The Nightingale

Chapter Four

Natasha stood at the ship's front, arms crossed over her chest as she looked out across the water at the beach. She raked her eyes slowly up and down the white sand, searching for any sign of the carnage that had taken place the night before, but no indication existed. The shoreline was clear, waves, likely along with the help of the pirates around her, having washed away all evidence of the brutality, but Natasha could still picture the night perfectly.

Closing her eyes, Natasha shivered as a cold breeze seeped through her thin clothing, and felt herself submerge in the cold ocean waters again. The chill sank into her bones as she pictured herself jumping from Castille's boat into the waters she knew she couldn't navigate, standing before her father again as he attempted to lunge at her with his sword, sinking into the sand as she listened to her father denounce her existence, the last words she would ever hear from him. As the words echoed through her mind, Natasha a whirlwind of emotions clutching at her chest as she tried to figure what she felt about the events of the last few days.

"You are quite calm for somebody who just found out her father's been murdered." Natasha jumped at the sudden sound of the voice, as the ship had been eerily vacant when she left the captain's quarters after he confirmed the fate of her father, finding the small quarters and the captain's lingering gaze too much for her at the moment. The quiet on the ship's deck, the calming sound of the waves crashing against the ship and shore and the fresh air she inhaled deeply the moment she stepped outside gave her the moment of clarity she was seeking, cut short now by the sound of boots crossing the deck towards her. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that the captain had followed her across the length of the ship. She felt a flash of annoyance that he had joined her, and that brief moment grew almost instantaneously as she thought of her father. The knowledge that he left them, that for the last fifteen years she had lived without him when in reality he was still there, the way he had looked at her as if she meant nothing to her. All of it came coursing through her system, and she felt livid.

"My father's been dead to me for some time. I've been through this grief already," Natasha muttered quietly, her response coming through a clenched jaw. Shifting uncomfortably on her feet, she looked back at the shore as the captain came to stand beside her, an arms' length away. He stood straight, his hands clasped together behind his back, and when Natasha glanced sideways at him from the corner of her eye. she could tell that he expected her to carry the conversation between them.

"What's your name?" She turned partially towards him, waiting for an answer, but one didn't come. He didn't even glance at her, his eyes scanning the coast before them. Cocking her head, Natasha turned towards him more. "You expect me to share my life story with you, a stranger I only just met, but you won't tell me your name?" She watched another small smile pull at the corner of his lips, for the briefest of moments, before his expression hardened again.

"I do believe I saved your life that night. An explanation as to why I even needed to is in order." Despite the lightheartedness of her own words, the captain still spoke to her without a sense of humor or warmth in his voice, and Natasha began to wonder if he always came across as so detached and unwavering.

"And I believe I at least deserve the name of the man who so humbly rescued me." She watched him carefully again, but say not even the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. Still, she found herself pleased that her persistence was effective.

"John," he finally answered after a moment, his brown eyes glancing down at her with an intensity that reached Natasha immediately. She felt her skin barb under his gaze, a chill washing over her again, and she turned back away from his to face the water.