(Name's) POV

I pace, anxiously, back and forth in front of the makeshift Infirmary's door, biting my thumb nail to ground myself; I hadn't seen either of the men since they were taken into Toby's care. I was informed that Kirkland was injured more severely out of the two, but thanks to our amazing doctor, he had been stabilized fairly quickly.

I am just awaiting the ok to check on them for myself.

The door creaking open breaks my zoning out, and I look up, making eye contact with an exhausted Toby. Although both patients are in good enough condition, taking care of the sick and wounded is a lot of work. "How are you doing?" I walk over to him, reaching up to place my hand on his forehead. "You need to be sure you're not overworking yourself. What shall we do if you end up bedridden?"

"I assure you, (Name), I am quite alright," he chuckles in response. "Even if I were to find myself confined to my bed, I have enough confidence in your knowledge and skills to know that the three of us would be well taken care of."

I scoff, sarcastically, "I'm glad someone recognizes what I do."

"You've been out here pacing for hours. Would you like to check on them?" I nod. "Would you mind changing Arthur's bandage for me?" I find myself hesitantly nodding once more. He smiles, opening the door for me and I walk in, quiet as possible as to not disturb the two, who are both asleep. "Abel will be released from my care when he wakes up, and will most likely be put in the actual infirmary for now so I can monitor him before he's placed back in the cell. Arthur will remain here for a few more days," he informs me before shutting the door.

I make my way to Kirkland's bedside, and begin checking his symptoms. "No fever," I make a mental note as I place the back of my hand to his forehead, the strong from his eyepatch rubbing against my skin. I stare at him; I'd never been able to take in his features before. I know that he is the notorious Pirate King, but this man doesn't look like a gruff pirate to me— he reminds me more of a nobleman from my history books, or perhaps a haughty prince from my childhood bedtime stories. When I break from my thoughts, I find my fingertips brushing against the fabric of the eyepatch, and notice something peeking out from underneath.

A scar...?

Everything in me wants to remove the patch and get a better look, but I choose to continue my check up. I press two fingers to his neck, counting his heart rate, before beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt to reveal his, faintly bloodied, wrapped torso. I decide to grab a knife and cut the bandages off, as to not disturb him too much. I grab the dagger from my boot and pull at the bottom of the bandages by his hips, lifting it enough to slide the blade underneath without touching his skin. Gently, I saw at the cloth until I reach the top and peel them back to reveal the wound, which Toby had, so tactfully, stitched up. Kirkland is lucky it was a very clean cut, otherwise it would not have been so easily mended. I walk over and gab the bucket of water and rag he had left for me and strain the water from the cloth before pressing it, ever so slightly, to the wound. He winces, his eyebrows scrunch up and I see him bite his inner cheek. "I'm sorry, Captain. Toby asked me to change your bandages, so I have to clean it."

"It's alright," he groans. "It just stings, is all."

"Well, you have been through worse, I'm sure," I whisper back, taking a quick glance at the eyepatch again.

"That I have," he chuckles quietly. "Yet, any sort of  pain in my midsection, I cannot stand."

We sit in silence for a few moments, the only sounds filling the room are Abel's quiet snores, and the water dripping from the rag into the bucket when I re-wet it. This is the most civilized, normal conversation we have ever had. "Alright, I'm going to need you to sit up so I can re-wrap your wound." He lets out a dreaded sigh, and I place my hand on the back of his shoulder, assisting him as he sits up. I reach over to the table nearby and grab the wound dressing, unraveling it a bit so I can start wrapping it around his torso. My arms reach around his back, handing the cloth to each other so I can wrap it around the front. Every time I do so, however, I just about get a face full of the man's chest. He is surprisingly muscular, though it makes sense: he is a pirate. I wrap it around again, glancing up at him to see him glaring at the wall, the tips of his ears bright red. I sharply turn away, deciding that the amount I have wrapped will do just fine. After tying off the end, I help him lie back down, checking his temperature with my hand once more. "Your temperature has gone up," I say in a concerned voice.

"It's hot as Hell in this bloody room."

"Shall I open the window?"

"Please." I walk over to the little circular window on the wall and pull it open, a gush of the cold ocean air hitting me in the process. I gaze outside for a moment before the Captain speaks up. "Thank you, (Name)."

