She's too tired to be worried, and it feels so right to be in his arms she wouldn't have the will to protest anyway. Emily follows him inside and curls up in his bed with him and, safe and sound in his arms, is sound asleep in minutes.

He goes to sleep cradling a sad, beautiful, haunted girl in his arms. He wakes a few hours later to a pirate who's a little too good at making out as though there's nothing wrong.

"Morning." She chimes, sending a smile his way, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I think I've just heard Joshy leave his room. Suppose I'd better scamper back to mine before someone notices I'm gone."

He eyes her for a moment, trying to find any traces of the sad, wide-eyed look she'd given him the night before, but he finds none. "S'ppose so." He replies finally.

She slips out of bed, leans over to plant a kiss on his lips. "That woman who's been taking care of Joshy – what was her name?"

"Mrs. White." He supplies.

"She said I was welcome to join Joshy and your grandfather for breakfast."

"She told me the same."

"I'll see you there, then, aye?"

He nods and she flashes him another little smile before slipping quietly out of the room. He stares at the door and thinks whatever her vision was about the night before, it had definitely involved him.

…

The feeling is mutual, apparently. This isn't at all surprising somehow.

The thing is, there really isn't a good reason for it, this automatic dislike of Will Turner. He'd met Emily's father maybe once when they were still little, and had barely spoken to him. All he knew about him was what Emily had said, and she'd always been careful not to be too disrespectful. And over all, Will was a better man than Alex's father; at least he'd been around for Emily, right? Or perhaps that's just it. He'd been around – but neglectful and not quite there for Emily, had allowed her to be taken away even. Something about that bothers Alex, seems even more unfair.

Whatever the reason, he just doesn't like the older man.

And as he sits across the table from him, it becomes inescapably clear that the feeling is very mutual.

The others seem to sense that there's tension of some kind; Emily certainly does, but studiously ignores it, making pleasant conversation with Mrs. White and Alex's grandfather. After a while, though, Teague excuses himself with a look both knowing and warning sent in Alex's direction, and Mrs. White enlists Joshy's help with the dishes they've just made. Alex, Emily, and Will are all left quite alone.

After several beats of tense and awkward silence, Emily scowls in that way that tends to send the Queen's crew scurrying far out of her way. "Alright. I'm not going to dance around the both of you, I've got better things to do. You either play nice or I'll take my ship and leave one or both of you behind. Probably both of you." Her father glances at her in obvious surprise, but says nothing. Alex opens his mouth but can't decide what to say, so stays silent as well. Emily glares, first at Alex, then at her father. "Well? Oh, alright, what then? Are you going to take out your swords and start banging away at each other? Honestly. I'm not worth all that, I wish you'd both quit while you're ahead."

Will turns his gaze on her sharply. "Not worth it?"

Alex's rolls his eyes, knowing full well Emily Turner's actual opinion of herself. The problem is, he's beginning to see what she sees in herself – when she starts to sound more like Peg than Emily. And as it happens, it's obviously Peg who's glaring daggers at him now. "I'd fight for less. I 'ave, in fact."

The fire that drives her abruptly dims considerably; her shoulders slump and she turns to stare at the table before her, running a hand through her hair and swearing under her breath. She's not angry at him for the comment itself. If she were she'd give him a good slap and be done with it. She looks more worried than angry.

Her papa's just got to his feet, though, and the look in his eyes is dangerously close to being murderous. Alex gets to his feet as well, slow and steady as he glares back at the older man.

"Is that all you think of her?" Will asks, the edge to his voice razor sharp.

"That's all she thinks of 'erself, is my understandin, not that I blame 'er, left be'ind like she was nothin she was, but ye'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Alex replies almost flippantly.

"I was protecting her, what would you know about it?"

"I know her a fair deal better than you do, I'm the one that came back to 'er, ain' I?"

"You know her? Would you care to elaborate, I think I'd like to hear just how well you know my daughter."

And it's probably a very good thing Alex's grandfather doesn't allow weapons in certain areas of his home; he's pretty sure there would be a pistol aimed at his head if one were present. He's not sure what makes him say what he does next. It is a moment of stupid that far exceeds, certainly, any he's had so far. "I'll say this, mate, who she knows is more my business now than it 'as been yours in a long time."

