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Pirate!England x Reader
Vehemently
Part Five

The days seemed to blur together. You had long given up on trying to differentiate between them and had reverted to an empty state of ignorance.

You had not seen England since the second day, but Allistor continued to visit you. He brought your meals to you—he claimed he wasn’t busy very often, and the cook was too shy to leave the kitchens. He brought Alfred with him a couple of times, and sometimes Alfred even came alone. They talked to you, but no matter how hard you pleaded, they would always shuffle around your questions without giving a direct answer. The only vaguely useful information you were told was that the ship was set on finding a Spanish one, to let Spain know you were under England’s control. Other than that, you were told nothing. You didn’t understand how they could talk so much without revealing anything at all.

You were not much of a people-person, but you began to yearn for the times Allistor and Alfred saw you. It was the only human contact you had for the past few weeks, and you were exhausted with the little you got.

Your captivity drained you, yet you were restless. You didn’t like sitting down, as the water on the floor made you uncomfortable, so you paced within the small confines of the cell until you were too tired to do so. You fell asleep against the cell walls a few times to avoid the floor.

Alfred was determinedly undecided about you, but Allistor said he was concerned for you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You had no kindness these days but from him. You wanted to accept it. You wanted some sort of comrade. You wanted to be unguarded for someone. You needed it.

So you were, to an extent. You decided to trust Allistor—as much as you could. You were still Barbados to him, but then, you would never be anyone else. Your vigilance around him practically disappeared, and you dropped all pretences of formality. Your speech, compared to the manner in which you usually spoke, suffered greatly from brusqueness, but the decorum returned as soon as anyone else entered the room, which, admittedly, was not very often at all.

The few minutes you had with Allistor and Alfred in the day did nothing to help the nights. Besides being terribly lonely, you were too concerned for your own well-being for your own good. Despite Allistor’s best efforts, you were feeling malnourished, and you felt absolutely disgusting. You felt like you were coated in grime, and you weren’t going to even think about your hair. Your shoes were soaked through to the skin, and you were bruised from knocking into the bars of the cell from when the ship shifted. Despite Allistor’s efforts, you were altogether disheartened.

The sun, too bright in your misleading eyes, lightened the room in a brief flash as Allistor opened the door at the top of the stairs. He gambolled down the stairs, the sound of tin clinking reverberating through the dark, and he lit the lantern.

“Good morning,” he said, pulling the keys off the peg on the wall, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you said, not even recognising the lie in your mouth, “But what about you? You sound hoarse.”

“Er, don’t worry about me. Most of the crew has been up all night. We’re chasing a ship we’d spotted yesterday. We’ve almost caught up to it.” Allistor pushed back his hair, which was speckled with the same gunpowder that currently dusted patches of his skin. “I’ve had a rougher night than usual. Captain Kirkland wanted me to prepare for the attack. I had a bit of a mishap with a grenade.”

“Did you?”

“Did you not hear it?” Allistor set the tin tray on the floor.

You shook your head.

“Your senses must be failing, Barbados.”

You did your best not to cringe. “Possibly. What’s the reason for attack?”

Allistor tried his best not to appear guilty. “It’s, er, a Spanish ship.”

You groaned. “Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, there’s nothing you can do about it,” you said with a bit of venom. It wouldn’t be Spain personally, by any means, but you still did not want any of his fleet damaged.

“Well! I’d almost forgotten why I’m even here.” Allistor picked up the tray and unlocked the rusted cell door. “Let’s get off that ghastly subject, shall we? Must be tedious for you to hear about such things.”

Earlier this year, you would have thought so, but your opinions had been altered since then. However, this was the sign that Allistor was not going to carry on that conversation, so you were forced into a changing of the subject. “All right,” you sighed, “How’s the ocean today?”

Allistor creaked open the door and gave you the tray with your midday meal at a surprisingly and absurdly early time of day. “I haven’t exactly straight-out asked her, but I’d say she’s doing well.”

“Oh, stop it,” you said, taking it from him and setting it down, the water splashing lightly, “You know what I mean.”

“Perhaps a bit blue, but that can be cured with companionship, yes?” He leant against the wall and grinned down at you.

“You need to stop,” you told him through an exasperated smile. Enough of his ridiculous humour.

“Okay, okay. It’s fine. Fine conditions for sailing. Nice wind speeds and smooth water. I don’t know what else to say. If you want poetry, speak to Seamus or the captain.”

“I only have one picture of perfect conditions in my mind, and you just described it to the simplest terms. So, thanks for that.”

“Watch it,” he said, ruffling your hair, “Don’t poke fun at me. It is pretty perfect outside. You don’t feel the boat rocking right now, d’you?”

