The waves were choppy and the fishing boat skipped along over the top of them before splashing heavily into the valley between each swell. Salt spray blasted up into the air, crashing down over the deck like water from a sprinkler. The crew of the medium-sized fishing boat were chatting happily among themselves. They weren't bothered in the least by the overcast sky or the rough waters. Their conversation instead seemed to be centered around the large haul in their cargo hold and how much beer they were going to consume when they made it back to La Bonita.

As captain of the fishing vessel, Marcos Espinoza stood at the helm. He was mostly sheltered from the ocean spray and whipping wind by the cabin where the helm, radio, and navigation systems were all housed. It wasn't a very large room; even with Marcos as the only occupant, it was already rather cozy. He peered through the front window and nodded to himself as the shape of Catalejo island grew larger on the horizon.

The small island nation was tucked just south of the Florida Keys, just north of Cuba, and just west of the Bahamas. Their tiny little rock didn't have much to offer in terms of land or raw resources so after Spain had granted their independence nearly one hundred years ago, they'd managed to avoid attracting the attention of pretty much everyone else. Now, most of the island's residents made their living working in the tourist industry. However, there were still some like Marcos and his crew who made their living off the bounty of the sea.

"Here we go boys, prepare to offload!" Marcos called over his shoulder as he slowed the boat and brought it around to the marina on the leeward side of the island. Here, sheltered from the winds, the waves were much less violent and the boat remained fairly steady. The six crew members jumped to their feet and began opening up the hold of the boat as Marcos maneuvered them towards a large truck that was parked at the end of one of the docks.

This was, by far, Marcos' least favorite part of the day. As he cut the engine and the crew began to offload their catch, he let out a deep sigh of discontent. If he could afford it, he would have owned two boats. One for fishing and one for living on. Or one large one that could accommodate both needs. As it was, coming home and heading on to dry land at the end of the day wasn't something he ever found himself looking forward to.

"Why don't you head to Guillermo's with us?" asked Teddy, popping his head into the cabin as the rest of the crew finished unloading. "Ruben's buying."

It was tempting. It had been a while since Marcos had patronized Guillermo's bar and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent mug of beer. But he'd learned his lesson about drinking with crew mates a long time ago. They were employees first and friends second.

He couldn't afford to replace someone if they decided to leave after a drunken argument or, worse, a confession of attraction. Marcos rubbed at his eyes as he tried to shake the memory of that infamous meltdown that had robbed him of three crew members and left him feeling broken hearted. It wasn't something he cared to repeat.

"I've got to catch up on some paperwork," said Marcos as he picked up a nearby clipboard and waved it as if that were the answer to Teddy's question.

"Uh huh." Teddy rolled his eyes. Out of his current crew, Teddy had been with him the longest. He well remembered the misadventure that had taken place the last time Marcos had deigned to drink with his crew. "It's not going to kill you to unwind a little."

"No, it won't," agreed Marcos, flipping through the sheets that logged today's catches. "Which is why, after I'm done with this, I intend to take a long hot bath and finish off the last of the Herrera ale I've got."

"That's the kind of thing you should save for a special occasion," muttered Teddy. "They're not making any more of that, you know."

"It's not like the brewery is gone." Marcos shrugged as he shoved the clipboard into his backpack along with a few other miscellaneous items.

"No, they sold the brewery. It's not Herrera anymore. It's someone else now and it might be the same recipes, but it won't be the same brews. You really should save that stuff. Come drink the cheap crap with the rest of us." Teddy clapped Marcos on the shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"Fine, one drink, but that's it. I'm not sticking around, and as soon as I'm done I'm heading home," relented Marcos at last. "Because this paperwork really does need to be done."

"Whatever," said Teddy, turning on his heel and waving his hand dismissively. There were definitely times when Marcos doubted whether or not his crew actually thought of him as an employer or not. Teddy's attitude certainly didn't help things.

It was beginning to rain as the crew buttoned up the hold and Marcos piloted the boat to its slip. The wind had picked up slightly and clawed at Marcos' jacket as he climbed out onto the dock. He glanced skyward, blinking against the oncoming torrent of rain. The rainy season was here in full swing and the meteorologists were tracking a hurricane that was barreling across the Atlantic ocean right now. Unless something drastic happened, it would make landfall on Catalejo in a few days.

