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"I really can't be sure."
"We have to be, or I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to call it off."
Armando lowered the spyglass from his eye to squint at the distant ship unrestricted. It was a couple hours after nightfall and the sky was black with clouds, not a star to light the breezy bay.
Behind them Raven cursed colourfully and slapped the rail with her open palm, "This is ridiculous Charles, this is a perfect opportunity. We can't let them get away!"
Charles laid a calming hand on his first-mate's shoulder, "You know why we have to be careful Raven, if that ship is one of the navy's we'll have the entire southern armada after us within hours."
"That's such crap Charles, we're pirates, altercations with the law are practically mandatory! You'll have to do it at some point."
"But not today." Charles said firmly, "And if we don't get a positive identification, the raid isn't happening."
Raven looked like she was frothing up towards a proper tantrum, but then Logan stomped up the stairs to the top deck and came up behind them. "Cassidy says that they don't have a flag sailing." the burly quartermaster grunted around the glowing end of his cigar, "How the fuck he can see that in this pitch is beyond me but hey, that ain't my job."
"No flag," Charles mused out loud, "Peculiar for a navy vessel certainly..."
"And what kind of legitimate ship leaves port at this time of night anyway?" Alex added eagerly, "It's just too strange if you ask me Cap. We should go for it."
Charles exchanged a glance with Armando while Logan cuffed Alex upside the head, the two of them snarling at each other like fowl-tempered animals. "Well..." Armando said slowly, "I do agree that it all looks very suspicious."
Charles returned his gaze to the hulking shadow of the ship, a mere two-hundred yards across the water. Like their own ship, the larger vessel had all of its lights extinguished for maximum invisibility, her sails in the midst of being hurriedly raised to catch the warm night-time winds that were blowing in from the shore. The rush of the waves effectively masked the sound of both boats' creaking and sailors chatter.
"I suppose that it all does seem...unlawful already." Charles admitted, to the delight of his crew. Raven hissed in victory, and Alex dashed off to prep the guns. Not that Charles expected to actually use the ship's ten cannons, but they were occasionally useful as a deterrent.
"On with the raid?" Logan asked, grin leaking into his rough voice.
Charles sighed and agreed wryly, "On with the raid."
***
Warm night it might have been, but without fail, once you were in the water, the air seemed to drop to ice-like temperatures.
Erik's arms no longer burned when he swam long distances, they hadn't in years, not since he'd jumped off the deck of his childhood hell and swam three miles to shore. After that every other stint in the water paled in comparison.
Since then, swimming between ships and shores had proved a surprisingly useful skill. His form, in this endurance swimming, had improved greatly since that first, flailing journey from the Höllenfeuer. He wore thick, tight woolen clothing that provided minimal resistance to the water, but maximum warmth. The breeches and hooded shirt were black, making him all but invisible in the dark water. He was barefoot, as boots tended to become waterlogged and drag downwards. As he was, Erik cut through the waves with strong, sure strokes.
He could barely see the Höllenfeuer, though he had to be almost to it by now. On such clouded night, the only guiding light was the sporadic glow when the moon found a thin patch or a gap in the cover, briefly illuminating the black beams and fluttering sails silver. In the darkness of the night the damned vessel looked black and white, all shades of grey, masking the crimson that Erik knew caked each crack and crevasse of the gleaming deck.
The moon found one of those gaps and bathed the bay, unveiling how very close he'd come to his quarry. He slowed and tread water, leveling his gaze up to stare at the towering masts.
The Höllenfeuer was a gargantuan, three masted bark. It was originally a navel vessel, still occasionally masqueraded as one, and so the exterior was deceptively innocent. However, Erik knew, the hold had been completely stripped and redone. There was still a decent sized space that was used to store provisions and gunpowder, and a corner slung with the crews' hammocks, and it was enough to pass regular inspection. But if one knew to look, they would notice that the dimensions of the area didn't quite match up with the size of the ship's hull.
The slaves were crammed into every inch of that extra space, hidden behind secret hatches, and thick, virtually soundproof walls. Of course, as a precaution the unfortunate captives were kept gagged, just in case one found the strength to cry out at a volume that could travel more than a few yards.
