My first posted fanfiction, but not my first fanfiction. I am hoping this will be the first of many. This is just something I thought up one night. It's rated M for future chapters, which will contain sex scenes. The structure of my story is each chapter is 750 words long, and whilst being a continuous thread, they are in fact seperate. I have no beta, so any spelling mistakes etc are my own fault, although, I have edited it quite thoroughly. I welcome reviews (both negative and positive). Thanks

A Captain's Grief

The fleet was silent. Every looking glass was attuned to the scene laid before them, every eye strained to see the destruction. The captain of the Pennywise, the second largest of the East India Company's ships, stood motionless. Beneath the low rimmed hat, chocolate eyes brimmed with uncontrolled tears. Flyaway black locks lay neatly tucked under a stiff powdered white wig; a tall, feminine form hidden beneath the layers of fine cloth.

"Sir! The Endeavour, she's going down!"

No reply spilt from her trembling lips. Her crew watched in disbelief as the once proud ship erupted in fire. The air that had previously been permeated by thunderous cracks of cannon fire was now filled with the shrieks of splitting wood and screaming crewmen. A pungent aroma of burning wood, sail and flesh affronted their senses. All mouths were open as the two pirate ships disappeared in the opposite direction, leaving naught but smouldering rubble. Their sickening cheers joined the sound of destruction, only adding to the pain of those left behind.

Her first officer, Peterson, ran to her side, his piercing green gaze in the direction of the fleet, "Captain, the rest of the fleet are retreating…"

Red hot anger replaced the blood in her veins. Her reply emerged as naught but a venomous hiss, "do you wish to follow them?"

"We will follow your orders sir."

Removing her hat, she pierced his green eyes with her brown. If he was surprised by her tears, he did not show it. His expression radiated passivity. "There are survivors in that wreckage," she struggled after a while, "we should save as many as possible."

"Aye, aye, captain."

Peterson relayed her orders to the rest of the crew, who seemed genuinely happy to be helping. She knew why; since they had set out from England many months before, the Endeavour and the Pennywise had been like sister ships. The crews were close; many had family aboard the Endeavour.

The terrible smell increased as they neared, but this was nothing compared to the site. Bloody, unconscious men hung like rag dolls from floating debris. A few were struggling in open water, with nothing to hold onto. With sharp eyes she searched the wreckage for his body. She could not find it.

Handing the wheel to a training ensign, she slid down the stairs onto the deck, "Men, ready the boats. Gather as many survivors as you can."

Peterson rushed up beside her, his pale cheeks flushed, "we'll have to hurry. We just saw a couple go under."

She bit her lip, tasting the bitter tang of blood as teeth pierced flesh, "keep a look out for the pirates, Lieutenant. I'm going with the boats."

"Is that the best idea Captain?"

"Just look out for the pirates."

The boat felt insubstantial beneath her, the unfortunate worms of nervousness tortured her stomach. As each sailor was brought aboard, new hope dawned within her. A drenched man climbed into the boat before her, a man she recognised clearly.

"Mr Groves?"

"Cap'n Rochester," sputtered the man, tilting his head in recognition, "thankyou for coming back for us."

She nodded, "did-!"

Groves predicted the rest of her question, "Lord Beckett stayed aboard, Ma'am."

"Stayed aboard?" Bile rose in her throat.

"Aye…we abandoned, but he chose to stay."

Silence reigned. The mere look of sympathy in the man's blue eyes was bad enough. She had seen the explosion; no one could have survived that. Chose to stay…the words were painful enough. He had chosen to stay, to die; leaving her simply so he could regain some sort of farce redemption. Usually suppressed emotions welled within her; betrayal, grief, bitter sadness.

"I'm sorry ma'am."

She attempted a smile, but it shook on her face and was swiftly erased. Often, she had pondered what it would be like under this circumstance. One had to prepare themself; life at sea was a dangerous one. In her musings, she had imagined that her mind would be alive with grief that she would wail, screech and become an uncontrollable banshee. But reality was so much worse. She could not even cry; her tear ducts were as dry as a drought struck desert. Instead of physicality, she was merely left with a horrible dulling pain in her chest, a violent illness in her gut.

But then struck the determination…he could still be alive! Miracles could happen; she had certainly experienced that on this ill-fated Caribbean misadventure. She had to find him, even if he was dead.