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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" "Quatre, what are you doing? If this were a real duel, I would have killed you three times over by now!"
Quatre
wiped sweat from his brow and offered Wufei an apologetic smile. It
was refreshingly cool on the main deck with the winds blowing in from
the north, but the exertion of dueling practice made him feel hot
and sticky beneath the linen fabric of his shirt. The brief rest allowed
him a chance to catch his breath and enjoy the ocean breeze on his
over-heated skin. He accepted the cup of water and drank it down, relishing the cool liquid which eased his parched throat. His belly rumbled with hunger, but he knew better than to complain. Wufei insisted that a man with a full stomach was a careless one and a man who was not always prepared for anything was apt to find his head lopped off. Feel that hunger when you fight me, Quatre. Use it to your advantage. Let it fuel the hunger to see the blood of your enemies spilled around your feet. He'd never been a violent person, had never felt the desire to take the life of another. Until now. The hunger was so overpowering, it almost frightened him. Spurred on by a leering face, darkened and leathered by the sun and sprinkled with brown hair along the square jaw and upper lip. Triggered by eyes as blue as the sky, but icy like a glacier, lacking any trace of warmth, compassion, or humanity. There was only one man whose blood he wanted spilled around his feet and he would make certain that the one spilling it would be himself. Not only on his own behalf, but for who knew how many others that had experienced humiliation and savagery at the hands of that monster. Greenwich's days were numbered. Quatre just had to make sure he was skilled enough to best him when the time came. It would be no easy feat. Greenwich was easily twice his size and possessed the strength of an ox. Quatre didn't have a devil's chance in Hell when it came to brute force. He would have to rely on speed and finesse if he wished to emerge from the other side victorious And if he didn't, he would make damned sure neither of them did. He suspected Heero had also been subjected to Greenwich's attentions, though the other man never said so. He didn't need to. Quatre saw it whenever the burly pirate was nearby. It wasn't something that was obvious and he doubted Heero even realized that the revulsion and trepidation was reflected in the ocean blue pools of his eyes. Quatre didn't dare ask him about it, unsure if it was even his place to say anything. Heero may have been the closest thing to a friend he'd had on that ship, but he was also beholden to Trowa's adversary. It was entirely possible that the next time they came face to face, Quatre would be staring into the eyes of his enemy. Deception, greed, and betrayal were the lifeblood of a pirate. As abundant as the stores of rum and ale they were so fond of. They were vicious opportunists who would eagerly jump at the chance to gain the upper hand, even seize power from the men they'd killed for just a day before. Trust was an illusion and a sworn ally could turn on you in the blink of an eye. Men who'd been friends since their youth often wound up staring each other down from opposite ends of a cocked revolver. It wasn't uncommon for a man to fire cannon after cannon into the hull of his own brother's ship and gleefully watch it disappear beneath the waves with the sound of the crew's screams ringing in his ears. If there was an advantage to be had, a pirate never hesitated to take it. It was an eat, or be eaten world. A world where the strongest, most ruthless men prevailed and the weak were crushed beneath their heels. If Quatre ever hoped to survive such a world, he was going to have to learn to fight with the best of them. He could not rely on Trowa to protect him forever. At some point, he had to become his own man. And that time was now. "If you keep staring at the wall like that, you're going to burn a hole in it." Startled by the interruption of his thoughts, he glanced over to see Wufei leaning against a barrel of rum with an amused smile on his face. He sheepishly returned it and shook his head. "My apologies. I suppose I was just...somewhere else for a few moments." "That I can see. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" He chewed his lip as he considered it. He'd never really confided in anyone except Trowa, and Heero to some extent. "I've never wanted to kill before." "And now you do." It wasn't a question. Wufei had already guessed it was true and there was no sense in lying. "I don't know how I feel about that." "Quatre, we've all been where you are. We've all reached a point in our lives where the harm done to a man becomes too great to allow him to stay on the path of righteousness." He grinned. "Are you speaking from personal experience?" Wufei's face was neutral, almost bland, though Quatre suspected it was a mask used to hide something deeply painful. "Perhaps I once considered myself honorable." He laughed softly, though it lacked any trace of humor. "I know I did. I