“Hold on,” you said, rolling your eyes. You licked your finger and held it in the air. “Shush,” you told him as he opened his mouth. After a moment, you lowered your finger. “Nope, absolutely… I don’t feel anything. Is that supposed—”

“That’s…” Allistor frowned. “…peculiar,” he decided, “I think—”

The ship jolted to the side with a crunch, causing you to crash into the sides of the cell and bruise the same aching spots that you had been nursing for weeks. Allistor had collided with the wall as well, but he had slammed his hands on it to keep him from any real harm.

“Eh,” he said, shaking his head, “You’re all right?”

You nodded, rubbing your stinging nose. You didn’t think you had broken it. You steadied yourself in case it would lurch again.

“Something must be wrong with the ship,” Allistor mumbled, stepping outside the cell and pulling the keys out of his pocket, “I’m sorry, Barbados, but I probably should check—”

“Allistor!” you heard Seamus yell from the top of the stairs, “We’ve caught up with the ship! You’re needed!”

“I’ve got to go,” Allistor said, hastily locking the door, “Duty calls.” Yes, he was being preposterous, but he had gotten you to smile; that was the point. “There we are, then.” He turned and flew up the stairs, sliding the keys off his fingers and onto the peg on the wall on his way.

You awaited the door slam, but it never came. You moved to the door and tried to look up the staircase. The door was wide open, and you saw nothing but the blinding light. No fixtures, no silhouettes—just light.

You couldn’t believe it.

You missed sunlight so much.

The ship jerked sideways again, and you slipped to the ground this time. You groaned, and you started to wring the water out of your shirt. You scootched over to look up through the door again.

You could hear the beginnings of the attack. The sound of heavy footsteps and the clashing of swords found their way downstairs. You heard shouting too raucous for your liking, but no words were distinguishable.

You began to turn your attention to your sopping shirt again, but something else caught your eye before you did so. In the quaking of the ship, the keys had fallen off of the peg. They were too far away from you for you to reach, but if you got them, you were free. You could sneak onto the Spanish ship and go home.

You stretched towards the keys despite your knowing it was futile. You slumped against the bars.

Somehow, you heard England’s voice call out above the clamour. He said that he had possession of Barbados and to run back to Antonio to tell him.

There it was. The purpose.

This attack was just a message for Spain.

You had to get on that ship.

The keys…

If the boat could just, I don’t know, tilt this way or something, you thought, that would be brilliant.

You reached for them again, feeling rather foolish. It was cruel that they sat just a few feet out of your reach.

Most of the noise seemed to fade, and you guessed that the majority of the fight had moved to the other ship. The remaining fighters seemed to let their swords do the talking, the clarity of the chinking almost melodic.

A few of them drew by the door. One of the swordfighters was shoved down your stairs and slid as if he slid on chains until he hit the rusted bars of your cell with a crack that you did not envy. You gasped. “Are you o…?” He had been knocked out cold.

Bugger, you thought, he’s going to be completely…completely…

Whoever he was, you were grateful. He had slid on the keys.

You sent a thankful prayer towards heaven and now understood the twitching, bubbly desire you heard about when one filched something one shouldn’t.

You shoved a key into the lock and twisted it, and it stuck. You frowned and shook it. You peeked through to the latch, which was halfway opened.

Bloody old locks.

You tried a different key that fit better and rattled it.

Urgh…

You gave it a good shove, and the door opened, breaking the lock in the process.

You had done it. You could leave.

You finally ascended those blasted stairs and into the light.

You couldn’t well board the other ship as you were—you were too obviously the girl who had been kept in the brig. You ducked into the crew’s sleeping quarters to grab something to conceal your identity. You were hit with an overwhelming stench of stale sweat that you did not care to meet again. You figured you weren’t much better, so you rooted through the nearest rucksack, selecting someone’s tattered coat and hat. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but you were in too much of a hurry to be thorough.

You slinked onto the deck. It was empty, save for four grappling swordsmen on the quarterdeck and two men working a small cannon. You weren’t an expert, but you were pretty sure that more crewmembers were supposed to be on this ship. You weren’t going to question your good fortune any further, so you shuffled as quickly as you could in the shadows to the grappling-hook-covered railing to one of the crossing boards.

The skirmish on the other boat somehow struck you as beautiful. It was something you had only heard about in stories and songs, but here it was. All of the crew seemed to work perfectly together in a strange sort of harmony. You felt almost as if it held you in a state of symphonic mesmerisation. All of the browns against the blues and the constant, fluid movements…

But then the beauty was gone, and the thick smell of gunpowder reached brought you back into reality. This was nothing more than pointless bloodshed. People were dying, and no one thought twice about it.

