Will was back onboard the Unicorn and bored beyond belief. Ana had written him a dozen letters about everything going on in both Southampton and New York, along with a very blurry picture of Nana's puppies. Rigel had met his progeny and behaved appropriately, and Ana was already trying to decide which one to send to her mother.

Will had requested an entire letter about her mother's reaction to her new puppy, at least then he could have something to laugh about.

Things up here were grim, and not just because of the weather. The men were restless, the fleet immobile, and the leadership recalcitrant. The only thing that was being accomplished was maintaining the blockade, which was down to a few groups of cruisers. Which left time for Admiral Beatty to indulge himself in the various delights of Edinburgh and time for Admiral Jellicoe to politic with First Sea Lord Jackson.

In the end it meant that he had a ship full of bored men who needed some distraction before they decided to break into the purser's rum stores and burn the ship to the waterline.

Will wrote leave for dozens of men each day, encouraged his officers to come up with ideas for some kind of competition and did his best to get Nettles off his back. He had been reading a letter from Ana when his second in command had come in, and while making small talk about the letter, Will had mentioned that Ana was going to be sending up something for his birthday. Nettles had latched onto that immediately, and after some prying, Will had admitted when it was.

Now Nettles kept asking for details on what Will would like his birthday party to feature and offered his own suggestions, each more elaborate than the last.

Will ducked his questions, gave him enough leave that he could go home and visit his wife, and when Nettles came back with a full list of questions from her for Will to answer, he assigned him to developing some competition for the damage control crews. Will had taken to hiding in his office, although he had to put in an appearance when Nettles had said his competition was ready to begin.

Will stood on deck in his greatcoat, a scarf around his neck and his hat pulled low as he watched a dozen men line up on one side of the deck. A dozen targets, taut paper with red bullseyes painted on it, were ranged across from them. The ship's master at arms waited with a chest of pistols, each loaded with six shots. A detachment of Marines was present, checking each gun that was given out and monitoring the men as they took their places. Will had no doubt they would intervene if any of them men took a fancy to the idea of taking a shot at any of the officers.

But the only thing the men seemed concerned with was joking with each other as they hefted their pistols, bets on drinks and good-natured cursing. Will also heard some complaints about the cold, and noticed that quite a few eyes were looking towards him. Even the shooters had paused, turning towards him, although they kept their guns down. Will stepped forward, clearing his throat. "This marks the beginning of the ship's marksmanship competition, the winner for this department will move on to face the other department's winners."

"What about the other ships?" A voice called out, although Will couldn't tell from where. The sudden movement in the crowd brought out a quick addition. "Begging your pardon, sir, we're just curious. Will the best shot onboard face a tournament?"

Will glanced to his officers, gesturing for them to relax at the break in discipline. "If they're willing to face him. It certainly would be something to do while we're all stuck in port." That brought forth a cheer, and Will gestured to the shooters. "Gentlemen, take your shots. The master at arms will determine the winner."

The sudden pops of pistol fire broke through the cold February day, each man drawing a bead and firing. Groans went up from the men when a shot went wide, and cheers when a shot was close to the bullseye. The bullets themselves would land harmlessly in the river, surprising no one but a few fish. Eventually the firing died off, each man squinting at the target across from him as the Marines collected the pistols and returned them to the master at arms. The man himself double checked that the pistol case was locked before striding across the deck to peer at the targets.

Will shared the men's anxiety as the man slowly made his way past each target, his thumb serving as a measure. Will wasn't overly concerned with the results like they were, but he desperately wanted to get back to his cabin where it was warm. It seemed like the master at arms relished his duty, taking his time to note down the results of every target's assessment. Finally though, he reached the last of the targets, turned on his heel, and came back towards the crowd of men.

The winner was announced and quickly swarmed, and Will had a brief shock when he recognized the winning shooter was one of the men who had gotten into the brawl to defend the honor of his ship and his captain. Will stepped forward, his hand out. "Well shot."

The man shook his hand roughly, a smile wide enough to hurt on his face. "Thank you, sir! I can't wait to see if the others will take me on, can't wait to shove it in those brutes on the Indefatigable's faces."

"First you'll have to beat the other departments." Will teased, knowing that the next few days would see the other departments having their own competitions before a final shoot. Given the man, Noman's, shooting, Will had a feeling that he would win though. Norman had good aim, a steady hand, and the desire to win. In Will's opinion, beating the other ships in a shooting match was better than beating the tar out of their men.

