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Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo lay amongst the ruins of his ship, his breathing ragged, blood darkening his long, red coat. Around him, his men lay still or screaming in pain. He couldn't help any of them: one of his legs was broken and he had several deep wounds to his chest. There was a creaking noise from above and behind him and he watched in dismay as the mast, damaged as it was, began to fall. It smashed through the sinking ship, crushing a few of the men still alive.
Someone somewhere began to frantically pray. Turning his head, Antonio could see his First and Second Mates, the Vargas brothers, clinging to each other. Lovino's head was covered in blood and Antonio wondered if he could see at all. Feliciano was missing an arm and looked dazed, probably in shock. Guilt flashed through Antonio: if he hadn't antagonised the World Navy, hadn't gotten onto the bad side of Captain Alfred F. Jones, hadn't ventured out into the waters when the Navy were out in full force, everyone would be alive and well. Why had he decided to defy the Navy?
Casting his mind back, he remembered a night before he left the port from the pirate's secret cove. He and his crew had decided to take several weeks shore leave and were lazily enjoying themselves. However, that particular night, another notorious pirate returned to the cove. Captain Arthur Kirkland was a constant thorn in Antonio's side. He stole his targets, got there before him and could fight him off with his annoyingly good tactics. Several times, Antonio had fallen into one of his traps and been robbed of his haul. They were equals with a sword and equally adverse to a pistol – except the times when Arthur used it to gain the upper hand.
When Kirkland had entered the tavern Antonio's crew had been in, he had looked exhausted and quickly declared to the room that the Navy were bringing more ships out, that they would fill the seas with a common enemy. A few other pirate captains declared that they would stand up and fight but Kirkland had shouted them down. He pointed out that the best thing to do would be to hole up somewhere, hide their ships, and wait till the Navy had run out of money or men to search for them. Antonio had laughed at that and claimed that Kirkland was a coward. It had descended into a scathing argument wherein Antonio had decided to prove Kirkland wrong.
Kirkland had been very right.
Antonio's vision started to blur and he realised that he was crying. At the same moment, he noticed that the Vargas' praying was getting quieter, becoming a mumble. He blinked away his tears and noticed that they had slumped together, their heads resting against each other. Thinking he was going to lose them, Antonio flung out an arm towards them.
“Lovi,” he croaked. Coughing, he tried again. “Lovi! Feli! Don't close your eyes...”
But it seemed to be too late. Things and bodies began to slide, including Antonio and the Vargas brothers. Whilst Antonio grabbed hold of a loose rope to stop himself, his arms feeling weak, the Vargas twins simply tumbled over themselves, falling towards the listing side of the ship.
Was there anyone still alive? Was Antonio alone now? It looked as though Antonio was really going to go down with the ship. Anger and the desire for revenge rose suddenly within him and he took a breath. He knew that he could reach one of the rowing boats if he wanted to, save himself from the wreck and hope to reach land or a forgiving ship. However, if he left his crew, he could be leaving those still alive to drown. He would never forgive himself if that happened. Besides, where would he go if he was saved? What would he do with himself?
At that moment, he heard noises he couldn't attribute to parts of the ship breaking apart. To him, it sounded like shouts, the thudding of grappling hooks hitting the side of the ship. Bustling motions and sounds came from the higher part of the ship. Just as Antonio thought he saw people – upright and uninjured – clambering onto the deck, a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. His hand lost his grip and he began to slide down the ship. Had it sunk even more? He didn't think anything would stop him from hitting the water now.
Suddenly, something grabbed his collar and pulled him upwards again. The thing let go and then he felt an arm around his waist. Disoriented, he blinked and looked around to find Captain Arthur Kirkland, grim-faced and determined looking down at him from where he hung, clinging to one of the ropes attached to the felled mast. Seeing Antonio looking at him, Arthur's eyes lit up and his grip tightened.
“Hey, Carriedo,” he said. “Can't believe I'm saving your arse.”
Antonio didn't reply. He couldn't. In fact, he was beginning to have a hard time breathing. Instead of even breaths, his had become a staccato rhythm, panic and shock beginning to take hold. He tried to gasp Kirkland's name, clutching at his green coat, dirty and stained from the smoke in the air.
“Oh, shit,” said Kirkland, pausing as he adjusted his hold on Antonio. “Fuck. Carriedo. Antonio – breathe. Come on. In... and out. In... Hey, are you listening to me?”
