"Arrr."

Mikey cocked his head. "Maybe growl a little more," he said. "It's just, you're smiling really wide. That doesn't make it very convincing."

"I'm finally a pirate!" Gerard bounced on the balls of his feet. "I can't stop smiling."

"We haven't pillaged anyone yet," Mikey said. "We haven't even plundered."

"But we staged a mutiny! It's the first step!"

"Mostly because Captain Flowers was steering the boat North when he said he was going West."

"But still," Gerard said, "the mutiny was successful, and I have a crew."

Mikey sighed. "You have me, a cook, a monkey named Cock, and some overly friendly mice."

"Well, we'll touch down soon!" Gerard said.

"...you mean weigh anchor."

"Sure," Gerard said, "that one."

Mikey laughed in spite of himself and hugged Gerard. "You're gonna be an awesome pirate," he said.

He really hoped it was true.

||

It happened like this:

The thief tried to steal Gerard's watch.

Gerard said, "Oh my god, you're so skinny!" and tried to give his watch to the thief.

A random passerby said, "He's got a knife," and hit the skinny thief on the head.

A snake charmer a few feet away from them said, "Bite the blond one, Matt!"

And Gerard acquired his bos'n Bob, his cabin boy William, and his...snake charmer...Gabe.

||

William was a remarkably good cabin boy. He slept in his hammock, kept track of Gerard's boots ("How do you lose knee-high boots in such a tiny cabin?" he asked incredulously on his first day. "I just do, okay?" Gerard snapped, then immediately felt bad, because William, when sad, resembled the puppy he'd had as a boy. Or Mikey), and just generally made sure Gerard didn't look like an idiot when he called his crew scallywags.

("Because you do that all on your own. My William doesn't need to help you," Gabe said, smug.

"I will hang you from the crow's nest," Gerard said darkly, and Bob crossed his arms and glared.)

So Gerard was a little surprised to enter his cabin one day and find William standing on his bed.

"You," he announced, "are a barbarian. Shocking. Disturbing. Utterly reprehensible."

Gerard stared at him, perplexed. "That's...kind of the point," he said finally.

"I don't care how many women and homes you plunder, you cannot have a monkey named Cock," William said. "It's horrifying!"

"That's not my fault!" Gerard said. "It was—"

William did a remarkable impression of one of Gabe's snakes as he stabbed a finger in Gerard's direction. "Silence! You are Gruesome Gerard, Captain of the Black Parade! Everything up to and including substandard bilgewater is your fault!"

Oh. "Gabe hasn't been complaining, has he? I told him he could have a cabin, he doesn't need to stay down there."

"I am renaming your monkey," William said, flapping his hands. "It's the only way."

And thus, for two hours every day, William chased Cock around the decks, grabbing for his tail and yelling "Jack! Jack, Cock, Jack!" while everyone else tried very hard not to laugh.

||

Ray the cook was the one who pointed Ryan Ross out to them.

"No," Gerard said when he saw the skinny kid with the too-big hat. "If I hire a girl, it won't be one of the ones pretending to be boys, okay? They always wind up marrying the best sailor onboard. I've heard the stories."

"I'm not a girl," Ryan said in a very definitely masculine voice.

Gerard blinked; Ray sighed.

"I know he doesn't look like much, but you'll never find another knot-tier, I don't care if you sail to Singapore and back," Ray said.

"If he turns out to suck and lie around in rope coils and never eat like certain useless first mates—"

"Hey!" Mikey yelped, "I get seasick!"

"—then I'll leave you and your terrifying hair alone on an island somewhere," Gerard finished, glaring as menacingly as he could. The bells he'd sewn into his buccaneer hat jangled. Ominously, Gerard thought, and nodded to make them jangle harder.

||

Predictably, Ryan was absolutely fantastic.

Gerard, having been a cartographer before he was a terrifying buccaneer, knew very little about knots beyond that if you tied them, and they stayed tied, then they were good knots. But when Gerard asked Ryan about it, his eyes lit up and he started explaining, in a very flat—though, Gerard knew from growing experience, excited—tone about different kinds of knots, and rope, and the appropriateness of various combinations, until Gerard's eyes almost crossed.

"Um," he said when Ryan finally wound down, "that's really fascinating."

"You don't care," Ryan said.

"...not so much, no," Gerard admitted.

Ryan smiled a little. "You're a good captain, even if you don't make people walk the plank," he said.

"I'm thinking of having the plank painted," Gerard said. "We're weighing anchor soon! Painting is fun."

"We're weighing anchor in...where, exactly?" Ryan said, fingers running over a coil of rope.

"New York," Gerard said. "And then we'll sail to the Caribbean."

Ryan smiled. "I know some people in New York," he said. "You could use a few more crew members, right?"

Cobwebs were starting to grow on the railings. "I think so," Gerard said. "Mikey might kill me if I don't." Gerard still thought the insides of barrels and coils of rope weren't places that should be clean, but every time he tried to express this very reasonable (and piratelike! Pirates weren't supposed to be clean) opinion, Mikey sort of pulled his teeth back and growled and put his hand on his sword.

Mikey had a long reach. Gerard was only so adventurous.

New York was the kind of chaotic, bordering on lawless place that made Gerard frown at anyone who so much as looked at Ryan funny. Except that, really, Ryan knew the city better than he did; he and Gabe led the others straight to the tiny hole in the wall – literally - that Ryan claimed held Gerard's new crew members.

"No, man, no," a high-pitched voice said as they opened the door, "it totally looks different upside down. It like, bounces down."

"Oh, for the love of God. I sent a message months ago," Ryan said, waving a hand to dispel the clouds of sweet-smelling smoke in the room.

The upside-down guy with the tattoos winding around every available inch of skin blinked. "You said you were coming to visit with your mom, man," he said. "Three weeks from now."

"Plans changed," Ryan said. "So. How many people can you donate to a pirate crew?"

He blinked. "Like...five, maybe?"

The other guy counted on his fingers. "Seven or eight," he said.

Ryan smirked. "Told you I knew some people."

"They're not in their right minds," Gerard said.

"Relax, they don't do this at work," Ryan said.

"It's true," the smaller ones said. "I'm very conscientious. And stuff."

"That's Joe," Ryan said. "The other one is Travis."

Gerard eyed them suspiciously. "Nice to meet you," he said finally.

"Hey. Hey!" William said, and jammed a pointy elbow in Gerard's side. "I know you!" he said, straddling Travis and leaning close. "I do. I tried to rob you once!"

Travis squinted at him. "At that whorehouse in Belize?" he said finally.

William beamed. "I was the transvestite whore!"

Gerard braced himself for the blows he knew would inevitably come, but to his surprise, Travis just laughed. "That was a fucking good play, man," he said.

"This is boring," Joe said. "Can we go rob people now?"

Gerard sighed. "That's stereotyping," he said, already tired of explaining, "and it's wrong."

It wasn't Mikey who snorted, Gerard knew, because Mikey was unerringly loyal, and would never mock his beloved brother.

"What are you planning on doing, then?" Joe asked. He regarded Gerard solemnly, curls still hanging down to the floor.

"...robbing people," Gerard admitted. "But robbing the right people."

"Like Robin Hood. Cool," Joe said. "Okay, me and my people are in."

Ryan hadn't backfired, Gerard told himself. Ryan hadn't backfired, which meant his friends wouldn't either. Probably.

"Whoa, man," Travis said. "That friend of yours has the scariest fucking eyes I've ever seen."

Gabe's laugh echoed in the room.

Gerard closed his eyes and thought about stabbing things.

||

"He tripped over his own feet walking onto the ship!"

"He's fucking amazing, man, give him more than five minutes!"

"The sea is an unforgiving place!"

"You're wearing a feather boa."

Gerard opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut, glaring. "That's completely irrelevant," he said.

"But it's true," Travis said. "Seriously, you want a navigator, you won't find a better one than Disashi. Let the man work."

"It's true," Joe said, balancing a mop on his nose. "He's one of the best in the trade. Well, the illegal part of the trade."

"Fine." Gerard flung his feather boa over his shoulder, turning his nose up. "You are only undermining my authority because I'm allowing you to," he informed them loftily, setting his hat at a jaunty angle.

He definitely heard some terror in their laughs.

||

The ocean was beautiful. Gerard was falling in love all over again.

Mikey plopped down next to him on the bench. "You're a horrible judge of character," he said cheerfully. "I think Disashi's figured out a way to magically make the ship go faster."

"I worry," Gerard said, finger tracing the smooth railing digging into his side. "We're probably doing the wrong thing."

Mikey shrugged. "To some people, maybe," he said, and dropped his head against Gerard's shoulder. Gerard raised his hand automatically, stroking Mikey's hair, feeling himself settle a little.

"You're giving them a home," Mikey said finally. "And you're giving them something to belong to. That's important."

Gerard's mouth felt dry-wet, like he'd been drinking seawater. He swallowed heavily. "Says the boy who sleeps in barrels," he said jokingly, but his arm tightened around Mikey's shoulders all the same.

||

Mikey did get seasick; it wasn't a lie. He maybe didn't get as seasick as he said he did, but the queasiness was still there, lurking in the back of his throat.

And, well. Sleeping in giant coils of rope, or on barrels, was odd enough to warrant remarking on. Gerard didn't give him much shit about it, though, because he had the same addiction to watching the stars and feeling the breeze. On quiet nights when they were far enough out that even the captain could relax his guard, Gerard would slip out of his cabin and come lie next to Mikey, leaning his head on Mikey's shoulder and watching the night slip by.

Tonight, though, they were just a day out from the harbor, and Gerard had closed himself away in his cabin, muttering about danger and treachery and pretty much forgetting, again, that they weren't actually high-profile criminals yet.

So Mikey was alone with the water and the wind and the stars. He had just reached the point where everything started to feel slow and easy, where every thought seemed poetic and beautiful, when possibly the least poetic thing in the world happened: something poked his ass.

Mikey jumped far enough that he almost rolled right off the ship. "Ow!" he yelped, even though it hadn't really hurt, and then, "What the fuck!"

The lid of the barrel flipped off and a head popped out. "Seriously, man," the guy said, unfolding himself in a way that Mikey was pretty sure shouldn't even be anatomically possible, "I, like, couldn't breathe."

Mikey stared.

The guy reached back, massaging his shoulder and grimacing. "Those things are pretty small," he said. "Hey, you don't mind if I take a piss, right?"

Mikey was going to have to stop staring sometime. Just not right now, apparently. The guy turned away from Mikey, shrugging his pants off and hopping onto the railing. Mikey didn't even have time to say something like 'you idiot, you're going to fall into the ocean!' before he was pissing over the side.

"Aaah," the man said, throwing his head back contentedly and hopping back down to the deck, "much better."

"Oh my god," Mikey said, "you're insane. Why are you even on the ship? You're insane."

The man shrugged. "Needed a ride," he said. "I'm Pete, by the way, all possible insanity aside."

"There are nicer ships. Ones with room for lunatic passengers who pee off the side of the boat," Mikey said.

"Yeah, but you pay money for those," Pete said.

Mikey narrowed his eyes. "We could make you pay for stowing away," he said. "And if you don't have any, we could make you walk the plank."

He was more than a little surprised when Pete doubled over, laughing so hard he was wheezing. "Walk the plank, seriously?" he said, leaning against a barrel for support, mouth wide and ridiculous enough that Mikey couldn't help but smile back, a little.

"Hey, this is Gruesome Gerard's ship," he said. "Have some respect."

"Uh-huh," Pete said, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes, "Gruesome Gerard, right. Don't worry, I'm totally useful."

"What can you do?" Mikey said, carefully not thinking about how scared Pete didn't look.

"I'm a pretty good fuck, I've been told," Pete said, looking Mikey up and down in a way that had Mikey blushing furiously. And also getting hard, because, well. Pete might be a stowaway, but he wasn't exactly unattractive.

But Mikey, when you got down to it, was just as nice a pirate as Gerard. "That won't be necessary," he said. "Just help out, okay? And don't eat too much food."

"Sounds good." Pete plopped down on the barrel. "So what were you looking at?"

It shouldn't feel comfortable to sit next to him, back propped up against the ship's side, but it did. "The stars," he said. "They're beautiful out here."

"I used to live in the city," Pete said, reaching a hand up like he was touching the sky. "Too many smokestacks belching out ash. You couldn't see shit there." He wiggled his fingers.

"You're not going to catch them," Mikey said without even really thinking.

Pete grinned. "Sure I won't. But hey, you never know." He curled up closer, dropping his head on Mikey's shoulder. "I like your boat," he said, sounding suddenly sleepy.

