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"A Pirate's Trade"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Alternate Universe - Pirates, yes I
went there, Yaoi, Smut, Questionable Pirate Morality, Arrrrg Pairings: 2x1, 3x4 Summary: Captain Maxwell of the Shinigami, second
most feared pirate to sail the Seven Seas, unwittingly stole precious
booty from the one man who is more feared than he is. Oops. "A Pirate's Trade" Chapter 10: Brotherhood At the end of the Inn's hallway was a small vestibule with a lacquered, upholstered armchair in the corner and a small mahogany table that stood beside it. It was dim. Only the soft, flickering light of a few candles illuminated the space. Captain Duo Maxwell settled down into the chair, wincing as it creaked beneath his weight, then leaned back and stretched his legs out before him. From his vantage point, he could see the door to the room that he and the catamites had occupied for the night. He rested his elbow on the curved wooden arm of the chair, propped his chin on his fist, and stared at the door as if he could will it to open with his mind. He wasn't even sure what the hell he was thinking when he'd ordered his own catamite to bugger Barton's. He supposed it had something to do with his fury at Barton for stealing his ship. There was no better way to get back at the bastard than to degrade his bed warmer. Unfortunately, what they'd just done wasn't nearly as degrading as what the young man had suffered at the hands of his crew. He grimaced and shifted in the chair, immensely uncomfortable at the knowledge that he'd subjected the deadly man's catamite to unspeakable acts. Even if the blond pipsqueak didn't rat him out, he wasn't so stupid as to delude himself into believing Barton wouldn't be able to pick up the signs. Though, if he were honest, he didn't notice any outward repulsion when his own boy had touched him. The little whore even seemed to enjoy it. He was objectively beautiful. There was no doubt about that. Duo would be lying if he said he wasn't aroused by the thought of taking him to bed. But the real treat was watching his Heero do the work. His lovely catamite, though reticent at first, appeared to have no qualms about taking the dominant position even though he hadn't in years. The concept of Heero buggering anyone wasn't new in Duo's mind. The boy had been a whore for a few years before Duo had taken it upon himself to force him into personal servitude. Heero revealed to him on more than one occasion that he'd also had female customers in addition to male ones. Buggering someone was not a foreign concept to the boy, but he'd been forbidden to do so since he'd become Duo's catamite. Once his hesitation had worn off and he was relatively sure that he wasn't about to be punished, he seemed rather eager for another chance and the obvious pleasure he'd gotten from it made watching it all the better. "Hope you enjoyed it, boy. You may never have another opportunity," Duo muttered and scratched at his chin. It had been a few days since his face had seen a blade and the whiskers growing in made his skin itch. Unfortunately, his own blade was still aboard the Shinigami which was now in Barton's possession. He scowled and impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, still wanting blood despite the release of sex. That blade was the only thing he owned that had once belonged to his father. If he had his way, he'd use it to slice Barton's and his little whore's throats open. That was, if he ever got his ship back. He pulled the letter out of his pocket and unfolded the parchment, clenching his teeth at the drops of blood splattered across it that had long since dried. He'd found the note stuck to his deckhand's decapitated forehead which had been mounted on the post of the dock where he'd last anchored his beloved Shinigami. The three men who had remained on board had been slaughtered. Dismembered. Their remains scattered over the dock in bloody pieces. And from what Duo had heard of Barton's crew, most notably his First Mate, he instantly knew the butchering of his crewmen had been the work of none other than Chang Wufei. That name was often spoken of in dark corners of pubs and taverns like a terrifying secret. With wide eyes set in grimy faces that blinked owlishly over the rims of steel steins in a mixture of awe and terror. As though just saying it too loudly would invoke the man himself, who had become a legend in his own right, to materialize and slice them in half. If Barton was the Demon of the Sea, Chang Wufei was weapon that he wielded. Duo knew that if he wanted to get to Barton, he would have to go through Chang which was virtually impossible. No man had successfully done so and lived to tell about it. Still, Duo had leverage. A bargaining chip that was occupying the room just down the hall. He hadn't missed the rumors that the young catamite was of significant importance to Barton. Word had spread among the vast population of pirates from the far western shores of Europe to the eastern coasts of Africa that the boy was far more treasured than any whore had a right to be. Captain Zechs Merquise of the Tallgeese had more or