Erik allowed himself to drift passed the stern of the ship, under the cold-faced figurehead with her flowing gown and frosty gaze. He glared back as he floated on his back, allowing himself a moment to slow his breath. He passed out of the moon's glare and into the shadow of the hull, and promptly smacked into the anchor chain. Erik hissed out curses quiet enough that he was drowned out by the slap of the waves against the ship.
He rubbed angrily at the back of his head, and braced himself against the thick metal links. Then he clamped his teeth together and looked again.
The salt on his lips burned pleasantly as his mouth stretched into a vicious grin.
***
Shots rang out over the wind, snapping Charles out of his discussion with Logan. They hit the deck beside each other, the motion instinctive. On the lower deck, hopefully, the others had halted whatever they were doing to do the same. "Goddamn it!" Logan cursed harshly, "Did they spot us?"
Cautiously, Charles rose to peer out toward the other ship. In the moment that they'd spent plastered to the deck, it appeared that the other crew had lit every lantern and torch on board, casting a golden blaze in the centre of the otherwise black bay.
Figures darted around the ship, illuminated from the flames they carried. The Mystique had drifted close enough that the shouts of the other sailors reached their ears, although no words were audible. Their attention seemed to be focused on something in the water, on the starboard side of their ship. A group of men had gathered at the rail and were gesticulating wildly into the sea with their lamps, and pointing. As Charles watched, one of them raised a musket and fired off three more shots.
"No, I don't think they were aiming for us." Charles mused, scanning the waves for whatever the man's actual target was, "They appear to be focused on something in the water...It's hard to tell..."
Finally the swell dipped, and on the crest of one wave Charles spotted a sleek dark shape that wasn't black water of silver starlight. "There!" he exclaimed, tugging at his quartermaster's sleeve excitedly, "That's a person! They're shooting at a man in the water!"
"A man overboard?" Logan squinted, "One of theirs I hope."
"Of course-" Charles started, but frowned despite himself. Actually, swimming out to get a head start on the raid sounded like something Raven or Alex might think was a good idea. But Alex was there hauling a crate of gun powder across the deck, and Raven was at the bow with her own small spyglass. "Maybe there was a mutiny?"
"Don't look like any I've seen, and I've seen my share." Logan grunted, "There's no semblance o' honor goin' after a man like that. Look at 'em, it's like a game."
Charles watched as the figure zigzagged alongside the ship, the crowd onboard following him with a steady rain of poorly placed bullets. The swimmer kept dipping under the surface and reappearing yards away, like a diving bird, but each time the shooters found him again, relentless in their pursuit. Charles winced as one shot splashed right beside the man's head, spraying salt into his face.
"Light the torches." Charles said steadily, certain that he couldn't just stand by and watch, "And tell Alex to shoot off a warning."
Logan raised a bushy brow, but stomped off to obey. Soon, the Mystique was as bright a beacon as the other ship, and as they drew closer, the boards under Charles' feet rattled with the boom of the canons. That would get the other crew's attention away from the swimmer.
Charles hurried to where Armando stood at the wheel, "Bring us about!" He commanded, "Right across their stern." with a ship that big, chances were that that had considerably more firepower, so they needed to get in a position out of reach of their big guns.
Armando nodded grimly and swung the wheel, bringing the Mystique into a tight turn. It was about the only advantage they had over the other ship, their smaller frame meant better maneuverability.
Charles' plan worked in half. Now that the other crew was very much aware of their presence, most of their attention was now on them. But instead of taking advantage of the momentary lapse in concentration to get out of range, the man in the water was actually moving closer! Charles watched in disbelief as he grabbed onto the anchor chain, and with an almost inhuman show of strength, began to heft himself upwards.
What he hell was he doing? By now the shooters attention was back on him, and they resumed fire. A shout went up from the other ship to raise anchor, and a group of men rushed to the crank and began to reel the thick links of chain back on board. The man lost his grip and fell back with a splash, into the water where he scrabbled to regain purchase on the slippery metal.
Charles dashed to the rail and leaned over. They were really quite very close to the other ship now, so he felt confident that his voice would carry when he bellowed, "Don't! They're raising it, you'll get yourself killed!"