The success of Nettles's tourney was carried out repeatedly over the rest of the week, and Will had to give orders for his officers to break up any group of men gambling their wages over the matches. Betting drinks was fine, but he drew the line at money. It had the effect of turning a friendly competition ugly. By the end of the week, Norman stood alone as the best shot on the Unicorn, and Will found himself sitting in Beatty's office as he laid out his request.

Beatty raised a brow after he was finished, "That's quite a scheme."

"The men can only drill so much." Will shrugged, "It certainly kept the men entertained."

"Speaking of entertainment," Beatty reached into his desk, drawing out a prettily wrapped package. "This was delivered for you earlier today, I thought you might appreciate it being delivered in my office, rather than passed around your men on its way to you."

Will reached for the small box, seeing the letter it was sitting on. "Thank you, sir."

"A lady friend?" Beatty smirked, "Or your wife?"

He resisted the urge to snort, "There's only my wife for me, sir. I'm quite sure Ana simply wanted to send me something for-" Will cut himself off, feeling his cheeks flush.

"For?"

He sighed, "My birthday, it's today."

"Well there's no need to be so glum about it!" Beatty grinned, "How old are you now, fifty?"

"Forty-three."

"Well, at least you're young enough people don't look sideways when you're with your wife." Beatty leaned back in his chair. "Now, I assume there's a party of some kind planned?"

Will pursed his lips, "My chief has been pestering me since he found out, he more than likely has something planned."

"Well, I can step in if needed." Beatty leaned in, his voice low and mischievous. "We can always close down the officer's club for it and bring in some girls. I'm sure Anne would be willing to come back if you apologized."

Will glared, "Sir, I would ask you to never mention that her, or that night, ever again."

"I was only teasing you, Murdoch." Beatty chuckled, waving his hand. "Go on, enjoy your boring party. If you're looking for more fun though, just give my office a call. I can arrange things very quickly should the occasion call for it."

He was still laughing as Will left his office, pulling his coat tight around him. He was glad the Unicorn had been docked for resupplying, being rowed out would have been miserable. He was already miserable, dreading what Nettles had planned. Ana and her mother throwing him a party was one thing, there he just had to greet the guests, be around during dinner, and could slink away to nurse a glass of whiskey with no one noticing as they would be too obsessed with themselves. Not to mention he could endure any party with the knowledge that Ana would be waiting for him at the end of the night, her nightgown slipping off her shoulders and her body warm and welcoming.

But here there was none of that.

Ana had already sent her regrets that she would be unable to join him for his birthday, Sylvie had insisted that she assist with both children and puppies which had led to her getting a rather nasty cold. There had been multiple reassurances in her letter that she was completely fine, that he did not need to worry about her health, and that she would be back on her feet soon enough. Ana had tried to distract him with stories about Mr. Collins, and his wife, playing nursemaid. She swore she would never get sick again after what Mrs. Collins had made her drink, some bizarre concoction of herbs, eggs and curry spice that had burned going down and made her nose run for days.

Will had written back that he would very much not like her to recreate the drink if he ever fell ill.

In fact, he was writing his thanks to Ana for her gift. She had sent along an intricate silver model of the Unicorn, which was proudly displayed on his desk. He had spent a good half an hour marveling over the small details, the way the guns would move, the lines of the deck and the thin silver wire of the flag mast. It had only been when he had moved to place it on his desk that he had felt where the felt lining the bottom had been cut away in one section. He had flipped it over, reading the engraving.

For my jolly sailor bold, the captain of my heart, on his birthday. With all of my love, your Anastasia.

Will had rolled his eyes at that, and his letter thanking her had included a remark about how apparently their time apart was turning her overly sentimental. He fully expected her to reply with a remark about how he was overly sentimental when he was around her, and he knew a dozen letters teasing each other could easily be written. Will did find himself sentimental around her, it was hard not to be. When surrounded by cold steel and sailors at war, the thought of his warm home and beautiful wife was far more preferred.

A knock drew him out of his reverie, the door creaking open to reveal Nettles. The grin on his face was far too smug, "It's time for dinner, sir."

"Let's just get this over with." Will sighed, standing. "I'm assuming you've booked dancing girls and a massive cake?"

"And a brass band." Nettles snorted, "The champagne's already on ice." He opened the door to the wardroom, and Will braced himself. But what he saw was simply the offices gathered around the table, which did contain a cake, but there was no band or dancing girls jumping out of the corner. Nettles coughed from behind him, "I was only trying to rile you up sir, I figured you would prefer something a bit more sedate."