was one of the most pious bastards around." "So what happened?" He blushed when he realized the forwardness of the question, and added, "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have asked you that." "It's alright. Your curiosity is understandable. I will not go into detail, but I will just say that there was someone in my life once whom I nearly worshipped. He committed the ultimate act of betrayal." Quatre nodded, able to put the pieces together well enough. "He hurt you." "Among other things, yes. Despite being trained for combat in the army, I was a pacifist, a scholar at heart. I never once had the desire to kill a man. I suppose you could say I've taken the Devil's way out. A man obsessed with vengeance is a man doomed to eternal damnation." His eyes darted back up to Quatre, mournful as they observed him. "Trowa did not want this for you, but I insisted you learn. And now you also thirst for blood. Was I wrong?" "No." Quatre shook his head and set his empty cup down. "I could choose to live and let live, but I have not. If that makes me a man damned, then so be it." "You are good. I do not want you to become like these men. I do not want you to become like me." "It's no longer your decision," Quatre told him. "Once you kill, there is no going back, Quatre." "Then I will look ahead and take whatever comes my way." "You're talking about murder." His face tightened and it took everything he had not to spat his response. "I'm talking about an eye for an eye. I am no different than you in that respect." Wufei's face was grim as he pushed away from the barrel. "That's what frightens me." *** By the time they called it a day, the sun was halfway up in the east and beginning to warm the Catherine's exposed upper decks. Quatre was sweating inside his shirt and panting with exertion, but invigorated by the exercises and cool, salty air. His under-used muscles were aching and fatigued, but he scarcely felt a thing thanks to the rush of the fight running through his veins. He'd done much better during the second round and his cheeks flushed with flattery when Wufei praised his progress. His body had protested the vigorous movements, but he'd ignored them and pushed through it, determined to recover the strength and technique he'd had before he was taken off the streets of Turkey. As much as he despised thinking about the man and as painful as the memories of suffering at Greenwich's hands were, they powered his need to push himself to his limits. He allowed the fury to simmer in the pit of his belly, the anguish to drive his movements, and the subjugation to harden his resolve. He would work himself to the bone every day if that was what it took to become stronger, more resilient, until that time came when he was ready to face the monster who'd so cruelly violated him. Not just for himself, but for those who'd suffered the same treatment. If he contributed nothing else to this world, he would settle for making sure Greenwich was no longer alive to harm anyone else. He thanked Wufei when the other man handed him a cloth and used it to wipe the dampness from his face and neck. "That was better then?" "Much," Wufei said with a dip of his chin. "You surprised even me. Perhaps I worked you too hard too soon." "Don't be silly! I wanted you to." "Quatre...I know that you are eager to become a good swordsman and you will. That I can promise you. But you cannot push yourself to exhaustion. Patience is key." "I know." He smiled and picked up his sword to hand it back to Wufei, but stopped short in surprise when the first mate held his hand up. "Keep it. It's yours now." "Wufei, I can't accept -" "You can and you will. T'was my wife's sword once and for the longest time, I could not bear to part with it. Now that I think about it, I suppose I was just waiting for the right person to come along who was worthy enough to wield it." Quatre's eyes widened and he gaped like a fish, at a loss for words to express what an honor this was. "Wufei, I -" "You needn't say anything, Quatre. Just accept this sword and take care of it the way I know you will. Meiran would be proud to have someone such as yourself as its new owner." He wasn't sure what came over him, or what prompted him to do what he did, but against his better judgment, he leaped towards Wufei and collided with his chest, knocking him back a few steps. His arms and legs wrapped around him as he blubbered into the other man's shoulder. "Thank you! Thank you, I - this is such an honor. I promise I will take good care of it." He realized too little too late that he was clinging to the first mate like a small child to its mother and he was certain Wufei would shove him off with a scathing order never to touch him again. To his surprise, arms closed about him, reluctantly at first, and then tightening as the fickle warrior became a little more comfortable with the intimate contact. Wufei cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "It's quite alright, Quatre. It was my pleasure to gift you with it, but please...in the future, could you refrain from attaching yourself to me like a starving squid?" Quatre blushed to the roots of his hair and blurted out an embarrassed giggle, sliding down the front of Wufei's body until his feet touched the deck again. "Sorry. I guess I got a little too excited." "Yes, I do seem to have that effect on people." He glanced up at the first mate and laughed when he saw the amused grin. Humor was not something Wufei displayed often. More often than not, it was subtle and not easily picked up upon, but when the mood struck him, it was something worth treasuring. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. "I'll try to remember not to do that again." "I should hope so," rumbled a deep voice behind him. Quatre's back stiffened for a moment before he recognized the amusement in his captain's tone. He leaned back into the warm chest as Trowa's arm wrapped around him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to steal my boy, Wufei." Quatre laughed as the first mate scowled. "Your humor is as dull as your swordsmanship, Trowa." The captain's chest vibrated with a chuckle. "Now, no need to get personal. We all know how unpleasant you are before you've had your tea." Quatre mourned the embrace when Trowa released him, but thoroughly enjoyed the view when the captain stepped over to the railing, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he gazed over the water. "Quatre, come here." He reluctantly tore his eyes from the work of art that was his captain's broad back and the mouth-watering swell of his arse encased in tight, black trousers. "What is it?" Trowa answered with a swipe of his hand and Quatre went over to him, his body responding with a thrill when the larger man stepped behind him once again. It was difficult to focus on what he was being shown with the captain's groin pressed into the cleft of his arse, but when he squinted against the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the waves, he saw a flash of something emerge from the water and then disappear again. "What is that?" "Humpback whales," Trowa whispered against his ear. "Listen." Quatre's mouth dropped open in awe, transfixed by the mesmerizing sight before him. In the distance, an occasional large shape emerged from beneath the surface, silhouetted against the blinding orange backdrop of the light-reflected water before gracefully sinking back into the depths again. His ears picked up the sounds of their song, breathtakingly mournful tones carried across the sea breezes, making the fine hairs on his nape and arms stand on end. In the three years he'd been at sea, he'd never had the privilege of witnessing such an event until now and tears prickled behind his eyes as the sheer beauty swept him away. For a breathless moment, he remembered what it was like to believe in God again. Surely mankind was not worthy of witnessing such magnificence, such uncorrupted purity. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispered, almost too afraid to speak aloud for fear of shattering a vision that seemed touched by the divine. Trowa's arms closed about him and he welcomed the warmth now that the winds were beginning to chill his skin through his sweat-dampened clothes. "Are you alright, love?" I'm scared, Trowa. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm changing right before my very eyes and I fear it is not for the better. I'm not sure I know who I am anymore. Wufei's last words to him in the galley were still ringing in his ears and they left him feeling uneasy. Haunted. Was he really willing to sacrifice who he was, the goodness within him, the goodness that Trowa loved so much, for revenge? Was Greenwich worth the price of his soul? Did he really want to spend the rest of his days a bitter, jaded killer with no other goals than to obtain power and wealth and not caring whose life he destroyed to acquire them? Was it possible that Greenwich had been like him once? Naive, untainted, good? Had he been hurt so irrevocably that he'd turned to darkness without sparing a thought for the person he'd once been? Would Quatre become a monster like he was? Then again, no one in his entire nineteen years had shown him the tenderness and love he'd craved for so long the way Trowa had. No one had been more kind and generous than Wufei and the members of this crew. These men, roughshod, somewhat uncivilized, some of whom could not even read, had become the family he'd never had. It seemed impossible, but...even the most deadly pirates alive were capable of love. And if that was true, then perhaps there was a chance that he would not abandon himself to the dark abyss of apathy and greed. "I'm alright, Trowa." He watched the whales for a moment longer and then turned and looked up into the green eyes of his captain, seeing the concern shining in the emerald depths and kicking himself for worrying him. "I've just a lot to think about." Trowa grasped his chin and tilted his head up for a kiss. The gesture was so achingly tender, Quatre wanted to weep with joy and sorrow, conflicted by the dueling emotions. He lost himself in the kiss until Trowa pulled away and gazed down at him with a mischievous expression. "You also need a bath. You're making Dawson