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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 14: Part Two: Resolutions
Trowa rang in the New Year staring out through his cabin’s porthole aboard the Catherine. The harbor was noisier than usual with the sounds of firing revolvers and raucous cheers. Some of Dungarvan’s local children had placed floating lanterns into the water, the reflective yellow glows bringing to mind fireflies skimming a mirrored surface. He’d given the celebrations not much more than a mere acknowledgement. His gaze was focused elsewhere. Far away, into the distance where the mouth of the harbor opened up to the Atlantic. He watched and watched and waited, each incoming ship causing a flutter of anticipation in his belly which dropped away when he realized it wasn’t the one he was looking for. Beside the Catherine, the Shinigami floated serenely along the much calmer waves of the harbor. There was a storm brewing in the distance, hundreds of knots out over the open water. Lightning flashed the sky in shades of coal before going black again. It was too far to be heard from where they were and was likely heading south. “Unusual to see such storms this time of year, isn’t it?” Wufei’s soft voice was his only warning that he was no longer alone, having never heard his footsteps approaching. Trowa acknowledged him with a slight turn of his head. Not enough to break his line of sight, still focused in on the seamless canvas of black outside the window. Only the occasional flash of lightning ruined the illusion that sky and water were one the same. “I do hope you’re not going to start up with your superstitious nonsense again.” “My superstitious nonsense has saved my neck, our necks, scores of times, in case you’ve forgotten,” Wufei informed him, a hint of amusement in his voice. He paused for a moment and Trowa knew what was coming next, had heard the same reassurance every day in recent weeks. “He will come, Trowa.” He finally turned away and leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Wufei stood near the door, donned in his Qipao that was buttoned up to his throat, meticulously clean and lacking in wrinkles. He glanced down at his own rumpled shirt with its laces undone, the cream color stained slightly with old sweat. He felt like a peasant in the company of royalty. “When was the last time you bathed?” He scowled and stepped over to the table, leaning over it as he stared down at the map he’d had open since just before Christmas. In ink, he’d charted the course Maxwell was most likely to take and suppressed a shiver when he estimated the distance of the storm. With any luck, they would have missed the intersecting cross path on their northwestern journey and were merely skimming the edge of it. “It’s...been a few days." “Why do you do that?” He glanced up, raising a brow at his friend’s knowing expression. “Do what?” “Why do you lie to me? I know it’s been more than a few days. I can smell you from here.” “I’m a pirate. I’m supposed to stink.” “Trowa Barton, for as long as I’ve known you, you have made a religion of bathing regularly.” Wufei’s face softened as he stepped closer. “You’ve got to stop torturing yourself.” Trowa ducked his head, staring down at the map without actually seeing it, his mind on other matters. More precisely, on a single matter. One that had hair of gold and the face of an angel. “It’s my fault, Wufei.” “Don’t be a fool. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but Maxwell’s.” “Is it even his fault, though?” Trowa turned around and perched his backside on the edge of the table. “We’ve abducted people, too. He was only doing what pirates do. He didn’t know Quatre was mine.” Wufei nodded solemnly and sat down beside him. “I suppose it’s quite the conundrum, isn’t it? Pirates, cutthroats, marauders, buccaneers, vagabonds,” he grinned when Trowa let out a huff of laughter. “Morality means nothing until the lack thereof affects us personally.” Trowa shot him a lopsided smile. “Did Confucius say that, or did you come up with it all by yourself?” Wufei bumped him with an elbow. “You forget I was a scholar once.” “Yes. As was I,” he murmured, almost dreamily. Those days seemed like an eternity ago. Someone else’s life lived through his eyes for a brief moment in time. “There’s no going back, is there?” “You’d like to? And here I thought the pirate’s life for you.” “Yo ho ho,” Trowa amended with a chuckle. “I don’t know, Fei. I used to think it was. I was so angry back then. All I knew was that I didn’t belong there so I ran.” “And now?” “Now...now this life...this pirate's life,” he said, spitting the word ‘pirate’ as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Is what got Quatre taken. It could be what gets him killed if this goes awry.” “You saved Quatre from a life of poverty and