My heart pounds. "You're welcome, Kirkland."

I end up finding a cozy spot on the floor in the corner to give them some privacy, resting within a vicinity. My eyes lazily glance around the room, noticing that Toby's room is the plainest of every room I've been in so far. No fancy jewels or trinkets, and no lavish paintings or gold. In fact, it was rather empty, only containing a bed and a set of drawers. Most of the space remains unused.

He spends most of his time in the infirmary— I wouldn't be surprised if he just slept there when he doesn't have a patient.

Although it was empty, it was warm; not in a temperature kind of way, but the energy. You can tell that a kind soul inhabits this space— a person you can go to at any time of night and be welcomed with open arms.

Toby is one of the kindest men I have ever met.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, I hear the door to the room creak open, and the man of the hour peeks into the room. "How are things going?" He whispers, glancing over the two.

"They're going well," I respond, quietly. He nods and gestures for me to follow him out in the hallway. Doing as he say, I rise to my feet and follow him out the door, which he closes gently behind us.

"Abel should be waking up any moment now. I'll move him to the infirmary as soon as he does. Do you mind staying with one of them overnight? Believe it or not, it is quite difficult for me to be in two places at once."

"Of course," I giggle.

"Which would you feel most comfortable staying with?"

Without hesitation, I say, "Kirkland."

I see the hesitation I should've had flash across his face for a split second before it disappears behind a soft smile and a nod. "That's perfect."

"(Name)?" A voice calls out from behind the door.

Toby opens the door and he rushes into the room, "Abel, good to see you're awake."

"I thought I heard (Name's) voice," he groans.

Toby shoots a fleeting glance back at me, and I shake my head slightly. "Ah, you've just missed her. She is helping Jack rustle up the crew for supper. Can I get you anything?"

"Sure," Abel winces as the Doctor throws an arm around him to help him get to his feet, and they begin making their way towards me.

"We're going to put you into the infirmary for now," Toby says to him, gesturing with his head for me to move my ass and hide. I rush down the opposite side of the hallway and jump behind the corner, watching them as they turn away from me and head towards the infirmary.

"Will you tell (Name) to visit me?" The man's voice is hushed and pained as they walk through the door.

"If she has the time," Toby reassures him, closing the door behind them. With a sigh of relief, I make my way back to Toby's room, finding myself trapped in the same corner from earlier, just staring at Kirkland as he sleeps.

He looks much kinder when he's asleep.

The corners of my lips upturn into a slight smile as I gaze at him— I didn't notice the splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose earlier.

How cute.

CUTE??

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms. "Get ahold of yourself, you idiot," I mutter at myself in disbelief.

"You shouldn't talk to yourself like that," a raspy voice speaks up. My head shoots up and I make eye contact with an amused Kirkland, who is now sitting up. "Self loathing is a man killer."

"I am no man," I snarl at him, crossing my arms.

A smirk crosses his face. "Indeed, you are not."

We sit in a dreadful, but light, awkward silence, as though we are waiting for the other person to speak. I take a deep breath, and I see his eyebrows raise in anticipation. "I noticed you have a scar underneath your patch."

"How unusual," he teases. "You want to know what happened."

I upturn my nose, "No, actually, I do not."

"I'll at least tell you that I am blind in this eye, since you are clearly curious," he taps the patch.

"I never asked!"

A chuckle escapes his lips, and I freeze. Conversating with this man feels... easy. Why does it feel easy?

"Don't act like you didn't want to know," he looks at me, his eye half closed in an all-knowing stare. I turn away from him to hide from his gaze, but through my peripheral, I can tell it was still locked on me. "Would you like me to take my patch off?"

"No," I raise my voice in an attempt to hide the tremble of embarrassment riddling it.

"Would you mind if I took it off, then? It is quite uncomfortable at the moment."

The tips of my ears are burning up. "Do whatever you want." I, again, watch through my peripheral as he raises his arms and begins undoing the knot holding his eyepatch, and my breath hitches in my throat as I see it fall into his lap.

He breathes a sigh of relief, "That's much better. It's a nasty scar, so I would avoid looking at me, if possible."

"You have nothing to worry about," I grit my teeth, resting my chin in my hand. Everything in me wants to look at him— my curiosity will kill me, one day.

