Maelstrom Ch. 01

"What's all this noise?" Riker asked, stepping onto the warm polished deck of his ship. He stopped in front of his group of crew men and followed their gazes to his first mate and brother who leaned over what appeared to be a woman in clothing that he didn't recognise. "Who the hell is she?"

Silence filled the deck, even the waves appeared to quiet in order to hear Aiden's reply, but he ignored the question and continued to pump water from her chest. She coughed, bringing sound back around them.

A heavily tattooed man stepped forward; he folded his arms across his wide chest then replied. "I saw her floating on the water. From a distance, we assumed she was dead. Then Joe noticed she was trying to breathe, so we pulled her on deck."

Riker glanced down again, looking at his brother to confirm the story - he didn't see any other ships on the horizon, the only other thing that could explain it was that she was a spy, a stowaway - they had been alone on this stretch of the ocean for the past several hours, just the way he liked it.

Aidan nodded absently, his mind completely focused on helping the girl into a sitting position before he pounded the flat of his fist hard between her shoulder blades. She looked so small and frail amidst the large group of men around her, Riker expected her to break as his brother once again thumped his closed hand on the thin black material that covered her torso. She coughed up some water and finally managed to take a few stuttering breaths. "That's it, get it all out." Aidan rubbed the space where he'd hit her, soothing her, then he looked up to his captain. "She'll need some rest, but she'll live... Depending on what you want to do with her, that is."

Riker ignored the murmurs of "She can bunk with me" and helped his first mate lift her. "Put her in my cabin - I'll question her later." He didn't respond to any of the grumbles that the crew suggested that the "captain always gets all the fun" when he really wanted to reply that he'd be spending the night on deck.

A part of him screamed that he could go to her, although gentlemen of this time wouldn't do such a thing, a pirate could if he so wished, and he had saved her life, so he could do whatever he wanted. Another part of him agreed - in his time, a man could take what he wanted. But even through all of the centuries that he'd endured, as times and society morals changed, he wouldn't do that - he'd act the gentleman he always had.

He turned to his men who watched him with interest, clearly expecting a hearty reply, but instead they got, "Right lads, back to work. Hoist the sails and all that." They grinned, knowing his orders all too well; he didn't really care what they did as long as the ship was on course and there wasn't another ship on their patch of the ocean - he liked to be the only dot on the horizon, unless, of course, there was some booty to be had.

* * * *

Eve woke with a start, not recognising anything of the surroundings around her - not that she could see much as the drawn thick curtains blocked most of the light, whilst allowing only a faint glow to illuminate a little of the room, but not enough to make the dark shadowed corners disappear. Another sharp rap made her focus her attention on a thick wooden door, "Come in?" she said weakly, her throat feeling scratchy as if she'd been screaming.

The door opened to allow a tall man to enter; she couldn't clearly see him as she squinted her eyes against the bright light that flooded through the open passage. "It's about time you're awake." The man said with a heavy accent she couldn't recognise, but she got the distinct impression that English was not the man's native tongue. He balanced a tray of sorts on one large hand as he softly closed the door behind him before walking further into the room to pull back the curtains.

Eve looked around the room, able to see clearly for the first time since she woke. "Where am I?" she asked the stranger as she sat up to get a better look at him. He wore a curious expression on his face, as if he didn't quite know what to make of her, his blue eyes watched her, covered by thick black eyebrows. He pulled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt which, she noticed, fell open at the front to reveal a tanned, muscled chest. His left forearm bore a tribal tattoo of sorts, black with a little green around the edges.

"You're in my cabin." He said, as if she didn't realise that.

"Well I gathered that... I mean where are we? Is this one of the franchise pirate ship replicas?" she replied, noticing some of the furnishings that were similar to ones she'd seen on The Pirates of the Caribbean.

He looked at her oddly as if he didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about. "You're on the Wilted Rose."

Tia let out a sigh, "Oh, please. Is that the best they could come up with? Well I suppose it's a little better than the Black Pearl, but still - why does it always have to be something like this? I bet in the seventeenth century they didn't really call ships names like that."

His eyes narrowed, the brilliant blue colour turned smoky, "Are you insulting my ship? I suppose you'd like to insult my crew too?"

"You know, you don't quite have the accent right either." She thought back to watching the Disney film, "I believe you're supposed to be saying things like 'Arr me hearties' and 'Pass the rum' you know, it's not like you haven't seen the movie - everyone has."

"What the hell are you talking about? Has the sea really addled your brain that much?"

"The Pirates of the Caribbean, I thought all fanatics like you would have seen it." He's really playing to his role - he's got everything but the accent and the script down exactly like the film, she thought as she looked around again.

The man sighed and pulled a chair towards the bed, setting the tray on top of the nightstand. "Where are you from?"

She looked at him oddly, "England of course." Then she thought about it, "We're not that far away from there, are we?"

"How did you come to be in the ocean? Wearing those clothes no less. You sound upper class, were you stowing away?"

"What are you on about? I was sailing the English channel - I'm trying to sail around the whole word. Anyway, what's wrong with my clothing?" She peeled back the thick duvet that covered her.

"They're a bit dirty, and ragged, but after crashing in a storm that's nothing unexpected. Why were you stowing away? Your father arranged a marriage you didn't like? Wait never mind, you're too old for a betrothal now. Husband didn't give you enough attention?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not too old for marriage - I'm only eighteen. And I wasn't stowing away. I was on my own ship."

"Then where are they?"

"I don't know."

The man sighed again, "You'll have to tell me at some point, whether you like it or not." He pulled himself up from the chair and left the room.