Will nodded to his officers, "Thank you, gentlemen."

"Happy birthday, sir." Tyne grinned, gesturing for Sharpe to step forward. The man was carrying a large frame, and turned it around to reveal a painting of a frigate under full sail. Tyne gestured to the bow, pointing at the figurehead, a rampant unicorn with a gilded horn. "Sharpe here found this in an antique store, we all chipped in and figured it should be with you, since you're this Unicorn's captain."

Will smiled, nodding his thanks. "That's very kind of you men, thank you. But I think it would serve us better here, the wardroom is a bit bare." They all laughed, because between the table, the clocks, the desks and papers spread around, the wardroom was anything but bare. But a space was found on the wall, even if a few things had to be moved, and the previous Unicorn was up in time to watch them devour the cake that had been brought for the party.

I was glad to be visiting the hospital, it had been quite some time since my last visit. My cold had lingered and Dr. Humphry had not wanted me to visit until it had disappeared completely. The last thing the hospital needed was a cold running rampant through the wards. But now I was no longer reaching for a handkerchief every five minutes and Dr. Humphry had directed me to a different ward for the day.

He led me through the halls of the hospital, Rigel trotting between us. "I have a different assignment for you today."

"Assignment?" I raised a brow, smirking. "You're making it sound like I'm a nurse."

He shook his head, "I don't quite know what you are here, but I know where you're needed." He nodded towards a door, "You'll find him in there."

"And who is he?"

"Rowan Harrow," Humphry looked down to his clipboard. "Twenty-five, from Yorkshire, suffered intense burns at Ypres. Received treatment at field hospital, transferred to a burn unit in London, brought down here two weeks ago for further treatment."

I blinked, trying to take it all in. "Is there something beyond that?"

"He's been solitary, barely eats, refuses to talk to the nurses." Humphry looked to Rigel and I. "You've been helpful with raising the spirits of the other men, I'm hopeful you can reach him."

"I'll be glad to try." I took a deep breath as I stepped up the door, knocking lightly before slowly opening it. "Mr. Harrow? I'd like to come in, if you don't mind." There wasn't much of an answer from the dark room, the curtains pulled over the windows. All I heard was a grunt, but it sounded like a positive grunt. Rigel came in after me, sniffing around while I closed the door. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought my dog with me."

"Fine." The voice grunted, and I reached down to unhook Rigel's leash. He padded off into the darkened room, and I heard snuffling. "He's friendly."

I wrapped the leash around my hands, "He is." I moved further into the room, keeping my hand out so I didn't trip over anything. It was incredibly dark, and I stubbed my toe before I found a chair to sit in. "Do you like dogs, Rowan?"

He was quiet for several moments. "I do."

"Rigel is a wonderful dog," I tried peering through the gloom. "He enjoys visiting the hospital." I could still hear Rigel farther into the room, his tail happily thumping against something. I turned my attention to the table in front of me, occupied by a barely touched tray. A bowl of porridge had a few spoonfuls taken from it, some pieces of toast had been nibbled at, and an orange left untouched. "Why Mr. Harrow, you've barely eaten today."

Rowan fairly growled at me, "I don't like the food here, and I don't need yet another lecture."

I lifted my basket onto the table, "Well then, it's a good thing I'm not the lecturing type. You must be starving though, and I brought plenty of food. Why don't you and Rigel come join me?"

Rigel came trotting up at his name, hesitant steps behind him. "You can just leave it, ma'am."

"Oh come now Rowan, I want to eat with you."

"You don't need to see me, ma'am." He sounded closer. "A lady like you don't need nightmares."

I sat straighter, folding my hands in my lap. "I have plenty of nightmares already, Mr. Harrow. I highly doubt you could add to them."

A few more steps sounded, already I could make out his form in the gloom. "You haven't seen anything like me."

I stood, coming towards him. He took a step back, but stopped. I strained my eyes to see the detail of his face, thick scar tissue twisting up his left jaw and over his cheek, the freshly regrown eyebrow and hair, the way the scarring twisted the left side of his mouth up into a strange grin. I reached out, halting just before his jaw. If he wanted to move back he could, but he stayed there. I gently touched his scarring, feeling the pitting of it under my hand. "I have seen far worse than you, Mr. Harrow. All I see now is a hungry young man. Now, please, sit down and eat with me or I'll be giving it all to Rigel."