Mikey patted his shoulder awkwardly. He hoped his boat liked Pete, too.

||

"You what," Gerard said flatly.

Mikey bit his lip. "He was nice," he said, "and it's not like we can really throw someone overboard, can we?"

"We're pirates! Of course we can!"

"Gerard."

Gerard slumped. "We're pirates," he said, sounding a little forlorn.

Mikey patted his head. Half a foot away from them, Pete stuck his hand inside a barrel. "Oh, hey, fish!"

"Can someone come help me?" Disashi said plaintively. "I can't man the helm and open the sails at the same time, and we're going to crash into some rocks and drown if we don't—"

Travis ran to help; Disashi blinked in surprise. Gabe almost fell into the ocean laughing.

||

Pete became part of the crew remarkably quickly, considering that no one was sure what he actually did. Mikey found him draping himself all over the ropes sometimes; he was remarkably flexible and loved staring at the sky, letting the ship hold him up. He knew he shouldn't find quirks like that endearing, but Pete looked ridiculously small curled up in a hammock of rigging. He really couldn't help himself.

The rest of the crew—even Gerard, no matter how many times Mikey tried to tell him otherwise—were convinced he and Pete were fucking. Mikey couldn't help but wish, wistfully, that they were right; but Pete had only ever kissed him once, and that was when they were both so tired that their vision was smudged even just a foot away from each other, and kissing had just been a brief, affectionate good-night. Pete was gorgeous and mysterious and good at almost every job he tried; Mikey was just the somewhat bumbling first mate. He knew he didn't have a chance.

"You're a moron," Gerard said every time Mikey advanced this theory. "I mean, you're a real actual moron."

Mikey really couldn't say anything to that.

By the time they rounded Florida—carefully keeping to the waters Disashi said were less traveled, because they really didn't need to run into any other pirates when they didn't even have cannonballs yet—Mikey and Pete had developed a routine of sorts. Pete woke Mikey up each morning by sitting on him, and Mikey pushed Pete off and force-fed him pickles so he wouldn't get scurvy. Mikey spent the rest of the day first-mating, which mostly involved trying to talk Ryan into deigning to scrub the decks, or explaining patiently to the Butcher that if he'd wear clothes like the rest of them he wouldn't be a walking sunburn all the time. Pete followed him around, chiming in when he wasn't needed ("and dude, think of your skin, baby soft is in" or "come on, Ross, you look enough like a girl, a little elbow grease isn't suddenly going to turn you into Blackbeard") and nuzzling Mikey when he thought he could get away with it.

Mikey didn't blame the rest of the crew for thinking they were fucking, really. Not when Pete kissed the back of his neck and whispered, "You know, I've had five dirty thoughts about those boots of yours since Joe started talking," and not when Pete announced he was cold and stuck his hands down Mikey's pants.

"It's just," Mikey told the stars, which definitely weren't listening, "I'd like it to be true, you know? Sometimes."

"Of course it's true," Gabe said agreeably, wandering past. His eyes were glassy. "The Cobra lives in the stars, and the Cobra never lies. Five pieces of gold and a milkman's prayer, Mikey."

Mikey wasn't convinced.

||

Then, Tortuga happened.

||

Mikey wasn't sure he really liked Tortuga. On one hand, it was a huge, busy, pirate-filled city, and something was always going on.

On the other hand, it was a huge, busy, pirate-filled city, and something was always going on.

Pete loved Tortuga. Mikey knew because Pete had sat in his lap on the rowboat ride to the shore, babbling on and on about how much he loved Tortuga. "And don't worry," Pete said, shoving his cold nose against Mikey's cheek, "I'll protect you from all the scary pirates."

Mikey was fully ready to protest that he didn't actually need protecting, but Pete was hopping off the boat, snarling at random passerby and generally making an idiot out of himself, so Mikey decided to concentrate on making sure Pete himself was protected instead.

Gerard, who for all his lack of actual gruesomeness was pretty good at dealing with dastardly pirates, shook his head. "Of all the people," he said, smiling wryly. "Don't let anyone kill him, I'm thinking about making him the ship's mascot. We'll send him to chatter at merchant ships until they give up."

It was approval, Mikey knew, which made him feel a little weird considering how much they really weren't doing. "He'd love that," he said.

"I know," Gerard said. "Just don't get into too much trouble. I have to negotiate allies."

"As opposed to just shooting cannons at their heads like a normal pirate," Mikey said fondly, flicking Gerard's velvet buccaneer hat. "We'll be back on the ship by tomorrow morning."

"Don't let him sell you into slavery!" Gerard called to Mikey's back.

Mikey jogged to catch up to Pete, waving goodbye.

To get to Pete, he had to dodge two drunken pirates and one over-affectionate whore. It wasn't hard, exactly—or at all, really—but he still felt better when he was by Pete's side.

"Have you ever even been to Tortuga?" Mikey said finally, disbelieving when Pete ducked into yet another brothel just to look inside.

"Of course," Pete said. "Duh. I'm a pirate."

"You're not a good liar, though," Mikey said.

Pete paused in his brothel inspection to turn to Mikey. "I'm not lying," he said, mouth turned down in a frown. "I'm just looking."

Mikey raised his eyebrows. "For?"

"I'll know when I find it," Pete said, rolling his eyes and sitting on a bench outside a particularly ornate building.

"Hey!" the man already sitting there yelled, shoving Pete off. "Get your own bench, you ass!"

Pete slowly turned around, a grin spreading over his face. The man crossed his arms and glared, wire-framed glasses glinting in the light of several fires, both legal and not. "I was trying to read," he said, waving a book at Pete.

"Out here? I can barely read on the ship when no one's around. You're weird." Pete sat down next to him. "What are you reading? Can I touch your sideburns? Your glasses? What's your name?"

Losing Pete literally wasn't a problem. Losing him metaphorically...well.

It was hard to feel bad about losing someone's casual affection while watching that someone fall in love.

Mikey wasn't surprised in the slightest when he wound up escorting Pete and Patrick back to the ship. "It's perfect," Pete told Patrick, who was smiling and looking profoundly bemused. "It's perfect and so is the crew. Well, mostly, Ross is kind of a bitch, but Mikey's good." Pete kissed Mikey on the cheek. "You'll come, right? Right?"

Patrick laughed a little. "Sure, Pete, I'll come and see your etchings."

"Awesome." Pete bounced on the balls of his feet a little, wrapping both arms around Patrick. The regret was fading quickly; Patrick smiled at Pete, and all Mikey could think was that he fit.

||

"Agree to my conditions, or I'll kill you," Gerard told the motley crowd he'd assembled, flapping his hand dramatically. "Arr."

He hadn't expected them to take him seriously.

||

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it—and you will, of course, or we'll kill you—is to assassinate the Dread Pirate Gerard, known to some as Gruesome Gerard." The head ninja crossed his arms, glaring at his disciple sternly. "Don't bungle it like you did your last ten assignments."

Frank hung his head. "Yes, Master," he said. "I'll do my best. Um."

The head ninja cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Pirate?" Frank said, unable to stop himself from smiling a little.

"Strictly business," the head ninja sniffed. "Don't ask questions."

And because he valued his life and his balls, Frank didn't.

||

"And this is my bed!" Pete said happily.

"It's a barrel," Patrick said.

"It's more comfortable than it looks," Pete said.

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Mikey, who held up his hands. "No comment," he said.

"It's even more comfortable with another person," Pete said, batting his eyelashes at Patrick.

Patrick paled a little. "Um," he said, and backed up a step, "I don't—it's not—"

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Mikey whirled around. "Gerard? What's—Gerard."

"No time to talk!" Gerard yelped. His eyes skimmed right over Patrick. "We have to go! Now!"

"What did you do?" Mikey said, watching the torch-wielding mob run, some of them falling into the water, others setting each other on fire.

"Nothing!" Gerard said. "Or, something. I'll tell you later, we have to go now!"

Mikey sighed and started yelling at everyone, less because they weren't doing their jobs and more because Gerard needed to calm down. The chaos was bad enough that none of them noticed the small figure darting onto the deck.

||

"I have to go home!" Patrick said, trying to wiggle out of Pete's grip.

Pete just held on tighter. "Shh," he said sleepily. "You'll get home. Eventually. Just...stay for awhile, okay?"

Mikey slipped away when he saw Patrick relax.

He didn't head for the kitchen deliberately, but it was warm and the lights were on; he slipped in before he realized what he was doing.

"It's late," Ray said when he saw Mikey.

"Pete's getting acquainted with his captive," Mikey said by way of explanation, sitting down awkwardly on a bench.

Ray made a soft, considering noise as he kneaded the dough on the counter.

"You and he are close," he said finally.

Mikey nodded. "He's interesting."

"I heard talk about you two. Interesting talk."

Ray's voice couldn't possibly have been more level. Mikey cursed whatever kitchen magic had apparently made him completely unreadable. "I wanted there to be," he said slowly. His eyes strayed down to Ray's hands. "I didn't hope, exactly, just..wanted."

Ray was still completely expressionless when Mikey looked up, but there was a smudge of flour on his cheek. "You can stay here tonight, if you want."

He fell asleep curled up on the bench to the sound of Ray humming. When he woke up the next morning lying on bags of flour, a scratchy blanket pulled up to his chin, Ray didn't say a word. The bread he handed Mikey was fresh and the coffee was warm in its tin; when Mikey stood up, Ray folded the blanket and left it on the flour.

"I should check on Gerard," Mikey said finally. He'd never felt more awkward, not since he and Gerard first gained passage at sea.

Ray nodded and turned back to the fire.

||

After that, Mikey didn't hide from Pete and Patrick. It was important to note, because he knew it would look like hiding to an outsider, but it wasn't. He was just staying in the kitchen all the time so he didn't have to look at them.

"The problem," he said to Ray as Ray slapped the dough (Mikey still had no idea where he got the supplies he'd need to make so much fresh food and wasn't sure he wanted to find out) for yet another loaf of bread down, "is that they're perfect."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Perfect?"

Mikey nodded. "Watching them is like knowing the ocean should be blue."

"You're hurting," Ray said, kneading the dough harder. Mikey couldn't for the life of him divine the emotion behind the words.

But...he shook his head. "I wish I were," he said. "It would be easier."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

Mikey poked a potato. The skin was wrinkly; it was, he thought, going to die soon, or be eaten. The potato's life was tragedy. Empty, worthless tragedy. "Because they're perfect, and I don't have that, and it's awful," he said finally, feeling ridiculously childish.

"Stop that," Ray said. A flour-covered hand tugged on his sleeve. "Come here."

Mikey stood up, a bit wary from dozens of Ray's nice but misguided attempts to distract him from his own mind. "What?"

Ray pulled him closer, shifting until Mikey was standing in front of him. "Help me out," Ray said, waving at the dough.

"Um," Mikey said, and squeezed it, trying to imitate the movements he'd seen Ray go through so many times.

Ray sighed. "Like this," he said, putting his hands over Mikey's, rolling the dough.

Plenty of people were taller than Mikey, but few made him feel as small as he did right then. When Ray finally stepped back, the rush of cold air was almost surprising enough to make Mikey shiver. "If the bread's lumpy, I'm blaming you," he said.

Ray laughed. "It'll be perfect, idiot," he said.

Mikey was oddly certain he could trust Ray with more than the condition of bread; he wondered sometimes why Gerard kept him on as a cook when so many other positions were filled by strangers. "Okay," he said, "but you're putting it in the oven."

So Ray did.

The next day, he had Mikey make his own loaf. It was strangely relaxing, punching the shit out of squishy dough and telling Ray about catching Pete and Patrick kissing.

"Did you want Pete?" Ray asked, slicing celery. Mikey didn't even know Gerard had bought celery. Actually, he was fairly certain he hadn't.

"Not really," he said finally, watching Ray scoop the stuff up and put it in a bowl. "I mean, kind of? But it was more...I don't know. Just general jealousy, I guess. Of both of them."

Ray nodded. "You're lonely."

"No, no, definitely not." His stomach jerked to the side, then lurched against his skin. "I'm fine."

"Spending a lot of time below-deck doesn't actually kill your brain cells, you know," Ray said. "You're fine like Gerard was fine after we left McCracken on that island."

"We had to," Mikey said automatically. "Bert was crazy. Gerard did the right thing."

Ray shook up some sauce in a suspicious-looking flask. "But it still hurt him that he had to."

"I'm not sure what your point is," Mikey said, flicking a flour-covered middle finger, "but you're wrong."

"Sure." Ray pulled the dough out from under his frantically mashing fingers and put it in a cooking tin. "Just give it time, okay? No one's saying you have to get over him right away."