less confirmed as much during their last trade in Monaco. And while Duo was hard-pressed to trust the man's word at face value, the information had already spread like a plague. Considering Barton's reaction to Duo stealing the boy off the street, his actions were as damning as a contract written in blood. The blond catamite was Barton's weakness. His Achilles Heel. And fortunately for Duo, weeding out a man's vulnerability and exploiting it was his specialty. As long as he had the boy in his possession, Barton was at his mercy. Though he grudgingly admitted, even if only to himself, that Barton also possessed his weakness. Or at least one of them. He was deeply uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had more than one. As a pirate, that was never a good thing. His own catamite was as valuable to him as his ship, if not more so. He couldn't blame Barton for exacting revenge. He'd have done the same thing. He sighed and tipped his head back against the wall. He was tired. Catching forty winks on a hard wooden chair in an unfamiliar room was not conducive to a restful sleep. He'd allowed the two catamites the bed only because it was the best way to keep them bound. There was little else he could have tied them to. In all honesty, Duo could have taken the room next to theirs and actually slept on a bed. The boys were securely tethered. The door was locked and there were no windows with which to escape. But Duo was nothing if not religiously frugal. Why shell out the extra coin for another room? Money could better be spent on investments. His goal was to obtain wealth and fortune, not piss it away. Not to say he didn't enjoy the occasional splurge. After all, if one wishes to gain and maintain respect, one must look the part. It also wouldn't do to have his catamite walking around in little more than rags. Heero's appearance reflected his own, especially on land. He was expected to keep himself clean and meticulously groomed. While he typically lounged around the cabin sans clothing, outside of it, he was usually clad in a long silk, or wool tunic depending on the climate. While the garments themselves were simple, they were dressed up with a variety of gold and silver jeweled belts cinched around his waist. Heero was permitted to wear breeches when it was cold, but Duo preferred him without them as they were an inconvenient obstacle when he felt the urge to bend the boy over the nearest surface and bugger him. Even after two years, Heero still displayed rebellious behavior which was irritating at times and infuriating at others. Though he was much more docile than he had been in the beginning, there were times when he mouthed off and tried to test Duo's patience as if he had the absurd notion that he was free to do as he pleased. His punishments were swift and harsh and while they were somewhat effective, Duo was finding it difficult to completely break him. The stubborn streak inside Heero seemed unreachable, impenetrable, and immune to all forms of discipline. He thought he'd broken the boy once. He'd lost his temper after Heero managed to climb through a window and shimmy down a long drainage pipe during a three day stop in Athens. Duo had left him alone for a short while in the room of the Inn so that he could brief his crew on the supplies they needed for the next three months at sea. He returned to his room to find Heero gone. Only an open window and a warm breeze fluttering the muslin curtains were there to greet him. After a grueling hunt and chase, the boy was recaptured and Heero bore the painful brunt of his rage. It took weeks for his bruises to finally fade and close to three months before he stopped cowering whenever Duo approached him. During that time, Duo was also forced to take Solo aside to give him yet another stern talking to about his perpetual habit of starting unnecessary fights with the men who frequented the taverns and brothels, especially when he was three sheets to the wind on ale. Duo himself wasn't a big partaker in the indulgence of spirits. An occasional stein here and there was the pinnacle of his desire for intoxication. His position and status required him to stay on his toes. Drowning himself in drink would wind up getting him a knife in the back and his head on a spike. Solo, on the other hand, consumed the stuff in unsettling quantities whenever it was within reach. Meeting Solo had been one those events that often made a person feel as though some things happened for a reason. That there was a predetermined path that one must follow and if they subscribed to such a belief, it was a confirmation that they were on the right path. Duo wasn't such a person, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't pondered the possibility once, or twice. He'd met the lad when he was fifteen. He could clearly remember the smell of the freshly baked bread that he carried as he walked down the cobblestone streets of London's epicenter of commerce. Sister Helen had given him a few shillings and sent him on his way to fetch the bread for their supper since the orphanage was running low on grain to make their own. In addition to the sweet, yeasty smell of bread, the distinct scent