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Pirate!England x Reader
Vehemently
Part Four

Your morning began with yet another unfamiliar face glaring down you. You initially lurched backwards, but you tried to glaze it over with a smooth recovery. You were just full of grace and charm, weren’t you?

“You’re nothing much,” said the newcomer, who was probably also nothing much, but you could not tell what was under his stupidly thick coat.

“Good morning,” you said. You felt no need for your first words of the day to be negative. When he didn’t respond, save for crouching to see you at eye level, you asked, “What are you doing here? Do you not have some other task to do?”

“Not really, since I’m the quartermaster.”

Oh, bugger.

“Why you? I just…I don’t see it.”

“Perhaps you need better glasses.”

He stiffened. “You’ve got spark,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin, “but I still don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” you said, “What is going to happen to me?”

“I’m not sure it is in my authority to tell you.”

“You’re the bloody quartermaster.”

“True, but that’s an occupation, not who I am.”

You were getting a smidgen agitated. “Who are you, then?”

“I’m Alfred,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “and I’m not much of anyone.”

“Well, brilliant, because, according to you, I’m not much of anything, either. Do you always have such a negative outlook?”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

You were running out of patience, and you had not been awake for ten minutes. “You know nothing of England’s plans for me?”

Alfred frowned. “You called him by his formal title.”

He was getting completely off subject, and you were not having any of it. “Do you not know anything?”

He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know all the details… It is not—”

“Your business to say,” finished the captain as he gradually descended the stairs, making the lantern by the door swing with every step. He leant against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Alfred. Do try to keep your miry hands off of Barbados. You are dismissed.”

Alfred jumped to his feet and left, wiping his fingers on his trousers as he did so.

Once again, the unbreakable eye contact began as you rose to speak to him. He made you so uncomfortable that you felt like you needed Naomi’s fan.

“I trust your night was agreeable.” He tugged on one of his gloves.

“I trust yours was arduous, judging by the visage you’ve decided to wear today.” You smiled almost amicably at him. It was true that he looked as if he had been awake all night; he had the same expression that Spain always had on a rough day: eyebrows raised in an effort to keep his eyes open, which were blinking profusely, and bags beneath his eyes—small, but still accentuated more than when you last saw him.

His mouthed twitched.

“It may interest you to know that I have been arranging the plans for your near future.”

“It does, in fact. And what might my future hold?” You were already getting tired of his tone.

“I don’t think you deserve that information.” He looked away from you at last, but, to your disappointment, it was from airy confidence instead of intimidation.

“England,” you said, trying to sound menacing.

He scowled. “You will address me as ‘Captain’.”

“I will not address you at all.”

“You will address me as ‘Captain’, he said, a bit firmer this time. He clutched his hands behind his back and began pacing almost leisurely. “Despite being in the possession of a powerful country, Barbados, do not think for one moment that you will benefit from this.”

He was insane, surely. “I have not.”

“I am not going to form an alliance with you—or court, as you have so disgustingly sweetened it. I am going to use you as protection against Antonio. As long as he knows that I have what is his, he will not attack me,” he told you, his voice even and circumspect.

“I’m not his.”

“Do you not think he only feels for you this way?” He stifled a yawn.

You ducked your head, hands clenched. You didn’t want to think about it. “I don’t—”

“No. Antonio will be desperate to have you again, so I believe he will do whatever it takes to win you.”

“I am not an object,” you spat, slamming a fist onto a bar of the cell, “I am not something over which to fight.”

“True,” England mused, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck, “but you cannot do anything to stop it from happening.”

“Is there not?”

“No. You are nothing more than a pawn in my game of chess. No one cares about you—they care about your importance to Antonio, for if one holds you in his grasp, one does the same with Antonio.”

Your jaw shook. You could not say anything. You felt like if you did you would start crying—which you just didn’t get. You were scared, but you weren’t weeping-scared at this point.

“You will stay here under lock and key. You will be closely supervised, and you will not leave for anything. If not, I will see to it that the taste of your own blood is your only inkling of sustenance and that you forget when dolour was not your natural state.”

You crossed your arms, blanching a little. He had a bit of a silver tongue, but it was certainly not saying sweet words.

“Do I make myself clear?”

You swallowed before answering. “You have made it clear that you cannot do anything to harm me.”

His jaw twitched. “Is that so?”

“You can’t do anything to me, because you need me. You need me safe, so Spain will not do anything to you,” you said, sounding a lot more confident than you were, “You’ve nothing but an empty threat.”

“Well. It seems, Barbados, that you have been mistaken. I have much, much more than hollow words in store for you. And I can prosper well enough even with Antonio’s attacking me, because I’ve been doing well all this time. They are, however, quite irksome, and I do wish for them to stop,” England said, as if he were explaining it to a child, “You’ll make that happen.” He pulled off the glove on his right hand. Your handkerchief was still tied around it.

You narrowed your eyes.

“You are protection,” he said, tightening the knot, “and nothing more. Don’t think too highly of yourself.” He tugged the glove back over it. “I am finished here. Good day, Barbados.” He turned to leave.

“Wait, Eng—”

“Do not.” He paused, one foot on the second step.

“Wait,” you said, “Is that it? Is that all the explanation you’re going to give me?”

He placed his hand on the lantern hanging by the doorframe, the light swaying at his touch. “I owe you nothing; I shall give you nothing. I have already told you more than you deserve.” He moved up a few stairs before you stopped him again.

“Why do you only call me by my title? Why not your crew?”

England glanced over his shoulder at you. “Because they’re people.” With that, he blew out the lantern by the door and jogged up the stairs, leaving you in the dark in more ways than one.