Emily shoots to her feet, then, fists clenched, looking for all the world like she wants to hit one or both of them. And not a silly little slap either; she looks ready to throw a very unladylike punch. "You – you pigs! I don't recall making it anyone's business but my own!" She turns to Alex, her eyes hard. "And if you're going to be worried about who I know, allow me to remind you of pretty little Ruby, who was exceedingly lucky I didn't put a bullet in her pretty little skull!" She kicks the chair behind her out of her way as she says the last word and brushes past Alex as she stalks out of the room.

He watches her go, then turns back to her papa – but can't bring himself to say anything further. Shaking his head, he follows Emily's path out of the room.

"Peg!"

She forces herself not to freeze at the sound of Alex's voice, taking a breath as she keeps walking, not particularly caring whether he catches up with her. She's not too interested in talking about what happened at breakfast, but she's decided she's done with avoiding him simply because she's angry. If they're so busy doing that to each other every time one does something stupid, they'll never get anything else accomplished, and with the vision she'd had…

"You're just in time. I'm going to have a talk with Andrews if you'd like to come along. My goddess is being so cryptic, I'm hoping he can give me a better idea of what to do now."

"Andrews? Right, sure, but about…"

"Do you happen to have your pistol with you?" Emily interrupts him. "Not that I'm overly concerned, but it's best to be prepared I suppose."

"Aye, always 'ave my pistol, but Peg, this mornin…"

Finally she stops, turning to him calmly, forcing herself not to wince at the way 'Peg' rolls off his tongue, sounding ever foreign with his voice. "I don't want to talk about this morning, Alex. I'm sick of being angry with you. I'll yell at you some other time. Right now I just want to get some of those answers Andrews promised."

Alex sighs. "Fine then. Andrews. Who's to say he's actually goin to give ye anythin? He made it damn clear his opinion of ye."

"And I made it damn clear what'll happen to him if I don't need him anymore." She replies coldly, turning to start walking again. "If he's so close to the Admiral he should know all about how that works."

There's a long pause as the Sea's Queen in all her shining, new, white-sailed glory comes into view.

"Ye make it sound sometimes like – 'ave ye actually met 'im? The Admiral? Ye've never really said."

It's beginning to eat at her, keeping secrets and the lies that are a part of doing so. "Yes." She replies on impulse. "He was on the Revenge when I was captured all those years ago."

"Ye know, if ye'd told me that in the beginnin, would've explained so much."

Except it doesn't explain anything at all. She remembers the Admiral from an eight-year-olds point of view; tall and menacing, with light hair and eyes a piercing blue and a presence that was enough on its own to send a chill down her spine for how cold he was. And then she remembers him from their more recent encounter; not as towering tall, his hair just starting to grey, but those eyes still so piercing and cold. Except she'd refused to be afraid, and he'd made her pay for it.

"Emily." Alex again, softer, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Startled out of her reverie, she stares at him blankly. Had he just called her Emily? "What?"

"I asked what exactly ye 'ad planned for Andrews. Are ye alright?"

"Yes. Yes, fine. Uhm. I'm – I'm not sure, about Andrews I mean. I've never taken captives before, I'm making this up as I go along if I'm honest."

He brings a hand up to brush a strand of her dark curls out of her face, looking worried, but he only shakes his head and his hand drops. "Fair enough. I'll watch ye're back."

"As usual?" She presses a kiss to his cheek before turning to board the ship.

Timothy Andrews knew full well he'd only have so much time to come up with a plan, but even so, he's caught a little off guard when Captain Turner decides to come and visit him this day. There'd been a lot of strange goings on over the past days – the wreck they'd all been lucky to survive, the new ship that had just sort of appeared – and now that they seemed to have made port again he'd expected it to be another few days before her mind settled on him. Perhaps it just figures that fate wouldn't be that kind to him.

She gives the men who've been guarding him a temporary dismissal, leaving only Sparrow to guard the door. He would've called this a bold move on her part, but as she's quite armed and he's heard some tell of her prowess with the fine blade at her hip, perhaps she really has nothing to worry about. Just perhaps.

"Good afternoon, gents." She says pleasantly, strolling in and sending a particular smile in the direction of his youngest midshipman, Riley Connelly.

"Captain." Andrews replies a little sharply, trying to keep her focus on him. "What can I do for you?"

The smile fades as she raises her eyebrows in his direction, though she still looks a tad amused. "No need to sound so hostile. I was just thinking you could all probably use a breath of fresh air."