of rain lingered in the air and he increased his leisurely stride to a quicker paced one in the hopes that he and his bounty wouldn't get wet. He dodged through the alleys and took advantage of the shortcuts, familiar to him now after five years in the city. His attention was diverted by the sounds of what could only be described as a brawl. Intrigued and always up for a fight, he darted out from between two buildings and stopped short as he encountered five boys delivering one hell of a beating to another boy who appeared to be alone and defenseless. Duo couldn't get a clear view of the poor sap's face as he was surrounded on all sides, but he could hear him coughing and sputtering as one worn out boot after another drove into his midsection with painful precision. He couldn't help but pity the hapless victim. A fight was one thing. Five boys ganging on one was not something he considered honorable. Unfair advantages were not something to be proud of. He'd never fought with anyone who was smaller, or weaker than he was. And he'd certainly never ganged up on one single person. It was an unspoken rule in his mind. He set the bread down onto a stone ledge and retrieved his knife from the sheath that was hidden beneath his trousers. Sister Helen had taken it from him once while sternly lecturing him that there was no longer any need for such things. It took less than a day for Duo to find it and take it back, achieving nothing less than a stellar performance when asked if he'd taken it. Now, it never left his side. He gripped it in his right hand and crept up behind the closest boy who, like his friends, were oblivious to the newcomer. He took aim and without a second thought, plunged the blade into the hooligan's meaty shoulder and twisted it, watching with a satisfied thrill as the kid's back arched, his pubescent voice cracking and echoing off the stone walls of the buildings around them. The fight that followed was a bit of a challenge, but nothing he hadn't dealt with before. The bullies were solid, a few of them rather stocky which gave them a slight advantage as far as the force of their punches. Unfortunately for them, they lacked agility and technique. They were not fast enough to dodge Duo's blows and the swipes of his knife. He took a few heavy hits, but avoided most of them and returned the attacks with the kind of strength and viciousness that had gotten him kicked out of the boys' home in the colonies. In the end, he victoriously wiped the blood from his split lip with his sleeve and shouted obscenities at their retreating backs as they limped away. The lad who'd been attacked was still lying on the ground, hurt and bleeding, but staring up at him as if he were a guardian angel. Duo looked him over thoroughly and determined that while he would be sore for a while, he would ultimately survive. He didn't miss the way the boy's blue eyes, now a bit swollen and bruised, honed in on the loaf of bread that lay on the ledge. He wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten last and straightened up to retrieve it. He broke off a piece on the end and handed it to the kid, watching him devour it as though he hadn't eaten in a week. His own stomach clenched at the physical memory of being hungry himself and ached with sympathy as he took in the lad's dilapidated appearance. He was filthy, to put it lightly. He probably hadn't seen a bath in days, if not weeks. His hair was limp and oily with a layer of what looked like dust, or ash, but beneath that, it looked to be a dark, dirty blond. His eyes nearly glowed in contrast to the grime on his face and Duo made a logical guess that the boy was a street rat. Considering he'd been one himself once upon a time, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together. He didn't speak much, but when Duo asked him his name, he squeaked out a raspy, "Solo," and went back to his bread. Duo couldn't help but smile as he observed the peculiar way the boy ate. Instead of just eating the thing, he pulled pieces of the surrounding crust off and shoved them into his mouth until nothing but the doughy center remained. It was an unusual idiosyncrasy that not only amused him, but gave him the impression that there was a depth of character within the kid, a quirky personality that intrigued him. Solo ended up trailing him home. Not beside him, but several paces behind like a timid dog and despite his better judgement about bringing home strays when there were already more than enough mouths to feed, he didn't shoo the boy off, but instead tried to get to know him a little better. Solo was reluctant to share his past, or the reason why he was in the situation he was in. Duo couldn't hold that against him. He was much the same way when he'd endured similar circumstances. His mother had wanted him to go to law school. She'd said it was imperative that he received a good education and make something of himself. He was a fast learner and surprised his mum with the speed and proficiency of someone who possessed high levels of natural intelligence. Sadly, she succumbed to Cholera when he was only eight. Never knowing his father and having no other family to look after him, he