The man either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. Charles paced backwards anxiously. If the man was too close when the anchor rose, the heavy metal would likely seriously injure him. Charles didn't know why this thought upset him so much. He didn't know anything about the situation, for all he knew the swimmer was a murderous criminal who needed to be kept at bay.
In a split second decision, Charles threw his hat aside and unbuckled his rapier from his belt, letting it drop to the deck with a clatter. Then he flung himself over the rail, to Armando's alarmed cry, and hit the water hard.
The current immediately grabbed at his clothes, plucking and dragging him conveniently toward the other ship. Chalres struggles to keep his head above the waves, gasping and flailing around for the other man. This probably wasn't the most intelligent of moves, as he wasn't exactly the strongest swimmer. It was unusual that he knew how to as much as tread water, most of his crew couldn't. He and Raven had taught themselves as children back at Charles' family estate, paddling about in the shallows of the lake.
He finally located the form of the other man, still over by the rapidly rising chain, and made his clumsy way toward him. "Stop!" he gasped when he got close enough, "You're going to get yourself killed! Let go!" Charles managed to get a handful of the man's shirt, and tried to tug him away.
The other man proved stronger though, and instead of dragging him to safety Charles found himself now dangerously close to the side of the ship. "Get off me!" The man snarled, throwing a weak punch that caught Charles' shoulder, "Are you mad? Let go of me!"
"Please listen!" Charles choked as the man's palm caught his chin, causing his mouth to flood with salty water. "You'll drown! You have to let go and come with me!"
Using all of his flagging strength, Charles wrapped his arm around the man's broad shoulders and heaved, finally managing to break his grip and yank him clear just as the anchor cut through the patch of water where they'd just been. In his grip the man struggled and roared in outrage, but Charles held his ground and kicked backwards with all of his might, trusting Armando to bring the ship close.
The anchor finally on-board, the other ship pulled away, night breeze filling her sails and carrying her swiftly out of reach. Despite the fact, the man continued to fight, thrashing back in that direction, so that any progress Charles had made in returning to the Mystique was more or less negated.
But it seemed that his crew actually wanted him back, and a rope hit the water beside them. Charles immediately seized it, somehow managed to get it under the man's arms, and hung on with all of his strength. His crew, bless their hearts began to pull them up.
***
Erik stood on the deck of a small ship whose name he did not know, next to a short, obviously mental man whose name he did know, because it was one of the things that Charles Xavier had bawled into his ear as they were dragged over the rail by a hairy, shirtless crewman.
This daft man, Charles Xavier, currently looked like some stray creature who'd been pulled out of a ditch. The clothes he wore drooped off him, double their usual weight with water by the look of them. His coat, which appeared to be black but was probably lighter when dry, had gleaming gold buttons and some of the most elaborate stitching that Erik had ever seen. Same could be said about his vest, and the ruined lacework at his wrists and collar must have been something to behold before his plunge. Anyone who dove overboard in such finery was far from sane.
He was also shaking violently, teeth clattering loudly between his smiling lips. He had an undeniably youthful face, pale and blue-lipped, but wide-eyed and round-cheeked as well. He looked like a damn kid all trussed up like a little prince in his father's jewels.
And this little lordling had just ruined everything. Days of watching, months of tracking, years of waiting, and this tiny, quivering boy had let Schmidt slip through his fingers. Erik wanted nothing more than to punch the unsteady grin off his face.
Unfortunately, somebody else beat him to it. A figure in a tattered black greatcoat stalked forward and struck the man across his cheek, the impact of wet skin resounding around the deck. "What the fuck!" The figure screeched. Xavier was dragged forward by his limp collar and shaken roughly, "You are the most idiotic...why the hell...Charles!"
The new figure, another baby-faced boy -jesus this one was even younger looking- with the impeccably smooth jaw of a boy who hadn't yet the need to shave, threw his arms in the air, apparently unable to vocalize his rage toward his companion.
"S-sorry?" Xavier stuttered, whether from cold or fear or both, it was unclear. The boy huffed and puffed, glaring first at Xavier, and then at Erik, "And what about him?" he snapped, voice shrill with emotion, "We have no idea who he is or what he's doing in the middle of the ocean, what are we supposed to do with him?"