He moved almost like in a trance as he sat across from me, "Who are you? You never said your name."

I sat up straight in my chair, holding myself proud. "I am Anastasia Murdoch, although you may call me Anne if you like, everyone here does." I reached for the basket, holding out a napkin to him. "I have survived the Titanic, where I lost my father and rowed through a field of dead bodies, and the Lusitania, where I saw a friend crushed to death." The rattle of plates as I drew them out filled the room for a moment, and I held Rowan's eyes as I handed him one of the ham and cheese sandwiches I had brought. "So trust me, Rowan, you don't scare me. You are not a monster, just a man."

"Doesn't feel like it." He muttered, unwrapping the sandwich and biting into it. "You're a good cook."

I chuckled, "I try, but these were made by a girl who comes to take care of the house. I'll pass on the compliment."

He chewed carefully, "Is your house big?"

"Not especially," I shrugged. "What about your home? Dr. Humphry said you were from Yorkshire."

He snorted, then coughed and took a moment to swallow. "I joined up in Yorkshire, but I'm from Stratford. I was following farm work when the war started, and well, I felt I had to do something." He looked away, "And look what that got me."

I sighed, "You sound like my husband."

"He in the PBI too?"

"PBI?"

"Poor bloody infantry," He cracked a slight smile, the other side of his mouth rising to match the scarred side. "We have an odd sense of humor."

That they did, but I was not going to comment on it. "My husband is in the navy, a captain."

"A toff then."

"Hardly," I laughed at that, "If anything, I'm the toff in our marriage." Rowan looked rather confused, and I continued. "I run a successful, a very successful, shipping company."

His grin fell. "Then what are you doing here then? Shouldn't you be off in London, dining with the King?"

"I'm here because I want to help." I held his eye. "As an American they won't let me nurse, but they'll let me visit you all." Rigel shoved his head into my lap, loudly sniffing at the remains of my sandwich. "Oh fine, you devil."

That made Rowan smile again as Rigel started looking for more. "He's a beggar."

"Beggars don't weight as much as he does." I muttered, gently shoving him away. "Rowan, I've been helping men coming out of the hospital find employment, or housing if they aren't ready to work. I'd like to help you too."

His unscarred cheek blushed, "You don't need to do that, ma'am. I can find farm work soon enough."

"Not until it warms up." I gestured to the window, the curtains hiding the fact that the garden outside was still dormant. The start of March had brought rain, but little warmth. "And even then you'd likely be waiting until the harvest."

Rowan shifted in his chair. "I can find something, Mrs. Murdoch."

"Can you drive?" I cocked my head, smiling.

He blinked, "Yes?"

"You don't sound very sure."

"I can drive, ma'am, I just don't know why you'd ask that."

I laced my fingers together. "I could use a driver, I can barely manage my Rolls and it would be nice to have someone skilled take over." I saw his eyes widen at the word 'Rolls' and barreled ahead. "Of course, you would be paid well, and receive room and board, so long as you don't mind living with me."

Rowan's mouth screwed up as much as it could. "You're just disguising charity. I don't need charity, Mrs. Murdoch."

"I'm not offering charity." I shot back. "I'm offering a job to someone who needs one when he gets out of here. You seem like a proud man, Rowan, I would think you wouldn't want to have to go begging."

"I wouldn't!"

"So you would starve until some farmer took pity and let you sleep in his barn." I could see a bit of fire in him at that, so I kept on. "If you want to sleep on a blanket over a pile of hay rather than the cot I have, be my guest."

He hesitated, unsure. "If I agree to this, mind you, if, I wouldn't want my days to be spent frittering around."

"They wouldn't, I usually have plenty of places I need to go. My offices, friend's houses, the hospital. I also have a house in Scotland, so if you're after a long drive we can certainly take one." I reached into the basket, pulling out a bar of chocolate. "I also find myself in need of a gardener, if your farm skills could transfer over."

His fingers closed over the bar. "They could. Flowers?"

"I am partial to them."

"What about vegetables?" He raised a brow. "They're a bit more practical."

I leaned back in my chair, "Well, so long as you can raise at least a few flowers for me, I think we have an agreement."

He broke off a piece of chocolate, carefully eating it. "I'll want you to work me like a dog, otherwise I won't deserve what you'll be paying me."

"Believe me Rowan, I am quite sure I can find you work, be it driving or helping out on my ships."