Mikey half-smiled. "Why do you think I've been spending so much time in here?"

He didn't really understand why Ray winced at that.

||

Gerard knew he wasn't the world's most fearsome pirate; no one was less surprised than he that it took him two whole days to realize something was wrong on the ship.

He'd thought, at first, that their mysterious extra passenger was the same one Pete had accidentally captured from Tortuga. There was a neat kind of symmetry to it, and it required no extra thinking on Gerard's part. But it became obvious pretty quickly that they couldn't possibly be one and the same; Pete's hostage was small, and round, and probably not prone to lurking in the sails and watching Gerard.

Gerard was more than a little worried after that.

He didn't tell the—spy? Assassin?—that he knew someone was watching. He didn't tell anyone. The idea of someone watching him was downright disturbing, considering that he hadn't even really done anything yet; he half-hoped the person would realize his relative innocence and leave him alone.

A fortnight into their journey, everything went to hell.

Before the torch-bearing mob had chased him out of Tortuga, he'd heard rumors of pirates like himself, who stopped merchant ships from warring and just generally policed the waters more than plundering them. But he hadn't encountered any; they'd been in two small skirmishes since setting sail, but it had just been them and small Royal Navy ships, nothing major.

Then, on the dawn of their fifteenth day at sea, Travis squinted at the horizon and said, "Huh. Weird."

Gerard stopped petting Cock's head and pushed his hat out from over his eyes. "What's weird?"

Travis pointed to the horizon, which was more or less a massive cloud of black smoke.

"Oh my God." William climbed on Travis's back, staring at the cloud. "Should we steer around that?"

"Should I adjust the course, Captain?" Disashi said, leaning on the wheel.

Gerard squinted. If it had been piracy, there might still be a few people needing their help. Unless, of course, the battle was still raging, in which case Bob would glare at him for getting them involved in yet another sea battle.

"You're a pirate," William reminded him pointedly, flipping his hair and staring pointedly from his spot on Travis's back.

Gerard said. "Stay to the course," he said, and went to tell Bob to sharpen his sword.

||

"If it's a real pirate battle, you're not coming on board," Bob said.

"But," Gerard said, just barely refraining from stomping his boot.

Bob crossed his arms and glared.

"Fine," Gerard said, and sighed.

||

By the time they got close enough to assess the situation, the battle was over. A ship proudly flying a lurid pirates' flag was half-sunk already; a merchant ship was limping behind a smooth, sleek battleship.

William whistled in appreciation. "Beautiful," he said, leering at the strangely realistic masthead.

The thin, wooden woman scowled at him. "Have some respect," she snapped, reaching out and ripping half their railing off.

Gerard felt his mouth fell open. "I," he said. "You. What?"

"I'm enchanted." The masthead crossed her arms. "So tell your friend there to keep his eyes to himself."

"I promise not to touch," William said sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

"That's my railing," Gerard said, sulking a little. He heard a giggle and whirled around, but no one was in sight.

"Katie, give the nice man his railing back."

Gerard stiffened and turned back around slowly. The woman's voice was weighed with authority, almost as though she was—

"Captain," the masthead said, sulking.

The woman—captain—glared. "Now, or I'll have Spencer saw you off."

Katie sighed and tossed the chunk of wood back onto the deck of Gerard's ship. "Consider yourselves lucky," she said, and went immobile again.

"Or you'll, what, rip more of our railing? Ooh, I'm scared," William said, sounding considerably less charitable than he had a few minutes ago. "Snotty little wen...there's really no need for that."

The captain smiled, the point of her sword not wavering from its position a few inches away from William's shoulder. "Don't insult my crew, then," she said.

"Wait," Gerard said desperately. "Wait. Who are you?"

"Lyn-Z," she said. "And I don't know what you think you're playing at, but the responsibility of cleaning up these waters belongs to me." She kicked William hard, sheathing her sword. "Me and my crew. Not you."

"She kicked me!" William yelped, but before Gerard could say anything else, their ship was moving away, Lyn-Z hanging from the rigging.

He settled on yelling, "You haven't seen the last of us!"

"...that was rude," William said, flipping his hair in response to the rude parting gesture Katie the masthead made in response.

"Especially since I kind of think I was telling the truth," Gerard said. "Unfortunately."

Someone giggled.

Gerard whirled around. "Look, it's not like any of you were rushing out to fight her!" he said, but his crew looked back at him with blank faces.

"Scallywags?" he said weakly, resting his hand on his sword, the vague idea that he might have to use it someday suddenly turning into a very real and immediate need. "Bilge rats?"

Giggle.

"Seriously, who's doing that? I'm not going to chop you up, that would be...ugh. Just tell me who you are!"

"It's coming from the curtains," Pete said. "Kill it!"

Patrick frowned. "Didn't you tell me you were a stowaway? And they're sails."

"They're not sails if they're appliquéd," Pete said.

"But you were a stowaway."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"How is it different?"

"It just is. Have I mentioned you're cute when you're mad?"

"I'm going to throw you in the ocean."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Travis said, and grabbed a sail, shaking it hard.

A midget fell out.

"Patrick," Pete whispered in the ensuing silence, "Patrick. He's shorter than you!"

Disashi grabbed Pete just in time to stop him from falling into the ocean from Patrick's push, which Gerard would be thankful for once the midget stopped leaping at him, yelling, "Take me to your captain! Today is Gruesome Gerard's last day on this earth!"

"...What?" Gerard frowned, watching Ray wrap his arms around the midget's waist, holding him still. Mikey peeked out from behind Ray, watching—but not, Gerard noticed, willing to sacrifice himself to save his beloved brother.

"Death before dishonor! Sacred duty! Let GO of me, you idiot!" The midget struggled, actually succeeding in dragging Ray forward a few inches before going limp. "Traitorous scum," he said, twisting to glare at Ray.

Ray laughed. "We're not on your side," he said.

"Hey, stop, that's not the point. Why do you want to kill me?"

The midget's eyes widened. "Wait. You're Gruesome Gerard?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. "You've been stalking us for two weeks. Who did you think I was?"

"The first mate. I was expecting someone, you know. Gruesomer."

"Yeah, well, I expected someone taller," Gerard said. "And stealthier."

"I'm stealthy! I hid from you for two weeks!"

"Actually, I saw you the first day," Gerard said. "I assumed Pete had brought on a chimp instead of a normal monkey."

The midget glared. "You're really pale for a pirate," he said.

"Oh, right, like all pirates are tan and fit!" Gerard turned deep, dark red. "Just like all ninjas don't know how to smile, I'm sure. The way you embrace stereotypes is deeply disappointing."

"Your mother was deeply disappointing," the midget retorted.

"Hey," Mikey said, sounding mildly offended. "Our mom's dead."

The midget blinked. "I didn't know you had a brother," he said to Gerard.

"He was a foundling," Gerard said, because Mikey was a traitor who was still hiding behind Ray.

"I've never actually killed anyone," the midget said, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Comforting," Gerard said. "I bet you'll mess it up and it'll take me forever to die."

"I'm not going to kill you, don't be stupid." The midget held out his hand. "I'm Frank."

Gerard couldn't help but feel suspicious; he was, after all, a dangerous, bloodthirsty pirate. Suspicion was his job. But the midget—Frank—had a nice smile, and Gerard wasn't very good at being dangerous and bloodthirsty anyway. "Nice to meet you," he said, shaking Frank's hand. "I guess you can stay. We're sailing to England."

"I rescued a kitten in England!" Frank said brightly.

"A kitten?" Travis smirked a little. "You're a stand-up kinda guy."

"On my way to another job. A dangerous ninja's job," Frank said, grin moving back into a frown. Gerard was a little surprised at how much he wanted to see him smile again.

"I like kittens," Pete said. "I had one once! But then it ran away to live with a Dalmation."

Frank laughed; Gerard stared, cheeks flushing. He didn't quite realize what was going on until William snickered and said quietly, "He's pretty for a ninja, isn't he?"

Oh. Gerard blushed harder.

Oops.

||

"I think," Pete said slowly, tapping a non-rhythm on Patrick's thigh, "that I'm very glad I have you. Because we're made for each other, and wooing someone looks like a lot of work."

"I'm still not fucking you on a barrel," Patrick said. "Or in one." But he patted Pete's shoulder.

"I'm not joking," Pete said. He snuggled closer. "I'm glad. And you're going to fuck me sometime."

Patrick still got a little seasick sometimes. It was nice having Pete to hold onto as he leaned back against the side of the ship and listened to the rhythm of the water. "Yeah," he said, not really thinking—not even looking down at Pete. "Sure. Whatever you say."

Pete pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, and they lay together for the rest of the night.

||

"Hey," Gerard said one day as William laced his boots up (he always insisted on doing it, even though Gerard had been dressing himself since Mikey was old enough to need help with his own clothes), "could you ask the crew all they know about Lyn-Z? I need as clear a picture of who I'm facing as possible."

"Will you find another cabin boy and let me sleep with Gabe?"

Gerard blinked. "Isn't it kind of...bilge-ey down there?"

"It's comfortable." William smiled up at him; Gerard tried not to shiver. It was creepy, having someone kneel and give you blowjob-eyes on a regular basis like that. "And you shouldn't have problems finding a new cabin boy."

Being able to lace his own boots up pretty much sounded like heaven. Gerard nodded. "Go gossip-gather," he said, slipping his shirt on.

He'd never seen William leave a room quite that quickly.

"You could've just asked me, you know."

Gerard yelped and somehow managed to trip over his own arm, landing on his back. "Ow," he said, looking up at the roof of his cabin.

Frank's face appeared. He was, of course, grinning. "Klutz."

"Voyeur," Gerard retorted, and sat up, wincing. "What were you lurking for?"

"Habit."

"Is it habit to giggle and give yourself away, too?"

Frank looked guilty. "Um."

Gerard shook his head. It had only been a day, but he already felt like Frank was a friend, someone whose flaws were endearing, rather than annoying. "Why should I ask you?"

"I know all about Lyn-Z," Frank said.

"I thought you were supposed to kill me. Was it a two-person thing, or...?"

Frank looked at him blankly. "You're pirates," he said, as though that explained everything. But then, he was still swathed in black from head to toe, and giggling aside, he moved silently.

"Ninja," Gerard said. "Right. I forgot."

"Well, that's why," Frank said. "Anyway, I can tell you. For a price."

Gerard groaned. "I've already lost my cabin boy—"

"Who was well-intentioned but annoying anyway." Frank grinned cheekily. "Which is why you should let me be your cabin boy instead."

Gerard's common sense (which he always pictured as a vaguely Mikey-ish jellyfish, skinny and disapproving) made him think, for a second, that it was the stupidest idea in the world. But in the end the stomach-tugging, world-realigning hope he seemed to experience whenever Frank smiled won out. "Done," he said. "Now well me what you know."

So Frank did.

||

Gerard left his cabin as pale as any of the crew had ever seen him. Pete wrinkled his nose. "Frank can't be that bad at blowjobs," he said, stroking Patrick's cheek, fingers unconsciously brushing over his lips. "Can he?"

Patrick cocked his head. "Well, it's Gerard," he said reasonably. Patrick might only have known him for two weeks, but if two weeks was long enough to—fall in love? Get engaged? He wasn't sure what stage Pete had them at now—with Pete, then it was more than long enough to get to know Gerard relatively well.

"I don't know," Pete said. "He seems like the stealthy, romantic type who's secretly phenomenal in bed." He paused. "Hey, Patrick, maybe I should—"

"Maybe you shouldn't," Patrick said quickly. He wasn't jealous, exactly; the hot feeling at the pit of his stomach was just proof that Ray's seemingly inexhaustible supply of vegetables was finally going bad. "Sleeping with the captain always complicates things." That was a good reason, an excellent reason. A true reason.

"Okay," Pete said, sounding supremely doubtful. But he pushed Patrick off his lap to jerk off in the shadow of the barrels, head resting companionably on Patrick's shoulder, so Patrick figured the danger had passed.

Not that there had been real danger in the first place, of course. But if there had been, it would have passed by now. Patrick nodded firmly. He hadn't spent many a boring hour reading complicated logic books for nothing.

||

The problem was, Lyn-z was an experienced marauder who felt Gerard was stealing her act. When he told Frank he wanted nothing better than to correct her assumptions, Frank had shrugged and said, "You'd probably have pretty bad luck with that. No one explains things very well at the tip of a sword."

On the bright side, he seemed perfectly comfortable in the cabin boy's hammock.

||

Ryan carried deep, lasting pain with him, wounds that hadn't even begun to heal.