"And I'm to understand you'd be willing to take the chance at giving us some?"

"Well, why not? You don't actually know where we've made port and there's nothing but water around in any other direction. It'll be your funeral if you try escaping now."

"I don't think I'll be taking those chances, personally, sir." Connelly murmurs from the corner of the room he's occupying. His fellow midshipman, Peter Montgomery, sends a glare in his direction for it, but remains good and silent, as Andrews had instructed both of them to.

"He's smart, this one." Turner praises Connelly.

"And what would we have to exchange for these few moments of freedom, pray tell, Captain?" Andrews interjects.

"Nothing you haven't already promised to. I need to know just what the Admiral wants from me."

"I believe the letters made that clear enough."

Now her eyes narrow, just a fraction. "Don't play dumb with me, Andrews. I need to know what he really wants."

"What he wants, Captain, is simply to have you where he can keep an eye on you. You are a nuisance and little more, but he wants you out of the way all the same."

"Hmmm, I'm not buying it. See, I was only eight years old when he first showed any interest in me. Now, at the time, I thought it was just to get to my parents, but then why go through the trouble of taking me again if I wasn't a real threat to him? My father's dead. And my mother – well, we all know that story, assuming you believe in such things." She pauses at this, tilting her head, her gaze turning decidedly more calculating. "Do you believe in such things, Mr. Andrews?"

"I believe in what I can see with my own eyes." He replies easily.

She eyes him a moment longer before strolling past him and over to Connelly, sliding her back down the wall to sit next to him. "What about you, Riley?" Andrews winces at the familiarity. "I'm told there are some interesting stories going around about me. Do you believe them?"

"My men would know far better than to believe in every bit of superstitious nonsense they hear tell of." Andrews puts in quickly.

Connelly glances at him, a little uncertain, before turning back to Turner, seeming to study her a bit. "I have wondered." He admits quietly. "But having met you now it is rather difficult to believe so beautiful a woman could be the devil's daughter."

"Connelly." Andrews barks, scolding, not liking the look on the boy's face.

Turner smiles, mischievous. "Well, now. Give you just a few more years and you'll be quite the charmer, won't you, Mr. Connelly?"

"I only speak the truth." The boy shrugs, his cheeks going red.

"Ah, but it's how you speak the truth that makes all the difference, aye?"

"Captain Turner." Andrews says firmly, and perhaps just a bit louder than necessary. She turns to him with that look again, eyebrows raised, vague amusement hiding somewhere in her eyes. He closes his own as he goes on. "I may not believe in these old wives tales, but the Admiral does. He wants your mother, to control her I suppose, but he isn't foolish enough to believe he can do so through use of the heart, that's already been tried."

"And he thinks I can control her?"

"He thinks she will ultimately listen to you, yes."

"Then he is a fool."

"Then why are you keeping us?" He asks, growing furious. "If you've no interest in his plans, why not let us go?"

"Because I still believe you can be of use to me, of course." Her tone briefly becomes decidedly darker. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of what I could very well do if I'm wrong." She stands, making her way back over to the door, abruptly pleasant again. "But if that's all you have to say for now, then so be it."

"Wait!" Connelly shoots to his feet, much to Andrews shock, jogging across the cabin as she freezes half out the door. "Captain… All the stories. Are they true?"

She seems to think on that a moment, smiling again. "Is a lady pirate with just one leg not interesting enough for you, my dear Riley? If not, you can come see me in my cabin. I promise to make sure these stories, whatever they be about, are the last thing on your mind." She adds a saucy wink and then is gone.

Andrews, eyes wide, turns to Connelly. "Can you believe the nerve of that wild woman? It seems 'pirate' has become a way simply of saying 'brazen hussy."

Connelly blushes furiously, but the look on his face is more curious than scandalized as he stares at the now closed door. "Indeed, sir." He replies faintly.

Andrews scoffs and resists the sudden urge to hit the boy upside the head.

Alex is leaning on the wall across from the cabin, arms crossed as he attempts to appear casual, but his eyes always give him away, at least to her. She scoffs. "Oh, will you relax? I know what I'm doing."

Rolling his eyes, Alex pushes off the wall to stay at her side as she makes her way back off the ship. "I'll tell ye what I certainly hope ye'll notbe doin, and that's anything involvin Riley and our cabin."

