A/N: Happy Richonne Anniversary! It's been years since our ship set sail. To celebrate, msdoomandgloom and I have collaborated to bring you a swashbuckling adventure, complete with gorgeous art to go with it.

Part 1 can be found here already. Stay tuned for Parts 2 and 3. See the msdoomandgloom's gorgeous art up close on Tumblr mdgart.

Thank's for being the best fandom across the seven seas.

Enjoy and feel free to review!

Dread crested over the crew of the Victory as it bobbed atop the uneven waves of the sea. The sailors had been called to deck unceremoniously as the moon began to rise, the shrill echo of the whistle startling the crew from their leisure time. They gathered in tight clusters on the slick wooden floor in various stages of undress. Any other time, reprimands would have been in abundant supply. However, the sight on the horizon held the Naval Officers' attention far more than untucked waistcoats. Dark clouds danced in front of the full moon, throwing eerie shadows across the sea. Even in the low light of the oncoming night, the view was unmistakable.

Pirates.

It was no secret what a black sail meant in these warm waters. High above the mast, the approaching ship flew its colors boldly. It was too far off yet to distinguish which buccaneers were closing in on them, but it hardly mattered. Brigands were brigands, and this crew was too green to have had much experience in defeating them.

"They're still gaining," a watchman called down from the crow's nest, panic poorly veiled in his tone.

A shudder ran through them all. Rick was no exception. He had no taste for military life, no affinity for following orders. It mattered little. The third son of a third son had to make his way somehow in life, and it was the holy orders or the Queen's Navy. The open sea appealed to him more than priesthood, so here he was: shivering on the deck of this cursed ship in a starchy uniform that never quite seemed to fit correctly.

"Ready yourselves, men," one of his commanding officers found his voice at last. "If it's a fight they're after, it's a fight they will get."

His speech did not have the bolstering effect that Rick suspected the officer was aiming for, but the crew began to mobilize nonetheless. Scabbards were passed out and gunpowder dolled to the higher ups. A few scrambled to man the cannons, while more still found some excuse to scurry up into the sails, claiming they would surprise any potential invaders.

Rick, fool that he was, was shoved to the front along the bow. Clutching his sword, he cursed himself under his breath. If he had any sense he'd take one of the lifeboats and make a run for it. He had no vested interest in the Victory's mission. Their orders were to canvas the Caribbean and protect the Crown's investments as they escorted some high-ranking dandy back to his home in Nassau. Rick cared for this mandate less than he cared for the man himself.

"This is what we trained for," another sailor, perhaps sensing their impending doom, gallantly attempted to raise their spirits. Rick spared him not a glance. His eyes were trained on the flag of the ship rapidly gaining on them.

"By God's heart," he muttered.

His distress quickly rippled through the ranks as others began to see what Rick had spotted. The pattern was unmistakable, stark white against a field of ebon. The skull glowed in the low light of the moon, crowned in a bandana and underlined by a single sword. On the right most side of the field a bird, crimson as blood was affixed.

"It's the Revenge," someone proclaimed in a panic. The rest were quick to take up the cry. Rick

felt his own blood run cold.

"Steady men!" An officer yelled over them. Rick noticed that the officer had gone quite pale despite his bravado. High ranking and low, together they all stood, shaking in their boots as the Revenge descended upon them.

They would need a miracle to survive this.

One of the lads manning the cannons nerves failed him. He lit his powder when the Revenge was far out of range, sending a missile soaring. The blast rocked the whole of the Victory before whistling out over the ocean. It tore through a cluster of waves before landing harmlessly just beyond the Revenge's stern.

A silence spread over them all, cold and dark as the sea. For a moment, time froze. Then, somewhere aboard the pirate ship, a cry went up. For a moment, it almost seemed joyful, a song of celebration from some far-flung land. The music took a decidedly more sinister turn as the torches were lit. The flames illuminated the Revenge as it careened towards them, looking for all the world like a ship straight from the bowels of hell.

The cannons began again, booming one after the other as the boys aboard lost their nerve. Their commanding officers were screaming orders that could not be heard. Gunpowder clouded the air, adding to the confusion.

All the while the Revenge moved forward unscathed, its strange song cresting over all other sound. Rick thought he could detect voices singing in some language other than English, the battle-cry of another place. When the Revenge got near enough, he knew he was right. From her decks two dozen warriors were standing, all singing their strange song.

The men panicked at once, scattering as the Revenge unleashed its own hell on the Victory. Smoke clouded as a cannonball struck true to its mark, sending the Victory careening into the rough ocean. A second followed in quick succession and then a third, shattering the mast and the sails, rendering the pride of the Royal Navy useless. Rick ducked, listening to the sound of the massive guns, inhaling the smoke, shielding his face from the spray of shrapnel that now rained down on their decks. The sailors were screaming, panicking, the bodies dropping from the sails. Whether they were alive or dead hardly seemed to matter at this point. Rick suspected they'd all be dead soon.

