Chapter Text
The Gentleman pirate and his crew weren't known for their sharp minds, with the exception of Jim, who often exchanged secretive and knowing looks with Eve when no one was watching.
Men could take their odd appearance at face value, but they each recognised the signs; the red marks and chest pains from a binder, the unusually long hair and the layered clothes despite the sweltering heat. Jim played the role of a mute with remarkable finesse, providing a brilliant cover. On the other hand, Eve chose a more theatrical approach, mimicking the lower register of her fellow crew members with moderate success. Her deeper voice did attract a few raised eyebrows, but among the eccentric menagerie that Captain Bonnet had assembled, no one dared question it.
It had all been the perfect ruse, the performance of a lifetime for the former Lady, until the Spanish attacked and a stray bullet lodged itself in her shoulder.
The pain speared her with such speed that her scream died in her throat, her body seizing as she fell to the deck with a clatter and thud. She heard the distant shouts of her crew mates calling her name as the thudding of her heart echoed in her ears. All she could do was lie in the growing puddle of her blood and stare into the blue, open sky in shock.
"Henry!" The crew began yelling, cowering in fear as the Spanish soldiers swarmed them. Their hands outstretched to their fallen friend, watching helplessly as she continued to lay there, a desperate and hopeless look in her eyes. Some feared she'd passed there and then, unable to catch sight of the shallow rise and fall of her bound chest.
There was another voice shouting over the cries to "Kill them all", though she couldn't see the owner of the strange voice through the cannon smoke and ringing of swords. It grew louder, or perhaps she was getting quieter, finding herself dimming as the pain rooted itself deeper into her arm and side. Any other person might have reached for the shoddy rapier at her hip, might have tried to fight back, but they'd taken out her right arm; her sword arm.
"Henry! Get up!" She was sure it was Jim, their familiar accent tugging at her ears.
More men were swarming the deck now, a seemingly endless supply of soldiers and swords pouring over the railing as they climbed aboard.
A final wordless bark rang out, and the screaming changed direction. A blur of blue and claret rushed past her eyeline just as fires broke out around her. The chaos reached a sort of pinnacle, in a maelstrom of noise, the scent of burning wood, and the acrid taste of smoke filling the air.
But slowly, the fires faded out of her sight, and the encroaching dark crept in like a cold death - though she was sure she felt someone kick her ribs before she lost consciousness.
"This one's still breathing."
By the time Eve stirred, everything had gone silent, and she looked down to find her shift gone, with a musty blanket thrown over her body. The sting of pain in her shoulder intensified as her consciousness slowly returned. Blinking to adjust her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by crates, rope, and a singular dim lantern. As she struggled to sit up, Jim's concerned face came into view, their eyes filled with a mix of relief and worry. "Easy now," they whispered, their voice a gentle reassurance.
Seeing Jim eased the immediate worry, but her face remained pensive and unsure. "I made sure no one saw you..." they started, motioning to her soiled bindings, "Spanish Jackie's lackey made me, but it wasn't worth us both being exposed." As her eyes adjusted, she realised the fake beard and nose had been done away with, their slim features casting sharp shadows in the candlelight. Jim was quite beautiful.
Mustering some sympathy through the pain, Eve just about managed a soft expression, "I'm so sorry, Jim. I don't know how to thank you..." The pain ebbed as she leaned forward to gently grasp Jim's hand, soothing a finger over their knuckles in comfort. It was hard to keep the grip gentle, gritting her teeth instead of clenching her fist as the ache built deep into her muscles. "What happened to the crew? And the ship?"
"You should rest up." was all they said, their stern expression meaning they would not elaborate any further. Eve desperately wanted to probe further, to ask what on earth had happened, how the Spanish had even found them; and why the hell there was a boot-shaped bruise on her right side. But Jim merely tilted their hat back onto their face and leaned back on the crate, pulling their hands away with a swift movement.
