Chapter Text
Suddenly, the boat was silent. All He could hear was the muffled sound of footsteps above him, which was certainly on the deck. It was impossible to know how many people were operating a few feet above him. After the chaos, the calm seemed like a blessing. He was curled up against one of his cell's walls. The wood of the prison cell was damp and cold. His fists were aching. The metal of the chains had made his skin raw. He tried to stay as still as possible to avoid any additional pressure on his body, already sore from lack of care.
The racket had erupted without warning. The attack had been swift. He could only hear the cries of pain and despair of the dying men on deck. The cannon fire had damaged the ship, causing a fall of debris and dirt into his small cell. His lungs and throat were on fire from breathing in so much dust and sawdust. Nevertheless, the inevitability of his fate did not really worry him about the outcome of the fight. Either his jailers won and in that case he would die, or the victory was taken by the mysterious newcomers and he would most certainly die. Condemned to die under the law or as an anonym in the middle of the ocean, he didn't know which he preferred.
Footsteps began to be heard, much closer this time. The intruders must have started to search the ship and were coming down the levels. It was impossible to know how many of them there were. He began to hate the panic that was growing inside of him. Yet he had already resigned himself. So why be afraid of death now? Prisoner of the British government for more than 3 months, his life hadn't been his own for a long time. In the state of things, did he really want to live on? The door to his cell opened with a resounding bang, cutting him off his rumination. A silhouette stood in the doorway. The figure was tall and visibly armed. After a few seconds, the stranger turned around and fled at full speed. It was impossible to know what had gone through his head, because his face had remained imperceptible.
Long minutes passed. He could hear that the agitation on the deck had resumed in earnest. Suddenly, a distant sound, a slow descent with a heavy step on the wood, a metallic step. It seemed to him that the rest of the world had disappeared. The regular sound of the metal on the wood was counting down the seconds that were leading him to the inevitable. But he didn't know exactly what. His whole body was frozen. As if the devil himself was coming down to deliver his sentence. This time, the silhouettes were most numerous. He could count at least five. But the person in the center seemed to be the most important, because the other shadows kept a respectable distance around them. They finally approached, walking out of the shadows and stepped into the light. Shit...
"I must admit that, of all the people that we could have found in this rotten English vessel, I never expected to find you." announced Silver very calmly. He looked up at the voice's owner, who was slowly moving toward him. The metal leg was pounding the ground. He didn't expect to see him here either, alive, and obviously leading a new crew. Silver leaned over to him, running a hand under his chin to force him to raise his head and meet his gaze.
"You are in a very poor state Flint." At the mention of his name, the other people suddenly froze. He even seemed to notice that one take a step backwards. A cruel smile appeared on Flint's face. His name had not been forgotten. Silver pressed his hand around his chin to bring his attention back to him.
"Leave me alone." simply dropped Flint.
"There is not a single soul left on the ship. If I let you here, you will die of hunger in a week, give or take."
"Let's not pretend that you are concerned about my fate." spat out Flint. If Silver was hurt by what he said, he didn't let it show. He simply straightened up and without looking away from him, he ordered:
"Set him free and bring him on board."
He turned abruptly and disappeared into the darkness. Only the rhythmic sound of his iron leg could still attest of his presence. Once Silver had left, the air seemed immediately more breathable. The other intruders made no move forward. They all seemed reluctant to approach him. The tallest one finally took a step. The light hit his face and Flint recognized him. Billy Bones stood in front of him and stared him straight in the eye, as if daring him to say anything. He slowly raised his hand.
"Anthone, bring me the keys for the chains." One of the shapes started to move and rushed out of the cell. He returned a few seconds later, proudly holding up the key ring. Billy snatched it out of his hand and leaned toward Flint.
"If you attempt any kind of move, I'll order my guys to break your legs."
Flint offered him his most fake sincere smile possible. What could he do against four armed men, when he had been weakened by three months in a cell? Even he had his limits. Billy removed his chains one by one. A wave of relief ran through him as the weight of the metal left his body.
"Can you stand up?"
He honestly didn't know. He didn't use his legs for such a long time. He tried to stand up. It was difficult. His limbs were extremely weak. Once he stood up, his vision became blurred. He felt himself fall but someone caught him. Bones had prevented his fall. This did not make him feel any better. With a lot of assistance, he climbed the stairs of the ship and finally arrived on the deck. The daylight immediately hit his eyes. He put his hands over his face to protect himself. But in doing so, he lost the grip he had on Bones and fell to the floor. His body was sore, he felt so weak. Tiredness overwhelmed him gradually. Billy grabbed his arm and shook him. He jerked him violently to his feet.
The deck was in turmoil as newcomers ran about, gathering up anything of value. The floor was filled with the bodies of British sailors and it’s seemed like it had been repainted in red. It was necessary to be careful when stepping on the ground or else one would slip on a puddle of blood. The crossing of the bridge was painful. It almost seemed as if Bones was determined to break his arm as he held it tightly. The pirates turned one by one to watch him pass. They must have been wondering what the worth of this prisoner was that was being taken on their ship. But Bones' closed face prevented anyone from asking any questions. Flint was far too exhausted to care. All his energy was focused on getting his legs to work, getting him to move forward bit by bit without making himself look even more ridiculous than he already was.
