Chapter Text
Smitty’s nose hurt.
Actually, his entire face hurt. The Captain pressed a hand to his cheek gingerly, wincing at the bolt of pain that slashed through his jaw at the lightest brush of his fingertips.
“Oh- you’re awake,” Anthony’s voice was light and breathy with relief, and Smitty squinted, opening his eyes ever so slightly. The gloomy shadows of the dimmed room swallowed the medics features; ringing him in backlight from the deck beyond. As he approached, Smitty allowed his hand to fall back down to the bed, the strain of lifting it only made worse by the heaviness of exhaustion filling his limbs.
“How long?”
“Twelve hours,” Anthony readily informed him, and a sinking feeling bloomed deep in Smitty’s chest. “We went back out to sea to escape the navy, in case enforcers called them. Eli’s steering, John’s doing rigging, I’ve been taking care of you.”
Smitty mulled over the words silently, gaze sweeping across the messy cabin. He needed to sort out this place, really.
“...John?”
Anthony chuckled lightly, and Smitty watched quietly as the man crushed something in his palm and dropped it into a mug of water, stirring it with a simple metal spoon. “He came running in with Eli after the fight-” Smitty remembered that, now that he thought about it. “-and helped us get you back to the ship. Eli went out and talked to him after we got you situated. I don’t know what they said to each other, but it sure as hell seems like he's staying. Still as quiet and brooding as ever, but he hasn’t complained once.”
“Eli’s really taken to the guy,” the Captain murmured absently, attempting to shake the fog from his head as Anthony laid his spoon down and held the mug out in the Captain’s direction. Reluctantly, Smitty leaned forward to take the concoction of water and herbs and winced. He was familiar enough with the taste that he dreaded drinking it.
“You’re the one who says it helps,” Anthony pointed out, and Smitty sighed, pinched his nose, and threw the drink back, swallowing quickly.
“...It does,” he replied after a moment, holding the empty mug out towards the medic as he wiped his mouth. “It’s disgusting though.”
“How long do you need?” Anthony asked, repacking the leftover herbs. There were significantly few, though Smitty decided he would worry about that at a later time.
“Just a couple minutes.”
Already the Captain felt better. His jaw and nose were still sensitive to his touch, and his knuckles ached, but his head was steadily growing clearer; the fatigue draining away.
“...normally it’s not this bad, Smit,” Anthony said softly, and while usually Smitty appreciated the calm tone of his voice, right now he didn’t have the patience to be coddled.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed, sharp anger cutting through his voice as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring anthony's protests and the sudden, sharp pain in his temples. He winced. “I’m guessing it’s because there was such a long gap between...episodes. I lost my tolerance for it.”
“Is that how it works?” Anthony asked doubtfully, offering a hand that Smitty stubbornly ignored as he got to his feet. The Captain stretched, his back and neck popping painfully before he took a few tentative steps. His pace quickened considerably when his legs didn’t give out beneath him.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered, a beat too late, already distracted with the remnants of Anthony’s apothecary on his desk and the pistol and compass lying beside it. “Do we know who that girl was?”
Smitty could sense Anthony’s obvious displeasure at his non-answer and change of topic, but the older man caved as he walked over to his Captain’s side. “No, we don’t. I’ve never seen her before, and we left her at the pier. I can tell you what features I remember?”
“Write it down for me?” Smitty asked hopefully, and Anthony gave him a small, exasperated smile. Smitty felt his frustration ebb slightly. “What? My head still hurts.”
It was a joke, but at the same time Smitty’s head actually ached, and he didn’t feel ready for a long, potentially stressful conversation about his would-be killer. Anthony must have understood, because he sighed long-sufferingly, grabbed a piece of parchment off of the desk and waved the younger away. Smitty smiled at him gratefully before he slipped out of the cabin.
He’d forgotten to grab his coat and the nighttime ocean breeze bit into him instantly through his lightweight undershirt, sending an involuntary shiver through his body. In a way, he was thankful for the cold. It worked wonders to clear the remaining daze from his mind, waking him up after only a few seconds of standing there, surrounded by the sounds of crashing waves and sharply snapping sails.
Wrapping his arms around himself, Smitty slowly began to walk down the deck, making his way towards the bow of the ship. The sky was dark, sprinkled with stars and far in the distance the Captain could see the first tiny fingers of pink poking their way above the black waves.
The air was silent as Smitty finally hit the edge, reaching up to grasp a rope and hoist himself up onto the long support pole sticking off the front of the ship; several feet above the carved lump that was their ‘figurehead’. The rope was rough and worn against his palm, and he stepped forward until only the log beneath his feet held him above the slow, lazy waves, the air snapping at his hair and clothes.
He felt tired. Buzzed almost, too. Like some sort of unknown energy was coursing through his drained body, a foreign force powering his frantic mind. Smitty stared out at the horizon, at the slowly growing pink and tried to focus, tried to calm his racing thoughts.
“Why do I still not understand you?”
`The whisper slipped out, voiced to something deep inside him that couldn’t respond. He was getting dangerously distracted for standing on such a precarious perch. Still, the words rushed out; frenzied almost, though deathly quiet. Secret.
“It’s been years, it’s been my entire life- why do you still not make sense?”
Whatever energy had been fueling him slipped away slowly, like water through his fingers. He stepped back onto the deck and sagged tiredly down to the boards, leaning back against the rail of the ship. There wasn’t any answer from that tiny spot of ice, deep in his chest. Of course there wasn’t.