Eve sighed, the frustration and curiosity burning beneath her skin. She knew Jim well enough to sense when pressing further would be futile. Reluctantly, she reclined against the makeshift bed, wincing as the pain shot through her shoulder once more. Jim's watchful gaze lingered on her, though she couldn't see it, she could feel it.
With a shaking hand, Eve reached for the bandages, tugging tentatively with her right hand. She could already feel the wound, felt it trying to clot through the heavy layers of gauze. It was a hot, sticky feeling. Jim let out a warning grunt, but Eve ignored it. She could still feel her left hand—though faintly through the pain and obvious swelling. The damage couldn't be that bad... surely? The arm was still there.
"I wouldn't."
Even the slightest knock to the bandage, however gentle, felt like the bullet was piercing her all over again, a sharp pain shooting up her side.
"You're going to make it worse." Watching her wince caused Jim to squirm in their spot, frantically crossing and uncrossing their legs.
"I need to see it, Jim."
"Henry..."
But they moved too late. Eve's frightful gasp filled the room as she caught sight of Roach's ghastly work. Tears filled her eyes. The skin was taut and knotted together, held there by thick wire and thread. "Oh god!" She cried, the deeper voice gone as she shrieked.
Before the next scream could burst from her mouth, Jim's clammy hand clamped over her mouth. "Keep your mouth shut! They will hear you!" It didn't occur to Eve to ask whom they were referring to; all she could focus on was the gore on her shoulder. She was butchered. She was mutilated. It hadn't occurred to her that the injury would leave a mark, that a bullet might do actual damage. It certainly hurt enough.
Unravelling a small, faded handkerchief, Jim began to gently wipe the tears from Eve's cheeks, their expression a mix of sympathy and urgency. "We can't afford to draw attention," Jim whispered, their eyes darting nervously around the dimly lit space.
"I'm hideous..." Eve sighed, blowing her snotty nose into the tissue - much to Jim's disgust. "I'm a monster."
"You're not hideous," they offered, giving her a strained pat on her good shoulder. Then they soothed the top of her head-wrapping with a rigid palm, "Every pirate has scars; it means they're... uh... they're experienced." Jim wished to be anywhere but in this room. They'd left the others for too long and feared what sort of mess they'd gotten themselves into. Olu could hardly handle them by himself.
This made Eve blubber, blowing more bubbles of snot into the handkerchief and turning it over for a fresh spot to wipe her tears, "But what about the ladies?" Her sad eyes went as big as dinner plates, and her bottom lip poked out as she sniffled.
Sighing through their teeth, Jim looked at her with as kind an expression as they could muster. "If ladies didn't like scars, how would men like Frenchie, Olu, or even Roach get a leg over? Think about it..." It stopped her crying, but she was still firmly of the opinion that she was ruined. She had other scars, tiny ones from years of wedging hatpins in place or fixing brooches to her blouse, but nothing as large or as ghastly.
"I'm never going to be touched again." It would not be until later that month that Eve would swing drunkenly into Jim's rooms and change her mind on the matter, her face puckered with rouge kisses and several indented teeth marks along her collarbone and arms.
In the days that followed, there were many changes to the crew, their routine, and Eve's ability to work. Due to the nature of her wound, it became the sole and begrudging responsibility of Jim to take care of it. Roach, for whatever reason, said absolutely nothing about his handiwork and asked nothing about its state. Eve got the impression that Roach had seen more than he let on to Jim or her, because twice she had caught him staring at her chest before looking away, unable to meet her gaze.
On top of her injury, there was the new management that strutted the ship as if he owned the place. Eve had been lucky enough that they had not crossed paths yet (but she'd heard his voice through the floorboards), thanks to Jim keeping her somewhat sedated with Laudanum so that she did not do further damage to the wound. At least that's what they'd told her. But truthfully, it was simply easier than listening to her wail about how she was hideous, ugly—once, between doses, she'd had enough clarity of mind to call herself repugnant before being instructed to sip.