You looked down and realised you had been clenching the railing. You released it and walked to the crossing board. The sooner you got on that ship, the sooner this would be out of your life forever.

You took one step onto the board, and an arm grabbed your waist and a hand your mouth, lifting you off of the ground slightly.

Not again.

“We can’t have you slipping away, can we? You are rather the point of all of this,” the captain hissed, pulling you behind the railing under the quarterdeck.

I do hope this method of control isn’t going to become a trend, you thought, It does little for any dignity that I have left.

“I don’t see why you even tried to escape,” he said, dropping his hand from your mouth, “You never stood a chance.”

“Really?” you said, straining to look over your shoulder at him, “I thought I was doing pretty well.”

England rolled his eyes in what was the most exaggerated manner you had ever seen and shoved you into the wall, knocking off the hat you’d taken.

“Ahhh, ah. That is my nose. It was already hurt, but now I am sure it is broken,” you mumbled, describing your throbbing nose as if it weren’t related to you whatsoever. It seemed to distance yourself from the pain.

You were smushed further into the wall.

“I need none of your cheek. You’ve already made things worse for yourself.”

“Then I may as well keep going, yes?” You had been locked up for weeks; you hadn’t had a proper argument in that time, as Allistor had never given you a reason to argue. You were so angry—all of the time—but you had grown numb to it. You didn’t think about what you were doing.

The captain turned you to face him. He could crush you at any moment, it seemed. “Surely you were taught manners when you were with Antonio. In my experience, he has not been so impudent.”

“Perhaps you haven’t been present for his good days.”

“Perhaps you haven’t experienced my bad ones.”

“I should hope not, since all I’ve seen have been pretty pathetic.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch yourself. Your time of quiet participation is finished. You’re moving to the centre of the chessboard, Barbados, and you’ll not be taken by the player you’d prefer.” You tried to jostle him off, but his grip stayed firmly on your arm. “I suggest you hold your tongue for your own good.”

“I’m not sure I should be taking advice from you, since we both know that you’re not the one who can speak empirically about goodness, England. For once in your life—”

He had your nose to the wall again and a dagger poking into your side before you could say another syllable. “Excuse me?”

You hated this. You hated being so weak. He had total control of you in about two seconds, and that simply did not go over well in your book. You wanted to do something about it, to grow, to train, and to learn how to defend yourself. But you could not, because you were on his bloody boat. You couldn’t do anything but comply.

“…Captain,” you said, the foul-tasting word hardly escaping your mouth.

England and his stupid complex, you thought, What’s wrong with his formal title, anyway?

He released you, and if you hadn’t known better, you would’ve guessed he was a bit pleased. “Better,” he said, crossing his arms, “I expect you to behave more polished in the future. Then, perhaps, your nose wouldn’t supposedly be broken.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. You had to control yourself and be calm, collected, and refined. You had to be the mature one for this situation.

Never.

England didn’t expect the punch you threw towards his face, but that didn’t mean he did not hold his ground. He had not even wavered, and bugger, you wanted to make him bleed.

“I know that didn’t hurt you,” you said, your chest heaving, “but it still felt incredible.”

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” he said. He faced the other ship and whistled with his fingers. He shouted over to Alfred and, upon finally getting his attention, told him to gather the crew and abandon the Spanish ship.

“Excuse me? Why’re you just stopping like that?” you asked, feeling a bit sceptical, “I thought that you were the embodiment of the phrase, ‘leave no survivors’.”

“I’ve already achieved my purpose,” he said as Alfred and three other crewmembers pulled the crossing boards in, “There’s nothing to be gained if we pressed on.”

“But I don’t understand; their ship isn’t that badly damaged, and—”

“They have to be alive to deliver a message, yes?” He grabbed you by the wrist and started dragging you across deck. “They will tell Antonio exactly where you are, and he’ll want to negotiate it with me.” He opened the door leading to the brig and called back to another ginger at the steering wheel. “Northwest, Dylan!”

You struggled against his grip as you were pulled down the staircase, coming to a sudden stop when England saw the unconscious swordsman and the broken lock.

“Insolent… You’re worse than Roanoke,” said he, letting go of you and examining the lock. England picked up the key and tested it. “You have got to be joking,” he told the lock.

When he had finished, he forced you to sit on the steps, and he joined you. He did nothing but glare at you in silence, seeming to contemplate what on earth he was going to do with you.

You did your best to keep the eye contact, to not lose the coercion game, but your gaze fell to your lap quickly. His stare may frighten you, but you found the silence to be even more intimidating.