Or at least, that's what he told Gabe the fifth time he took out his dick and waved it in Ryan's general direction. The truth was that Ryan had heard stories about Gabe's preferences, and he wasn't fond of being slept with just because of his knot-tying skill.

Plus, Gabe was into snakes, which was weird.

He was thinking about knots and snakes and the possible negative consequences of both when he heard the singing.

It was an old folk song, something about feeling the love at night. He looked around, but the deck was all but empty; Pete and Patrick were curled in a corner, whispering to each other, and Gerard was saying something to Frank that involved a lot of glaring and angry gesticulating. The sound obviously wasn't coming from any of them.

He looked out over the water, apprehension already curdling his stomach. Sure enough, an object was bobbing on the waves; squinting, it became obvious that it was a rowboat.

"Man overboard," he said, resigned.

Gerard immediately rushed to the rescue, of course, flailing and falling over the side before anyone had a chance to hand him a rope. Mikey tossed him a life preserver and a rope and Gerard saluted, saying, "We leave no one stranded!" and swimming out to the boat.

As soon as he climbed into the rowboat, Ray and Travis started towing him back. "Dumbass, jumping overboard," Travis muttered, before throwing down another rope. "Tie 'em around the ends," he yelled as the boat clunked against their ship's hull.

"Okay!" Gerard yelled after a minute of silence.

"Do you think they'll be able to get us up because I think we might have oops there goes the rope," said an unfamiliar voice. Ryan sighed, watching the bits of rope fly back up over the ship.

"God, how is he our captain," he said, and grabbed the rope ladder, ignoring Mikey's righteous glare. "If you drop me, I'll kill you," he added, climbing down.

The unfamiliar voice belonged to the skinniest, most raggedy kid Ryan had ever seen. "Check him for weapons," Ryan said, and busied himself tying the boat up.

"I'm captain," Gerard said, crossing his arms. "You can't—"

"Seriously, I know you didn't bother, just check him." Ryan tugged the rope. "Alright, lift us up."

"I don't have any knives. Or guns. I have a net but I don't think I could do much damage with that, I mean even the fish chewed through it, it's not like they expected me to—oh, hi!" The kid beamed and waved at the assembled crew. "I'm Brendon! The ship I was on turned out to be pirates, not explorers. They left me to die."

"Dude, that sucks." Pete butted to the front of the crowd. "I'm Pete and this is Patrick. I kidnapped him so he's mine. Ow, Patrick, come on, you're my hostage!"

Ryan smirked, watching Patrick's face turn redder and redder.

"That's cool," Brendon said, bouncing on his heels. "Are you the big guy's hostage?" he said to Mikey.

Mikey turned bright red. Ryan just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Um," he said, taking a measured step away from Ray, "no. He's my friend."

"Mikey is the first mate," Ray said. Ryan was pretty sure even his hair looked embarrassed. "I'm the cook."

"And blah, blah, blah, I'll make you all nametags." Ryan crossed his arms. "We're pirates too, by the way."

Brendon's face fell. "Please don't put me back in my rowboat," he said, looking tragic. Frank giggled from his position tangled in the rigging.

"Where did they tell you to row, anyway?" Gerard's face was roughly the same level of concerned he'd been when they saw the wounded dolphin a few days ago.

"New York! I was making good time." Brendon patted the rowboat. "She's a sturdy one."

"...New York is two weeks away from here," Ryan said. "With a brisk wind. And a crew."

Brendon nodded. "I know," he said, looking away—as if anything could possibly be more interesting than Ryan. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"It's not like we have room for you," he said meanly.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course we do," Gerard said. "Mikey, can you get him settled?"

Mikey nodded. "This way," he said, sounding almost as placid as Ryan usually did.

"I don't like him," Ryan muttered when he was further away. His exclamations of wonder ("COCK!") were still far too loud for Ryan's tastes.

He didn't know why everyone insisted on smirking. It wasn't as if he'd said anything particularly amusing.

||

"I don't know," Frank said, studying him critically. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of—"

"Dashing? Stunning? Debonair?"

"Scrawny," Frank finished.

Gerard drooped. "It's not my job," he said, sulky. "I'm better at drawing."

"I'd hope you were better at almost anything." Frank tugged the ill-tailored pirate shirt. "You really can't sew at all?"

"I told you my talents were concentrated elsewhere. I'll draw you a portrait if you don't believe me."

Frank cocked his head. "Trade," he said. "A portrait for decent clothes."

"You can sew?"

"I'm a ninja, I can do anything." Frank tugged Gerard's shirt, hard enough to constrict his breathing. Gerard fought not to blush. "Do we have a deal?"

It would involve staring at Frank for hours. By all rights he ought to turn the offer down, but...

"We do," he said.

"Excellent," Frank said, and yanked Gerard's shirt off.

"What!" Gerard spluttered, flailing. But Frank didn't even look at him, just inspected the seams of his shirt. "Bad needlework. Aren't you supposed to be rich?"

"We don't pillage," Gerard said for what felt like the millionth time. "Or, we do, in theory. But we donate any money we don't need."

"Gruesome Gerard Hood." Frank looked up, finally, smirking and patting Gerard's shoulder. "That's adorable."

Blushing. Blushing, blushing, blushing.

"Gee, Ray wants to know if—oh." Mikey blinked at them. "I can come back later."

"He's fixing my clothes." Gerard bit the inside of his cheek and made himself sound less angry, less defensive. "Not...you know. Seriously, he's just being a tailor. Because he can sew! And I need sewing help."

Mikey's expression didn't change, but his eyebrow quirked in a way that told Gerard he was completely failing at not being defensive. "What did Ray want?" he said quietly.

"He needs to know if anyone onboard is allergic to shrimp."

"How'd he get shrimp?" Frank said. He'd stretched Gerard's shirt over his head like a nun's habit, smushing the fabric against his cheeks. He looked ridiculous, and Gerard wanted to touch him.

Mikey raised one shoulder. "Dunno."

"Not that I know of," Gerard said. "Anyway, we're pirates. They can get boils if they choose to eat it."

"You'll feel awful if anyone's actually allergic." Mikey turned to leave. "And next time Frank decides to strip you, lock the door first. You never know what could happen."

Gaping at Mikey's back, Gerard told himself, would be much too revelatory, not to mention completely stupid-looking.

He gaped anyway.

||

Travis didn't really know if Disashi was a genius. Best navigator on the water, yeah, but he had no idea if it was practice or what. It didn't matter, though, because if there was one thing Travis was sure of, it was that he didn't have to know something for absolute certain to say it.

"Fucking genius, man," he said, studying the complicated charts.

Disashi didn't look at him, but he gave the tabletop an embarrassed smile. "It's nothing much."

"We haven't hit anything or gotten lost yet." Travis thumped him on the back, hand lingering a little longer than was entirely acceptable. "So you're a fucking genius."

"Interesting criteria." Disashi sighed. "No matter what course I plot, she'll find us."

"She's not that scary," Travis said. The masthead chick had been,in an "oh shit, magical" kind of way, but the captain herself...nah. He put a hand on Disashi's shoulder. "We'll be alright."

Disashi leaned into the touch a bit, and Travis took a second to feel smug. "I hope so," he said.

Travis didn't say what he was thinking: that if they weren't, if they got boarded and all that, he was gonna kill anyone who so much as looked twice at their navigator.

||

When telling their epic love story, Pete thought, he was going to have to be careful to remind everyone that he hadn't actually meant it to be an epic love story. It just kind of turned into one, because Gerard was bad at being a pirate-about-town, and Patrick was small and perfect.

"Ow," Patrick said, glaring. "That fucking hurt. Dick."

Small and perfect and very, very sunburned.

"I told you to wear some kind of cover." Pete patted his cheek gently.

"You wanted me to wear a flour sack over my head. I know I'm unattractive, but flour sacks are itchy all the same." Patrick's lobster-red face grew even redder. Pete watched in perverse fascination.

"You were cute before," he said finally. "I mean, you're still cute. Just kind of red, is all."

"You're still a dick," Patrick said.

"I have an excellent dick. Just let me put the lotion on you, okay? Ray said it would help."

"Ray said, Ray said. How does he even—"

"Don't bother asking, he won't tell you," Pete said. Being a stowaway with voyeuristic tendencies had its advantages, but discovering Ray Toro's kitchen secrets wasn't one, unfortunately. "Now let me put this on."

"Fine."

Pete grinned and smeared the lotion over Patrick's cheeks. He knew it probably tasted pretty bad, but he still couldn't stop thoughts of licking it off from flickering through his head.

"So who, exactly, helped you gain the delusion that your dick was anything other than average?"

"Patrick Stump!" Pete said, delighted, and launched into a convoluted story about his dog, candle wax, and a trio of sopranos.

By the time he was done, Patrick was drowsing on the barrel, face scrunched against the lotion. Pete tugged his hair in goodbye and wandered off, looking for fun or sex—or both, really, though sex was most fun when he was involved, in his excruciatingly humble opinion. He spied on Gabe and William humping against a net, and spotted Frank snoozing tangled up in some ropes, before he finally tripped over Mikey.

Literally, because Mikey was lying in the hallway. "Hi," Pete said, sitting down across from him. "Aren't you supposed to be first-mating?"

"Gerard's trying to teach Cock to compliment people," Mikey said. He had a smudge of flour on his cheek. "And Ray's making something more complicated than bread, so I decided to get out of the way."

Pete nodded; Mikey's lack of skill at making anything involving multiple ingredients was legendary. "Did he really need an assistant that bad?"

As a general rule, Mikey didn't blush—Pete had tried and failed to make him—but he did clear his throat, look away, and drum his fingers on the nearest flat surface. Now, Mikey coughed a little, stared at the low ceiling, and tapped the floor. Pete was more than intrigued. "He lets me hang around," Mikey said. "The kitchen's warmer than the rest of the ship, I guess."

Because Pete was such a magnanimous soul, he didn't point out how tiny the kitchen really was, or how it was the middle of summer anyway. "That's good, then," he said. "I like Ray. He fed me even when I was a fugitive from Gerard's twisted sense of justice."

That earned him a smile. "He's nice. I can't figure out what he's doing on this ship."

"Yeah," Pete said (while trying and failing not to stare a bit, because really), "it's a mystery."

Mikey opened his mouth to reply, but Ray poked his head out of the door, hair springing loose and bobbing through the crack. "Hey, Mikey, I could use some help—if you're not busy, I mean," he added quickly, eyes darting over to Pete.

Pete held up his hands. "He's all yours, I was just leaving."

He ran off before Mikey had a chance to stutteringly invite Pete into what was obviously a private room, kitchen or not.

||

Gabe had a problem. Her name was Greta.

She'd held a sword against his throat while Lyn-Z talked to Gerard, and smiled calmly all throughout it, her hand not even shaking. She had blonde hair and skin that looked soft and smooth. He tried to explain it to William, but William just laughed at him and reminded him Lyn-Z and her crew didn't like anyone associated with Gerard.

Maybe he could talk Pete into staging a coup. He seemed like the type.

He was petting his snake and practicing seductive music when William sat in his lap. "I have an idea," he said grandly.

Sometimes William's ideas were brilliant, but other times they involved too much cooking oil and diaphanous clothing for even Gabe to enjoy. "Do tell."

"I'm prettier than Greta," he said earnestly.

Gabe punched him.

"Ow." William sat up, rubbing his nose and pouting.

"Don't say that, then," Gabe said.

"Fine, I'm not prettier. But my hair is definitely shinier."

It was true, unfortunately. Gabe couldn't think of anyone whose hair was shinier than Williams. "And?"

"And, I'd be a fantastic addition to a certain rival pirate ship." William beamed. "See?"

Gabe wasn't completely sure Lyn-Z chose shipmates based on their hair quality, but there were few people William couldn't charm, and he was willing to act remarkably embarrassingly for a chance to speak with Greta. "We can try, at least," he said.

William kissed him, talking about how wonderful life on a ship whose captain washed sometimes would be; Gabe patted his head and thought about how Greta would feel pressed against him.

||

"Stop moving."

"I can't help it!"

"You can, you just like lying around with nothing to do."

Frank stuck his tongue out. "I want a good portrait. I'm just bad at sitting still."

Gerard shook his head. "Well, then, hold still anyway."

He watched as Frank's muscles went stiff. It was obvious Frank was trying, and Gerard did in kind; but his pose was unnatural. Finally, Gerard sighed. "I...just sit," he said. "Fidget as much as you need to, and I'll adjust."

"You're sure?" Frank said, but he relaxed against the hammock immediately, and it was perfect. Gerard started sketching immediately.