"Well," Xavier said, disentangling the fingers from his collar, and patting the kid's hand between his own purpling digits, "We could try asking him for a start."
Two pairs of eyes, one hostile and one eager, turned toward Erik expectantly. He glared back, "I don't have to tell you anything." he gritted out, "I didn't ask you to drag me up here, I owe you nothing."
"He saved your life!" the red-head snarled viciously, jabbing his finger in Xavier's face, "The least you could do is bloody thank him-"
"Raven be calm." The other boy interrupted, laying a familiar touch to the other's arm, "I apologize, my friend, I acted hastily when I saw that you were in danger. You are free to use one of our longboats to get to the town if that is what you wish.
Take one of their boats to shore, back to the moldy room at the inn to stew in his failure. He'd spent the past four days in that town preparing for this night, listening to the rumors of Schmidt's dealings with the local officials, until finally, the body of one Colonel Hendry was found in the gentlemen's club just that morning. Only Erik knew enough to suspect Schmidt's involvement, and sure enough, the man had his ship prepped to sail within hours. Not exactly the actions of an innocent man.
Months of tracking, careful planning, gathering intelligence was all wasted. All because of this bedraggled fop of a man. The prospect of starting from scratch made rage and despair run through Erik's body, so hot that he was almost surprised that there wasn't steam rising from his wet clothing. It didn't help that the little spitfire at his side was glaring at him as if Erik was the one who ruined his plans, rather than the other way around.
"I didn't ask for your help." Erik gritted bitterly, "I was doing just fine by myself." there was a boy with messy blond hair trying to shove a blanket at him, Erik dissuaded him with his best glare. The blond scowled in return and moved on to Xavier, who accepted it graciously.
"Please!" scoffed the redhead while his companion was busy rubbing the blanket over his wet hair vigorously, "You were nearly killed! If that's what you'd consider 'just fine' I'd like to-"
"Raven please would you go ask Scott to put on some tea?" Xavier interrupted, head popping up, dark hair mussed in every direction. "I find myself growing very chilled indeed." The redhead looked very tempted to refuse, eyes narrowing and lips pulled back in a disagreeable snarl, but Xavier raised a brow pointedly and he seemed to admit defeat. His boots clumped loudly down the stairs to the lower deck and Xavier smiled sheepishly up at Erik.
"I do apologize, my first mate isn't always so...vicious."
"First mate? That child?" Erik scoffed, brows soaring into his hairline, causing the half-dried layer of salt there to crinkle uncomfortably, "Wait, your? Your first mate? Surly you jest."
The man's smile faltered for the first time, hands fluttering to grip his sopping ponytail where it lay against his shoulder, twisting water out to trickle down his wrist. "Not at all my good fellow, Raven is young, yes, but also my oldest and most loyal companion, and there is nobody I would rather have at my side."
"Your side... gott...this vessel, it belongs to you then?"
"Why, yes." Xavier replied, eyes comically wide, a tiny pucker appearing between them as his gaze locked with Erik's apparently confused and searching for his meaning, "This is the Mystique, and I am Captain. I told you so when-"
"When you were dragging me up the side, yes I remember." Erik cut him off, "But you were shouting all manners of none sense so I payed you no heed."
"N-nonsense?" Xavier stuttered, with indignation or perhaps just the cold. "Sir, maybe I was not clear, but my intention-"
"You thought you were helping me yes, I know." Erik snapped, advancing slowly on the other man who was, for now, holding his ground. "I've already explained to you that this is not the case, and now you are trying to tell me that you've dragged me onto a boat run by children! Gottverdammte dich in die Hölle!"
Rather than cow the young man as Erik had expected, the harsh words seemed to buoy him up, and Xavier shook himself, blanket falling to his feet as he raised his chin to stare intently, "I understand that you are angry with me, sir, and that you deem my actions an offense against your person, but you will not take your anger out on my crew, is that clear?"
So the little fop had some spirit in his pathetic frame. He looked older too, all of a sudden, the innocent smile having vacated his face in favour of a stoney expression that sharpened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. He was still shivering and damp but his countenance had shifted to something more suited to his claim of captaincy. Erik stopped moving forward to fix his gaze with the other man's, a silent appraisal passing between them.