servitude,” Wufei reminded him. “Did I?” Trowa shook his head. “Poverty, perhaps. But...he’s still a servant. I’ve not allowed him to reach his full potential because I was selfish. I realize that now. I believed I could keep him safe from harm and I was wrong. And now Quatre is paying the penance for that.” “You know you’re the only one who can change that. When we get Quatre back -” “If we get Quatre back -” “No, when. Or have you given up on him already?” Trowa gave him a sharp look. “Of course I haven’t.” “Then you have to have faith that he will come back to us. Unharmed.” He tipped his head back with a heavy sigh and then pushed up off the table, walking towards the window again. The storm had moved, south just as he’d predicted and the flashes were fainter now. “I just don’t think I can keep doing what I’m doing if I lose him.” “And when we get him back safe and sound? What will you do then?” Trowa’s head turned towards him slightly before he returned his gaze back to the window. “I’d like to say to Hell with all of this. When I get Quatre back, I’m not sure I want to take the risk of it happening again. I’m not so foolish to believe we’ll be as fortunate the next time.” He turned away from the window and crossed into the bedroom area of the cabin, approaching the dressing table. The same table where he would watch Quatre pretty himself up for him. He picked up a ruby necklace, one of his favorites, and touched it tenderly, running his fingers along the stones. The blood red of the jewels always contrasted so beautifully against the backdrop of Quatre's creamy skin. “I’d like to say I’d take him ashore. Give up this life of thievery and death and find a place in the countryside. Some place where he can have a flower garden like he’s always wanted.” Wufei sensed the ‘but’ that wasn’t said and prompted him to continue. “But you won’t, will you?” He turned to look at him over his shoulder and Wufei’s heart nearly broke when he saw the tears glistening in his eyes. “I’m not certain I can,” he confessed. “Why is that?” “Because,” Wufei began and stood up, approaching his friend, the only real friend he’d ever had. He rested a hand on the other man’s shoulder and leaned in close, his own eyes boring into moist green ones. “It’s in your blood. You know it as well as I do, Trowa. I know you do. Pirating is as much a part of you as it is a part of me. This was what we were born for.” Trowa sniffled and looked down at the necklace. “But why is that?” “Because we don’t belong with them,” Wufei told him, nudging his chin towards the people celebrating on the docks. “We’re outcasts. We always have been. We’ve never fit in and we never will no matter how hard we try.” He smiled and set the necklace back down. “I tried telling Catherine that once. She didn’t believe me.” “That doesn’t surprise me.” “She always had faith in people. She never lost faith in me.” He shook his head, his voice cracking as he added, “Quatre reminds me so much of her. I failed her and I’ve failed him.” “You haven’t. This was not your fault, Trowa. And we’ll get him back.” He hung his head for a moment and Wufei, despite the gravity of the situation, felt blessed to be someone this tortured man trusted enough to let his guard down. There were only two people on this earth he trusted that much. And the other...“We’ll get him back. But you’re no good to him like this. If you’re weakened, compromised, that could be deadly for Quatre.” He lifted his head, his expression hardening, closer to resembling the ferocious pirate that everyone feared. He nodded a moment later, resolved, determination settling across his face. “You’re right," he said. "You’re right.” “Of course I am. If all goes well, they could be arriving any day now. I’m certain Maxwell is eager to get his ship back.” "I'm sure he is." He turned to Wufei, all business now. “Are you finished, then?” “Yes. You needn't worry about that. Caprese is ready and awaits your order." He nodded, satisfied. They’d rigged Maxwell's ship with handmade explosives in the event anything went wrong, or if Trowa was not pleased with Quatre’s condition. Caprese, his crewman remained aboard, prepared to light the gunpowder if it came to that. Half of the Catherine’s cannons were also aimed at the Shinigami. With such short range, half was all they needed. The other half would be pointed at whichever ship they arrived in. It had been no easy feat navigating the Catherine with only half his crew, but he’d needed the other half to man the Shinigami for the journey to Ireland. Trowa nodded again, pleased with their progress. Now all they had to do was wait. Wait and see how fair, or poor Quatre’s condition was, or if Maxwell tried to pull a fast one at the last moment. If that happened, he could kiss his beloved Shinigami goodbye. An eye for an eye. It was the pirate’s way.