Marcos patted his pockets checking for the radio he always carried.

"Forget something?" Teddy asked as he handed off the large, handheld, radio plastered with the crest of the island's coast guard unit. "You really shouldn't go leaving that thing around. What if there was a call?"

"It's been within two feet of me all day. It's not like I was going to leave it behind." He secured the radio to his belt and started down the dock towards the marina entrance.

Catalejo Island's coast guard operated mostly as a water-based first responder to emergency situations. Their calls were generally limited to people who had gotten stranded, run out of fuel, or were lost. Until recently they had operated as a strictly volunteer organization. After the recent drug busts and the pending formal alliance with the US, a more permanent unit had been set up to patrol the waters around the island and look out for potential drug smugglers.

While the unit had been set up to coordinate with the existing coast guard, the reality was that they had taken over most of the coast guard's resources and left the already thinly stretched unit with even less. Their dispatch crew and radio operators had been re-tasked with handling communication between task force patrols. This meant the only thing the actual coast guard had to process emergency calls was that little radio on Marcos' belt.

"Look, I've been telling you," began Teddy as he fell into step beside Marcos, "you need to submit a formal request to the president. This kind of thing is important and if anyone deserves to be given a permanent position with actual compensation, it's you."

The rest of the crew were already filing out through the gate at the marina entrance. The truck with their load of fish was pulling up the loading dock and out towards the main road. A few other people scurried about, tying down their boats and stashing their equipment. It was the sort of calm before the storm that made Marcos' skin tingle. Unlike most people, he came alive during weather like this. Instead of frightening him, it lit a fire within him. He couldn't imagine sitting idly by watching the rain from the safety of a storm shelter. If he wasn't part of the coast guard he would've been out in the storms helping tow people to safety anyway. It was just who he was.

"I've already told you, they increased the coast guard funding when they set up the merger with the anti-drug task force. I doubt they're going to give us more money just because we ask," Marcos said with a shrug as he and Teddy stepped through the marina gate.

Main Street spread out to the left and right in front of them. Down the street to their right was the police station, directly across from them was a diner and several clubs. Normally as you progressed down Main Street to the left, the density of the crowds increased. A large open air market would fill the streets with tourists packed shoulder to shoulder.

Since the weather had begun to turn, the outdoor stalls had packed in their wares. The announcement of the incoming hurricane had most of the tourists heading home. An announcement from the president had required the hotels to send patrons that had booked stays for the day of the hurricane home. There had been a minor bubble of negative publicity, but it had quickly died down when President Fernandez shared his memories of the devastating hurricane that had cost the island so many lives twenty-five years ago. While there had been many such storms since that day, none had ever reached that one in the level of destruction it had caused. He was determined to do everything in his power to try and avoid a repeat of that day.

Right now, the tourist population on the island was at an all time low and it would only decrease further as the storm drew closer. La Bonita looked very nearly like a ghost town.

"Oye, Marcos!" a familiar voice drew Marcos' attention. One of the dock hands was approaching him pushing a wheelbarrow with several bulging burlap sacks stacked inside.

"What's up, Tomas?" Marcos asked as the dockhand set the wheelbarrow down and mopped the rain from his brow.

"Look, I hate to ask this, but you know how George broke his leg? He was s'posed to deliver this over to Pearl's shop. I'd do it, but I've got so much to take care of back here. I was hoping you wouldn't mind running it up there for me?" Tomas looked a bit sheepish for asking and Marcos got the distinct impression that the other man might not have been as busy as he was letting on.

Marcos glanced sidelong at Teddy and could see his crewmate already opening his mouth to protest. Really, in all honesty, the last thing Marcos wanted right now was to go and drink with the crew. If he could get out of it by pushing a wheelbarrow full of God-only-knows-what up the street to Pearl's boutique then he was going to do it.

"No problem," he said with a grin before Teddy could speak.

"Great!" Tomas looked relieved. "Just take it around to the back door, there's a guy named Raphael that'll take it from you." The dock worker was already waving farewell and making his way back towards the marina office.