The hardest part was to pass the wooden walkway that linked the both ships. Several times he was tempted to fall into the void without really finding the strength. His journey finally came to an end when Bones took him to the healer's cabin. The room was small and lightly furnished. A long wooden table stood in the middle, leaving little space for people to walk around. The physician's equipment was hanging on the walls. Sitting on the table, Flint let his eyes wander around the place. Doctors and other healers had always terrorized him. They were never the bearers of good news.
Bones was standing next to him, arms crossed, on his guard. Eventually the door opened and a man entered the room. He looked old and tired. His face was outlined with a salt and pepper beard while his hair was pulled back in a braid. The ears were decorated with many jewels. On some ships, pirates were given a hole in the ear for every year they spent at sea. Flint could count six on the man. He was dressed in an apron that must have been white at some point but had not been for a while. The man turned his eyes to Flint and let out a sigh.
"Go wait outside, Billy." he ordered him.
Bones seemed reluctant and Flint wondered if he would resist a direct order. But he finally moved and left the room, closing the door behind him. The healer turned his back to Flint and seemed to concentrate on his equipment.
"How long have you been imprisoned ?"
Not expecting to be addressed, Flint took several seconds to answer.
"I was capture three months ago, we were at sea for one."
The man made an assent "hmm".
"Injuries ?"
"Except for the burning of the chains, no."
The unknown man turned around to look at him. He stepped forward and raised his hand as if to grab him. Flint stepped back violently. The healer did not seem surprised. It seemed to Flint that he had done this to test his reaction.
"I won't have to touch you if you just tell me the truth. Take off your shirt."
Flint hesitated but finally complied. What was the point of resisting? He was far too exhausted to fight back. All the rage of the last few years had left him numb. The poor lighting of the booth had to reduce the purple colour of the bruises that covered his body. Of course, his captors had been very careful not to break anything or draw blood. But that didn't stop them from beating him daily.
"I really don't see what you can do about it." whispered Flint.
"Decide how long you need to rest and when you can be of use on this fucking tub."
He didn't need to ask why. If Silver had brought him aboard his ship, it wasn't to let him die so soon. It would never be that simple. The healer concluded a 2 weeks rest with regular visits in his cabin so that he could check the evolution of the wounds and adjust his judgment accordingly. He prescribed him a substantial meal and a restful sleep. He gave him a walking stick to help him move around without needing Bones' constant help. Flint grabbed the stick and used it as best he could until he got to the door. Just as he put his hand on the wrist, it opened abruptly.
Silver stood there, and his impassive mask cracked to reveal a surprised look. Flint met his eyes for the first time since their meeting. He remembered the blue in which he had been lost so many times. But no memory could truly capture that feeling. The one he had often wanted to erase: the softness and warmth that emanated from it. But Flint broke the contact by taking a step back. Silver's face became cold and distant again.
"How is our guest?" Silver asked the physician in a falsely cheerful tone.
"Nothing serious but he will have to rest for a while." grumbled the man.
"Come on Mr. Pearce, your diagnoses are usually a little more precise." Silver insisted.
"I said what I said. Now everyone get the hell out of my cabin!"
Silver dropped his gaze to Flint once again, as if to question his ability to move. Flint began to walk forward again, pushing Silver out of the way with his shoulder. Just inside the doorway was Bones, with his back to him. Flint felt like running away for a fraction of a second. He wanted to run to the sea and thrown himself over board. He would do it without any regret. He was so tired and didn't have the courage to face what lay ahead. It would be so easy to let himself be carried by the current, to stop fighting, to let the water that had so often carried him swallow him up forever. He moved tentatively forward, getting closer to the ship's rail. He could pretend to need extra support for his aching body. Then he put his hand on the bulwark and heard a voice behind him:
"If you want to jump, I won't stop you, Bones said calmly. He had moved closer without Flint hearing him. He had adopted a casual posture, showing that he didn't care about the situation. Flint opened his mouth to justify himself, but was immediately cut off by Bones, who continued:
"I was against bringing you on board. We should have left you for dead in your cell at the bottom of that tub. That would have saved us a lot of trouble."
" I did not ask to be freed. I think I even specifically asked to be left alone."
"You know very well that Silver would have never allowed it. At this point, I can't figure out if he wants to kill you himself or if he just wants to make you his personal slave."
Flint didn't know either. He couldn't guess what Silver had in mind. It seemed so long ago that their minds were one and the same, and they could understand each other with a simple glance.
"Lead me to the hammock." resigned Flint.
Without offering to assist or even taking a slower step, Bones turned on his heels and walked across the boat to the stairs that led down into the call. Flint followed as best he could. The floor below had tables for eating and a space with hammocks hanging from the ceiling. Some of them were already filled with men who were probably on break. Bones stopped abruptly in front of one of the hammocks on the right side, right next to an opening for the cannons.
"This hammock belonged to Henry, but he died during the raid. So it's empty. Henry was also in charge of the cannon that this opening belongs to. When you can serve as something other than a fucking trophy wife, you will have to take over his responsibilities."
Flint simply nodded. Thereupon, Bones turned on his heel and disappeared. Flint pulled himself onto the hammock. Sleep overtook him immediately, no matter if he was safe or not.