"I can help." Ace's words were all but lost in the crash of thunder reverberating through the tiny room. "It's a fucking hurricane out there, you'll need all the hands you can get."
Smoker stopped briefly as he fumbled the laces of his boots in the dark to glance at the pirate. "If the men see you that'll be a world of trouble I don't wanna get into."
A weak excuse if Ace ever heard one. He opened his mouth to argue, but Smoker cut him off before he could get out a single word. "Just stay here, goddammit," he growled, and was gone before Ace could protest.
He stayed perched on the edge of the bed for hours, listening to the pounding of boots and rain on the deck, feeling the ship lurch and buck in the swells. Screams, perhaps, but he couldn't be certain over the sound of the gale. Anger at Smoker's stupidity for denying his capable strength mingled with worry and gnashed his insides.
Ace waited for the aftermath, aware there was no way in hell they could have ridden through a storm like that unscathed. Another hour passed until Smoker returned to his cabin, shedding his wet jacket before sitting stiffly on the floor, his back against the bed. Even without the stray flashes of lightening illuminating the tight set of the Marine's mouth, Ace would have known the crew lost more than a few barrels of gunpowder to the crushing deep.
"How many?"
Smoker's answer was abrupt and rough, "Two overboard. One impaled when the taffrail broke."
Nothing Ace could think to say sounded any better than cheap platitudes. He didn't know those men. Smoker did, and he seemed to appreciate the gentle touch of Ace's hand on his shoulder more than words of sympathy.