***
He followed Wufei’s advice and bathed. The warmed water felt incredible, relaxing muscles stiff and tense, cleansing the days of sweat and grime from his skin. If Quatre were here, Trowa would pull him in and hold him against his chest. Hold him close while they washed each other's hair and talked about things that weren’t pertinent, but for the sheer pleasure of hearing the other’s thoughts and dreams, listening to the comforting sound of their voices. It was staggering how much he missed it, missed him. Quatre's silky skin, the warmth of his flesh, those golden curls and bright eyes. His melodic voice and his kisses given for no other reason than because he wanted to. His smile and gentle encouragement. His support and his strength, kindness and love. There was a hole inside his chest, a gaping maw of emptiness and despair. He felt lost, flailing in a void with nothing to ground him, nothing to hold onto. Nothing to keep him from spiraling into the darkness. It was the same as when Catherine had died. When he’d tried to bury himself in drink, whores, and duels in the hopes that one would kill him and put an end to the agony. It was Wufei that initially saved him, but it was Quatre that made his heart beat with life again. Made him feel as if his soul had not abandoned him. For the first time in five years, he felt human. Clear. Swept from the brink of oblivion by the unconditional love of a young man who’d had no reason to give it to him, but choose to anyway. Why do you love me? Because you are a man in need of love. I am not worthy of your love. Oh, Trowa. Yes, you are. If you were not, I would not be giving it to you. Perhaps you are mistaken. If I am, then so be it. I love you. And if you burn, I will happily burn right alongside you. Even the crew was deeply affected by blond’s absence. They did their duties, but it was quieter now. The mood more somber. These men, his men, had accepted Quatre with open arms. He was one of them and his loss was a wound none of them could escape. The water had turned cold so he pulled the cork in the bottom to allow it to drain into the harbor and dried himself off with a thick sheet of flannel. It was quite cool, but not frigid as Ireland had seen a rather tepid winter so far. He’d not been on land much in the past month, going ashore only when it was required of him. He preferred the relative peace of the Catherine where he kept vigil over his stolen love and waited with increasing trepidation as one day bled into the next. He hadn’t prayed since before Catherine died. He didn't believe there was anyone there to listen and if there was, it wasn't someone he was on speaking terms with. In the last two weeks, he’d begun to pray again. Though this time, it was not due to the wheedling of his adoptive sister, but willingly, begging any deity that might be listening to bring Quatre back to him safely. He climbed into bed, lamenting the chill of the sheets and lack of warmth without Quatre's body heat. The silence of the cabin was deafening and damning. Sleep was difficult to achieve. The walls seems to come to life at night and condemn him for his failures and the sentiment was echoed by the sound of the waves rolling against the hull. Each whisper causing him to curl up tighter and tighter, surrounded by loneliness and shame. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. The only one that could give him absolution, free him from these chains was out there somewhere, in enemy hands. Alone to fend for himself. Something he might have been more capable of if only Trowa had allowed him to learn to fight sooner. Wufei had been right all along. He was selfish in not wanting Quatre to have the skills required to defend himself. He hadn’t thought it was necessary and he’d found out the hard way that it was. If and when he got Quatre back, he vowed to teach him everything he knew. He had the best instructors in Trowa and Wufei and by the time they were finished with him, he would be as proficient as they were. But Quatre was also smart. Probably smarter than he was, possibly even smarter than he and Wufei combined. He knew how to survive. He knew people, an instinctual gift to be able to connect with them, sympathize with them. Quatre’s strength did not come from muscles and brawn. It came from the brilliant mind he possessed as well as a heart of gold. Trowa knew with absolute certainty that he was doing everything he could to get along with his captors. That he was doing everything he could to get back to him. “Just hold on, my sweetling,” he whispered into Quatre’s pillow as sleep finally began to overpower his will to fight it. “It will be alright. I promise you. Be strong as I know you can be, as I know you are. I will see you soon. I love you.” On the cusp of unconsciousness, something he wouldn’t be sure ever happened in the morning, what felt like his love’s sweet caress brushed across his cheek. It was followed by a distinctively musical, but disembodied voice that curled around the shell of his ear like an angel’s kiss. I love you, Trowa. Wait for me. I’m coming...