"I'll do whatever I think is necessary to get what I need, Alex, but don't worry. He's younger even then us, remember, I've already got him curious, and that's me barely trying. I doubt it'll come to what you're thinking."

"I'd like to know what you're thinking, if ye wouldn't mind terribly." Oh, the sarcasm.

Now it's Emily's turn to roll her eyes, turning to him. "Alex, sometimes I'd swear you'd make the worst bloody pirate in history. Andrews will break eventually I'm sure, but that might require certain methods I'm not ashamed to admit I don't think I have the stomach for. So I'm attempting to think more like Uncle."

"Oh, and that's meant to be comforting, is it?" He scowls. "Let's 'ear it then."

Tugging him off the ship in the off chance that their captives can hear them, Emily pulls him aside on the docks. "You're a Sparrow, Alex, think like one. I tug Riley over to our side – promise of riches or freedom or girls, the usual, as I said, I daresay I've already got him curious enough – and perhaps I even tell him all about," here she slumps her shoulders and lets out a convincing sob, wiping away nonexistent tears, "being taken when I was oh so young and locked away so cruelly."

"Playing the damsel?"

"Icing on the cake. Once he's good and won over…"

Realization dawns on Alex's face. "We send 'im scurryin back to Andrews and let 'im find out whatever it is ye need to know. That's diabolical, that is." The apprehension from earlier fades as he gives her his trouble grin. Goddess, the things that roguish grin does to her… "And now we know why ye're the captain, don't we, darling?"

Emily mirrors his look as she spins around and strolls away, hips swaying proudly. "As if there was ever a question."

Several members of the Queen's crew gather at one of Shipwreck's few taverns that evening. Jo finds herself a quiet corner to settle into when both Emily and Alex find themselves drinks, not entirely minding if she has to be the responsible one. This does happen. She keeps an eye on both of them, but mainly Emily. Something had happened that morning, and Emily wouldn't tell her what, but Jo can just tell by now when the younger girl is in the mood to find the trouble that so often comes to her anyway. Her suspicions are soon confirmed. Emily is quite obviously a little drunk already when a man from another ship visiting Shipwreck takes notice and tries to get a little too close; she draws her sword but, to be fair, somehow manages to drop him without drawing blood.

Heaving a sigh, Jo downs the rest of the only drink she intends to have and settles herself in for a long night.

…

She's not too surprised when a curious Mr. Turner enters the tavern, nor is she surprised when his eyes land on Emily and Alex and harden a touch. She is, however, a bit surprised when he begins winding his way through the tavern to Jo.

"If you'll forgive me for being blunt, how long have you known my daughter?"

Jo shrugs, uncertain. "Well over a year now."

He nods, turning to watch his daughter. "Then you'd know if this was something she made a habit of."

Jo raises an eyebrow. "A habit of? Drinking in a tavern, halfway attempting to start some kind of brawl, or flirting shamelessly with Alex?"

He turns back to her, brows creased in worry. "You don't sound surprised by any of it?"

"Nothing about that girl surprises me anymore. She tends to work under the assumption that the only rules that apply are her own. Looking for trouble of any kind, though, that's nothing new for her at all."

One of his hands comes up to rest on the sword he'd somehow acquired as another man approaches Emily. "I don't suppose there'll be any pulling her away before she finds what she's looking for?"

Jo snorts as Emily draws her own sword and faces the other man down as she had the first. "She'd be likely to threaten you at sword point if you tried. Besides, after whatever it is that happened this morning, I'd be willing to bet a reaction of any kind is exactly what she wants from you. Best leave her be tonight. In truth, sir, she can handle herself."

He watches Emily a moment more, shakes his head, and leaves.

…

The tavern is growing considerably rowdier some time later and Jo is beginning to contemplate giving up and leaving herself. Alex appears to be better off than Emily, perhaps by design, if all else fails he'll drag her away eventually. Right now they are dancing to the lively tune that's been struck up, and appearing to quite enjoy themselves.

Jo is just about to get to her feet when someone grabs the mug in front of her, refilling it via a full bottle using a pair of big, tanned hands. A little startled, her hazel eyes dart upward – and meet a smiling pair of blue ones. Oh. The man standing next to her now is tall and really quite handsome, his chin shadowed with stubble and light brown hair falling freely to hang just above broad shoulders clad in white tunic and black leather vest.