He settles back into his bed, "Toby's told me the scar isn't as bad as I think it is, but when I look at myself in a mirror," I hear his voice waver, "I loathe it." I slowly turn my head towards him to find he had rolled over onto his side, facing the opposite direction. "I should be thankful for it, though," his voice rueful, I see his hand raise to cover his eye. "My eye was unsightly to begin with."

"I'm sure it's not all that bad," I muster up the most sympathetic thing I can think to say.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. You were always very easy to talk to."

"We've never really talked before, Kirkland."

"Artie."

I am taken aback. "... What?"

"You used to call me Artie."

"What are you talking about?"

He doesn't respond. I sit there, waiting for him to say something— anything. So much of my life seems to be a mystery that everyone but me knows. I stand and walk over to the bed, right up to him, and kneel beside him to look him in the eye. He lays there, his eyes shut tight. The scar was not ugly at all, though you can tell it was a deep wound. The scar tissue was slightly darker than his skin, with a more pinkish hue. Without thinking, I raise my hand and begin tracing it from its highest point, just above his brow, to the lowest, below his cheekbone. His face visibly softens under my touch, and his eyes fluttered open in surprise, revealing a familiar, unique set of eyes.

One, a bright emerald green.

The other, a soft, pale blue.

I fall backwards onto the floor, pushing myself away from him as he throws the covers off of him to follow me. "(Name)? Are you alright?" He reaches out and grabs my hand out of concern.

"G-Get away from me!" I yank my arm from his grasp, continuing to back up until my back hits the wall. He stands there for a moment, staring at me, confused as to what he should do. My head is spinning, recalling the little boy who hid me in the dumbwaiter that day— the boy who saved my life.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" I manage to un-blur my vision just enough to see the sad look on his face, and he takes a few steps closer, sitting down across from me. He peers into my face, his gaze moving from one eye to the other, "Are you alright?"

I shake my head, my breaths becoming even quicker. My heart pounds in my ears as an intense wave of anxiety washes over me.

What else do I not remember? What happened that day? Why was I there? Why was Kirkland there? Who were those men who did this to him? Why did they do it?

My mind was racing, flooding my consciousness with thoughts of who, what, when, where, and why, when all of a sudden, Kirkland pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around my body tighter than anyone ever had before.

And just like that, my thoughts went silent.

"It's ok, (Name). You are ok."

I listened to the beating of his heart, and the vibrations of his voice as he runs his fingers through my hair. He repeats my name, over and over, and I melt into his embrace.

When I finally open my eyes, I find myself still in Kirkland's arms, his fingers still running through my hair. He somehow managed to get me into his lap, straddling him. I slowly raise my head, gently pushing on his chest to put some space between us. "H-How long have we been like this?"

He looks at up at me, a slight hint of mischief in his eyes as he whispers, "Quite awhile, actually." I begin moving my legs to stand up, but he grabs my waist and holding me in his lap. "Just a little while longer. Please."

I stare at him. He has this weird look in his eye that I hadn't seen from him before. What is it? Desperation? Pleading?

Longing?

I decide to oblige his request, and I kind of shrink into myself, beginning to overthink the situation. He speaks up, "I hadn't seen you since that night."

My eyebrows crease in concern and regret. "Why did you do it? Why did you protect me?"

"I couldn't just leave you," he insists.

"But," I raise my right hand to his left cheek, gently grazing my thumb over the scar, "this happened to you because of me."

"I didn't like that eye anyways," he says, a bad attempt at making me feel better, I'm sure.

"... It's beautiful."

His eyes widen in disbelief as if he had never been told that before. I feel his arms wrap around my waist entirely, pulling me closer and he firmly presses his lips to mine. I attempt to pull back in surprise, but he swiftly grabs each side of my face, gently holding me in place. The warmth of his hands and the passion behind his kiss ease me into him, and I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, in turn, pulling him closer to me.

I've never felt this way before.

He pulls out of the kiss, and just stares at me, his cheeks a soft pink as he strokes my cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry, I should have asked first."

"I would have said no."

"Really?" He raises his eyebrow, teasingly. I smile with a slight shake of my head. An amused chuckle escapes his lips and he, once again, grabs the back of my neck and gently pulls me closer, placing his forehead to mine. "You will be the death of me."