The ship had taken on an eerie quietness. The usual banter and laughter of the crew were replaced by hushed whispers and furtive glances. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a palpable fear that clung to the wooden walls like the scent of saltwater. Eve felt like a caged bird, confined to her makeshift bed, with only the occasional visit from Jim to break the monotony. They'd bring her food, stare at the bandages, and exchange a few awkward words before leaving again.
Though her strength was gone, Eve found herself growing restless. She longed to be on the deck, to feel the sea breeze on her face, to do anything but sit and stare at the same wooden walls.
One morning, as Jim entered with a tray of food, Eve impatiently waited until the tray was set down before grabbing their arm, "Jim, how long am I to be confined to this wretched room? I will lose my mind if I stay down here."
Jim sighed, their eyes avoiding hers, "You need to rest and heal, amiga. The wound is deep, you are useless until it's healed."
"I won't be a burden, Jim. I can't stay cooped up here. I swear I'll stay out of sight." It didn't help her case that as she tried to adjust herself, a bolt of pain shot up her side and she hissed from the pain. A weak, unconvincing smile spread across her pallid cheeks.
Rather than answer, Jim reached for the corked Laudanum and began to tug at the top. "Sip."
It was a struggle but Eve managed to turn away, shoving the bottle away from herself without feeling like her bones were giving way. "Enough of the Laudanum, please. I can't think straight with it, it takes away the pain but I can't keep my food down or my eyes open. I feel like I'm sleeping weeks away-"
"It's barely been three days."
"Exactly! I'm withering away!"
"You're dramatic," Jim began, moving so quickly that Eve didn't get a chance to fight them off, "Now, sip."
Several days passed before the new management, growing weary of Jim's explanations and dismissing them as mere excuses, decided to venture below deck to investigate this 'Henry' for themselves.
As the lingering effects of the Laudanum gradually faded from her system, a sudden, harsh hand seized Eve's side, jolting her awake and prompting a groan in response. In her semi-conscious state, Eve managed to tighten her grip on the covers, as the unfamiliar intruder persisted in poking and pinching at her skin.
"Gerroff'," she moaned at them, swatting the air with a limp hand, attempting to fend off the intruder. "Gerroff' me!"
Despite Eve's feeble protests, the intruder's relentless prodding continued. The dim light of the cramped quarters revealed the silhouette of a tall figure, their features obscured by shadows.
"What's this, then? A bit touchy, are we?" The voice dripped with arrogance, and the intruder chuckled, seemingly amused by Eve's discomfort. "Jimminy here has been feeding us tales about some wounded deckhand hiding away. Let's see what the fuss is about."
The stranger's hands finally retreated, and Eve squinted against the sudden intrusion of light as they lit a lantern. The glow illuminated their face, and Eve bleary squinted at him, trying to make out the new features. The best she could discern was the peppered beard and slicked-back hair.
"Whaddya want?" she slurred, wrapping the blanket under her arms and squeezing her chest flat with her arms. The pain was immeasurable, but she gritted her teeth through it.
He grinned, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. "I'm the one in charge now, sweetheart. What's yer name, sailor?"
"Henry-" She groaned, doubling over at the waist from the pain and nausea.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that." The man sneered as he poked a gloved finger into the mess of bandages around her neck and shoulder. She almost screamed there, and then, biting down on her tongue as the whole of her side writhed in pain.
"Henry, sir," she spat, her voice laced with defiance, as she glared at the stranger with a monstrous intensity. The crew would have backed off, but this stranger seemed to revel in the look of utter hatred in her eyes.
With a twisted smile, the stranger leaned in, his face inches from hers. The stench of arrogance and power wafted over her as he spoke, "Well, Henry, you're in my crew now. And I despise lazy little layabouts on my crew." Jim watched in uneasy silence as the confrontation unfolded, a hand at their belt, but staying firmly in place.
When Eve didn't back down, the tension in the air thickened as the stranger studied her plaid face with an uncomfortable intensity. "I want him on deck and presentable." He stomped out of the room, shoving Jim into the doorframe as he left. The poor woman barely managed a breath before she lurched over the edge of the bed and promptly vomited all over the cabin floor.