A hush fell over it all suddenly. Even the pirates' terrifying hymn ended. Their crew turned at once towards a figure. Tall and dark, the captain of the Revenge drew every eye. Rick could see immediately what had inspired the terrible visage of her flag. The captain carried a sword to match, and a blood red bandana adorned long, twisted locs of hair. A tri cornered hat completed the picture. It had clearly seen battles a plenty, the battered leather shaped to the captain's head like a glove to a hand. The cruel, curved sword was pointed at the deck of the Victory. The pirates stood quite still, humming lowly.

"Phillip Blake!" the name rang out from the dreaded pirate ship. "Show yourself!"

The voice surprised Rick, even through his fear. It sounded as though it belonged to a lad. For one absurd moment, Rick wondered if the captain of the Revenge was naught more than a child. One of the torches threw light upon the commanding figure. It was only for a second or so, but Rick could not deny the truth in what he had seen.

The captain of the Revenge was a woman.

"Phillip Blake!" she called again, her anger palpable. Her accent was foreign to Rick's ears.

Her skin was ebon as the wood of the Revenge's hull, her eyes wide and dark and murderous. Rick had seldom seen features like these in England, but he found them at once terrifying and beautiful. She stood proud and fierce, a harbinger of death.

The crew of the Victory all turned as the door to the Captain's quarters was thrown open. Rick blinked in surprise at the man that strode out. Blake had not been seen in weeks, not by the crew since he boarded. The Governor of Nassau port was well-known for his genteel manner in the respectable places of London. Those in the Caribbean knew differently. Phillip Blake was a monster in men's clothing, the scourge of the seas. His treatment of the native people of his island, of the slaves brought in shackles to its shores had reached even Rick's ears.

"Michonne," Blake smiled pleasantly, all propriety. He was tall, broad, and pale, his dark hair swept back into a tidy low knot, even at this late hour. His uniform was a muted navy blue beneath the pale night sky. "It has been quite a long time since we last crossed paths," he intoned.

"Too long," the captain of the Revenge answered.

"I should think you would have little desire to see me again, after our last little skirmish," Blake was smiling, his eyes gleaming with the memory of something no doubt cruel. "Imagine my surprise to hear of the negress pirate captain terrorizing these waters. And to think it's all been for me. You flatter me."

This time it was the captain who smiled. "And here you are at last," she proclaimed. "Are you ready to face judgement?"

"I would face my Creator with not an ounce of shame," Blake retorted. "However, I would sooner not face my Queen after allowing you to take her favorite ship."

"Surrender now," the captain demanded. "Or see her and everyone aboard to Davy Jones' locker."

Blake tsked, even as the men aboard the Victory trembled. "You would kill innocent men?" he questioned. "Michonne, you disappoint me. Where are those principles you claim to cling too?"

"Slavers and colonizers are the only thing that can be found aboard a ship like this," the captain retorted, "and not an innocent man among you." She brandished her blade. Rick's eyes followed its gleam in the moonlight. It was unlike any scabbard he'd ever laid eyes on, curved and lethal, as unusual as its bearer. "Surrender," she demanded once more, "or die."

Phillip Blake only smiled, backing towards the cabin on retreating steps. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Michonne," he said by way of faux apology. "I pray you'll forgive me."

"Pray to God then, Blake. You'll be seeing him soon," the captain hissed through gritted teeth. She let out a cry in her own language. At once, her men surged forward.

The bloodshed began anew, the clash of swords, the screams of dying men, the boom of cannons, the slap of the waves upon the hull. Rick stood in the center of it all, unable to fight, simply attempting to not be killed. The pirates were like an ebon tide, a sea of dark faces that broke over the Victory with a vengeance. The ship rocked and spun useless as a cork as the Revenge riddled it with holes. The pirates moved in unison, systematically disabling the feeble attempts of the Navy to resist. The higher ups fell first, to Rick's surprise. The pirates knew who to look for as they staged their assault, disregarding the bottom of the barrel and heading instead for the high-ranking. In what seemed like moments, the officers aboard were all dead and captured, the remaining men fenced together like pigs in a pen. Rick ducked and ran, evading capture, his sword hanging uselessly at his side. He was unwilling to die for this cause, for a man like the Governor. Better to go down with the ship than in defense of evil. He took refuge behind the cabin, peering around the corner as far as he dared.

Rick watched as the captain called Michonne crossed through the fray wielding her weapon as though it were a part of her very being. In seconds, she had made short work of any who opposed her, leaving them bleeding at her feet.

"Jones!" she called out. A brown-skinned man rushed forward, carrying a heavy iron ram. "I need this door open," she declared.

At once, her man went to work. The wood of the door splintered after two heavy blows. On the third, a bullet tore through the hole that had just been opened and embedded itself firmly into the arm of the pirate ramming his way through. He fell back with a surprised cry, the battering ram clattering to the deck. Some other pirate stepped forward quickly to catch him, pulling the man to safety.

The captain herself paused her mission to ensure that her man was safe. Rick watched curiously, his fear forgotten as she exchanged tender words with the man. Once he was safely away, she turned to her purpose. With a few well-placed kicks, the remains of the door fell to pieces.