***
Morning was gray and misty with thick fog that obstructed Trowa’s view of the Atlantic, making it impossible to see any incoming ships. He was forced to shout over the foghorns that bellowed into the distance, warning approaching vessels to ease their sails and drop anchor. He'd risen early, shaved, and joined Wufei for a breakfast of potatoes, dried salted pork, and freshly baked bread before following his first mate on deck for a practice duel. “You’re getting soft around the edges, old friend,” Wufei challenged, leaping forward with a parry thrust after Trowa’s failed attempt at a coupé. “You fight like a wee lass.” He huffed with exertion and sidestepped an attack aimed at his chest, spinning on the toe of his boot to intersect the next one. He redoubled his efforts and went for his opponent’s throat and jumped back when their swords collided with a loud clang. “You sound like the locals,” he countered with a smirk. “And you sound like an old wandought fresh from the gutter and pissed with drink. Come now, old man. You can do better than this.” Trowa dodged another lunge, the clank of swords reverberated up the length of his arm as he deflected the blow and wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Old man? You realize we’re the same age, do you not?” “Then why am I dancing circles around you?” “You don’t dance.” “You’d do well to step it up a bit. You will not be able to help Quatre if you’re fighting like you just picked up a rapier for the first time. Do you want Maxwell to best you? You are the most notorious pirate alive. Act like it. Quatre’s life depends on it.” Trowa’s body surged with heat at the reminder and snarled as he charged his opponent. He caught the momentary wide-eyed look of surprise on Wufei’s face, though the other man quickly overcame the sudden change in Trowa’s demeanor. He was on full defense, deflecting the flurry of attacks in rapid fire sequence until it was he who was winded, panting with effort. He was disarmed soon after and stared into feral green eyes, his own pupils dilated with adrenaline as Trowa’s blade rested against his Adam’s apple. “Very good. That’s much better.” Trowa took a deep breath and dropped his arm, shaking himself out of his murderous haze. For a moment, Wufei had been Maxwell and the savageness with which he’d gone after his friend frightened him a little. “My apologies,” he murmured, stepping away to gather his bearings.” Wufei shook his head and retrieved his sword that had stuck tip-first into a deck board. “No need, Trowa. That’s what I was trying to accomplish. That is what’s required of you if you wish to get him, get all of us out of this alive.” He approached his friend and clasped a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling the tenseness of the muscles beneath the skin. “We need you to lead. We need you to be the leader and captain we know you are. Understand?” He nodded and sheathed his blade, hooking it onto the side of his belt. Unsettled, he said, “For a moment, it wasn’t you. It was Maxwell. I could have killed you.” “But you didn’t. And that’s what makes you so advantageous. Your ruthlessness is unmatched, but so is your self-discipline.” He smiled. “I believe you have me bested when it comes to self-discipline.” “Perhaps. But that’s why you need me here.” “Are you saying you’re my conscience?” Wufei shrugged, his mouth curling up on one side. “I am a man of many talents.” “That you are.” “Captain…” Trowa turned and regarded the sailor who’d addressed him. He was a young lad who went by the name of Niles Jensen, only a few years older than Quatre. Sadly, he'd lost three of his fingers in a knife fight the previous year. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, it was Quatre who’d taken charge of the man’s injury and oversaw his recovery. “What is it, Niles?” “Sir, we are low on gunpowder. Franklin wishes to acquire more as soon as possible, but we may need to make a few trades.” He nodded and gestured the man to follow him as he headed for the store room. “Very well.” Not surprising that most of it was gone considering it had been used up to make the explosives that now awaited possible detonation on Maxwell’s ship. “What do you suggest?” “Well, the people of Dungarvan are quite partial to foreign delicacies, but I feel medicinals would work in our favor. With the new production of green houses, they will be able to grow herbs not indigenous to this climate. Seeds are a welcomed commodity.” They reached the store room and Trowa looked over the inventory thoroughly. They had only two barrels of gunpowder left. He would not feel comfortable setting sail with less than five, or six. He pulled out several pouches of seeds from one the shelves and sifted through them for the best selection. Açai, Aloe, Astragalus, Black Cohosh, Bitter Orange, Clove, Dong Quai, Eucalyptus, and Opium Poppy. He and Niles extracted ten seeds from each pouch and placed them in separate ones. “These should give them more than enough to cultivate for the community and barter with the nearby villages. In exchange, I want four barrels of powder as well as three bushels of potatoes, four sacks of wheat, and two sacks of barley." “Aye, Sir.” “Have Caprese acquire another set of knives with the farthings as well as a sharpening block. That should suffice our inventory. We also have the additional inventory that we took from the Shinigami so we are well-stocked to set sail once Quatre is returned to us.” “Aye, Sir.” Trowa dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Niles. I trust you can acquire the requested items by sundown?” “Aye, Sir. Consider it done.” “As you were then, sailor,” he said and turned to leave. “Captain?” He paused and glanced at the young man over his shoulder. “Do you believe we’ll get him back?” He lifted his chin. “Do you doubt me?” “No, Sir! Never.” “Then trust that he will be returned.” “Aye, Sir. My apologies,” Niles murmured with a blush. “No need. Just have my supplies by sundown.” “Aye, Sir.” A misty rain had begun to fall, feeling like pinpricks of ice against his skin. He met Wufei on the deck and together they headed back to the cabin where he lit a small fire in the wood stove for them to warm themselves. He watched Wufei pour over the maps, some of which had been drawn by Quatre. “Are you sure about this course?” He snorted and picked up his cup of ale, bringing it to his lips. “When have I ever been unsure?” Wufei pointed to an area a few hundred miles southeast of the new territories and shook his head. “If we sail this course, we’ll be crawling with Spaniards before we ever reach shore.” “Come now, Fei. Where is your sense of adventure?” “Adventure is one thing. This is suicide.” “America is rich with resources -” “And crawling with Spaniards,” Wufei reminded him. Trowa’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “The colonists are Portuguese, Wufei. Not Spanish.” “I’m not talking about the colonists and you know it. I’m talking about the Spanish Trade. And they are as territorial as rabid curs fighting over a carcass.” Trowa lowered himself into a chair, his expression one of deep contemplation. Wufei watched him shrewdly, the distant look in his eyes, the way his fingers tapped against the side of his stein. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, Barton?” Trowa puffed out his cheeks and then sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, a surefire sign that he was concocting some harebrained scheme that would no doubt require Wufei to put his foot down and once again be the voice of reason. When the captain glanced up at him, he could see his intentions as clear as day and shook his head in denial. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you even think about it -” “A successful endeavor would require a partnership, would it not?” “Trowa, no. Absolutely not.” “Allies are -” “Allies? Allies? There are no allies among pirates, Trowa. You know that as well as I do.” “Then perhaps it is time we establish some, don’t you think?” “Trowa,” Wufei sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slid into the chair across from his friend. “I’m telling you nothing good will come of this. The English steer clear of that region for a reason. They are not welcome there. You and I are not welcome there. Not to mention, that’s also the channel used for the Slave Trade. Do you want to expose Quatre to that?” “Quatre would not be harmed -” “Like he wasn’t harmed this time, right?” As soon