With his position as the Captain he could have stayed safely onboard, reviewing charts and taking reports, while the actual rescue efforts were underway. The sea at this time of year could be tricky, though, particularly for a small boat trying to maneuver in tight patterns as was required for rescue efforts, and besides being the Captain he was one of the most skilled sailors onboard. He'd gone down in the rescue boats as often as he could, accordingly. After the tedium of the morning — being in port and waiting for the survivors to disembark when what he really wanted was to be out again — he was eager to go down, to feel like he was being of particular use. They'd sailed south again as fast as they could, while Alfred sent off a report about the offload in Plymouth, and just as he was finishing one of the lookouts shouted that he'd seen a flash of light on the horizon.

It was a good thing that whoever it was had signaled them, because otherwise they never would have seen either the survivor or the little island they were stranded on, but they changed course immediately to steer the Voyager towards them and readied one of the small boats. Alfred was working mostly on adrenaline as he tacked it closer to the little island, but when he'd gotten close enough to recognize the survivor in question he jumped to his feet, the till of the ship entirely forgotten.

He hadn't allowed himself to entertain the notion that Pablo could have been lost at sea, because that wasn't really what the two of them did, dying in shipwrecks, but after they'd found group after group of survivors and not discovered his friend, he had been beginning to worry. Now, he was grinning ear to ear, while his crew scrambled to take over the helm he'd so unceremoniously abandoned.

"Oi!" he yelled, standing at the bow of the little boat and waving his arm at Pablo and still smiling wide. "I was beginning to think you'd died!"

Pablo Medina Roberto Devine