He holds the mug back out to her, and she eyes it, trying to remember herself. "A bit forward, I know, but I could not in good conscious leave so beautiful a woman to sit here all by her lonesome."

Trying to appear as unamused as possible, she snatches the mug back. "I knew I should've cut my hair as well. With all these curls there's just no mistaking me."

"Ah, but what a travesty that would be, to do away with curls so full and fine." She blushes and covers it up by bringing her cup to her lips again, smiling into the rum. Apparently sensing that he's won a small victory, he gestures to the seat across form her. "May I?"

"I suppose." She concedes. At least he's trying to charm her.

He sits. "So why is the lady left alone on this fine night?"

"Too busy keeping an eye on a friend with a tendency to find trouble, I suppose."

"Ah. I apologize for distracting you, then."

"You're not." Jo replies, for some reason worried the handsome stranger might leave. "I mean, you are." She brings a hand up to play with the curls spilling over her shoulder, flustered. "But – it's a welcome distraction."

He treats her to a smile. "Good." He holds out his hand as if to shake hers. "Christoff De Lange."

"Jo Gibbs." She places her small hand in his much larger one tentatively, blushing again when he brings it to his lips to brush a feather light kiss over top of it.

"Alex."

"Aye?"

"Jo's with a man."

"This entire taverns full of 'em, dearie."

"No, I mean – she's smiling. Never seen her smile like that."

"Oh. Oi, I know 'im. S'Captain Christoff. Strange, that one, 'is dad's a friend of me granddad's, but I can never tell what business Christoff's in."

"She won't be needing rescuing, will she?"

"Nah, not from 'im. 'sides, Jo can 'andle 'erself well as you can, right?"

Emily only shrugs and steals back the bottle Alex has just taken a drink from.

"Where's Emmy?" Joshy asks innocently, a piece of toast spread with jam half way to his mouth, his brows furrowed adorably.

It's half past eight in the morning. Until now it's conveniently escaped everyone else's noticed that both Alex and Emily have yet to make an appearance. Teague exchanges a glance with Mrs. White, who then looks to Will, who seems a bit tense. They are all well aware of how full the one tavern had been the night before; it doesn't take a genius to figure out where the pair probably are. Fundamentally, there's nothing wrong with this, as they are young and free and had only been having a bit of fun. Joshy, though, still wants so badly to believe in his sister being good – in his simple, though somewhat warped, nine-year-old definition – that no one quite has the heart to explain.

"Joshua, I believe I've left the cup with cream for the coffee in the kitchens, would you be a dear and fetch it for me?" Mrs. White asks pleasantly. Joshy eyes them all a little suspiciously, but since there really is no cream set out on the table, he shrugs and heads off obediently. As soon as he is out of sight, the elderly woman leans in a bit, speaking soft and hurried. "They never came in last night, sir, either of them. That's all I know."

Joshy comes back in before anything else can be said, carefully setting the small pitcher of cream onto the table before Mrs. White, who gives him a kind smile. "Thank you, dear."

"Papa, are you alright?" Joshy asks shyly, looking up at his father from across the table with his big green eyes – so much like his mother's.

Teague stands. "Forgive me, I've some things to attend to this morning, I'd forgotten. If you'll excuse me." Only Mrs. White notices the glint in his eyes and the vaguely urgent tone to his voice.

"Papa?" Joshy presses as Teague slips out of the room.

"Yes. Yes, son, I'm fine. Just – not feeling well I'm afraid. Please excuse me as well." And he too stands, making a beeline for the door.

Joshy looks to Mrs. White very calmly. "They're going to look for Alex and my sister, aren't they?"

"Going to wake them, is all." She replies, perhaps a little too hastily. "We know where they are, of course, dear, they've simply – slept late, as you young ones sometimes do."

Joshy nods, but decidedly isn't buying it. Not for a moment.

Should she be worried that this feeling is growing a little more familiar? Well, the pounding headache, that is. Of course she's already quite familiar with waking in Alex's arms, although a little less so whilst being quite without clothing.

…wait.

Forcing her eyes open, she takes in her surroundings. The two tall cupboards, her desk, the window allowing all that bloody bright sunlight in to the room. She's in her cabin on the Sea's Queen. Which wouldn't be at all a bother to her, except she can't quite remember how it is she got here, and (as she's already established) she isn't alone.

