The ship plunged with the swell of the sea. A slight vessel, with sharp angled features designed for skipping atop or carving through rough sea caps. And so it did. The prow smashed against the wall of sea foam and ploughed a path through it, like a hot knife through butter. Only a slight jolt was felt by the ship's crew, and a sharp hiss of spray sheered across its flanks.

The day had started as a fine one for sailing. A heady wind, with a gentle swell and nary a cloud in sight. Not so now, but that suited Isabela just fine. Over the roar of the ocean the crew listened intently for her orders as they righted sails and secured themselves to the rigging.

A dark storm front was beginning to creep in from the horizon, and the occasional flash of lightning told the pirate queen all she wanted to know about it. And that was that she didn't want a bar of it.

In all the excitement she'd forgotten about Hawke. Briefly she cursed herself for not having thought of him earlier. Capable as her lover was, he was no sailor, and was no doubt anxious, or – or he could be doing that.

At the prow of the ship she caught his familiar profile against the bucking of the ocean. One strong arm lashed to the railing, and the rest of him just hanging out and over the side of the ship. He was actually straining away from the deck, putting himself perilously close to the sudden swell that rose to meet them.

Hawke's hoop of joy told her that he didn't even care. The bastard was enjoying it. His arms stretched out to meet the tumbling wall of sea foam, as if about to embrace it. Isabela grimaced as the prow of the ship struck the mass, eagerly returning Hawke's embrace as it crashed into him, and swallowed him whole.

The wave washed over the railing and ran down to the mid deck below as the ship seemed about to tip and dive into the depths. Only before righting itself as the ship's prow erupted triumphantly above it, with a now sodden Hawke still standing beside it.

He shook his head violently to clear his eyes of the water and Isabela was stirred by the fierce predatory grin stretched across his face. His thick black mat of hair was plastered to his scalp and hung in long wet strand across his eyes before being lost in his beard.

As the ship rose to crest the swell he looked back to her. It was as if lightning flashed between them as they recognised their shared passion: for the wild, rough, and untameable sea.

The ship plunged again and Isabela laughed as she heard Hawke roar his challenge.

We'll make a sailor of you yet Hawke.