"A boat then." Erik finally settled on saying, "In the morning. You owe me that much for foiling my plans."
"As I've already agreed." Xavier nodded, stance relaxing minutely, "But for now won't you come take some tea, we've been standing in this chill for too long already."
***
Charles knew that the crew disapproved of every single minute that Erik remained on board the Mystique. Each of them had expressed, in their own unique ways, or their particular disinclinations to his continued presence.
It had been enough of a battle to convince Erik to stay that Charles was perhaps a tad more harsh with his crew than he normally was. But after a morning of intense debate with the hostile man, of brushed insults and barbed arguments, all Charles wanted was a little cooperation from his men. But he did feel almost immediately guilt at the stung expression on Sean's face after he had snapped at the boy to leave him be.
"Really my boy, I just want you all to see that Erik means us no harm." he implored, rubbing his throbbing temple viciously.
"I wish I could believe it Cap, but I saw the way he looked at you after Logan pulled you up, he looked like he wanted t' guy you right where you stood! And after you'd just risked your neck to save him. That doesn't seem like a stable fellow to me." Sean insisted, young voice strained in his effort to sway Charles. "I just... I don't trust him one bit and neither do the others."
"Yes, they have all made me well aware of what they think thank you, and I told each of them just what I'm telling you: we are simply giving Erik passage up to Fort Amsterdam. Its directly on our route, it simply makes more sense than him having to book onto another ship."
"But it's they way that he acts like we owe it to him! He's scary Captain, thats the basic of it, scary like he'll sooner butcher ya in your bed than do you a favour."
Charles chuckled at that, mind flashing back to when it had been that very man seated across from him, where Sean sat now, and the entire time he'd worn such a look of determined animosity. For the entirety of their discussion, and it had lasted nearly two hours, the man had kept his features carefully schooled into the mask that he'd fixed in place as soon as they'd say down with their tea. But Charles had an uncanny feeling that it was just that, a mask, artfully crafted and impeccably maintained but a farce all the same. There was something more there, beyond the stoney features, but it would take prying to get at it.
"Mr Lensherr has agreed to all the conditions I've set. We take him to the fort and he will do his share of the work. He will take his turn at cooking and cleaning, mending and watch just like each one of you."
"The thought of that man on watch does not comfort me in the slightest, no disrespect captain."
Charles shook his head, not unfondly, and ushered the boy out of his cabin. It had been a long night for all of them, and now that the first rays of morning were breaching the horizon, the dive into the harbor was catching up with him and he longer to fall into bed. But first he lugged himself to his feet and pushed out the door to do one last walk of the decks.
Armando stood at the helm, only halfway through his ten hour shift, and he grinned when Charles waved at him. Nobody else was in sight, all having stolen away to the hold to take advantage to the last few hours of the night. The two masts creaked softly in the breeze, sails still folded neatly at their bases, prepped to be raised as soon as the sun rose.
Charles was about to head back in when he noticed a silhouette on the lower deck. He pulled his coat tighter around his body and headed toward the figure. He could tell almost immediately that it was Erik, nobody else onboard was as tall and willowy as the man. Coming to a stop a ways from him, Charles leaned against the rail and exhaled loudly in case the man hadn't seen him yet. "It's late my friend, or rather, very early. You should get some rest."
"I don't sleep often."
"Not even after a night like this? Surly you must be even more tired than I, that had to be close to half a kilometer that you cleared."
"Bad memories have a nasty tendency to resurface at night. I'd spend most of the time thrashing around anyway. I can't imagine your crew would appreciate that." The man was staring straight at Charles, similar to how he had earlier that night, but considerably less hostile. "But don't let me keep you up. Run off to your room Xavier, rest up."
"My crew calls me Captain, or their own little pet name for me, Cap."
"Is that an order? Because just to make it clear, you are not my Captain."