smell like roses in comparison." Quatre gave him a mock glare and swatted him on the arm. "Well, pardon me. Let's see how good you smell after all that work." Trowa smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Quatre's ear. "You did well. I'm impressed." "How much did you see?" "Enough." "I thought I would have to wake you up again. You were dead to the world when Wufei came to get me this morning." "I haven't slept well the last two months." His belly twisted with guilt and he reached up to caress his captain's cheek. "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault, Quatre." "I strayed too far that day. I should have stayed closer. Turkey is crawling with pirates. I should have known better." Trowa grabbed his face in both hands and stared into his eyes with the kind of firmness that told Quatre there would be no argument. "Regardless, it was not your fault. Understood?" He smiled and offered a nod of acquiescence, ticking his fingers against his brow. "Aye, Captain." "Whelp. C'mon. Breakfast is ready and you need to eat so you can get some meat on your bones." "Great! I'm starving. Wufei here is a slave-driver." "I'll take that as a compliment." "Of course you would," Trowa mused, wrapping his arm around the blond and leading him back towards the cabin. "You want to join us?" "No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but it's time for my morning reflection." "That Wufei," Trowa said to Quatre in a conspiratorial whisper. "Always work and no play." Wufei's voice carried across the deck as he said, "Well, someone has to pull the weight around here." Back in the cabin, Quatre immediately sat down and went to work on his food, devouring the hardtack bread and salted beef like a man who hadn't eaten in weeks. Trowa laughed when he smiled up at him with his cheeks stuffed full of food. "You look like a rodent preparing for the winter." Quatre swallowed his mouthful and washed it down with tepid black tea. "You realize you just called your lover a rodent." "Lovingly, of course. An adorable rodent. The most beautiful rodent I've ever seen." He gave his captain a narrow-eyed look. "Is that supposed to gain my favor?" "Are you saying it didn't?" He snorted and tore another bite off the hardtack with his teeth. "I could never stay angry with you." "That works well for me then, doesn't it?" "Cocky, too." "It's part of my charm," Trowa explained, pushing his plate to the side to make room for the map that was half-unrolled in front of him. "Everything alright?" "Yes." He picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkwell before tapping the excess off and scribbling something onto the map. Quatre leaned over to try and read it though it was difficult to do upside down. "Titus has a crick in his leg so I'm changing the course to a more northwestern track." "Ah," Quatre said and leaned back into his chair with his tea. Titus was the Catherine's infamous storm predictor. The master gunner would often wake up and announce that the arthritis in his leg was giving him fits which usually meant a storm was approaching. More often than not, he was correct so the crew had quickly learned to take the man's often rum-fueled bellowing to heart. "How much does that take us off the current course?" "Approximately one hundred ten nautical miles, though the increased winds to the north will push the sails along faster." Trowa drew a half circle around the place where he'd written in the changes and added, "We're taking a fifty mile curve around the storm. We should be back on our original course in a few days." Quatre nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "We're stocked for a good four months so a few days off schedule won't be a problem." "Best case scenario," Trowa amended. "Worst case, it could slow us down to two weeks." He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "Tell me about the New World." Trowa looked up and tapped the end of his quill against his chin. "It's...different. Sparse populations beyond the coastal cities though it is growing the further inland you go. Forests, mountains, rivers, and lakes as far as the eye can see. Wildlife is plentiful and so are the crops. Minerals are abundant and available to any who dares to venture into hostile territory to retrieve them, including silver and gold. So are gemstones. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires...every gem you can think of." "The trade must be incredible." "It is. The black market is thriving right now and there are rumors that even the crown is getting involved, paying pirates royally to bring them back many of the treasures that are harvested." "That's not surprising," Quatre mused. "If there's something to gain, those with the capability to do so will take advantage of it." "There is also an active market for slaves in the New World." "You mentioned that before. In the south, yes?" "Correct. The Spanish hold most of the power, but they typically stick to the southern half of the Americas and the Caribbean. The slave ships travel across the Atlantic, south of Hispaniola. There have been only a few slave ships to arrive on the northern