Chapter fifteen - Fire boy and water... boy? (aka The Chapter I Didn't Know What to Name)

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Ryan was, allegedly, the closest thing the ship had to a medic, since the captain was unwilling to pay for the treatment of a professional from the town. But Ryan had returned from the visit to Hayley's much later than expected, and he looked rather like he could do with the attention of a doctor himself. In the place of his usual bright face and strong stature, he was pale and clammy, and he hunched subconsciously in on himself, leaving him a withered and tired form who would most likely be of very little help to my sprained wrist.

Gerard was next in line for the role of ship's doctor, to my great displeasure. He dragged me to my room to examine my wrist, a small satchel under his arm, but he hastily turned around the moment we got to the door, and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction. I lagged behind, craning my neck to hear what could be going on in my bunk that would deter Gerard so easily.

As it turned out, Dewees was in there with a hooker from the town, clearly taking advantage of the fact that we were docked. And taking advantage of something else too, but I tried not to think about that.

So Gerard shuffled along the hall and I followed him to his room, which, to my immense relief, was blissfully free of prostitutes and nude bunkmates. I hesitantly sat down on the edge of his bunk, ignoring (or at least making an attempt to ignore) the memories from weeks ago surfacing again: Gerard's mouth on my neck as he pressed me against the bed, my hands fisted in his hair, warmth and white fire blossoming between us like a shower of petals in summer.

The medical kit was crude, but Gerard's fingers were nimble, swiftly pressing along the inside of my wrist with a firm and steady touch. I tried to avoid making a sound when he pressed against a spot that sent a twinge down my arm, but he insisted that he had to hear if it hurt– knowing where the damage was was a good thing, it would let him know what was wrong and what he should do.

Half an hour later, I left Gerard's room with a slightly shabby makeshift bandage, and a diagnosis of a sprained wrist. It was certainly no more than what I'd expected– so-called 'treatment' I could have performed myself in a fraction of the time, and an absolute guess of a diagnosis. Quality service from a quality man, I thought wryly as I trudged down the corridor to the stock room.

Hideously conscious of the fact that most of the lemons had probably come into contact with Ryan's backside, I made no hesitation in grabbing a biscuit from the shelf on the opposite side of the room. I wandered up onto the deck with my biscuit, assuming that by now the captain had probably forgotten my ban from the deck and the whole disastrous ordeal with the shredded sail, and perched on a step near the bow of the ship. The sea was like a summer sky dotted with stars despite the daylight. Sharp blue, combed with frothy clouds, spraying rain upwards like the world had turned on its back. I munched at my biscuit, and quietly let the scene take my mind over, and wash away all the stress I was suffering on. It was like the opposite of pathetic fallacy; the ocean was the reverse of my mind and my body. I was a spinning and turbulent mess, my trains of thought colliding with one another and the waves of my thoughts rising and crashing like an aquatic inferno. The literal sea was a silk sheet. I was water gone wild.

Gerard was fire as he came at me with a dagger and a signature twist of his wrist as he knocked me to the ground in one hit. My injured arm barely even held me back, and we neutralised each other with a casual fight; his flames drowned and my aqua burned out. It was good. Oddly rejuvenating.

But I still couldn't resist teasing. "You ought to be going easy on me," I said as Gerard pressed his dagger against my throat. "I'm injured," I declared melodramatically.

"Bullshit," Gerard laughed. "I don't go easy on anyone, pretty boy."

I scoffed and poked his shoulder. "Not even a poor young cripple?"

He shook his head solemnly. "No. Besides, nobody ordered you come with us to see Hayley, you would have been perfectly fine if you'd stayed on the ship."

"But she was–" I stumbled over my words, exasperated. "It was only common sense to go with you, the woman was going to tell you my secrets– my future, for god's sake."

Gerard glanced down at the ground and then looked back up at me, mumbling, "Scorpion lo–"

I promptly shut him up before he could finish, shoving him in the shoulder, and, killing two birds with one stone, knocking his knife out of his grasp and sending it skidding across the deck. "Don't," I said carefully. "Don't."

I was having enough trouble making sense of all this Parade Island malarkey, there was no need to start delving even further into my future. Especially if it involved Gerard.

Everything was hideously awkward after that. It did mean that there was considerably less hate, but I had to admit, after a couple of weeks I really started to miss our casual fistfights (and dagger fights) and teasing. I missed Gerard, in all honesty. I really was not enjoying tiptoeing around conversations that so much as involved him, then tiptoeing around the ship to avoid crossing paths with him.

I took to spending more time with Dewees. And rum– since drinking was very literally the only thing to do on the ship besides Ryan, I also took to spending a lot of my time in the cargo hold with the rum.

The floor was cold and slightly mouldy, probably owing to the damp sea air, but I liked to curl up in the corner, resting against the barrels, away from the clamour and commotion up on the decks above. It was rare that any sound at all got through, so when I heard a clattering noise from above, I straightened up and glanced around curiously.

I wasn't drunk, so to speak, when Dewees came thundering down the stairs with a wide eyed expression on his face and a candlestick clutched in his hand, but the sounds of swords clashing and men screaming reverberating off the walls were certainly rather sobering.

"It's time," Dewees said breathlessly.

I raised an eyebrow. That was ominous. "Time for what?"

Dewees waved the candlestick emphatically, a look of complete exasperation on his face. "Time to put those combat skills of yours to the fucking test."

I gnawed on my lip. Fighting with Gerard in training was one thing. Attempting to kill multiple strangers simultaneously while sporting several painful grazes and a sprained wrist was pushing it a little. "Is it really that important that I fight? We have plenty of good men, we–"

"No," Dewees said firmly. "We're gonna need all the help we can get." He tossed me the candlestick, then turned away and bowed his head, presumably for dramatic effect. His voice was low when he spoke again: "We've had a little visit from the Hangmen."

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plot before porn lol.

xoxo u pretzels