The cool steel of the pistol was familiar against his skin. It glinted under the light of the gas lamp as he flipped it over in his hand. He'd owned this pistol for nine years now. It had served him through battles upon battles and had saved his life more times than he could count. His father had given it to him as a celebratory gift when he'd first joined the ranks of the British Navy. He remembered how proud his father had been; tears had been glistening in his father's eyes as he'd watched him march down the line with his head held high and his sword by his side. If his father were to see him now, he would surely be crying again. This time not of joy but of shame.

Theodore Groves II had been discharged from the East India Trading Company for his inadequate leadership during the Battle of Calypso's Maelstrom. His decision to abandon ship had been frowned down upon, despite his insistence that there had been no other alternative. He'd tried to re-enlist into the Navy, but unfortunately his folly had cost him a great deal more than his job; it had tarnished his reputation. The Navy had no interest in re-enlisting the former Lieutenant. Gillette had tried his best by putting in a good word for him, but to no avail.

Groves slowly turned the pistol over in his hand again. He knew there were other options. With his education and set of skills, there were plenty of jobs out there for him – away from Port Royal, that was. But his pride couldn't bear it. The Navy and the Company were right. He was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men; it had been his decision to flee like a coward rather than fight like a man that had gotten them killed. He had placed too much trust in Lord Beckett. There was no one to blame but himself. And now he had to live with the consequences. But…not for much longer. He would soon endure a fate he deserved.

His hand shook. He'd never feared a pistol as he did now. Never before had he truly considered its life-taking power. All it took was one pull of the trigger, a simple movement of the finger, to end a person's life. He'd always taken its power for granted. But now as he turned it towards himself did he realize what a fool he'd been.

Then a voice, soft and gentle, came from the shadows that nearly made him accidentally pull the trigger in surprise.

"I wouldn't do that if I were ye."

He whirled around towards the source of the voice. He turned his pistol away from himself and towards the darkness of the night. Then a figure slowly stepped out of the shadows. The light from the gas lamp spilled over her. She looked strangely pale under the light of the lamp, making her appear almost ethereal. But Groves knew she was no wraith. Judging by her attire, she was no doubt a pirate. Earrings jingled in her ears, tattoos covered every area of exposed skin, and a long scar ran through her eyebrow. A set of shackles were locked around her raw, red wrists. He caught a glimpse of the 'P' branded in her skin as she shifted her hands.

It was very obvious that this pirate must've escaped from either prison or from the officer who had arrested her; either way, this woman was trouble. His first instinct was to catch her and call for help. But what good would that do to him? Would it put him back in the good graces of the Navy or the people of Port Royal? He doubted it.

Her eyes flickered to the pistol pointed at her. There was amusement in her expression, which only annoyed Groves. Pirates tended to be ridiculously carefree and overconfident even in the most serious of situations, and this one seemed to be no exception. "Careful, now." Her grin was playful. Gold and silver teeth winked at him. "Ye can take an eye out with that thing." The woman bore a thick Welsh accent, Groves noted vaguely. He wondered how she had ended up so far away from home.

He did not lower his arm, nor did he lower his gaze from hers. "It can do more than just that," he retorted calmly. He'd put up with enough pirates to last him a lifetime, and he knew how to handle the situation. "This pistol can send you straight to Davy Jones's locker."

The amusement died from her eyes. This time it was Groves who found himself smirking. His smirk soon disappeared, however, at her next words. "Is that wot ye were tryin' to do, laddie?" Her voice was soft. "'Cause it seemed like just a moment ago ye 'ad that pointed at yerself."

He froze, clenching his jaw tight. He wasn't sure where she was intending to go with this.

He hesitated. "I…don't know what you're talking about," he lied, sticking his nose in the air. "Must've been a trick of the light."

The twinkle of amusement returned to her eyes. They sparkled like stars in the night sky. "A trick o' the light, eh?" she mused. The shackles clanged loudly when she shifted her arms to tap a grimy finger thoughtfully against her chin. "I dunno, mate. If I didn't know any better, I would venture ta say ye were 'bout to take yer own life."

"And if I were?" he snapped suddenly. Anger and frustration flared in him like a whiplash, and he'd all but forgotten to feign innocence. "What do you care?" His voice shook with ill-disguised rage; the hand that held his pistol shook. He wasn't sure who he was angry at in that moment: himself or her. "You don't know me. You don't know the treason I've committed. You don't know the disgrace I feel." He felt foolish for the tears that welled up in his eyes, but he continued anyways; now that he had begun to release his emotions, he couldn't stop. "You're nothing but a pirate," he spat in disgust. "You've lived without honor your whole life. How would you know what it feels like to have that honor taken away from you?"

There was a long stretch of silence. The only sound that could be heard was Groves's ragged breathing and the gentle lapping of water against the dock.

The pirate's face was unreadable, to his surprise (he'd expected her to be furious). If he'd offended her, she didn't show it. "Ye assume too much, laddie." Her voice was still soft and gentle, like a patient mother waiting for her child to stop his tantrum. "Me honor was taken from me when I was but a wee lass, not a day over twelve."