"I'm sure." Just an outline, he could fill in the rest later—his hand flew over the paper, eyes darting up at Frank, memorizing the line of his jaw, the curve of his fingers. He looked soft in places, no more boyish than masculine, just...soft. Gerard swallowed, putting the charcoal down.

"Finished," he said, unable to look away when Frank turned his head and smiled.

"Just when I was getting comfortable," he said, and sat up, rolling his neck. His movement was sleepy, slow and almost liquid; Gerard wished he could draw it, convey the infinite tiny moments that made Frank in motion one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

He settled on watching, blushing when Frank smiled at him. "You're not much of a pirate captain," he said, rolling his shoulders, arching his back.

Gerard felt the blush even before he opened his mouth to indignantly defend himself. Frank held up his hands. "I didn't mean it as an insult," he said. "Pirate captains are generally loathsome thieves, and the thought of placing you in that category saddens me."

Gerard stared.

"You're kind," Frank said, sounding braver than Gerard had ever heard him, "and generous, and intelligent. I'm honored to—"

Gerard leaned forward, lips just barely brushing Frank's cheek.

He jerked back immediately, but it was much too late; Frank's hand rose to touch where Gerard had kissed him. "...be here," Frank said finally. He was almost whispering.

"You're a bad ninja, and I don't mean that as an insult," Gerard said, and fled.

||

Pete was afraid of heights, so he spent a lot of time in the crow's nest. He'd tried to explain the twisty logic that led to that habit to Patrick once, but Patrick had just shaken his head and sat on him. "Because you're a moron, Pete," he'd said, and had refused to let Pete up.

But Patrick was sleeping right now—the sun was setting, and he'd taken a nap that Pete suspected would turn into half a nights' rest—which meant that Pete could climb all he wanted.

Except that when he finally got past the sails he was sure would smother them and the rigging he was positive would slip or break, all without looking at the sea he knew he'd drown in when he fell, the crow's nest was occupied.

"Gerard," Frank said.

Pete knew a lot about the meanings of words and Patrick had been teaching him more, but he couldn't read everything behind that name. "Yeah," he said finally, easing next to Frank, not touching him.

"I'm a pretty bad ninja," Frank said finally, leaning against the mast and closing his eyes. "And I'm scared of everything even ."

"I'm going to drown," Pete said, as practical as he knew how to be.

"The wind makes me a little sick. Where does Ray get the fresh vegetables from?"

Pete was practicing being tactful so Patrick would hit him less, so he didn't mock Frank or mention the change of subject, just shrugged. "Maybe he has a garden in his hair."

"I'll ask Mikey," Frank said. "Gerard..."

"Is a bad pirate and a good person," Pete said.

Frank nodded. He looked a little miserable, Pete thought, but he didn't mention that either.

"...want to go steal Ray's knives and stash them in Gabe's bags?" he said finally.

"Only if you'll be the diversion. You're fucking loud," Frank said.

"Not all of us can wash out of ninja school," Pete said, grinning when Frank hit him.

"Alright," Frank said, "let's go." He jumped out of the crow's nest, swinging down, apparently uncaring of the likelihood of falling and breaking his neck.

Pete went down carefully, each step dogged by Patrick's face - the funny way his lips puckered when Pete did something stupid, like he wasn't sure he wanted to give Pete a smile.

||

Purely by coincidence, Mikey was standing next to Brendon when they passed the burned-out remains of the ship.

The cargo floating in the water suggested it had been primarily travelers, a ship to carry immigrants rather than freight. Mikey swallowed hard. "That's what we're not going to be," he said quietly.

Brendon blinked at him. "But you're a pirate ship. You fly the Jolly Roger."

He'd had the argument with himself before. "Doesn't matter," he said. "That's not us. Gerard's more than that."

He watched as Brendon bit his lip, hanging off the railing. "What about Lyn-Z?"

"She'll compromise." Mikey didn't have to fake the faith that went into that sentence; everyone compromised with Gerard. It was how they'd convinced Ray to come aboard, back when Brandon was the Captain and there was no promise the mutiny would succeed. "She wants the same thing we do."

"More violently, though." Brendon smiled. "She's the reason they stuck me in that boat. All hands had to be on deck and I didn't know what to do."

"It won't be like that this time. We'll compromise," he said again, nodding and watching a bit of scorched wood finally dip beneath the surface. He glanced to the side in time to see Frank put a hand on Gerard's shoulder, make him turn away from the scene on the water. It was obvious to him how tangled they were in each other; Frank said something that made Gerard smile, touching the corner of Gee's mouth, and Mikey saw the same kind of inevitability he did with Pete and Patrick.

The jealousy felt like Tortuga years ago, before the crew, being punched in the stomach when Gerard went to bargain with captains uninterested in two small teenagers. He gave the wreckage one last glance before nodding a goodbye to Brendon, slipping through the knots of crew, ignored by everyone except Keltie, who nudged Ryan aside to let him pass.

The kitchen was warm and he knew that when Ray got back, he'd leave Mikey alone. He lay down in Ray's hammock, curling up, letting the rocking motion distract him from the image of GerardandFrank, PeteandPatrick, his brother and his friend and strangers summarizing what Mikey knew he couldn't have.

He'd almost drifted to sleep when he heard the door open. The sounds were familiar and easy to identify: Ray lighting a lamp, splashing water from the ever-present basin on his face, pulling his shirt off. He'd go to sleep on the flour bags in a moment; he always refused to wake Mikey up, and lately if Mikey fell asleep on the flour he usually found himself in the hammock come morning.

What wasn't familiar were the footsteps nearing the hammock, the hand on his shoulder. "Mikey?"

He couldn't stop himself from tensing. "Sorry," he mumbled. It had been a long day; of course Ray would want his hammock. "I'll—" He tried to sit up, fumbling with his glasses, the wire frames making their painful presence known against his cheek.

"Shh, no, it's okay." Ray knelt; Mikey blinked at him. He'd been right about the shirt. "You left."

"Shipwrecks are boring and sad. I'd seen enough."

Ray bit his lip. "Pete..."

Mikey closed his eyes.

"Okay." Mikey wasn't sure how Ray managed to make holding Mikey's ankle so casual, but he did. "Anything you need to talk about?"

The jealousy was still heavy in the pit of his stomach, but there was no chance of him giving it voice. "I don't come here just to run away," he said finally, too loudly. "I like it here."

Ray was silent for long enough that Mikey had to look at him, had to check—and he jerked hard enough to make the hammock swing a little, because Ray looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"You never used to come down here," Ray said finally. His voice sounded strange, tight. "Gerard always told me how much you loved the open ocean."

Mikey couldn't speak; Ray kissed his knee and stood, blowing the lamp out and walking over to his usual spot on the floor, and he couldn't move, either.

||

Brendon bothered Ryan. The fact that Brendon bothered Ryan also bothered Ryan. "You'd have a happier life if you thought less," Keltie told him, dancing next to Gabe's cobra.

Ryan suspected she was right. "Do you even serve a purpose on this ship?" he snapped instead.

Keltie laughed. "Do you?"

"I'm the ship knot-tier," Ryan said, glaring when Keltie held a hand up to Gabe, stopping the music so she could bend over double and laugh hysterically.

"Just go talk to him," Keltie said finally, wiping tears from her eyes. "Honestly, things are ridiculous enough without adding sexual histrionics to the list."

"If my heart were not promised to another, I would marry you," Gabe said. Keltie patted his head.

"It's not sexual," Ryan said, but neither of them looked at him. He finally stomped back up to the deck, snapping, "Don't talk to me," when Disashi looked up. Diashi's face fell, and Ryan felt bad for the two seconds it took for Brendon to find him.

"Do you want me to jump overboard again?"

Ryan blinked. He wasn't used to people being so upfront about their awareness of his hatred. "That depends," he said finally. "If I asked nicely, would you?"

Brendon shrugged. "Probably not," he said. "I just thought you might like the option."

"Why are you even here?" Ryan said. "Why were you in that stupid boat? You can't row to New York, that's crazy."

"I know," Brendon said. "But I can't float to New York, either, and the oars were there."

Ryan stared, suddenly certain he was talking to a complete lunatic. "So you just decided to row, on the off chance you'd live."

Brendon chewed his lip for a moment before answering. "Well, I'm here."

Ryan thought fondly about strangling him. Tossing him overboard. Having him thrown in the brig, even – the part Gabe wasn't in. Instead, he sighed and said, "Luckily."

He realized his semantic slip too late. Brendon's smile spread and he threw his arms up; Ryan said hastily, "You were lucky. I wish you hadn't been."

"It's okay." Brendon patted his shoulder. "Keltie told me. I'm sorry."

Ryan gritted his teeth. "Told you what."

"About the mast pieces stuck up your ass. We really should have a ship's doctor, I'm sure he could get them out for you." Brendon beamed at him, wide-eyed and innocent, and walked off.

That was actually pretty mean, Ryan thought, staring after him. He had to bite his lip and think hard about how much he hated proving other people right to keep from following.

||

"She'll come after us."

Gerard jumped. It had only been three weeks – it was ridiculous to forget Frank had been a ninja and thus could sneak up on Gerard and scare the shit out of him with ease. "I know. She doesn't understand."

"Or maybe she does, and she's not as selfless as she'd have people believe." Frank leaned on the railing, ignoring the ocean in favor of looking at Gerard, eyes wide and solemn. "You're not worried?"

Gerard couldn't keep the tight-lipped smile off his face. "Fucking terrified. I haven't assembled a fighting crew."

"You're a pirate," Frank said, but there wasn't a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"A shitty one." He couldn't get the image out of his mind of the ship burning, except this time it was his, and Mikey was lying facedown in the water...

"Hey." Frank slipped his arms around Gerard's waist, pressed his face into Gerard's neck. "It's okay. We'll find a way to make her understand."

Apparently Gerard wasn't the only one with a knack for inspiring belief. Gerard told himself that was why he was leaning into Frank's touch, lips against Frank's hair. "I hope so."

"We will," Frank said firmly, and turned his head, lips brushing Gerard's neck.

Gerard had no idea if it was deliberate or not, but it didn't really matter, not when his arms tightened automatically, pulling Frank hard against him.

Frank went very still. "It's lonely out here," he said finally. "You...I mean, it's probably been awhile for you."

"No! Well, yes," Gerard said, "but not like that. It's not a warm-body thing."

Frank tilted his head back. "Then what is it?"

Gerard was completely certain of a few things: the sun was setting, they were hundreds of miles out to sea, a vengeful not-pirate wanted to sink their ship, and Gerard wasn't the slightest bit brave, not with Frank looking up at him like this, face completely blank. That knowledge, the awareness of his own cowardice, was what made the next moment so completely strange.

"Youthing," he said quickly, staring at Frank's shoulder.

"What's a you – oh," Frank said. Gerard tensed, waiting for him to step away.

Instead, Frank pressed closer. "A me thing."

Gerard nodded.

Two fingers came to rest under his chin. He could have resisted, but instead he just raised his head, looking at Frank almost defiantly.

"It's okay," Frank said again, and leaned up to kiss him softly. "We're okay."

Frank didn't complain when Gerard kissed back, pressing Frank against the railing, the steady sound of the ocean almost drowning out the small, almost embarrassingly desperate noises Gerard couldn't hold back.

"Ooh," Gabe said an indefinable amount of time later. "I'd ask to join in, but..."

"Stop that," Gerard heard Keltie say. There was the slap of skin on skin, and then Gabe yelped.

Gerard pulled back, smiling at Frank sheepishly. "My crew has no sense of privacy," he said.

"Hey," Pete said, and hopped up on the railing, ignoring Patrick's horrified yell that he'd fall, Pete, Patrick can't cuddle him if he falls overboard!, "I was ordained in Tijuana, I can marry you if you want."

Frank doubled over laughing. Gerard smiled. "Thank you, but I think we're fine for now," he said. Pete just shrugged and hopped off the railing, tackling Brendon in a flurry of limbs and giggles.

A brief lull took over, the crew seeming content to stand and grin at Frank and Gerard goofily. Finally Frank poked Gerard's side, and Gerard said, "Oh, right. Um. Get to work, bilge rats!"

He was about as convincing as Mikey trying to lie his way out of heavy lifting ("I pulled my arm, Gee, it hurts, honestly, you can pull your arm just stargazing"), but people left anyway, smiling indulgently. Gerard chose to count it as a victory.

"So," he said. "I have an incredibly competent crew."

Frank nodded solemnly. "You do."

"I think they'll be okay if we retire to my cabin for two hours."