was shipped off to Boston to a boys' home where he'd had a difficult time fitting in. The resident boys did not help matters. They shunned him at first and then bullied him later. Two weeks before his ninth birthday, another boy had stolen money from the home's meager donations and deliberately put it into Duo's pocket. After a harsh and unjust punishment, Duo sought the culprit out and beat him to a bloody pulp, fracturing three of the boy's ribs, knocking out several teeth, and shattering his jaw bone. And that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. The colonies, still rather new and sparsely populated, were not equipped to handle "problem children" such as Duo and he was shipped off to London where established rigorous organizations were already in place to deal with kids like himself. Detention centers and military schools that often used long hours of hard labor, mental and emotional indoctrination, and severe physical discipline designed to make troubled young boys into "respectable" men. Only Duo never got there. Once the boat docked on the shores of England, he fled deep into the congested reaches of London and disappeared. For five years, he begged, scavenged, stole, and fought for survival. He was little more than feral when he'd picked the pocket of Father Maxwell, a lauded and respected but humble man of faith who, instead of siccing the authorities on the lad, bought him a meal and invited him to come stay at their orphanage. Duo initially refused, remembering the treatment he'd received at the hands of the boys' home. He kept his distance, but didn't stray too far. One simple act of kindness was enough to make him cautiously follow the man and his companion, a nun who Father Maxwell introduced as Sister Helen. They insisted there was no pressure to stay, but they were more than happy to give him food and a warm, dry, and safe place to sleep. For several weeks, he came around and without judgement, or invasive questions, they fed him warm meals before he took off again. He slept nearby, staying close enough to the place to keep an eye on it, but not so close to where they could snatch him and hold him against his will. After a few months, he finally stepped foot inside the orphanage and was surprised to be welcomed with open arms and kind words. He was allowed to bathe and dine with the other children on roasted goose, cabbage, and fresh baked bread. With his belly pleasantly full, he went to sleep that night in a real bed, clean clothing, and warm blankets. When he encountered Solo five years later, he employed the same offerings without pressuring the boy to stay. And sure enough, as time went on, Solo began to frequent the front steps of the orphanage, looking for a meal. He was cautious at first as Duo had been, but after several weeks, he finally agreed to stay. Duo learned that Solo was a runaway after a childhood's worth of beatings from his own father who was fond of the drink. He came from one of the many impoverished neighborhoods of lower class London and his accent reflected that. It took Duo some time to fully understand the lad when he spoke as so much of it was slang that he was unfamiliar with and once he got going, his words seemed an endless string of gibberish in his excitement. Solo, in essence, became the brother he never had. There wasn't anything Duo wouldn't do for him and when Alfred Greenwich and Thomas Smith joined their ranks, they were an unstoppable team. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were nothing less than saints. Duo would've been hard-pressed to find one malicious bone in either of their bodies. They never had much, but they had enough to get by and most importantly, they had each other. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen always made sure the children had enough food in their bellies, even while they themselves went without at times. Sister Helen was also a stickler for making sure the children knew how to read, write, and were capable of solving basic arithmetic problems, but with Duo, recognizing his intelligence, went above and beyond to teach him a myriad of different subjects. She was deeply impressed with his ability to learn and retain knowledge and by the time he was seventeen, he had surpassed even her limits of education and showed no signs of stopping. She desperately wanted him to attend school, believing with all her heart that he was destined to be something great. It never happened. Duo's abject refusal to leave the orphanage to go to school was, in his mind, a waste of time when there were more productive and important things to do than sit behind a desk with a bunch of intellectual poofs who were far better at talking than they were at accomplishing anything. He, Solo, Greenwich, and Smith set out to find employment instead, insisting that the money they earned would better benefit the orphanage and the children who depended on it. Unfortunately for them, such things were scarce, especially for a group of sixteen and seventeen year old former street rats. After repeated rejections for even such meager work like washing dishes and sweeping floors, they were tired, frustrated, and outraged with a deep sense of injustice. As a result, they turned to petty crime to make ends meet and swore a pact that they would never tell Father Maxwell and Sister Helen about their excursions, or where the money they brought back came from. Duo couldn't stomach the disappointment if they ever discovered what they did. Instead, they fabricated jobs that they had been hired to do. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. The four of them were highly successful and stealthy, not only never getting caught, but also never exposing themselves long enough for their victims to be able to identify them to the authorities. Despite the moral compass he had been raised with, Duo found that he rather enjoyed it. It gave him a rush unlike anything he'd ever experienced before and was surprised to find out that the other three felt the same. It was like falling off the wagon, dizzy with drink, without the subsequent hangover. And hangovers were something Duo was intimately familiar with considering Solo had developed a taste for the stuff. He lost count of how many times he'd been forced to nurse his friend through the morning afters while simultaneously scolding him for being such a lush. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that it? Slow death by fermented poison? Are you trying to become your father?" Which was a low blow, but Duo didn't know how else to get through to him. Nothing seemed to work and he'd long since resigned himself to the fact that Solo was going to do what Solo wanted to do. All he could do was be a good friend and hope he didn't bumble up in some monumental way. In the fall of 1693, Duo, Solo, Smith, and Greenwich had taken to the streets in search of candidates to target. Duo had just zeroed in on his next victim and was in the process of subtly tailing him, waiting for just a split second of vulnerability, the opportune moment to strike. The man was so clean, he practically glowed and had obviously just come from the barber with a fresh shave. His clothing was immaculate, expensive, and perfectly tailored. His aura and demeanor reeked of old money and it rankled Duo's nerves that any one person should have so much while others were starving in the streets. That one could be born into such privilege and never know how it felt to struggle, scrimp, and survive. And Duo was determined to change that, one rich, pretentious bastard at a time. This man, who'd probably never had anyone raise a hand, or speak an ill word to him, was going to know real pain and it would knock him several pegs off of his pedestal where he and people like him believed they were untouchable. His pursuit was interrupted by a commotion and he paused as a wave of something resembling shock rippled through the pedestrians around him. His ears caught the sound of gasps and outcries of horror and his stomach flipped over with a sickening drop when arms rose above the crowd of people to point at something in the sky behind him. He turned around and looked up, his heart ceasing to beat for several moments as thick clouds of smoke billowed over the tops of the buildings. The burning smell reached his nose almost immediately after and his keen senses quickly gauged the direction and distance, coming to the terrifying conclusion that it was located exactly where the orphanage stood. His goal forgotten, he tore off down the street, leaping over carts, barrels, baskets of fruits and vegetables, and other merchandise that littered the marketplace. Fueled by adrenaline and fear, he would often think back on that moment and wonder if his feet had ever touched the ground in his desperation to reach the orphanage in time. While his logical mind already knew the worst had happened, there was still a minute flicker of hope that he was wrong and he prayed for the first time since he'd watched his mother die from severe dehydration brought on by Cholera. It was to no avail. There was no god. There was no justice. The world was cruel and unfair and that was all there was to it. Despite the best efforts of the authorities and good samaritans, the orphanage was a lost cause. It had happened so quickly and burned so hot, no one had time to get out. In all, Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, and all seventeen of the remaining children had perished. The other three boys caught up a short while later and stood beside him, staring at the charred, smoldering rubble with numb devastation. Duo's mind echoed with Sister Helen's last words to him before he'd left that morning and the heartfelt sentiment now felt like an omen. A precursor to something terrible. It made him feel as though he'd missed something crucial. That he hadn't read the writing on the wall. Because when anyone began to care for him, it always resulted in their untimely demise. We are a family, Duo. All of us. As a family, we take care of each other and as a family, we can get through anything. You can get through anything. I have faith in you. They never really found out what started the fire. Three days later, it was officially declared as a tragic accident. Now displaced with nowhere to go, Duo and his brothers settled for odd jobs and were paid in peanuts. The