It took Groves a moment to fully comprehend her words. He instantly felt like a fool and regretted his words. His hand, still holding his pistol, fell to his side. His eyebrows crinkled in sympathy. She may have been a pirate, but no woman deserved such evil fate. "I – I'm sorry, I didn't–"

"There's more to us pirates than ye realize, lad." She turned away from him to stare up at the night sky. "Not all o' us were born this way." She flexed her wrist; Groves's eyes darted to the 'P' embedded in her skin. He noticed then the manner in which she held herself, with her back set straight and her chin set high. This was not a woman who had been born in the streets or on a pirate ship. "But did I throw me life away after what'd 'appened? Did I shake a fist at the sky and blame the Almighty for what'd 'appened? Nay. I moved on with me life. I wasn't gonna give it all up 'cause a bastard wanted to 'ave 'is way with me. I would not allow 'im the satisfaction of defining the rest o' me life." Her eyes turned to him, and they were surprisingly soft and gentle. "Just like ye can't let whatever it is ye've done – no matter 'ow God-awful ye believe it to be – get the best o' ye."

"You don't understand," he murmured lowly. "I…I am responsible for the deaths of my men. I fled from battle and did not command them as I should have. Those men…they had wives and children back home that they will never see again because of me." Tears burned his eyes and guilt tore at his heart. "I have failed them, their families, my country, my father…" He sunk to his knees and hung his head. "And myself."

Another stretch of silence penetrated the night, so long that he'd wondered if the pirate had left. He felt an inexplicable sense of loss. He felt foolish for having revealed his feelings and emotions to a bloody pirate. But then he heard the clomping of footsteps heading toward him. He did not look up, however, and kept his gaze on the pistol in his quivering hands. He heard the shifting of clothes and smelled a whiff of rum. The pirate was crouching down before him; he could practically feel her hot breath. Still he kept his eyes fixed on his pistol.

"But ye 'ave not failed me."

He looked up. The dark eyes that penetrated his were warm and tender. The smile that pulled at her lips was sympathetic and sad.

"I know that mustn't mean much to ye, comin' from a pirate. And yer right, I don't know ye. I don't know what ye've been through. But I do know that yer only human, and humans make mistakes. No matter 'ow bloody terrible or awful the mistake is, ye shouldn't ever punish yerself fer makin' it. Ye did what ye thought was best in the situation. Maybe more lives woulda been lost 'ad you not abandoned ship. Or maybe more woulda been saved. Ye'll never know." She shrugged, and he noticed that one of her shoulders hung lower than the other. "That's life, laddie. Don't punish yerself for what ye did or didn't do. As 'ard as it is, ye've just gotta pick yerself back up, brush the dirt off yerself, and set sail for another day." She stood up and extended a hand towards him. Her smile widened. "And it's okay to use a helping hand from time to time."

He stared at her outstretched hand, then tilted his head to look up at her. "…Why?" he croaked in disbelief. "Why do you offer me aid and kindness when I have killed so many of your own?"

Her answer was simple. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Because it's the right thing to do.

Nowadays it was hard telling right from wrong. The world was a cruel and convoluted place filled with desolation and death and darkness. Yet, from time to time, through that darkness a ray of light would shine through, and with it came hope and life and joy. He'd never expected the light to take the form of a pirate, though. He half-laughed, half-sobbed at the thought. He knew, then, what it was he had to do. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he took her hand and let her help pull him up. The pistol fell to the ground with a defining clang. He closed his eyes. He hadn't realized how heavily the pistol had weighed on him until his hand was free of it.

The sky was beginning to lighten; the sun was beginning to rise. The pirate backed away from him.

"Looks like it's time fer me to run." She turned her head towards the horizon. "The guards will be comin' to me cell right 'bout now." A wry smirk slowly spread across her lips. "I'm scheduled to be hung this morn."

Her nonchalant attitude toward her imminent death did not surprise him. "Where will you go?"

Her expression became wistful. "Wherever the sea takes me." She looked like a painting, then, her head turned towards the waters as the light from the heavens poured over her tan skin. She was certainly no lady, but there was something inexplicably beautiful and regal about her. Groves found him breathless for a moment, spellbound.

The spell was broken by the urgent clanging of the town bell. A wicked smirk slowly began to spread across the pirate's lips. During the short time he'd known her, he'd grown accustomed her to gentle smiles and was surprised by the wickedness that crossed her face. Then he had to remind herself that she was a pirate, and was more often than not wicked. Over the sound of the rising hysteria of the townsfolk and the soldiers barking orders to find the escapee pirate, she laughed. "Looks like they've come to fetch me this morn earlier than usual!" She turned back towards him, and instead of fear in her eyes there was excitement. "Beggin' your pardon, laddie" – She curtsied mockingly – "but I've best be goin'. The gallows, I'm afraid, will 'ave to wait fer me a little longer."

He smiled despite himself. "And I as well."

She eyed him curiously, wondering if he meant that gallows would have to wait for him or that he would wait for her. Instead of asking for clarification, she smirked. "Until then, laddie." She winked at him, and then turned her back to him. Without another word she sprinted away, her wild black locks flying out behind her.

He stared after her, dumbfound, disbelieving everything that had transpired between them. Then he shook his head and began to laugh, a deep and hearty laugh that shook him to his very core.

"Very well." The smile was one that reached his eyes, a smile he hadn't had in a long time. "Until we meet again...my guardian pirate."

Hello! It has been many years since I wrote a story on this fandom. When I was rifling through my old story ideas I came across this one. It's been sitting dormant on my laptop for a long time now, only half-finished. So I decided to finish it. Please let me know what you think! And also know that this is strictly a one-shot. I've kinda left it open at the end, but I have no intentions of making this a full-fledged chapter story. I'm afraid I don't have enough passion or time to dedicate to such a task. But if you are a fan of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, or Fire Emblem – among some other fandoms – feel free to check out my other stories! Otherwise, take care!