"Maybe three," Frank said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Maybe three," Gerard said, and half-ran off the deck.

||

"Everyone's going to be too busy having sex to run the ship," Disashi said. "Then we'll sink and die."

Travis nodded, watching Disashi's fingers wrap around the wheel. "Sink and die, yeah."

"You're not listening to me," Disashi said, leaning back to glare at him.

"Not listening, yeah," Travis said, then blinked. "Shit. Wait."

Disashi shook his head. "One of these days, I'll convince Gerard to maroon you."

"Aww, baby, don't be like that," Travis said, and ducked when Disashi threw a map at his head.

He was expecting a more extended attack, but when he looked up, Disashi was staring at the horizon.

"I wasn't good enough," Disashi said.

"Fuck off." Travis took the risk of kissing him quickly, not giving either of them time to react before he whirled around. "Gerard!" he yelled, and ran to find him.

||

"How many ways are there to prepare potatoes?" Mikey asked.

"A lot," Ray said, tossing the sliced potatoes in the huge pot over the fire. Mikey had long since learned not to question the wisdom of having a fire in the bowels of the ship. "I figured we could have stew tonight. That way if Lyn-Z attacks, I can fight and not worry about dinner burning."

Mikey stared.

Ray sliced carrots quickly, looking away. "What?"

"...nothing," Mikey said. "What I can do to help?"

"I just have to dice a few onions. You could do one, I guess."

Mikey caught the onion Ray rolled to him and grabbed a knife, chopping quickly. He wasn't as good as Ray, but he was faster than he'd been right after Ray had taught him. It was a strange skill to be proud of, but he was anyway, smiling when Ray dumped the onions in.

"Now we wait," Ray said, wiping his hands on a cloth and handing it to Mikey. "You don't have to stick around for this part."

Something in Ray's voice made Mikey frown. "I never have to stick around. I do anyway."

"Right, I just meant...I...never mind."

Mikey stared at Ray for a second before making his decision, turning and flinging the kitchen door open. Luckily Brendon was dragging Ryan down the hall, saying something enthusiastic about rats.

"Brendon, can you do me a favor?"

Ryan groaned, but Brendon said, "What!" and all but twirled into the kitchen.

"Watch the fire and make sure it doesn't burn the ship down," Mikey said. "Ray and I will be back in a few hours."

"Oooh, stew," Brendon said, flinging himself into the hammock. "Ryan, stay with me, we're having stew!"

Mikey raised his eyebrows when Ryan settled next to Brendon. He'd never thought of Ryan as the indulgent kind.

"Wait," Ray said, "where are we going?"

Mikey didn't quite have the nerve to take Ray's hand, but he tugged his shirt and let his fingers bush against Ray's chest. "You said I loved being on deck, which is true," he said. "I love it more when I have company."

For a second Mikey was sure Ray was going to turn him down, which was ridiculous because they weren't even really doing anything, just going up to get some air. But Ray nodded and let Mikey lead him, closing to door on Brendon's enthusiastic praise of Ray's cooking.

The sun was just past its zenith, bright and warm; most of the crew was lazing about, content to let the wind do their work. Mikey watched Ray smile and tilt his head back, closing his eyes against the breeze.

"You fit, you know," he said abruptly. "On the ship. With us."

Ray cracked an eye open, smiling at him. "I try."

Mikey had gotten used to being tired until Ray showed up, had grown accustomed to the bone-deep exhaustion that came with lying awake for hours. He was tired in a different way now. "You fit," he said again, and took Ray's hand, pressing their palms together.

Then the cannon smashed through the deck, just inches from them.

||

"Oh my God," Gabe said, stepping onto the deck as the fight began to rage, "this is ridiculous. Cobras, attack!"

"You mean these cobras?" Greta said sweetly. She held two snakes in each hand, and her dress flapped around the one she had pinned under her boot.

Gabe didn't hesitate in going to one knee.

||

Ryan glared at the man in mother-of-pearl trimmed boots. "Let him go."

"Yeah," Brendon piped up from his spot under the boots, "let me go!"

"Shut up," Ryan said. He turned back to the man. "Let him go or I'll kill you."

"You're unarmed," the man holding Ryan's arms pinned behind his back pointed out.

"You be quiet."

The man didn't say anything else, but he did smile; Ryan could tell because his mouth was mashed against Ryan's neck, making him shiver. "Let him go," he said again, but Gerard cut him off.

"We're been beaten," he said, sounding tired. Ryan spared a sympathetic second before concentrating his hate on the boots-wearing idiot holding down Ryan's own idiot. "Stop making trouble."

"Gee," Frank said quietly, "we could – "

"No," Gerard said. "I'm going to talk to her. It'll be okay."

"I love you," Frank said. Ryan watched Gerard squeeze his hand as the definitely not stationary masthead marched him belowdeck.

Ryan didn't waste any time. "Okay, you've got our captain. Let us go."

"He's stubborn, isn't he?" the one holding him said mildly, still smiling.

"Stop it, Jon," Boots said.

"Jon!" Brendon said, and beamed. He'd fought dirty; Ryan wished he could poke eyes with that kind of accuracy. "What's your name?" he asked Boots.

"Spencer. Shut up."

"Can we sit up, Spencer?" Brendon batted his eyelashes like he did when asking Bob to let him play in the rigging. "Please? We're not going to try to fight, we've obviously lost."

Ryan watched smugly as Spencer, not being used to Brendon's begging, wavered. "I guess," he said. "If you promise to behave."

"Of course!" Brendon said brightly. He flung himself at Ryan as soon as Spencer pulled his boot from Brendon's midriff. "If Gerard's not back in an hour..."

"You'll rebel. Okay," Jon said. "We're the good guys, though."

"We're the good guys, too," Ryan said.

"We're the good-er guys, then," Jon said.

"Is good-er a word?" Brendon asked.

"I like your boots," Ryan told Spencer as Brendon and Jon discussed the relative merits of sounding incredibly stupid.

Spencer smiled coldly. "I took them off a dead man."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Right, well, I sold myself to the devil for my vest. I win."

"You're the devil's whore? Impressive."

Spencer's face was impressive, but Ryan didn't tell him that. "Right, well," he said. "I'm not a fan of doing things halfway."

"No," Spencer said, not looking away, "I'm not either."

Ryan sat against Brendon, their shoulders brushing. He hoped to God Gerard could talk them out of this.

||

Katie crossed her arms outside the captain's cabin, trying to look as menacing as a thin moving wooden masthead could. Captain - Lyn - had entrusted her with making sure no one got in; she was the reason Katie could walk around, so Katie devoted every part of herself to making sure she lived up to Lyn's commitment.

She was expecting at least a little trouble. No one on the ship had a frightening reputation or even appeared particularly threatening, but there were a few who looked like they could do damage; the blond man, for one, or either of the short men with too many tattoos. She thought about yelling for Victoria or Greta to back her up in case of an attack, but she wanted to handle this on her own.

She wasn't expecting the trouble to be this, though.

"I'm Keltie," the girl said, holding out her hand.

Katie didn't move either of hers. "Katie. Step away from the door, please."

Keltie leaned against the opposite wall, shoulders hunched. She had a lovely smile, Katie thought, and blushed.

"You have a surprising number of women on your crew," Keltie said.

"Lyn's a woman." Katie didn't bother trying to make her voice less defensive; she'd had this conversation many times before. "It makes sense."

Keltie nodded. "Gerard has promised to take aboard women who want to sail, now that the mutiny has placed him in charge of such things. Are there so many seaworthy women, though?"

Katie curled her lip, and Keltie held up a hand. "I only mean that many of us are kept isolated and not allowed to even think of sailing."

She was surprisingly diplomatic, and no matter what Greta and Victoria said, Katie was capable of responding to courtesy. She relaxed against the door a little. "It's difficult to overcome such an upbringing, true."

Keltie's sword point was pressed to Katie's neck before Katie could blink. "Some of us do, though," she said, and smiled. "Now let me pass."

Goddamn evil deceitful bitch, Katie thought, and leaped forward.

||

Lyn-z crossed her arms. "Last time I trusted someone like you," she said matter-of-factly, "my ship burned and my people were killed."

"I can't prove to you that I'm trustworthy. Not yet, anyway," Gerard said. "I'd like to have a chance to, though." He'd like to have a chance for a lot of things. He and Frank had done plenty more than kiss, but he hadn't had anywhere close to enough time to learn Frank, his thoughts and his body. Thinking that he might never have it made his chest clench.

"Not good enough." Lyn-z leaned forward. She looked menacing, like a cursed china doll straight from his nightmares. Frank would mock him for such a simile. God, Gerard wished Frank was here. Frank and Mikey, who'd been more worried about Ray than himself during the fight. If they got through this and the two of them didn't stop denying what was obvious to everyone else, Gerard was going to rope them together and leave them on an island for a few days.

He forced the thoughts away for now. "What would be?" he asked.

"An oath of fealty," Lyn-z said.

A very familiar giggle sounded.

Lyn-z was standing in the blink of an eye. "What was that?" she said, drawing her sword. "Gerard, tell your comrade to come our or I'll split him belly to - "

"Calm down." Frank stepped into the light; Gerard suddenly felt like he was about to throw up.

"You fucking idiot," he said, but Frank waved a dismissive hand.

"I need to talk to her, Gerard. I was sent to kill him, you know? Like a good ninja." Frank raised his eyebrows at Lyn-z. "They told me he was evil. Gruesome Gerard, all that shit. But I come here, and instead of raping and pillaging like a normal pirate – or even burning ships like a normal vigilante - "

"Frank."

"He can keep going," Lyn-z said, staring at Frank intently.

" - he was taking in stowaways and saving abandoned boys. And he let me stay, even though I'd come to kill him."

Lyn-z curled her lip. "So he could keep your body, use it," she said. "What happens when he tires of you?"

Frank shook his head. "We haven't fucked yet," he said. "When we do, it's going to be perfect and beautiful, and I'll cry. From the beauty."

"And then he'll toss you overboard."

"Nah," Frank said, and beamed. "He loves me. So please don't try to kill him or burn his ship, because he went through a lot to keep her, and he deserves to go on sailing. I don't know what good an oath would do you anyway if you don't trust him."

They were all really excellent points. Gerard covertly checked the wall behind Lyn-z to make sure Frank hadn't written them down.

"You make an interesting argument," Lyn-z said slowly. "Still, the sensible thing to do would be to take you all to shore and burn your ship."

Gerard couldn't stop the tiny, distressed noise that escaped him.

Frank smiled. "If you do that, I'll find a way to kill you." Gerard had never heard him sound more sincere.

Lyn-z sighed. "I try not to burn ships, anyway. Oh God, stop, I'm not taking anything of yours, okay? Don't start crying on me."

"I'm not about to cry," Gerard said defensively. "I was making my eyes water so I could see more clearly. For self-defense."

Frank patted his shoulder and rolled his eyes at Lyn-z. "So we're free to go?"

Lyn-z tapped the table, pursing her lips. "I'd like to ally with you," she said finally. "Your methods seem interesting."

"Only if you don't burn more ships," Gerard said.

"Done."

Gerard nodded and stood; they exited the cabin together.

And stared at Keltie, who had a wiggling Katie pinned as they kissed. And kissed, and kissed, and rocked their hips together and moaned, until finally Lyn-z cleared her throat.

"...oh," Katie said. "I. Ah. I meant to impale myself on her sword."

Gerard raised his eyebrows at Keltie, who shrugged unrepentantly. "I assumed if anything truly bad happened you'd start wailing like a stuck pig."

Frank crouched over behind Gerard and Lyn-z, giggling uncontrollably. "Carry on, then," Gerard said, reaching behind him to smack Frank. Frank caught his hand and licked his fingers; Gerard could feel himself flush.

"If you're not ready when we part ways, I'll leave you with him." Lyn-z jerked a finger back at Gerard. Katie shook her head frantically.

"We actually. Um. I was actually..."

Lyn-z arched a brow. "Yes?"

"I'd like to go with them, Captain," Keltie said, looking Gerard in the eye. "Katie's the masthead, so..."

Gerard nodded as Frank squeezed his hand. "Of course. Just don't forget about us, okay?"

Keltie smiled. "That would be impossible anyway. Thank you."

Gerard squirmed under Lyn-z's gaze, trying not to blush. "Like I could tell you no," he said, and hurried abovedeck.

||

"Aww," Brendon said, watching Ryan wave goodbye to Spencer and Jon, "you really liked them."

"I did not," Ryan said.

Brendon tapped the railing, smiling knowingly. Ryan sighed. "Maybe a little."

"Don't worry, they'll come back to visit. They have to, Greta will get homesick." Brendon paused. "Shipsick. Something."

