirk, Edward allows himself a soft chuckle as he once more points out, "you didn't correct me... you really are losing your touch."

Without another word, I turn sharply on my heel and continue my advance towards Edwards' chambers. I don't know exactly why but the words make my insides feel as cold as a glacier - someone might as well have dumped a bucket of ice over my head. Biting my lip, I focus instead on reaching the relative comfort of Edwards' bed and upon opening the door - and firmly closing it after entering the dark cabin - I flop onto the crimson sheets and bury my face into the rock-hard pillows, attempting to ignore the ice that creeps through my cold, frigid veins.