Chapter Text
Several hundred feet from the shore, the Spark sat low on the calm water. Her crew lie merrily on the beach, spread out from her in all directions like ripples in the water. Their laughter filled the evening sky with warmth.
Buck turned his back on all of it and let the dull thrum of their numerous conversations fade as he walked toward the cave looming ahead in the moonlight. Its entrance opened up like the maw of a wild beast, yawning its invitation. Dim light illuminated the cave from within, visible only as he crested the rise of the beach and continued past the threshold.
Their captive – a man named Diaz – sat hunched over his food by the small fire, shoveling the meal past his lips as though it might be his last. He paused to pluck a fishbone out of the mess in his mouth and froze when his dark eyes darted sideways. Juices from the fish and overripe fruit trickled down his chin, and he lowered the small plate in favor of studying Buck as he passed.
Buck ignored him, heading instead for the rocky outcropping to the rear of the cave.
It was there he found the unparalleled Captain Nash seated at a table. An oil lamp and a fist-sized rock held down two corners of his map, and the ledger laid in the center prevented the parchment from folding back on itself. The quartermaster leaned beside him, one hand resting on the table while they spoke in quiet undertones.
Buck hoisted himself up onto the ledge and linked his fingers together while he waited at the periphery. He knew better than to interrupt, and was content to delay following his orders a little longer.
At length, Bobby raised his head. The oil lamp magnified his shadow on the wall behind him, making his imposing profile even more magnificent. His eyes found Buck's in the low light and he gave a single nod. Chimney continued muttering. Whether it was to the captain or himself was unclear.
Buck returned the nod and spun on his heel. He hopped down, knees and soft sand cushioning the drop, and headed back the way he came.
The captive subtly tilted his head and his shoulders stiffened at Buck's approach from behind. Ropes bound his ankles and wrists together, forcing him into an awkward sitting position. His plate rested on the sand beside him, so clean he must have licked it.
"Diaz," Buck said, though announcing his presence was gratuitous at that point. He continued past the fire pit and stopped on the far side of dying flames. The extra distance quieted the whispers at the back of his head and afforded him a clear view of the man. "That is what they call you, right?"
Orange light flickered across the other man's face, highlighting his sharp angles and hard edges. There was nothing but fight in his eyes, which bored into Buck like he could set him on fire with his mind alone. The air between them grew thick with tension as they stared at each other.
"Not if they want me to respond," he said at last.
Buck dropped his chin in acknowledgment. "Is the food to your liking?"
Diaz glanced at the plate resting by his knee. "Rather uncommon, isn't it? Feeding a prisoner this well."
"Who says you're a prisoner?"
The captive scowled, raising his hands to emphasize the ropes binding them.
Buck's lips twitched and he tilted his head, trying to see what convinced Bobby to spare the man earlier that week. It couldn't have been his quiet insolence; the captain had little tolerance for such attitudes.
There was strength in the set of his shoulders and lean muscle packed onto his arms, but the fresh blisters on his hands screamed land dweller. Whatever put him on a merchant ship, it wasn't his expertise as a sailor.
The silence stretched on for several minutes. Buck was good at these kinds of games. He intentionally waited until the day was nearly over and his belly was full to begin.
Diaz sighed impatiently. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked, his voice devoid of fear. What was left was a kind of bored resignation. Perhaps lesser men had failed before.
Buck cut a glance up toward Bobby because, against his counsel, their captain wanted this man to join them. He lowered his gaze again and shook his head. Even if he walked, there would be no bloodshed.
"Then why am I here?" Diaz asked through gritted teeth.
"Well, if you ask me, you were in the wrong place at the right time."
"I don't think that's how that saying goes."
Buck set one hand on the hilt of his cutlass and rubbed at the corner of his mouth with the other. The truth was that he didn't have the same kind of faith Bobby did in bringing stragglers into their midst. It was rare for him to question the captain's orders, and rarer still to have his concerns brushed aside. If they needed more numbers – which they didn't – there were better ways to recruit.
Some men were spectacular liars who signed on only to save their own skin. Men like that would sooner stab his crewmate in the back than save them. Ferreting out the bad apples was one of Buck's specialties. He just didn't know if this man was worth jeopardizing their whole operation.
He stopped that train of thought dead in its tracks and drew his dagger from its sheath. "Before I come over and cut you free, there's something very important I need you to understand."
"I'm listening." Diaz leaned into the circle of light, his lips pressed into a firm line. He sat coiled like a spring.
Buck could see it now. His clothes were worn thin at the seams, and hung loose in places they shouldn't have, giving him an almost hollow appearance. But there, nestled in the shadows on his skin, buried so deep it would never die, was a determination to survive.
The weight of his attention settled heavily on Buck's shoulders. He would only get one shot at this.
"There are thirty-six people between us and that ship. You can't kill me, and you can't outrun them." He licked his lips and stepped around the fire, bringing them closer together. "This is your invitation to a life of freedom."
"A life taking other people's things doesn't sound like freedom to me." He bared his teeth on a snarl.
Buck tilted his head, recalculating his appeal in between slow footsteps. "A life where you never go hungry or thirsty again; where you are paid, and paid well; where your family is taken in by ours. One where you get to live, not just survive."
Diaz looked to the front of the cave, a deep crease appearing in his furrowed brow.
One last step, and Buck knelt next to him in the sand. When Diaz looked back at him, he knew he'd won, but the victory felt hollow. There was a catch that he couldn't see in the dark. A feeling of unease settled in his stomach, but he pushed it aside.
"I know on the surface it doesn't look like much, but we only take from those who have more than their fair share. You'll never find a better crew than ours, or a faster ship." He took hold of the thick ropes binding his ankles and sliced cleanly through them. The man didn't even flinch at the touch of cold steel.
After a moment, Diaz held out his wrists. "Why me?"
Buck shrugged one shoulder and cut through the rest of his bonds. He slid the dagger home and turned to tend to the dying fire. Once the coals were stirred back to life, he sat down and propped his elbows on his knees. "Cap has his reasons. No one really knows how he picks us. It definitely wasn't your sailing expertise."
Diaz folded his legs in front of him and rubbed at his wrists. "What makes you say that?"
"Those blisters you've got will turn into these if you've been at sea long enough." Buck turned his palm and ran a finger across the calluses at the base of his fingers.
Diaz fell silent as he digested the information. He mulled it over for a while, long enough for the fire to need stirring twice more. Buck was content to enjoy the quiet. It was best not to rush the process. Eventually, Diaz looked sideways at him.
"What happens if I say no?"
"We set sail tomorrow, leave you in Port Royal." There were plenty of ways to find work there, and plenty of crews to join, if sailing was truly his calling.
Diaz challenged him with raised eyebrows. "You really won't kill me?"
Buck eyed him from head to toe and shook his head. "Not unless you give me a reason to."
His dark eyes darted rapidly across Buck's face, searching for any hint of humor. He didn't find any.
"What if I say yes?"
Buck's lips twitched, and this time he allowed himself a small smile. He held the other man's gaze in the low light. "Then I have my work cut out for me."