"Blake!" her rage was a fierce thing to behold, her sword dripping scarlet, raised to finish her task. From inside the cabin, Blake let out a bellow like some great bull and surged forward. He rushed for the captain with all his strength, but she was ready for him, prancing out of the way, cutting him for good measure. They spilled back out onto the deck. Every eye was on them as they circled one another in a deadly dance.

"You will pay for your sins," the captain Michonne said, raising her sword.

"I wouldn't fret much for the memory of your dear sweet mother and sister," Blake taunted. "You'll be seeing them soon."

The captain only smiled. Blake attacked but she evaded on light feet, spinning again, her sword arcing, the lapels of her faded black coat fluttering like a cape. Blake cried out in pain as the cut opened across his back. With a roar like a wounded animal, he scrambled for her. Over and over it went, this attack and retreat, and each time the Revenge's captain leveled a blow meant to punish and not to kill. Blake's fine clothing hung in bloody tatters, but his face lost none of its haughtiness.

"Even if you succeed, you are nothing," he spat, venom dripping from his every word. "Nothing but a negress and an orphan. You will be hunted down and hanged like a dog while my name is written in history. Nassau will never forget me, but you," he laughed, a wild, crazed sound. "You won't be worthy of a marker for the pit they throw you in."

Anger filled Rick at once. He leapt to his feet, unsure what he planned to do but unable to bear such cruelty. The Governor rushed forward again, hands scrambling for the captain's throat. She moved to evade him but stumbled, her foot catching in a divot left behind by a cannonball. The mistake cost her a precious second and Blake was upon her. Rick realized how small she actually was by comparison. She let out a shout as her enemy's hand enclosed on her throat and the pair of them went down hard on the deck. Her hat and sword fell with her, skittering out of reach.

Her crew leapt into action, but Rick got there first. Sword swinging, he caught Blake between the shoulders, plunging the blade in as deep as he dared, determined to save the strange and sad captain even if it killed him. She eyed him in surprise, her mouth forming words she was unable to speak. Blake shouted in pain, removing one hand from the captain's throat to elbow Rick hard in the face. Rick's nose gave way with a sickening blow, and he fell, dizzy. The pirates jumped over him in their attempts to get to their captain. They needn't have worried. Rick's distraction proved fruitful.

Captain Michonne grasped a jagged splinter of wood from the deck below and without hesitation, plunged it straight into the Governor's eye.

His scream echoed over the ship and he went reeling, spitting, cursing and bleeding. The captain climbed to her feet, reaching over to seize her sword once again.

"Enjoy hell, Blake," she declared, lifting her blade.

The Governor's head hit the deck in a crimson tide. The crew of the Victory let out an anguished cry just as the crew of the Revenge let out a raucous cheer. Rick huddled on the deck, dazed, bleeding, and certain that he was living his last few moments on this earth.

"You," the captain Michonne's attention turned to Rick as her men gathered up the remaining crew and forced them to the ship's edge. Rick blinked up at her, suddenly fearful. "Bring him to me," she instructed another of her men.

He was seized roughly, dragged unceremoniously past the body of the Governor and laid at the captain's feet.

"Your name," she demanded, staring down at him.

"Grimes," he said through a mouthful of blood. "Richard Grimes." Even in the dark, his vision obscured by blood and sweat and sea water, Rick was struck by her appearance up close. The wrath had seemingly gone out of her. What was left was a young woman, dark as she was lovely.

"What business does a man of the Royal Navy have saving the life of a pirate?" she asked.

Rick shook at her feet, searching for an answer. "Right is right," he settled on at last, "and wrong is wrong, pirate or otherwise."

A silence spread through the bandits at this. The captain looked down at him.

"Well-said," she complimented, a slight twist to her lips. "I had a mind to send this ship and every soul aboard to the depths of the sea," she told him.

"Please," Rick protested, unsure what leverage he had, but loathe to leave these sailors to their deaths. They had never been friends, true enough, but for long months they had been his constant and only companions.

"No?" Captain Michonne looked almost amused. A few of her men began to chuckle. "Then perhaps, Richard, an accord may be reached."

"Anything," he agreed, trembling, whether from fear or anticipation he could not be sure.

The captain glanced up at the sailors huddled in a pitiful pile. "Men, strip them of their colors and send them to the lifeboats," she instructed. "And you," she glanced back down at Rick.

"Mayhaps it's time for a change in course for you. Perhaps the life of a pirate?" One of her crew returned her hat to her. She perched it upon the top of her head, watching Rick expectantly.

"If I do this, you'll let them live?" Rick questioned, heart hammering.

"If they can navigate in a row boat," she answered, amused. She turned for a moment as her crew prodded the sailors towards the modest life boats. The Victory was sinking, and fast.

Rick knew a fair offer when he heard it. "You have my word," he relented. "I'll join you."

She stepped towards him. "Your jacket," she demanded. Nervously, Rick scrambled to shed the article that offended her so deeply. With a flourish, she tossed it over her arm, a trophy of her victory here. Her men let out another cheer. She turned to him, smiling. "Well then, Richard," she bent down, extending a hand. "Welcome aboard the Revenge."

Rick reached his own arm out and clasped her.