"Oh I'm we'll aware. All I'm asking is that you not call me Xavier. Charles will do just fine, I've told the others the same but they insist on using my title. This ship is not exactly a traditional one you will find." Charles smiled softly, leaning his weight over the rail until only the toes of his boots remained on the deck. "I am not your captain, and you are not my underling. But I hope we can be friends, despite our less than ideal meeting."
"I hardly think that we'll be together long enough for that to happen."
***
A month later they stood in much the same position, this time facing inward to survey the mess that stews the Mystique. Sails hung draped in tatters, lines shredded, crossbeams hanging splintered. Both masts sported deep gouges in the red wood, some areas of the deck were scorched black. The hold had been completely ransacked, only the most tightly chained crates remaining sealed, the rest of the goods had been strewn around the ship.
Shaw's men hadn't taken anything, this was not a raid but a vicious warning. All of it, the mess, the destruction, it was all for Erik. Returning from town to find this mess had had a visible impact on the man, cracking his steady facade. They'd been scouting out potential ships for Erik to book passage on to take him back to Germany to get his feet under him and resume his search for Shaw.
Once he'd made sure that his crew was alright, Charles had focused on calming his companion's rage. He'd had to fight down his own distress, after all, this ship was his world and the people on board his universe. To see it do casually violated had shaken him to say the least.
Angel was gone. The others told him that she'd gone willingly, swayed by Shaw's charming smile and sugary words rather easily by Alex's bitter account. His harsh tone contradicted starkly with the fact that he'd tried to go after her, him and Armando attacking together, trying to drag their friend away from the invaders. But Shaw was as quick as Erik had said he was and before they could land a blow he had fired off a shot into Armando's shoulder, only just missing the young man's vital organs. Currently the bosun lay in Charles' own bed, asleep and out of danger for the time being. The rest of them were rattled but mostly unharmed; Logan had a large goose-egg forming on his brow from where one of Shaw's men, apparently an old acquaintance, had clubbed him early on.
"Erik," Charles murmured, reaching a hand tentatively toward the other man to grip his arm reassuringly, the action as much for his own sake as Erik's, "We will get to him my friend, Shaw will pay."
"We?" Erik croaked, shoulder rigid under Charles' shaking hand, "What do you mean 'we' Charles? Shaw is my quarry, my hunt."
"It's not so simple anymore. Shaw has one of mine, this is no longer your fight alone."
"One of yours- Charles she went to him...she chose him! One of your beloved crew and she stabbed you in the back easy as anything, and you think you're ready to handle Schmidt. You're as mad as ever."
"It doesn't work that way." Charles said, watching as Scott dutifully roamed the mid-deck collecting whatever was salvageable, and throwing what wasn't into a pile to be discarded. Sean was propped against the mainmast with yard upon yard of canvas in his lap, slowly but steadily mending the eleven thousand square feet of material. Down below Hank sat vigil over Armando and Logan, with Alex as his surly assistance fetching water and fresh bandages. Raven was up the foremast, perched in the nest. Charles could see the bottoms of her bare feet swinging rhythmically above them. "It doesn't matter what mistakes they make, I will not abandon my crew for anything."
"You will just get in my way; you've already hindered me once."
"It's different now, we can work together. Please, Erik, don't you see? Shaw has his crew, maybe it's time you got one of your own."
Erik jolted under his hand and turned to fully face him. "You don't know what you're getting into. Schmidt-"
"Is only one man. We can catch him Erik, together. There is no shame in asking for a little help."
"I never asked you."
"I know you didn't. But you could. I am here for you Erik, and so is Raven. And Logan and Armando, Alex and Scott, Sean and Hank. We may not be the most intimidating looking group on the seas, but we will do everything in our power to bring this man down." Charles is gripping his arms in white knuckles hands, eyes burning with sincere passion, willing Erik to comprehend. "Give us a few days to restock and make repairs. Then the Mystique is at your service."
Silence fell between them and they settled back. Alex slumped up the stairs and went immediately to the port side away from everyone else. He picked up a shard of wood as long as his forearm and hurled it angrily overboard before sitting down and leaning his head against the rail, the picture of dejection. It was a long time before Erik spoke.
"I'm still not calling you Captain."
Charles chuckled weakly, heart unclenching in his chest, "Oh my friend," He said warmly, "I still don't expect you to."