Ryan watched Greta wiggle in Gabe's lap. The smiles on both their faces were nothing short of evil. "Lyn-z will probably want to check up on Gerard, too," he said. Brendon nodded encouragingly.

"See," he said, flinging an arm around Ryan's shoulders and holding him close, "it'll be okay."

Ryan glanced around the deck. Most people were absorbed in each other; Travis and Disashi, even, were all curled up together against the wheel.

"Hey, Brendon," Ryan said.

Brendon raised his eyebrows, face turned upward, apparently distracted by the sails in the wind. "Yeah?"

He knew he wasn't good at this, tangling fingers together and leaning in for a kiss. He wasn't good at holding another person close, smiling when they stared, shocked. He wasn't good at tugging someone down to sit, touching them so lightly it felt like another dream.

He wasn't, but he did it anyway, all the while wondering if some of the others' courage had rubbed off on him. Brendon must not have realized how bad Ryan was, because all he did was smile.

||

"Fuck fuck fuck get over here, get down - "

Gerard laughed a little, lying down as Frank threw cushions on the floor. "We've got time, Frank, we've got plenty of time."

"I don't want time." Frank threw himself at Gerard, kissing him hard, grinding against him. "I want you. Now."

The wooden floorboards dug into his shoulders, a sharp counterpoint to Frank wiggling on him, the kisses he pressed into Gerard's neck the most comfortable thing Gerard had ever felt. "Okay," Gerard said breathlessly. "Me or you?"

Frank pulled back, cocking his head as he looked down. He was flushed, lips red; all mine, Gerard thought, and shivered.

"I'm going to ride you," Frank said. "I'll fuck you later."

Gerard couldn't help the way he jerked up against Frank; he could maybe have stopped himself from pulling Frank down to kiss him hard, but he didn't want to. "Where the hell did you learn all this?" he murmured, unable to keep from smiling.

Frank pressed their hips together, pulling Gerard's shirt up and splaying a hand on his stomach. "I've been all over the world. I pick things up. Where'd you learn?" He slid his hand up and flicked Gerard's nipple, smirking at the way Gerard's cock jumped.

Even a month ago Gerard would have shied away, not from fear of contact but out of worry that touch would signify his and Frank's eventual end. Now he just spread his legs, pressing himself into Frank's hands. "What do you think cabin boys are for?" he said, laughing when Frank bit his shoulder.

"Get me ready," he said, pressing a small pouch into Gerard's hands, "and be fast about it."

Gerard didn't bother questioning where he'd gotten the greasy balm; he dipped his fingers in it and traced two of them around Frank's ass, splaying a hand on his side to feel Frank shiver. It was surprisingly easy to press his fingers in and hold them still for Frank to arch against. "You like this?" Gerard said, not moving his hand.

"Another," Frank said. "Come on, fuck, stop teasing."

Gerard pressed another in, watching Frank bite his lip, wiggle a little. "Tell me if it's too much," he said, but Frank shook his head.

"Fuck no," Frank said, and pushed himself forward. "I want all of you, I want - " He grabbed the balm and smeared it on his hands, wrapping them around Gerard's cock. "Like this," he said, and pushed Gerard's fingers out of the way, sinking down.

Gerard didn't have a chance to register how he felt, impossibly warm and unsurprisingly tight, before Frank was arching back and moaning loudly. "Oh, fuck, you're fucking amazing," Frank said, snapping his hips. The action set Gerard fully in him, and he was just...flexing, making Gerard gasp and stare.

"Move, damn you," Frank said. He reached out, twisting Gerard's nipples almost viciously.

"Sorry!" Gerard couldn't keep from yelping, blushing when Frank smiled. "Sorry, I just...I'll." He braced his hands on Frank's hips, lifting him and rocking against him.

Frank gasped brokenly. "Just like that," he said, closing his eyes and smiling blissfully. "Fuck, no more heroics. I can't lose you."

"Yeah, you too." Gerard wrapped his hand around Frank's dick, delighting in the way Frank keened. "You should come on my chest."

Frank's eyes flew open as quickly as they'd shut. "But - "

"I'll like it," Gerard said honestly. "It'll push me over."

"Right." Frank moved his hips again, slick and hot and oddly comfortable. It shouldn't feel this relaxing to fuck someone, Gerard thought dazedly, but then Frank leaned down and kissed him and -

"Oh, right," he said, thrusting deliberately, smiling when the angle made Frank jerk and shudder.

"Cheating," he said, moving more quickly.

And that was – not comforting at all, actually, but fucking perfect anyway. "Come on, then," Gerard said, moving with the rhythm of the near-frantic burn building in him.

"Love you," Frank breathed. "Oh, God, I love you."

Gerard thrust his hips as hard as he could, jerking Frank off quickly. "Love you too," he said, kissing Frank again, smiling when Frank moaned into his mouth, coming on his stomach.

"Beautiful," he said.

Frank didn't waste time, sitting back and grinning slyly. "Now you," he said, twisting his hips and trailing a hand down Gerard's face.

"Ack," Gerard said, and he didn't mean to, he didn't, but he somehow managed to come while biting Frank's finger.

"You're lucky you're beautiful," Frank said afterwards, laughing as Gerard shamefacedly wrapped the bandage around his finger. "And smart. And brave. And - "

Gerard kissed the empty threat straight out of him.

||

"...I have to check my stew," Ray said as they watched Lyn-z and her cohorts disembark.

Mikey flexed his hand. He wanted to say something, anything, because the way Ray looked at him now was more frightened than the way Ray had looked with a pirate's knife pressed against his neck. But Mikey had used up his courage sitting still as Lyn-z dragged Gerard into the cabin, and now he didn't say a word when Ray stood up and turned his back, not helping Mikey up for the first time since Mikey had wandered into his kitchen.

Nerves almost kept him from following, but a cold breeze swept over the deck, making him shiver, and really – really, he'd be going below deck anyway. It was enough of a lie to himself to make him stand up, jog to catch up with Ray, carefully not thinking about what it meant that Ray didn't even look back.

He couldn't quite keep himself from watching Ray move. He'd held Mikey's hand so firmly those first few seconds, and Mikey wanted to trail his fingers all over Ray's body, press him against the wall or the counter in the kitchen and make Ray recreate the noises Mikey had heard the few times Ray had been careless with jerking off. He knew Ray would be good, would let Mikey play with him and then return the favor.

It was pathetic how much Mikey wanted Ray's hands on him.

The thought struck him just as Ray turned around. He couldn't stop himself from turning bright red. "Do you mind if I'm down here?"

"I never do." Ray turned away. "I should make a celebratory dish. Pound cake, maybe – I can't do much with it, but it's better than nothing."

"You know they'll love anything with sugar," Mikey said, moving to the other side of the kitchen. He was proud of the way he sat in the hammock, ignoring Ray as he bent down to pull a pan out, right up to the point where Ray turned and Mikey recoiled, tilting the hammock and falling on his ass.

"Jesus, Mikey." Ray sighed and walked over.

Mikey blinked up at him. "Sorry."

This time Ray held out a hand. Mikey blinked at it.

"I think," he said finally, "I think I should go." He pushed himself upright.

Ray turned away immediately, shoulders slumping. Relieved, Mikey thought, feeling sick.

"I'm sorry," Ray said.

Mikey bobbed his head for a few seconds before remembering Ray couldn't see. Idiot, he thought at himself, hands clenching into fists. "Right," he said. "No big deal. Good luck with the cake."

When he stepped above deck, the wind was hard and warm. He relaxed into it, curling up against the side of the ship, thankful for the post-battle distractions that kept anyone from noticing him.

He didn't know if the crew had cake that night; when Ray left the kitchen to call everyone down to the mess, Mikey slipped in and stole a bit of bread, taking it to a secluded corner to eat.

||

"Oh," Pete said, eyes wide, two nights after Lyn-z's attack.

"Shut the fuck up and go to sleep," Patrick said, poking him in the side.

"Wait, wait." Pete propped himself up on his elbow. "Hey! We're soulmates, right?"

It was the first time Pete had actually expected Patrick to agree. Patrick opened his mouth to argue, but...

Pete was smiling.

"Yeah," he said finally, reluctantly.

"Then I'm going to kiss you," Pete said, "and then I'm going to stick my hand in your pants and make you come."

The ship rocked gently beneath them. Patrick couldn't stop his eyes from widening. "But - "

"It's dark," Pete said. He scooted closer, expression as open as Patrick had ever seen it. "Come on, Patrick. Please? Just try."

"No," Patrick said. Pete's face fell, and he hurried to add, "I can't just try with you."

The corners of Pete's mouth crooked up and Patrick leaned in, kissing him like the end of a song – or, he thought as Pete's hands came up to touch his face, the beginning of a chorus.

||

"Mikey," Pete said afterwards.

Patrick blinked. "That's, um. What?"

"Not like, Mikey, Mikey." Pete rolled his eyes, wiping his come-sticky hand on Patrick's pants.

"Thanks," Patrick said, but Pete rolled right over him, saying, "Mikey and Ray. They're soulmates and stuff, right?"

"You're calling a wave a hurricane again," Patrick said, and wiggled out of his pants.

Pete pumped a fist in triumph, pulling Patrick close and groping his ass. "Am not."

"Maybe," Patrick said. "But what about them?"

Pete closed his eyes, resting his head on Patrick's shoulder. "Gotta talk to him," he said, voice thick and slow.

"We will," Patrick said, but Pete was already asleep.

||

"Mikey Way!"

It had been a week. For the first time since setting out for England, Mikey's hands were unburned and didn't ache from kneading, weren't cut from chopping. He was generally avoiding looking at them.

"Pete Wentz," he said, not pausing in sanding the railing someone's sword had hacked into.

"What are we having for dinner tonight?"

Mikey froze. Anyone else and he'd assume they hadn't noticed, assume they just didn't know. But Pete picked up on more than he missed; he knew Pete.

"You know I don't know," he said.

"Why not?" Pete hung upside-down on the railing, his head touching the deck. "Aww, look at them."

"I'm not interested in watching my brother kiss Frank, no matter how happy for them both I am," he said.

"Not what I was talking about," Pete said, pointing.

Mikey looked up and regretted it immediately: Frank was sleeping with his head on Ray's shoulder, half in his lap. Ray was holding him with an expression halfway between amused and confused. "That's completely fucking unfair."

"That it's Frank and not you? Debatable," Pete said. "You know, our food's been shitty for going on a week now."

"Maybe Gerard will fire Ray." Mikey wasn't sure if he felt worse for the words or for how hopeful they made him feel. "Drop him off in England. Ow!"

Pete punched him again. "Stop lying," he said, scowling. "Seriously, cut it the fuck out."

"Pete," Patrick said from behind Mikey, "hitting wasn't part of the plan."

"He wants Gerard to maroon Ray! That wasn't part of the plan either!"

"See, now you've made him upset," Patrick said.

Mikey didn't realize Patrick could tell when he was upset, until he turned to Patrick and realized he wasn't talking about Mikey, but Pete. "I didn't do anything," Mikey said.

"Ray!" Pete yelled, and Patrick groaned in horror. "Ray, you don't want to be marooned, right?"

"Oh, fuck you," Mikey said, and turned his back on all of them, sanding determinedly.

Pete and Patrick whispered for a few minutes after that, but Mikey ignored them and they left soon enough. Ray didn't come over; Mikey hoped he hadn't heard. When he finally finished with the railing and turned around, though, he caught Ray staring, looking stricken.

He hurried to report to Gerard, forcing the image out of his mind.

||

It didn't leave.

Mikey wasn't always good at taking care of things, but he was really excellent at feeling guilty, which was almost the same. The image of Ray staring at him with his inexplicably broken heart in his eyes haunted him all the rest of the day and half into the night.

He finally sighed impatiently and stood, leaning against the railing. Half the crew hated the ocean at night, the endless blackness of the water and the sky, scattered with more stars than you could ever see on land. He'd wanted to see if Ray could love it the way Mikey did, the rocking of the boat and the kind of quiet that never came even on the calmest day.

Nothing had gone wrong, really, except Mikey being honest with himself. He sighed, the noise a counterpoint to the soft wheezing he'd learned to associate with Brendon, emanating now from Ryan's hammock.

"Okay," he whispered to the dark, and pushed himself up, walking below deck as quietly as he could.

He passed Gerard's (thankfully silent) cabin and the entrance to the hold, where he could hear Gabe and Greta talking. The kitchen door wasn't propped open the way it had usually been when Mikey slept in there, the implications of which Mikey carefully didn't think about as he pushed it open.

