A/N: I do not own Turn on AMC, it belongs to them. I do not own Selah or his wife Anna, they belong to history.

The heat was maddening, it burned through his head like a red, hot poker. There was no blinding sun to pierce his eyes, not here below the decks, there was only heat, the stench of death, and a darkness that was only broken by the single brave slivers of light that dared to filter through the cracks of the hull.

Selah's neighbor was dying, he had been vomiting and shitting for the past three days. He was only a lad, maybe seventeen at the most, but he'd been caught outside of New York in his Continental uniform. In the first week of Selah's imprisonment, the lad, Samuel, had told him his story, how he'd been fighting with the Continental Army since Lexington, and before that he'd been a Son of Liberty. However, in the retreat from New York, he'd been separated from his regiment and captured by Redcoats.

Looking at the boy now, rail thin and pale with clammy skin and dark circles under his eyes, on would think him a skeleton, not someone who'd been a healthy, strapping lad but a few months before. The sickness was quick, he would be dead come morning. They would take his body out on the morning dump. It seemed wrong, but Selah was relieved for it, the sooner they took the body, the less chance there was of him acquiring the sickness himself. He was not going to die here, in this hell. He cast his eyes up to the ceiling and thought of shining, dark eyes and long, soft, brown curls. Here in the depths of the prison ship, it was easy to feel less than human, more beast than man, but when he closed his eyes and thought of Anna's smile, he could remember that he'd been a man once.

Samuel's breathing was becoming raspy, his chest heaving slightly with every breath, his mouth open as though he were a fish gasping for air. The skin pulled between his ribs in a show of tremendous effort, and there was a rattling sound when he exhaled. It wouldn't be long then.

Selah turned over on his other side, closed his eyes, and tried to remember the sound of his wife's laughter.

Selah's first thought when they come and drag him to the upper deck is that they are going to kill him. Captain Joyce had friends, many friends, and his pride had certainly been wounded enough to want Selah dead. A part of him would have thought it a blessing, but the other part, the part that remembered Anna, struggled and fought with what little strength it had.

He was surprised then, when they scrubbed him down and placed him in a pair of trousers and a ragged shirt. When they led him down the gang plank, he thought for one wild moment that he was to be freed. Only the chains still hanging about his wrists kept his hopes from rising too high.

They led him to a small guardhouse. When they opened the door, he heard a small gasp and looked up to meet the shocked eyes of his wife.

"Anna?"

"Oh, Selah!" Anna sobbed, tears flowing freely from her eyes. He knew that he must make a horrific sight, his body now much thinner than before, his hair hanging limp about him. The sight of her though… the sight of her, after months of dreaming, made his heart swell to bursting.

When she placed her arms around his neck, he felt his body shake with emotions that he could only fight to keep hidden. Her tears soaked into the fabric at his shoulder and he felt his own prick at the corner of his eyes.

"You have one hour." He heard the sentry say roughly.

One hour. So little time, but it would have to be enough.

"I was going to bring you your favorite stew, but Jedidiah said that broth would probably be best. He… he said that after so long on prison food, your stomach might not sit well with the stew."

Selah looked up from where he was gulping down the broth his wife had brought him. "Aye, I most likely would have vomited it. The broth is fine Anna, wonderful." He gave her a smile, as best he could manage.

"Good." She breathed, her eyes taking in every detail of his appearance. Anna had been staring at him as though she had been starving and the sight of him filled her up. To be fair, he was sure he was staring at her in the same way.

"Is there anything else you want to hear about?" She asked softly. "I think I've told you most everything that's happened."

The news of Captain Joyce's death had come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. One less redcoat in the world was a fine thing by his reckoning. Woodhull had featured a great deal in the stories she'd told, and he knew there was more that she was not saying, but he didn't dare ask her in front of the sentry standing guard.

"How's the tavern faring?" He asked, setting his spoon down, having completed his meal. "The house? Are you managing alright?"

"I'm fine," Anna assured him. "You left everything in good order, I've been working alongside you for three years now that we've been husband and wife. I've learned plenty from you, I'll be alright."

Selah, nodded, relieved to hear that he had not left his wife to the wolves. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the sharp, rapping at the door signaled the sentry to stand.

"It's time." The man said, almost apologetically. "Come."

The door opened and two more guards came in; Selah stood and bent is his head down to kiss his wife goodbye.

"Promise me," She whispered against his lips. "Promise me, you'll come home."

He pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I promise."

They left Anna standing there in the middle of the room. As they turned towards the gang plank, Selah felt the familiar feeling of despair begin to settle on his heart, but he had been renewed. There was a new well of determination inside of him, he would not be defeated.

He was going to survive. He was going to go home.