as it slipped from his mouth, Wufei regretted it. He watched the pain twist Trowa’s face and felt terrible for his choice of words. But perhaps it was the only way to stop him from making a decision that could very well kill them all. “I’m sorry. That did not come out the way I’d intended, but...why are you doing this? The Caribbean does not belong to us. Neither do the southern colonies.” Trowa leaned back, his lips pressed together in a straight line. He seemed to mull it over and then leaned across the table again. “Alright. What do you suggest?” “If you want to go to the New World, the northern shores are much safer. The English settlers have already established communities there.” “And resources will be more scarce. What about further inland?” “There will be indigenous people. We would have to be cautious. Quatre can stay aboard the Catherine.” “I don’t want him out of my sight once I get him back.” “You don’t want him stolen by Indians, I’d wager either.” “They are a primitive culture.” “They know the land in ways we do not. For a “primitive culture” they are incredibly inept. They are smart, Trowa. You cannot underestimate them.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of his friend’s. “I know you are trying to distract yourself, but in the meantime, do not worry about this. You must focus on the here and now. They could arrive tonight, or tomorrow. We must be prepared.” Trowa was quiet for a long time and Wufei didn’t press him. Finally, he spoke, his voice only a whisper, sounding like a frightened child. “I’m scared, Fei. I’ve never been so scared in my life. One wrong move and -” he broke off and looked away, unable to vocalize his worst fear. Wufei squeezed his hand. “It will be alright. When they come, we’ll make the trade. Once Quatre is safely with us, we will relinquish the Shinigami to him.” “And if he wants the Shinigami first?” Wufei’s mouth quirked. “Since when has Captain Barton, the most feared pirate of the seas, ever been one to negotiate?” Trowa’s lips curled up as he eyed his friend across the table. “Never.” “Aye. And you won’t this time. You are in charge, not him. This will go your way, or the Shinigami will sink.” He leaned back and swiped his cup. “There are no other options. If he wants his ship, he’s going to have to play by the rules.” Trowa smiled at him. “Thanks, Fei. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” “Probably gotten yourself killed by now,” he quipped, finishing off his tea with a casual shrug. “Now, you get some rest. Rise early and we’ll practice again.” He pointed his finger at his groaning friend. “Do not start with me. You’ve gotten rusty in the last month. You should thank me for keeping you on your toes.” “I already thanked you.” “Not for that.” “Oh, for - fine. Thank you, Wufei.” “That’s better,” he rose from his chair and patted Trowa’s head as he passed him on his way to the door. “Rest. They are coming. It won’t be long now. I can sense it.” To his surprise, Trowa nodded. The room was thick with ominous tension, much like the fog that clung to the air. “I can, too.” He turned in the chair to face him, his eyes soft with gratitude. “Thank you, my friend.” He lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “You are welcome. Now, rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left the room, closing the door behind him, and headed to his own cabin to sleep. Once safe in his quarters, he let out a heavy breath in an effort to release the tension from his body. He didn’t want Trowa to know, but he’d been quite trepidatious himself. He raised his tired eyes to the ceiling and whispered into the silence of the night. “Keep him safe, Nataku. Help me keep them both safe. Trowa must not suffer the same fate as I. Watch over him and Quatre as you have watched over me and help me bring them back to each other.” He closed his eyes, heart twisting painfully as he pictured his wife’s lovely face. Gone too soon, ripped from his life fighting in a senseless war. Fighting for him as he refused to back then. “I didn’t fight for you, for us. But I will fight for them, in your name, by your grace. I love you, wife. Always remember how much I love you.”
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