Antonio didn't answer; everything felt upside down and on its side and far away and far too close at the same time. And everything was blurry lined with darkness. Was he going to die before the ship sank? Were his crew dead? With a weak cough, he shook his head, trying to clear it, his feet dangling as Kirkland moved.
“For fuck's sake, Antonio, stay with me. I'm not coming way out here for you to die in my damn arms, okay? Breathe, will you?”
At that point, there were suddenly more hands and Antonio seemed to be lifted. He felt Kirkland's arm leave his and he panicked. Had the Navy returned? Were they arresting him? Was he going to survive the wreck only to be hung? Where were Lovi and Feli? The panic made it more difficult to breathe; Antonio was now only taking wheezing, shallow breaths. Then a hand found his and squeezed, hard, the pain cutting through his panic.
“Come on, Antonio,” said a voice. It sounded like Kirkland's and Antonio grasped at it. “Breathe. Can you hear me?” Antonio nodded in response. “Can you feel my hand?” Antonio responded by squeezing it. “Are you okay?” At that, Antonio frowned, trying to find Kirkland with his blurry vision to glare at him. The other pirate laughed; it sounded relieved. “I'm here. Don't worry. We'll fix you up and everything will be fine.”
When Kirkland fell silent, Antonio realised that he had calmed a little, his breathing better. He didn't feel as panicked any more. Someone else came into Antonio's vision – the hulking figure of Ivan Braginski, Kirkland's doctor on the ship. The man smiled at him, the same creepy smile he used when the crew of the Rojo Toro engaged in battle with the Golden Leo.
“You must go to sleep now,” Braginski told him – before a huge fist came flying towards Antonio's face.
Antonio woke to the familiar gentle rocking of his ship. Groaning, he opened his eyes, staring at the familiar wooden ceiling. Although... It looked a little different from before. Lifting his arm to rub at his eyes, he paused. Usually, he slept with his shirt and trousers on, ready if there was ever an emergency and he was needed on deck. Now, though, his arm was bare. Surprised, he tried to sit up and pain lanced through his chest, his forehead and his left leg which he had shifted slightly as well. Confused, he looked down to find his chest wrapped in bandages. Though the blanket pooled around his waist, he realised that he must have been completely devoid of clothing.
Just as he was about to panic, the door opened. Quietly gasping, he looked up to find Captain Arthur Kirkland hurrying into the cabin. The cabin, he now realised, which was not his own. Various curiosities were littered over the couple of tables which sat nearby. Another, larger table was covered with papers as well as a compass and a sextant. Candles fixed into the wall were unlit, sun shining in from outside providing enough light to see by. A locked chest had been pushed into a corner next to the wardrobe.
Gaping at the sight, Antonio watching Captain Kirkland rush to his table. Following him in was... Antonio nearly cried out in shock when he spotted the great Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt without his large hat and black coat. In fact, he looked like just another member of any pirate crew, a bandanna hiding his pale hair. A scar Antonio had never seen before ran from his temple to his jaw in a diagonal line. It crossed his eyes and it looked as though one of them was now blind, the colour in it faded and milky. Antonio couldn't understand why he was on Kirkland's ship.
Ignoring his surroundings, Kirkland did some navigational calculations and suddenly swore. “We might not make it in time,” he said as he clenched his free hand into a fist. “If Jones reaches him first, Bonnefoy will be in trouble long before we can perform a rescue.”
“Scheiße! Can't you make this tub go faster?” Beilschmidt growled, slamming his hand on the table.
It happened so quickly that Antonio was unable to track Kirkland's movements: in a flash, he had a knife in his hand and had stabbed it into the table just shy of Beilschmidt's hand. “Do not insult my ship,” he snarled. The two captains stared at each other, both tense. Then Beilschmidt drew back his hand and took a step back. Kirkland relaxed, prising the knife from the wood. “I'm going as fast as I can, Gilbert. The wind is behind us and we're moving at our fastest.”
“Tch! Then what do we do?”
Kirkland was silent for a while, obviously running through the options left. As he did so, Antonio watched the fury and distress cross his face. Memories slowly returned to Antonio. Kirkland's announcement. Their argument. His refusal to listen. Setting out almost at the same time as Beilschmidt and Bonnefoy to prove a point. Ship upon ship of the Navy facing them.