shores, brought there by English merchants. For those who are not Spanish, or Portuguese, it is a very hostile place and the English and French know better than to venture down there. They take the treasures stolen from the Incas and Aztecs and bring them back to Spain, exchanging the wealth for their lives and freedom." "In other words, you may continue pirating as long as it benefits the monarchy." "Precisely. And if you're caught hoarding the treasures for yourself..." Trowa drew a finger across the base of his throat and Quatre got the message easily enough. "But do the English not do this?" "Oh, they do. They're simply more subtle about it." Trowa chuckled and picked up a piece of salted beef. "Englishmen are the true gentlemen of the seas, but looks can be deceiving." "They're better at hiding their savagery." "I don't think it's a matter of being shoddy at hiding. Spaniards simply do not care about perception. For what it's worth, when you encounter a Spaniard, at least you know what his intentions are." "What about the French?" "What about them?" Trowa asked with a shrug of his shoulders. "They are cowards who are only interested in looking out for their own arses. To them, there is no point in obtaining treasure if one cannot show it off. They are peacocks, excessively opulent and vain, but quite harmless in comparison." "So which do you prefer?" "None. I am a Russian. Russian first, pirate second. I am not beholden to any monarchy." "Not even the Russian one?" Trowa's face was pinched as he rolled up the map and tied it off with a piece of string. "It did nothing for me, so why should I be?" Quatre could empathize. Being the son of a Vali to the Sultan had done him no favors. "But...how did you get the name ‘Barton'?" "Barton is the name I took after Catherine's death. The name I had before that was Tsveteniye which translates to ‘Bloom' in English." "What was your original name?" Trowa's face was tight and Quatre sensed that he was intruding on a part of the captain's life that he'd rather soon forget. "I can't remember." He knew that wasn't true, but didn't press the issue. The pain of being given up by his own family and sent out into the streets to fend for himself was too much for anyone to bear. His true name was Trowa's secret to tell if and when he chose to tell it. "I'm sorry. If I'm being nosy, you can tell me. Sometimes I'm a little too curious for my own good." "It's one of the things I like about you," Trowa told him with a soft smile. "Your natural curiosity about the world around you is a refreshing change when you've been surrounded by jaded old scallywags for so many years." Quatre laughed, glad that someone appreciated it. "It used to get me in trouble with my father. I think I drove him mad with all my silly questions." "Your father is a fool." He nodded, sobering at the almost harsh tone in Trowa's voice. "But I don't regret what he did. Not now. Not after I found you." "I found you," Trowa corrected. "I still don't know what you saw in me that day." "The same things I still do today," Trowa said as he picked up his tea. "Though now, I can say that I do regret my approach. Three years ago, I was...in a very dark place. I cared for nothing and no one. Not even myself." He looked up at Quatre and the blond's breath hitched at the remorse in his eyes. "I had no right to take your freedom from you. Or your body." "My body I gave willingly," Quatre assured him. "That was something I was accustomed to." "You gave it out of fear. You were given no choice to tell me no and you did what you had to do." He pressed his lips together as he remembered that first night, chained by the ankle to the same bed that stood only a few feet away. The same bed they'd made love in countless times since. Trowa was right. In the beginning, his surrender had been out of fear and the knowledge that there was no escape as they'd been miles out to sea already. He'd given his body willingly, but as a means of self-preservation. "That may have been true in the beginning, but you earned my trust. After that, I gave myself to you because I wanted to. Now, I give it to you because I love you." Trowa stood up and rounded the table, sweeping the blond up into his arms. He buried his face in the juncture between Quatre's neck and shoulder, murmuring a reverent, "I don't expect to ever be forgiven for what I did, but I take now the love you give freely and I will cherish it for the rest of my days." He smiled and stroked the back of Trowa's head, loving the silky feel of his hair between his fingers. "And I will cherish you for the rest of mine. I forgave you a long time ago, Trowa. I love you. Don't ever doubt that." "I would lay down my life for you," Trowa whispered in a plaintive tone, clutching him tight against his chest. "Whatever you want, I will give it. If you want the world, you only need to say the words. Everything I have...everything I am, it is yours." He smiled and kissed the patch of exposed skin between the opened laces of his captain's shirt. It was warm and smelled of leather and musk. "And that is how I know that this was meant to be."
~ * ~ Chapter 19 |