There's a knock at the door. Is that what woke her?

"Alex." That's Captain Teague's voice, and he sounds a bit urgent. "If you're in there boy, you'd best get yer arse up and moving."

Her eyes widen. "Alex!" She exclaims. "Alex wake up." She works herself out of his arms and the sheets tangled around them. "Alex, you stupid, lazy bilge rat," she half growls impulsively, "wake. Up!" There's another knock at the door. "Yes! Y-yes sir, we're – I mean I'm – I…" She tries to force her thoughts into some semblance of order.

"I'm well aware, Captain, I'm not the one you need worry about. It's only a matter of time before your father comes for you. The pair of you best come up with something right quick."

Alex is up by now, but only looks at her, vaguely horrified, before scrambling out of the bed, searching for his trousers and tossing Emily her clothes as he finds them.

"Where's my…"

"Got it." He hands her off her leg brace. "Erm, I seem to be missin…"

"Here." She hands him off his vest.

Footsteps sound across the deck above them, and then pound down the stairs. They hear Teague talking, something about having found 'the young captain' and mentioning her foul mood.

Eyes widening when she hears her father's gruff baritone respond, she shoves the rest of Alex's things into his arms. Remembering a feature her pretty new Queen now possesses, she scurries him over to the window and opens it, shoving him through and out onto the walk way beyond it, hissing for him to stay put and be quiet if he values his life. He rolls his eyes as if she's being dramatic, but she has no time to argue with him.

Goddess, her head. Hadn't she promised herself she wouldn't do this again?

Walking back across the room rather unsteadily, she runs a hand through her hair and takes a breath in a last ditch effort to compose herself some before opening the door. "Papa! What – what seems to be the problem?"

He attempts to peer into the room beyond her. She chances a glance back at the window, and with no sign of Alex, opens the door and lets her papa see. "You didn't come for breakfast. Mrs. White said you weren't in your room to her knowledge, we were worried."

"Worried, why-why would you be worried? There's no reason to worry, I don't- I don't always sleep very well with my visions, being on the ship calms me is all." She babbles, stumbling over her words some, blushing lightly.

Her papa looks a little startle by the outburst and exceedingly skeptical. "Alex isn't in his room either," he goes on, uncertain, "and I saw several members of your crew gather at a tavern last night."

"As they're free to. I was there for a short while but that's not, not really my… I'm, erm, not much for spirits, you remember." Alright, fine, lying at all convincingly simply isn't in the cards at the moment.

"I remember a little girl who is little like the young woman I'm talking to now, and I know a hangover when I see one, Emily Turner."

She's struck a bit speechless for a moment because damned if he doesn't suddenly sound very much a father. "Oh, and you would, wouldn't you?" Now she's angry on top of being still, maybe, just a little drunk, and why shouldn't be angry, after the way her papa had acted the previous morning? Eyes narrowed, she puts her hands on her hips and very firmly comes out with – "Well I swear to drunk I was not my goddess last night and I…" Now wait, that didn't quite come out right, did it? Judging by the amusement her father's obviously trying to hold back and Teague's open laughter from somewhere a short ways down the hallway, no, it didn't. Right. How much did she have to drink? "I mean… Well, Alex isn't here anyway, knowing him he probably found some little tart to keep him company for the night." She tries for some attitude. "He's as good for that as Uncle you know."

Her father heaves a sigh. "Yes, I can see you're quite alone. Your brother was asking for you."

"I'll be there soon."

She breathes a sigh of relief when the door shuts and she's afforded a blissful moment of silence, and she really doesn't like the way her stomach's beginning to churn. She'll have to ask Alex what that cure of his is, it would be a handy thing to know, awful as it tasted. "Alex, they're gone now."

He climbs back into the room. "Some little tart? Now that's not very nice, love, referrin to yerself in such a way."

She picks up an empty bottle rolling at her feet and throws it at his head, holding back her own laughter as he ducks and it sails right out the window with a distant splash.

Tried for a bit of simple humor in that last scene. I hope I succeeded, since half of this chapter was kind of just filler and fluff anyway. Again, I know, lots of OCs running around, but hey, at this point the stories mainly made of them, and my new captain is less a character than a plot device for later on…and it's my story, why am I explaining?

Thanks for reading. :)