When Arthur came back, you had eaten and cleaned up as much as you could using the pan of water you noticed what felt like so long ago. And he had brought dresses that were much more elegant than what you were used to. They were gorgeous dresses with fine embroidery and lace and silk, but you didn’t dare think of how the pirate had gotten them. He had also bought you a few nightgowns, which were by far simpler, despite their equally high quality.
So you chose to only wear the nightgowns. It wasn’t as if you’d be walking amongst the crew and Arthur would be the only one to ever see you unless he was out. You disliked how well the dresses fit.
Your time on the ship was a blur of days and days of restless sleeping and sitting awake, longing for a chance to touch solid ground again. When you did, however, it was not an occasion to celebrate.
Arthur had been growing increasingly restless and aggravated over the days, sometimes not sleeping for longer than an hour or two in the earliest hours of the morning. On those days you relished in having the bed to yourself, you though you still felt a slight amount of concern for the pirate.
Though it wasn’t until he began to get aggressive that you actually did anything. One morning he came into his room only to find you asleep at his desk with piles of maps and books that you had read in a fit of boredom strewn about you. And, for some reason, he snapped.
“What the Hell do you think your doing?” he growled, pulling you away from the desk by the chair.
Woken up from your own nap, you were equally as violent. Jumping from the chair you defended yourself. “I was just reading!”
“Just reading my ass! You were trying to find a way to escape!”
“And how the Hell would I do that? We’re in the middle of the ocean!”
Then, just as quickly as the pirate had grown bothered by your presence, he regretted his every action. “I- I’m sorry, (F/n). I don’t know what happened-”
“I do.” You glared at Arthur, not seeing him as a pirate so much as a tired man. “Sleep,” you commanded, hand resting on the doorknob.
“Where are you going?”
You froze, though not in fear. Taking a deep breath, you calmly answered the man. “I am going wherever the Hell I please, Arthur.” And with that, you left.
Once outside the door, you didn’t know where to go, so you went down into the kitchen to find a familiar face.
“Matthew?” you called quietly down the stairs, “Are you awake?”
A quiet clatter was heard and you tentatively stepped down so you could see the room where the soft-spoken man dwelled. “Matthew?” you tried again.
Stepping into the dimly lit dining area, you saw two, blonde men sitting across from each other at a table. “Francis?” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying.
“Ah, hello, (F/n),” the man smiled at you, swiveling his gaze from the ship’s cook to look at you, “Matthew and I were just discussing,” he hesitated for only a second, “matters.”
You hummed a bit, not entirely trusting the crew member’s explanation. Matthew looked a bit nervous, though he didn’t say a word. Keeping your eyes on the two men, you slowly lowered yourself to sit next to Matthew, noticing both of them flinch a bit as you settled your legs under the table.
A nearly nonexistent scuffling could be heard under the table, but you chose to ignore it so as not to arouse suspicion.
Oddly enough, it was Matthew who broke the silence. “S-so, (F/n), what brings you here?”
“Arthur’s sleep deprived,” you shrugged, to which Francis nodded knowingly, “Do you know what’s bothering him?” The sound under the table was louder, then silenced completely. The two men sitting with you seemed equally panicked, though you just looked above to where the deck of the ship would be. “The crew must be stirring,” you muttered.
Francis sighed in relief, though you figured he shouldn’t have let his guard down. “Or maybe,” you murmured, bending your body in half to look under the table. You smiled at what you saw. “Hello, Toni.”
The Spaniard smiled back at you, a light blush on his tanned cheeks. “Hola, chica.”
Antonio crawled out from under the table and onto the bench next to Francis. You also raised yourself. The French crewmember was shocked, while the cook seemed about ready to cry.
“- Arthur,” you finished for them, “I know, I know. And I won’t. But you guys have answers, tell me what’s going on.”
A pair of blue eyes lowered to look at the table, so you focused your gaze on the somber looking captain next to him. “It’s my fault,” Antonio confessed.
“What’s your fault, Toni?”
“They’re coming, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do.”
A wry smile spread over his face. “I wish I could tell you, chica.”
“Toni, I-” but you were cut off by a shout.