His thoughts were interrupted by Kirkland speaking. “We'll have to send him word of what's happened. Tell him to change course, turn around, abandon ship, anything. If he listens, he should make for Kijutsu Island. Maybe the Jiātíng Pirates can keep them safe. Use Minty, he's fastest.”
“Minty?”
“Ask Gabriel. He'll know what I mean.”
For a moment, Beilschmidt seemed to be struggling between leaving or saying something. Then he sighed, saluted and said, “Aye, aye, Captain!” With that, he turned on his heel and rushed from the room.
Antonio stared after him, confused as to why Beilschmidt, a captain himself, would have said that to someone he had fought numerous times. The three of them – Antonio, Gilbert and Francis – hated Kirkland, so why would he willingly call him 'Captain' and do as he said? And how had Antonio gotten from a fight with the Navy to-?
The memories hit him all at once: the battle, the death, his crew. Everything came upon him so suddenly that it made his head whirl and he had to put his hand out to the wall to steady himself. He couldn't stop himself from taking a sharp breath, the noise attracting Kirkland's attention. The captain spun to face him, wide-eyed for a moment. Through the pain and dizziness, Antonio watched as Kirkland hid his surprise under a neutral expression as he hurried over.
“So,” said Kirkland as he reached Antonio's side, looking him up and down, “you're awake, huh, Carriedo?”
“Sí,” Antonio answered, curling his hands into fists as his chest began to throb fiercely.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Sí,” Antonio repeated, staring down at the blanket covering him. “You... My crew...”
There was a short pause before Kirkland sighed. Antonio glanced up at him and found him sporting a pained expression. “I'm afraid they're mostly at the bottom of the ocean. Though we were able to rescue the Vargas brothers – including the one who had stowed away on your ship before you left.”
“What?” croaked Antonio, eyes widening. “Their younger brother? But... He was on...? Is he-?”
“All of them will live. Emiliano got lucky and has the least amount of injuries.”
“Gracias a Dios,” Antonio breathed.
They lapsed into silence. It was so complete that Antonio jumped when he felt Kirkland's hand brush against his side. He flinched away, hackles raised, even as he winced at the pain which blossomed across his whole body. When the stars had cleared from his eyes, he saw Kirkland waiting patiently, watching him. The captain's gaze was so intense that Antonio felt himself flush.
“Idiot,” Kirkland murmured, rolling his eyes. “I need to change your bandages. Orders from Ivan himself, you know.”
“Does it have to be you?” Antonio demanded.
“Would you like the others to see you in your weakened condition?” Kirkland inquired, gently.
Clicking his tongue in frustration, Antonio turned his head away and forced himself to stay still. Fingers ghosted over his side and Antonio had to suck in a breath to keep himself from shuddering. He gripped at the blanket to stop himself squirming as Kirkland began to remove the bandages, carefully and cautiously. The moments passed by in silence. Finally, the bandages fell away and Antonio felt a constriction he hadn't been aware of lift off him. He looked down to see that his wounds were still red and angry but the largest had been stitched up. The rest weren't bleeding and he sighed in relief; he immediately winced from the pain.
“Good,” said Kirkland, quietly. “It looks like Ivan's managed to stop the bleeding. You'll definitely live and you'll have some nice new scars to impress people with. Or serve as a warning of what the Navy can do to you. Particularly that Jones.” Kirkland's words had become a growl and Antonio looked at him, surprised to see his fury.
“Did he do something to you?” Antonio found himself asking.
Kirkland gazed at him for a moment, his expression slowly changing from anger to sadness to pain and then to a despairing half-smile. “I suppose he did. Or maybe-” He broke off and shook his head. “I've got bandages in here.”
Once Kirkland had risen and left Antonio's side, the former captain thought on Kirkland's actions. He had told Antonio during their argument that he wouldn't come to save him if he was stupid enough to go out there. So why was he here? Why was Antonio alive instead of suffering in Hell for his mistake?
“It's not your fault,” Kirkland abruptly told him, lifting a few things on one of the other tables and emerging with another, cleaner roll of bandages. “Don't blame yourself.”
“I ignored your warning,” Antonio replied. “It's entirely my fault. Why are you here?”