He watched the sails wave in the dark, far above him.
The Captain was asleep again before the sun ever breached the horizon.
“Hey.”
Smitty cracked open his eyes, blinking haltingly at the sudden brightness of the world around him. His back screamed in protest when he tried to fully sit up.
The voice’s body was crouched in front of him, backlit by sunlight and it took Smitty several tries to focus in on the man.
John tilted his head slightly, and Smitty was momentarily distracted by the way his dark curls bounced in the wind, blowing across his forehead and cheeks. John swiped it away without a second thought, inquiring gaze still locked on Smitty.
“Anthony said you slept for twelve hours already. It’s been almost another two, you were here when Eli and I woke up. Anthony said to leave you, but um...you probably don’t want to sit like that much longer.”
Smitty’s body agreed, if the stiffness in his joints and the sharp pain in his shoulder blades and neck was anything to go by. John stood up out of his crouch; Smitty noticed with no small curiosity that the pistol was once again secured at his hip, and after a moment of awkward hesitation, John offered a hand.
For a moment the young Captain was tempted to disregard it, like he had with Anthony, but his misery outweighed his stubbornness, and he reached up. John’s grip was strong and he offered his other hand as well, pulling Smitty up at his feet and then stabilizing him a second longer as Smitty winced and blinked his way through a head rush.
“You good?” John asked when Smitty finally properly looked at him, and the Captain nodded.
“Yeah, I’m...alright.” At that John stepped back, dropping Smitty’s hands, and waved a hand towards the Cabin at the stern.
“I think the other two want to talk, if you’re up for it.”
Smitty nodded again, but John had already turned away. The Captain found himself watching the mysterious man as he walked away, seeming intent on distracting himself with rigging. Something, something about the man was eerily familiar. Smitty couldn’t put his finger on it as he stared in part at nothing, watching John unknot a rigging rope with quick, nimble fingers.
His wrists were significantly better; only a few, thin lines of dark red scabs remained, sticking out past the cuffs of his shirt. It was a strong comparison to the mass of bloodied red the former-captive’s torn skin had been before.
John glanced up at him briefly, brow furrowing, and Smitty realized he was still standing there, staring. He gave John a small, sheepish wave before he turned and headed for the Captain’s cabin.
“There has to be a reason,” Smitty burst out, whirling on his heel as he began to pace the length of the cabin, Eli’s calm gaze tracking his movements as Anthony stared furrow-browed down at the paper in his hand. “There’s no way this girl just attacked us. She can’t be a thief, why would she do this in plain view?”
“Mercenary, maybe,” Eli suggested quietly, and Smitty grimaced.
“What would we have done to get a bounty on us?”
“A lot,” Anthony admitted distractedly, and Smitty deflated with a frustrated sigh, sinking down on the bed to scrub his hand across his eyes. “We’ve stolen from a lot of influential people, Smit.”
“But we’ve never gotten caught,” Smitty mumbled half heartedly, though a deep sinking feeling had settled over him. A mercenary sent by someone they had stolen from. That told them nothing. No information. Quite literally anybody could have sent the girl after them, if that was the case.
“Okay, I think I wrote all I can remember.” Anthony broke the silence suddenly as he rose to his feet, dropping the small fountain pen he’d been gripping onto the nearby desk and holding out his parchment in Smitty’s direction.
The Captain reached for the sheet in resignation, and the room fell silent as his gaze skimmed over the neat cursive, considering.
Short-average height, female, long brown hair tied up, pale skin, solid but slight build, acted trained
“We have an appearance then,” Smitty conceded after a moment, lowering the page as he glanced up at Anthony and Eli. “She doesn’t sound familiar to me.”
“Not to me either,” Anthony agreed, and the Captain glanced over at Eli questioningly, offering the paper.
“Already read it,” Eli waved him away and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t know her.”
“Fuck.” Smitty grumbled, rereading Anthony’s description one last time before rising to his feet, folding the heavy parchment over into a neat, creased square. He began to pace again, was fuming silently; itching with the urge to get up and do something, but they lacked intel. His chest felt cold.
“We could ask John?” Anthony suggested in the background, and Smitty bit his lip, turning to stare out the small porthole window. Eli answered in his stead.
“What would John know that we don’t? He doesn’t seem to have any connection with that place at all.”
“No?” Anthony asked curiously, and Smitty caught Eli’s sheepish shrug out of the corner of his eyes.
“I did some digging. And some asking. No one knows him. I doubt he’ll know about the girl any better than you or I.”
“He’s observant,” Smitty inserted almost absently, remembering John’s quick reaction when they’d found him.
“We were barely there for a minute before we hauled you out, Smitty,” Eli pointed out, and Smitty winced before he could help himself. “Hey- stop that. No one’s upset at you.”
“I know that,” Smitty shot back, rolling his eyes. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad though. He let out a sharp breath between his teeth, then turned back to the other two resolutely. “Okay. We’ll ask John. What’s our plan if he doesn’t know anything?”
“Your herbs,” Anthony reminded, and yeah, Smitty remembered that. “We’re running low, and if the Foresight is returning, we need to get more. Unless you think you can do without it?”
“I’d rather not,” Smitty admitted, shuffling his boot absently on the planked floor. “It’s not a very pleasant experience without the tincture. We’d need a port by a forest, preferably one relatively untouched or explored.”
“I’ll bet I can find one, if you give me a few hours with the map.” Eli suggested, and the Captain nodded before relaxing his tense posture, lowering his arms.
“I guess I’ll go find John.”