There was little they didn't know about each other. Working on a ship was dangerous and hard, and not knowing who it was that was watching your backside wasn't something any half-brained sailor would do. Thus, newcomers were bullied and ridiculed and given the most scummy jobs aboard, since no-one wanted to make a friend do something any brainless (as far as they knew), spineless (he jumped off the ship like the devil was on his heels) bastard could handle.

The boy they'd hired – Mugen – wasn't to be trusted; every inch of him sang a threat to observers. He gave smirks to the prostitutes that milled about the docks, inviting inexperienced foreigners to their brothels; he swore more than the entire crew combined, at anyone and everyone; he jumped at the chance to brawl or fight with the men, pulling out the sword that he carried on his back (supposedly out of habit, for self-protection, but they couldn't be sure of that) and swinging it with ease while grinning like a madman, and he refused to grant respect to any of them – not his fellow crew, and certainly not to his captain.

The boy toed the line with the old man, swearing and making rude comments about his age and ability – no different from his treatment towards the rest of the crew – but he always hesitated, never taking it far enough that an outburst leading to his dismissal occurred, and always thanking the man for his generosity whenever he knew he may have taken it a step too far. The men could see his struggles to find the words to say when he had to be polite, it was apparent he was desperate for this job. They teased him and pushed him around as best they could (he could always find a way to injure someone while making it seem defensive), and wondered why it was that he stayed where he was so obviously out-of-place and uncomfortable.

The tattoos could not be hidden. They were obviously a sign of criminal activity on the boy's part; he never mentioned them and gave venomous looks to anyone that did - they tried for a while, but it became apparent that he wasn't bothered by the comments and was only looking for a reason to have a go – if the captain kicked him off because of his suspicious past, he had no reason to hold back on them and his tireless, un-waning strength coupled by the insane grin that appeared on his face whenever they jeered along the lines of threats did not invite fights (but they were all dying to get at the cocky brat's throat).

So they were reduced to asking questions that he wouldn't answer until he, like them, was comfortable with the idea of them saving his skin, and looking out for them in return.

Slowly, over the course of two months, they became friendly, joking, jesting and making empty threats that only served the purpose of reminding the others that they could dish out as much as anyone else aboard the 'rocking bento box', as the fishing boat was fondly called by anyone whom the captain wasn't tempted to kill upon hearing the insult to his – admittedly sturdy – vessel. Mugen wasn't despised, though he was frequently insulted and never complimented (still too new for that). The men made jokes and invited him to drinks and for a night of 'womanly company', and yet the brash youth never agreed to come or meet them.

It was a surprise, definitely, to see the boy who smiled so roguishly at the women turn down a night of excitement, and this was when some of the oldest sailors – those with wives or perhaps those who had once been in love began to understand the escaped convict's reasons for wanting a job so badly. They wondered when and if they'd get to meet her.

They were a bit shocked by the daintiness and general softness of the girl at the dock that day. Her round belly was obvious, especially since her kimono was tied above it, just underneath her breasts, and her unsteady nature made each worry – she looked likely to topple at any second, not helped by the tall geta that she wore. She wasn't puffing and sweating like several women they'd seen in the market, because she was young, but she looked a bit tired and maybe dizzy, leaning on a pile of wooden planks left there for shipwrights. Her eyes were large and brown and soft, lashes long and girlish; her hair was held in place with chopsticks and her hands fluttering anxiously, holding her rotund belly or wringing her wrists.

A few of the men laughed at the sight, calling out to her and asking if she was lost, if she was perhaps looking for a husband that had left her and, if so, maybe she wanted to come and live with them? That they'd provide for the bastard if those rose lips would give them a kiss.

The answer came not from her but from the boy – Mugen – and it wasn't the firm warning some had given to those that offered similar things to their girls, or the eager, promising threat they would've expected from the wild boy. It was chilling in its toneless-ness, as if couldn't care less whether they lived or died, just 'Get your eyes off her and keep them there.'

There was a nervous breaking of tension, a request for him to put away his sword, and then, without apologizing or, really, responding in any way other than sheathing the weapon, he jumped off the boat and landed, cat-like, on the creaking dock. The girl gave a startled exclamation, telling him to be more careful or at least, for God's sake, not to scare the living daylights out of her. They watched him resume the cocky, lecherous persona he advertised to every woman at port and answer with a cheap innuendo. She didn't blush, as they might've expected, or smile seductively and murmur something equally dirty back, which they wouldn't have, but bonked him on the shoulder – she couldn't reach his head; with a jump she might've been able to do it, but she was in no condition for that now – and reprimanded him in the same way the captain would have, only whinier and more exasperated than angry.

He only rubbed the offended spot, muttering 'Bitch', as could clearly be heard, though it was fairly obvious no insult was actually intended, and proceeded to embrace her, rubbing her protruding stomach kindly and asking her if there was anything to report about the day. She responded in a negative, smiling back with the same soft look in her eye and brought his face down to hers for a kiss, which he returned with more passion than had been invited, as was shown by her frantic pushing him away and gesturing to the audience of sailors that had accumulated on board to view that which had encouraged Mugen to tolerate his crew.

They whooped a series of 'Where'd you get her, eh?'s and 'You don't deserve her, boy!'s, and he merely smirked and yelled a threat combined with an insult back at the lot, more at ease now that he had her in his arms. The girl – Fuu – convinced him to wait so she could meet everyone he interacted with so constantly, all smiles and kind hand-graspings. They were open and easy with her, gentler in their language and nicer in their tone than they were with her husband because, as was apparent to the group, she was precious. If not to Mugen, then to the world for her lighthearted greetings and ability to calm the rowdy man – what else could he be, if he was taking care of such a thing? – at her side.

Eventually, though, the hellos and short tales of Mugen's foolhardiness aboard were all told, and she was invited back to homes that promised to be warm with more talk of adventures out on the water and questions about her pretty self. She politely declined, though, asking for their company in Mugen's home another night, and apologizing for what she said was standard Mugen behavior and only meant anything if his sword was out (the man – still, amazingly, mature, though he refused to act like it – scoffed and promised a death to every male present). The sailors nodded and said goodbyes, repeating invitations, and wandered away from the pair.

The two ex-travelers whispered quiet hellos, now meant only for each other and, in Mugen's case, the little one his wife was carrying. A cold breeze drifted towards them and he wrapped his sun-burnt and sea-sprayed arms around her, walking her slowly and carefully home. Only the captain, the one man who had stayed on his vessel, watched them now, smiling softly at the rambunctious youth's softness towards his family.

Who would've guessed it? That boy could be trusted.

…

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Er…the last line's referring to Fuu's trust for Mugen… I know it sounds awkward but I had to save it halfway and I couldn't think of a title for the document, so I just put what the first couple of paragraphs were about and decided to close it with the same theme… (I know, I lack imagination.)

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