Snorting with amusement, Kirkland knelt beside Antonio again, beginning to unroll the bandages. “Saving your stupid arses, aren't I?”
“Gil as well?”
“Of course. Though...” Kirkland paused, not meeting Antonio's gaze. “I didn't get there in time to save his eye.”
Antonio watched Kirkland as he began to wrap the bandages around his torso. The captain was tense, his hands shaking a little as he worked. When his hand brushed one of Antonio's wounds halfway through his task, causing a spike of pain to lance through him, Antonio grabbed Kirkland's hand and held it tight. “You don't think we'll get to Francis in time.”
Pausing, Kirkland looked up at him, his bright eyes filled with fear and anger. “Even if I can make the ship go faster,” he murmured, tearing his gaze away and pulling his hand away, “we would be destroyed, too. Then what good would we be to Bonnefoy? In reality, the best time to arrive would be just after the Navy have left – but they may see us and return to destroy us, too, or follow us to a safe place. The ship is currently moving at a good speed to get us there after the fact, once the Navy are out of sight. But...”
“We might not be there in time to stop Francis from dying if we get there afterwards...” Antonio filled in, understanding.
“In an ideal world, I'd love to- We could maybe... help fight...” Kirkland said, hesitant and haltingly. It seemed to Antonio that he was hiding something. “But I'm glad we got to you in time. Though you won't be helping us with anything for a while, with that leg. Ivan says it'll heal soon and I'll send him up to have a check on it later. I think he's fashioned you a crutch or two. The Vargas brothers will be out of action, too. As is Ludwig – it's a miracle he's still alive, though I hear he may have slight memory problems from a blow to the head.” Kirkland sighed, stopping his task to run a hand through his hair. “The Navy has us in a corner...”
Considering the captain, Antonio tilted his head to the side, wincing as a cut he'd not known about stung from the movement. “You seem to be worried about all of us.”
“I can't go up against the Navy alone,” Kirkland immediately replied, ducking his head to continue working with the bandages.
There was a short silence while Antonio considered everything he had just learnt. It seemed as though Kirkland knew Jones somehow. He seemed to think they'd have to fight Jones and all those ships once again. And he had saved his self-proclaimed enemies. Perhaps he had misjudged Kirkland. After all, he had never once sunk another pirate ship, as far as Antonio was aware: this incident seemed to slight Kirkland's personal brand of honour.
“There. Finished,” said Kirkland, pulling Antonio from his thoughts. He looked down to find that what he said was true, the bandages neatly knotted at his side, easily reached by Antonio himself. Kirkland then rose, the dirty bandages in his hand, and seemed ready to go. Antonio took hold of Kirkland's green coat.
“You said you can't go up against the Navy alone – I have lost my ship and my crew. What use am I in this fight?”
At that, Kirkland outright laughed. “Why do you think Gilbert's still here, hm? He's a part of the crew now, you know. And he will be for the forseeable future. He's free to leave whenever we get to a big enough port, of course. In the meantime, he's agreed to take my orders – though not without argument, it seems.” His smile softened as he looked down at Antonio. He held out his hand towards the former captain. “So, how about it, Antonio? Join my crew and help me destroy the Navy and its puppets.”
Had that been the first time Kirkland – Arthur, rather – had called him by his first name? No... Now that Antonio thought about it, Arthur had called him Antonio during the rescue. He always called his crew and friends by their first names – had Antonio graduated from enemy to friend? Slowly, he reached out for Arthur's hand before pausing with his hand a hair's breadth from Arthur's.
“I'll join your crew as long as I can call you Arthur,” he told the captain, somewhat cheekily.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur grabbed Antonio's hand. “Only in private or I'll dangle you over the side of the ship with your bad leg.”
Pulling his hand away, Antonio gave Arthur a small smile, unable to dredge up the energy for a bigger grin. With a quick salute, he said, “Sí sir, Arthur, sir.”
Shaking his head in exasperation (though Antonio could see the amusement in his eyes), Arthur turned from him. “All right, I'm going to find Ivan. Don't try to get up.”
“Of course, Arthur.”
Captain Kirkland didn't bother to reply, only walking to the door. There, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Antonio. You need it.” He left then, his coat billowing behind him as his quick stride took him away.
Antonio watched him go with a smile. Clearly, Arthur Kirkland wasn't as bad as Antonio had thought he was.