money they earned was never enough for a single man to adequately survive on. After the fire, Duo had vowed to give up crime as a means to feel cleansed from the sins that he believed destroyed the orphanage and everyone inside it. It didn't last very long. Survival instinct took precedence over morality and with his intelligence and quick wit, he'd organized the four of them with strategies in order to optimize their loot and in some cases, violence was a requisite. It wasn't long before they gained notoriety as one of London's most dangerous gangs and by early December of 1693, their group had grown to over a dozen young men. In the early days, Duo was challenged several times for leadership. Without fail, he maintained the position by invoking his trustworthiness to those beneath him with unmatched charisma and quickly and efficiently shutting down any attempts at rebellion, or betrayal with his infamous reputation of brutality. As a result, his gang was fiercely loyal, even willing to stick their own necks out and put themselves in harm's way to defend him. Solo remained his closest friend and ally and while he wasn't well read, despite Sister Helen's best efforts, and didn't possess Duo's intelligence and magnetic character, he was sharp as a whip in his own way. He knew the city like no one else. He had every street, walkway, alley, and shortcut memorized. Even when he was drunk as a skunk, he could rattle off the names of every location whenever a map was pushed in front of him and instantly knew the quickest way to get in, or out of any given situation. In that, he was a priceless asset and Duo took full advantage which always pleased the young man. As someone who'd been told he was worthless for half of his life, being treated as though he had something valuable to contribute meant the world to him. During the following year, their group continued to grow and strengthen until Duo felt the need to enforce an official ranking system to keep things going smoothly. By his twentieth birthday, he had firmly established a hierarchy of lieutenants, sergeants, and expendable foot soldiers. In the spring of 1695, after celebrating a successful raid of London's prestigious financial district, he confessed to his lieutenants that he felt tied down. Limited and smothered within the confines of the country's borders. What his heart truly longed for was freedom. Pure freedom to come and go and do as he pleased. The authorities were getting closer to dismantling their stronghold and his spies had returned to him with whispers of military interference. And the last thing he wanted was to go head to head with the English army. At sea, they would have opportunities they'd never dreamed of before and a wide expanse of uncharted territory to explore. International waters were free game where the armies of the world held no power. There was no limit to what they could achieve. Solo clutched his stein and leaned across the table, nearly knocking over the lantern that stood in the center, and slurred, "Ye talkin' 'bout pirates, aye?" Duo's eyes gleamed in the light from the oil lamp and the smile, the one they had all come to associate with brilliant but risky and dangerous schemes, confirmed what they'd already suspected. "Aye. That's precisely what I'm saying, old chap." He lifted his own cup of ale, rose from his chair, and held it up like a best man at a wedding reception. "I have a proposition for you, gentlemen. Join me at sea where the promise of freedom, independence, respect, and endless opportunities of fortunes await. No laws, no tyranny, no oppression. No more lower class, no more poverty, no more of being treated like filthy rats, like scum beneath the shoes of the pigs who rule over us. Now, we stand up, not only for ourselves, but for the downtrodden, the despised, the forgotten. Join me and I will see to it that all of your dreams come true. What say you, lads? Are you with me?" He glanced from one man to the next, watching them process what they'd just been offered. These men, his men were the lost ones, society's rubbish and shame. They were dismissed, abhorred, and spat upon. Where they came from, they would never be anything, anyone, no matter how hard they tried. What Duo was offering them were opportunities and possibilities that had never been within their reach and never would be as long as they remained on land. A chance to become more than what the world thought of them. The chance to make a name for themselves and as long as Duo's blood pumped through his veins, he would stop at nothing to see to it that their names would go down in history. Solo was the first to stand, his face a strange mix of apprehension and pride. He lifted his cup and tapped it against Duo's. "I don' know what the future holds, but I trust ye. More than I trust meself. Aye. I am with ye. Until me final breath, I am with ye." Duo lifted his chin, his chest swelling with triumph, solidarity, and the knowledge that his dominion at sea was close at hand as one by one, the men rose to their feet and held their cups in the air. "Aye, Sir. We are with ye. We stand with ye until the end."
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