Ray was sleeping on the bags of flour.

Mikey blinked, rubbed his eyes, then blinked again, just to be sure, but Ray's hammock was definitely empty.

The emotions rushed through him, confusion and anger and complete exhaustion. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? What was Ray doing? He wanted to turn around and walk out, didn't even remember what he'd thought to do in the middle of the night anyway, but he couldn't stop thinking about the look on Ray's face, the way his fingers had pressed against Mikey's.

It wasn't exactly captaining a ship in the midst of a hurricane, but Mikey felt a little brave anyway, lying down in the hammock and forcing himself to go to sleep.

||

When he woke the next day, Ray was kneading dough, face as inscrutable as it had been that first day. Mikey stood up, wincing as his head throbbed, reminding him of how much sleep he hadn't gotten.

"Drink some water," Ray said, not looking at him.

Of course. "Is there," Mikey said, but his eyes fell on the wooden cup set as far away from Ray as was physically possible.

He sighed, went to it and drank. "You didn't know I was coming. I didn't know I was coming."

"No," Ray said, and scooped a bit more flour into his hand, dropping it onto the bread, continuing kneading.

Mikey's feet carried him over before he had a chance to have any second thoughts, arms reaching out, hands covering Ray's. He was crowding into Ray before he realized, pressing their arms together and leaning his head against Ray's shoulder.

He'd missed it; every contact point felt like drops of ocean spray against his face, unexpected but completely necessary.

"Did you make pound cake?"

Ray folded the dough, Mikey's hands moving with him. "It needs to rise," Ray said, stepping away.

Whatever courage had arrived hadn't petered out yet. Mikey took a step forward. "Did you?"

"No." Ray took what Mikey was pretty sure would have been a full step back, had the wall not been right behind him. "Mikey..."

Mikey sighed. "You've got flour on your face again," he said, and reached up, brushing the streak off with his thumb and fitting his hand along Ray's jaw.

He could feel the moment between them: Ray was going to lean forward, just a little, and Mikey would press close and kiss him, both of them thinking, finally. But it didn't happen. Instead, Ray half-smiled at him, laying a hand on Mikey's hip, turning his head and kissing Mikey's palm.

"Oh," Mikey said, and stepped forward, shuddering when Ray parted his legs, Mikey's knees hitting the wall when he leaned forward.

"Pete," Ray said, twisting his mouth like he was fighting not to say anything else.

"He's a good friend." Mikey stroked Ray's jaw, brushing his fingers over Ray's lips. "Didn't let me hide."

"...from?"

Mikey couldn't help the laugh. "What do you think?" he said, and leaned up, brushing his lips against Ray's.

It stayed chaste, right until he pulled back to look at Ray and Ray's hand slid down to his ass. "I didn't think you'd come back," Ray said, pressing them together.

Mikey shrugged. "Me neither," he said, and fisted a hand in Ray's hair, pulling him down and kissing him hard.

Ray pulled him up, rocking against him as they kissed. Neither of them was completely hard, but they were both shaking a little, clinging and touching until Mikey wondered if Ray was as scared as he was that this would disappear and they'd be left with useless longing.

But it didn't, of course. Mikey remembered every second of pulling back to shove Ray over to the flour sacks. They managed to get tangled and fall, parting just in time to avoid biting each other on impact; Ray caught Mikey easily, rolling them over until Mikey was pressed between the flour and Ray. From there it was easy to wrap himself around Ray and kiss him again, to revel in the feeling of complete comfort, almost laziness.

He was grinding against Ray's leg almost before he realized it. "Here," he mumbled, tugging at Ray's shirt. Ray lifted his arms, and Mikey grinned in triumph when he got the shirt off. "Pants now," he said. "We don't have to – I just want to feel. If it's okay."

Ray flicked him. "No caveats," he said, and unbuttoned Mikey's shirt, leaning down.

"...right, none." Mikey bit his lip hard and closed his eyes when Ray lowered his head to kiss his way down Mikey's chest.

It was sheer bliss, right until Mikey's knife sheath got tangled in his pants and the mess somehow smacked Ray between the eyes when Ray tried to get Mikey's pants down. "Oh God, I'm sorry," Mikey said, but Ray had already rolled to the side, convulsing with laughter.

"It's just," he explained, wheezing a little, "you...Mikey. You. "

Mikey obeyed the funny feeling in his chest and grinned, getting his pants off easily and scooting closer to Ray. "And you," he said, kissing Ray, laughing with him.

They lay together for awhile, tangled up and content, until Mikey shifted just enough to feel Ray's dick hard against his thigh. "Hey there," he said, and kissed Ray's neck.

Ray had been petting Mikey's side, but now he sat up, pushing Mikey's hips down. "Lie back," he said.

Mikey obeyed, letting his legs fall apart when Ray kissed his knees. "You," he said, meaning to ask, to clarify – but Ray wrapped a hand around his right wrist, kissing and sucking his fingers and moving until his shoulders were pressing against Mikey's inner thighs.

"Oh," Mikey said breathily. He knew his eyes were round, but he couldn't stop them any more than he could keep his hand from combing through Ray's hair.

"Someday," Ray said quietly, kissing the base of Mikey's cock, his balls, "someday I'm going to back you against the wall and go to my knees for you. But this will do for now."

Mikey couldn't speak, though he managed a strangled moan when Ray rubbed his cheek up and down Mikey's thigh before touching the base almost painfully lightly, teasing, and licking the head of Mikey's cock.

It wasn't the first time, but it almost felt like it should be; he'd never been made this dizzy by so little, never felt like hair curling around his fingers was the most important part of reality.

"Tell me if it's not okay," Ray said, licking up Mikey's dick long and slow. "I want to do this right."

"Pretty sure you can't do it wrong." Mikey couldn't stop himself from twisting his fingers in Ray's hair a little, tugging until Ray was looking at him.

He kept looking long enough that Ray cocked his eyebrows, not impatiently but curiously. "I just," Mikey said, still staring. Ray's lips were a little swollen from kissing and he was blushing, a constant flush that Mikey had to reach out and touch.

"You're here," he said quietly, not even really knowing what he meant to say.

Ray smiled, licking him again - except this time he didn't stop, just opened his mouth and took Mikey in.

"Oh. Oh, more of that, just - " and Ray sucked hard, petting Mikey's hip until Mikey had to shake his head and arch his hips, fighting to stay grounded, wanting desperately to watch.

It was good enough to set Mikey's head spinning, and it took him a few minutes to notice the hand had disappeared from his hip. He craned his neck to see, but Ray's arm was curved down, hand out of sight, and he was moaning around Mikey's dick.

Mikey had to thrust into Ray's mouth and fall back, eyes screwing shut of their own accord: Ray was jerking off because of Mikey's cock in his mouth.

"Please let me," he said, "please, anything, you can do anything, just let me..." He tugged Ray's hair, guiding his head and thrusting gently.

Ray's body jerked and Mikey froze and opened his eyes, terrified; but Ray just cut his eyes up to meet Mikey's and kept sliding down. The unmistakable slide of skin on skin filled Mikey's ears, more rapid than it had been a second ago.

"...okay," he said, and braced himself, moving his other hand to Ray's hair and thrusting a little harder.
It was - it didn't even make sense, the way Ray closed his eyes and swallowed, looking like he was enjoying it as much as Mikey. Men didn't, no one Mikey had ever wanted had, but Ray stopped abruptly and brought both hands to Mikey's hips, breathing against Mikey's stomach. He was holding himself there, holding Mikey there, looking up and swallowing when their eyes met.

Mikey figured he didn't really have a choice; he came hard, whispering Ray's name, relaxing his fingers enough to pet Ray's head.

He distantly registered Ray pulling off, whispering "Fuck, you're beautiful" tensely - but he didn't feel Ray come, not against his hip and certainly not in his hand, and that was wrong enough to make Mikey open his eyes, rolling towards him.

Ray was soft. Mikey's eyes widened and he moved his legs, feeling against the floor, unsurprised but more than a little delighted when he touched the wet spot.

"Fuck," he said, and pushed Ray down into the flour bags, climbing (well, flopping) on top of him. "You actually - "

"Good?"

"Great. Perfect." Kissing Ray and tasting himself was the easiest thing in the world. Mikey wondered if it was narcissistic to want to get used to it. "I'm making Gerard get us a bed."

"In the kitchen?" Ray shook his head. "Mikey, I know you don't..."

"But I do." Mikey watched the disappointed incredulity spread across Ray's face, and suddenly it became important, essential, to make him understand. "I do, Ray. Maybe not in the beginning, but now..." He stroked Ray's cheek, leaning down to kiss him again. "You kept a place for me."

Ray's smile actually looked embarrassed. "I kept hoping."

"Hoped right." Mikey relaxed, laying his head on Ray's chest. "You're just as comfortable as a mattress, though. I was smart to come home."

He didn't miss the way Ray stiffened under him, the look he gave Mikey – if hope itself could be hopeless, Mikey was pretty sure that was what it would look like.

"I mean it," he said, almost angry. "I just – you, Ray. This. It's home."

Ray nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, wrapping his arms around Mikey. "Home."

||

Ryan had long since decided that any more chaos would lead to him tying everyone up and sailing to England on his own. Brendon was cheerfully detailing the plan to Bob, who was nodding with honestly surprising tolerance, when Pete swung in front of him.

"Ryan Ross," he said, grinning hugely.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Pete."

"I found my true love," Pete said, completely unnecessarily since everyone Pete had come in contact with since Tortuga knew that.

"Your point?" Ryan said.

"You did, too." Pete dropped onto the deck, wrapping an arm around Ryan's shoulder. "Didn't you?"

Even Mikey and Ray were slouching around being sickeningly sweet lately; apparently, being in love was the new trend. Ryan waved at Brendon when he looked over. "If you cause any trouble before we get to London," he said, "I'll kill you."

Pete laughed delightedly. "That's a yes, isn't it? You're completely, stupidly in love."

"We're getting to London without any more problems," Ryan said determinedly.

"You love him. You really do."

"And if we don't, whoever causes the problems will die."

"He's the light of your life."

"That includes you."

"The apple of your eye."

Ryan rolled his eyes; Pete wrapped an arm around his shoulders and smiled into his cheek.

||

The night after Disashi announced they were three days and a brisk wind outside London Harbor, Ray shook Mikey awake gently.

"Come look," he said, taking Mikey's hand and tugging him up.

Mikey let himself be led up to the deck. His eyes widened. "Oh," he said, staring at the moon resting heavy and orange on the horizon.

"I'm sure you've seen it before."

"Not like this." Mikey leaned back, putting an arm around Ray's waist. "Not with you or anyone even a little bit like you."

Ray kissed him. "You're adept with flattery."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Not flattery, asshole. Truth. Now watch the moon with me."

Ray did, up until William kicked him in the shins. "That is completely disgusting," he said, sticking his nose in the air. "Also, both of you have horrible hair."

They went belowdeck after that, not so much out of fear as the wish not to have stories of their unending love circulating any more than was unavoidable. Cuddling on bags of flour wasn't an activity Mikey had ever expected to love and look forward too, but he did on both counts, and it was more or less amazing.

||

Gerard leaned against the railing, looking down. "I hope we don't kill any fish," he said wistfully.

Mikey wrapped an arm around his waist, laying his head on Gerard's shoulder. "You're the best pirate captain in the world, you know."

"We'll see." Gerard sighed. "You saw the missive from Lyn-z?"

Mikey nodded. "The Caribbean again."

"I don't know why she wants me to do it." Gerard made a face. "We already had to get rid of half the Royal Navy."

"That was your fault." Mikey drummed his fingers on the railing. "But you'll be able to convince...James? James."

"It's his first mate I'm worried about. Alicia – we met her, remember?"

Mikey nodded. "Vicious."

"Stubborn." Gerard sighed. "And Lyn-z's determined. They sail under her or not at all."

"So you'll talk to them." Mikey kissed his shoulder, watching Gerard's face contort. He never understood; "I follow him," Ray had said, "I always will. Not that he'll ever know why, even if I tell him every day." It was true of all of them, and it would be true of this James, too. "And they'll listen to you."

Gerard half-smiled. "That's what Frank said. I hope so." He glanced at Mikey, wearing the same expression he had the first time Mikey had picked a man's pocket. "We're a pair, aren't we?"

Mikey watched Frank jump on Bob's shoulders. "We're a crew," he said.

The wind picked up and the waves slapped the hull. Gerard nodded, the feather in his hat fluttering in the breeze. "A crew," he said.

Mikey broke the loaf Ray had given him, taking a bite and smiling as their flag unfurled. "Arr."