"Smooth," said Teddy as Marcos moved to take the handles of the wheelbarrow. "If you didn't want to drink with us you could've just said so.”

"I did say so. Several times. Vigorously." Marcos met Teddy's gaze with a frown.

"I'll never forgive you if you drink all that Herrera ale by yourself," Teddy said with a deadpan expression. "That stuff—"

"I know. It's for a 'special occasion.' I got it, Teddy. Now go catch up with others and let me get on with this." Marcos waved him off.

Teddy grudgingly turned and headed up the street towards where the rest of the crew were waiting for him.

While he knew Teddy was only trying to include him in the fun, Marcos couldn't help but be a little annoyed by the entire situation. He hadn't wanted to go out with them in the first place. Teddy had guilted him into it. Then when he managed to get out of it somehow Teddy was the one that was upset by the whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, Marcos hefted the wheelbarrow and trudged up the street towards the boutique.

Pearl's was located in one of the prime spots on Main Street where the foot traffic would've been thickest on a normal day. Today, a few lone tourists dashed between shops trying to avoid the rain as much as possible. For the most part, however, the streets were empty.

The building was a tall, narrow, brick shop with apartments along the top floor. It was crammed in between several other buildings of similar construction. The shop was open, but a glance through the large windows made it appear as if no one was inside. Intricately carved seashells lined the shelves in the windows, and various other pieces of handmade jewelry sparkled in the light of the displays.

Marcos trundled his load down the narrow alley between the buildings to the small side street that ran behind the shops. A small sign that read, "deliveries" hung over the back door to Pearl's shop.

He knocked confidently and did his best to stand under the eaves of the building as he waited for someone to respond.

It only took a moment for the door to open.

Standing just inside the door was a tall, delicately featured omega with bright green eyes. His skin was abnormally pale for a local. Even the Caucasian or biracial residents of the island usually had some cast of color to their skin. The island was sunny for a large portion of the year after all. Tans of all shades and ruddy complexions were commonplace among locals. This omega, however, looked as if he might have been a ghost.

His bright green eyes and jet black hair were such a contrast to his skin tone that Marcos was at a loss for words for a moment.

"Are you just going to stand their wasting both our times or are you going to say why you're here?" the omega asked abruptly. He sounded highly annoyed as he narrowed his eyes at Marcos. "Well?"

"Tomas told me to drop this stuff off with someone called Raphael?" Marcos quickly recovered and gestured back towards the wheelbarrow sitting in the rain.

"Great, now they're all full of water. Couldn't you at least have put a tarp over it?" the omega groaned as he receded back into the shop. It was now that Marcos noticed he had been barefoot and his footsteps made almost no sound on the wood floor of the shop.

"I don't even know what the hell is in those bags, okay? Tomas asked me to bring them over, I did." Marcos raised his voice slightly so that it carried through the open door of the shop into the darkened interior of the backroom.

The omega, who Marcos assumed must've been Raphael, returned a moment later. He'd donned a pair of rain boots and a jacket that was much too large for him. Without another word, he stepped out into the rain and picked up one of the burlap sacks. Cradling it in his arms, he carried it back towards the door.

The contents of the sack shifted slightly and clinked together almost musically. Given what he'd seen in the front window of the shop, Marcos assumed they must've been seashells.

There were two more bags left in the wheelbarrow. Marcos hefted one with each hand. It wasn't that he was trying to show off, but working on a fishing boat for the majority of his life had gifted him with strong arms.

"If I wanted your help I would've asked for it," snipped Raphael as Marcos approached the back door of the shop with the bags.

"Sure and normally I would've been fine with letting you do all the work yourself," retorted Marcos as he passed Raphael and entered the backroom of the shop, "but if you hadn't noticed, it's raining and I'd like to get home before I'm chilled to the bone."

"Just set them over there. Carefully." Raphael dismissively waved a hand towards the corner of the room where he had set the other bag. A small heater had been turned on and several towels had been laid out on the floor under the bag.

Marcos did as instructed before straightening and turning back towards the omega. "Are you always this hostile towards new people or am I just special?"