As he stepped inside, the kid was sprawled across the floor, practically swimming in the clothes he’d laid out for him and holding a small metal pick. The little puck had been trying to pick the lock, he was ballsy for sure.

He kicked the door shut behind him, setting the food and utensils on his desk before turning back and locking the cabin shut once more. The kid was still sitting on the floor giving what appeared to be the nastiest look he could muster. The pirate could see it waning on the edges, the kid was getting tired. But the fire in his eyes… it hadn’t wavered once. Good, he thought, he’s going to need that fervor.

He paid no mind to the lump on the floor for a moment, turning back to fill the bowls with stew while it was still hot. He ripped the bread in half and placed a piece in each bowl. He grabbed both bowls before turning to the kid and stretching one out to him.

The kid’s expression changed like the pirate had grown an extra head, before hesitantly, agonizingly slow, he started to reach his hands up. It was like he thought the bowl wasn’t real, or that the pirate would snatch it back any second. He grasped the bowl softly before setting it in his own lap. His eyes looked to the bowl of fresh stew, and back up to the pirates’, wholly perplexed by the exchange.

The pirate pulled out his chair before plopping down into it and lifting his own bowl to show. “Eat up.”

The pirate didn’t wait any longer and dug in. He glanced back at his new charge after a few spoonsful to see the kid taking small, tentative bites. Small nibbling of bread in between. He clearly didn’t have a problem with it but was taking it slow. Soon enough he was tipping the bowl back to sip the broth. He kept on in small spurts until all the broth was gone, before setting his bowl down in front of him.

“Finished already?”

“I think that’s all my stomach can handle for now.”

A breath of silence passed between them. The pirate unknowingly sending the kid a sympathetic look, one much softer than he’d worn thus far between them.

“Thank you for making it, it was very good.”

The kid was intently staring at the grain of floorboards.

“You’re welcome…what’s your name kid?”

The kid hesitated for just a moment before giving in. “Fionnlagh, but everybody always called me Finn. What’s yours?”

The kid was looking up at him now with big, innocent blue eyes. When he wasn’t seething with rage his eyes weren’t so cold and steely. Maybe the pirate really was desperate to get back to the Caribbean because that’s what he found himself comparing the kid’s eyes to. In his defense though, they were a kaleidoscope of gold around the iris, and blues and greens matching the clear Caribbean water, swirling out to the edges.

“What? I am not supposed to speak unless spoken to or somethin’?”

The pirate cleared his throat realizing he’d been staring at the kid’s, no Finn’s, eyes and made him nervous.

“Aleksander, but I usually go by Xan.”

“I noticed the cheap Brit accent was forgotten somewhere and with a real name like that, you can’t be a legitimate English bugger.”

Xan couldn’t hold in the laugh the kid shocked out of him. He was spirited there was no refuting that. 

“Not a bit, I’m half Danish and half Baltic Sea. Although I’m becoming more accustomed to the Caribbean as of late. I’m guessing you’re an Irish lad?”

“Irish from my Da and Scottish from my Mum. How old are you? You don’t look old enough to rank this highly on a ship.”

“I guess I look about 24, 25-ish, right?”

“What do you mean look it? You either are, or you aren't.”

“Ah, but what is the age of a body compared to a mind or a soul, hmm?”

“Sounds like something an old bloke who’s already gone ‘round the bend would say.” It had left Finn’s mouth before he even really thought about the words. Part of him was still worried he might meet a sharp reprimand. Which left him all the more stunned when Xan let out a loud bark of laughter.

It almost sounded melodic to Finn, so all together the pirate had a deep voice that was smooth and soothing and a laugh that sounded like bells. There was something unnatural about him and Finn could feel it. Something about Xan was different, he was more than just a pirate with a soft heart, and Finn was going to find out what.

“Maybe I have, but that is neither here nor there. Now I must ask, how old exactly are you lad?”

“Depends on if you want to know when I was born or how old my spirit is.”

“Cheeky little bugger. Just answer the question.” He was chuckling again, and while he tried to look annoyed, Xan couldn't seem to wipe the grin off of his face.

“Fifteen and a half.”

Xan was a little shocked to tell the truth. He had expected the lad to be closer to 13 or 14, he wasn’t very tall, still twiggy looking and still had the roundness of a child in his face. He supposed Finn could likely be a late bloomer, and that hopefully regular feedings would encourage him to fill out into a strong young man.

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but what happened to your family?”

Finn gave a weak shrug. “It was just Da, Mum and me. They died from the fever about 6 months back, a lot of people did.”

“So, you’ve just been floating around by yourself?”

“I was doing fine in our village, nobody really liked me much, but I didn’t cause any trouble and I could work. About two weeks ago, one night, strangers broke in and kidnapped me. Few days ago, they got in a fight with another group. I don’t really know what went on, someone knocked me out and the next thing I knew I was riding in the back of that fat lard’s busted cart.”

But for all of Finn's feigned nonchalance, Xan could spot a liar from a mile away.