Chapter 12

The cell was dark, and held a stagnant, permeating dampness. There were no windows. It smelled of rot and mildew. The brig was located on the lowest level of the ship, down in the bilges where water had seeped in and left slippery algae to coat the floors. Even the air in here was moist, and it felt thick in her lungs. When she leaned against the walls, she felt barnacles scraping into her skin. Her feet were shackled.

She had told the captain she would be fine down here, but she was starting to have her doubts. The chill was creeping into her bones. When she could no longer estimate how long she had been locked in there, she thought she might go mad. It could have been hours or days, maybe weeks. Time no longer had meaning. All that was left was darkness and discomfort.

Occasionally she slept, or at least she thought she did, but she couldn't be sure. Dreams never came, and the cold, wet aches never left her. All she knew was that if she reclined against the wall and closed her eyes, it might bring her closer to seeing the sun again. She was overjoyed when she finally saw the glow of a lantern.

Its light flooded the chambers, and Emma instantly felt some of the gloom dissipate. She was eager to see Killian's face again. Although he had been the one to put her here, she knew he wasn't enjoying this any more than she was. He had only done it to protect his reputation with his crew. But it wasn't his visage that swam into view above the lantern. It was Clark's. Emma stared at him questioningly as he came close and leaned against the bars of her cell.

"I have to amputate Murray's foot." He said casually, packing his wooden pipe. "You're going to hear some screams."

Emma swallowed. "Oh," was all she could think to respond. Her voice was hoarse from disuse. There was no point in asking whether Murray would be okay.

"Seems strange." Clark picked at the dirt beneath his fingernails with his thumb before lighting his tobacco. "Man's been a gunner nigh on fifteen years. Never had an accident like that before. Been a lot o' accidents since you came on board, boy."

"And you think I have something to do with it?" She croaked out.

"I'm just saying it's suspicious is all. And yet the captain has taken quite a shine to you. You've eaten at his table more 'n I have. I reckon more than his first mate has." He puffed away, expressionless.

"The captain was the one who threw me down here." She reminded him, wrinkling her nose as tendrils of smoke teased at her nostrils. "I hardly think he does that with people he's partial to."

"Aye, for a crime that would get most men a few lashings and be done with it. I wonder, is he punishing you because you used his first name?" He flashed her a smile that looked to be more of a grimace, possibly because of the odd lighting, but Emma felt something sinister in his words. "Now, tell me. Why is a cabin boy calling his captain by his given name?"

"I – I didn't." She tried to protest.

"I ain't stupid, boy. I heard you. You don't have to tell me nothin', but I know what I heard."

Just like that, Clark and the light were gone, and Emma was alone in the dark once again. She crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees. She could feel water swishing around her heels. The stench of tobacco lingered, churning with the scent of her chamberpot to create a nauseating concoction. Emma took shallow breaths, trying hard not to retch.

She couldn't imagine that Murray's screams would be worse than when the bones in his foot had been shattered, but the sounds that drifted down from the ceiling were blood-curdling. Emma rocked back and forth, trying to smother the noise in her ears with her hands, but she could still hear it. Shouts of "hold him down, hold him down" filtered through the boards, and the screaming only intensified.

It felt like eons had passed by the time the shrieking faded to whimpers and sobs. Emma realized then that her face was hot, and she was crying too. She tried to wipe the tears from her face, but her wrinkled and waterlogged fingers only served to smear the wetness over her cheeks. Barnacles dug into the skin of her shoulders as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

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"Emma? Emma?"

She felt the lantern warming her face before the hand gently shaking her arm. She smiled before she even opened her eyes, already feeling more comfortable than she had in far too long. In the soft light of the flame, Killian's face came into focus through her sleep-blurred vision.

"Emma. Wake, love." His thumb stroked over her jaw and her smile spread.

"Captain," she hummed.

"It's just the two of us here. You can use my name." A soft expression spread over his features, and he bent down to kiss her gently.

She frowned when they broke apart. "Clark heard me. When we were on the other ship, he heard me call you 'Killian.' He came down here to ask me why."

"Did he, now?" Killian's brow furrowed. His hand touched to the back of her neck, and when he drew away, she saw blood on his fingers. She hadn't even realized she was bleeding. "I'm so sorry, Emma." He whispered, pain in his eyes. "I should never have shut you down here."

"It's okay, Killian. I know you didn't have a choice. The crew-"

"Fuck the crew." He interrupted angrily. "I could replace the whole lot of them. You are more important. I should not have brought you here. Come on."

Emma stretched out her ankles and found that they were no longer bound. She took his hand and he helped her onto her feet. His hook looped through the handle of the lantern as he led her out of the cell. Out of instinct, she tried to drop his hand as they reached the door, not wanting anyone to see the simple but intimate gesture.

His fingers squeezed tight around hers. "No one else is aboard, Emma. You can hold my hand."

He walked slowly, lending her support as she stumbled on weak legs. "Where is everyone? How long was I down there?" She had to ask.

"They're on land. We reached port about an hour ago." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've been in the brig for two days. I'm sorry, love." He opened the door to his cabin and ushered her inside, closing the door behind him and seating her down on the bunk.

Crossing to the cabinet, he poured each of them a drink. Emma swallowed hers easily, and he smirked, but his eyes were still full of concern. "Now, let's get you out of those dirty clothes," he suggested. He reached into his closet and pulled out one of his own shirts, throwing it down onto the table. A leather pair of pants followed. "Do you still have that ointment in your cabin, love?"

When she nodded, he ducked out of the room.