Chapter 3
Time sped by, days and nights flashing along as though they were escaping a foe. The crew got more and more friendly towards Scott, and occasionally went down to play dice or such with him. Remy visited nearly once a day, usually after the crew had gone to sleep, and the days he didn't, Scott found himself longing for the familiar cinnamony scent. He knew that this was Stockholm's Syndrome, but as days and nights piled up he felt more and more comfortable with the captain and crew.
At first, the crew were wary of him save Piotr, but as time wore on they began to accept him as one of their own. Suddenly, the Maximoffs would regularly take breakfast with him, telling him stories of their past. Then John began teaching him rope tricks, showing him the ins and outs of pirate knot tying.
There was change with Remy as well. He'd stay for longer, first of all, and he'd started to treat Scott more and more like an equal.
Sometimes he'd tell long stories of his exploits as a pirate, embellishing the details like gold furnishing on a pistol. It seemed so glorified, the swirling smoke of Singapore, the riches of India, the depravity of Tortuga. Scott almost wanted to see it all himself. And sometimes Remy'd ask him about his old crew, about the things they did, the pirates they tracked down. Occasionally during one of these recountings, Scott found Remy flinching here and there as he mentioned the pirates they'd found. He realized that Remy must've known some of them, or at least been acquainted. He was careful to stop, or change the direction the story was going then. Often, he'd recollect fond memories of his old crewmates, their antics. This always seemed to amuse the captain. During these storytelling nights, Remy'd made a habit of leaning over in the middle of a tale and pressing a kiss to Scott's forehead or temple. And Scott, placing all blame on Stockholm's, didn't mind at all.
One night, Remy came clattering down the stairs at a very late hour. "Two-month anniversary," he said, unlocking the brig. "Two months ago today, my men kidnapped you."
"And?" Scott said, waiting for the captain to come in and tell a story.
"And I trust you," Remy finished, taking his captive by the arm and leading him up the stairs to the deck.
In all of Scott's time on board, he'd never left the brig. For the first time in months, he breathed fresh, crisp sea air. He felt a laugh bubbling up inside of him. "I can't believe this."
"Believe it, cher," said Remy, leaning against the side of the ship and gazing out at the stars.
Scott joined him there, looking down at the water before peering over at the captain.
"I'm sorry I hit you," Remy murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"I'm sorry I yelled," replied Scott.
"You had the right to yell, I'd just kidnapped you," Remy continued, his voice flowing like a stream over stones and beginning to pick up a joking tone.
"You had the right to hit me, it's just what pirates do," countered Scott, a smile spreading across his face.
"But, see, I'm sure you've hit your fair share of no-good thieve-y types. Does that make you a pirate?"
"And you, you spared my life. Does that make you not?"
They went on like this, their voices up and down in playful, back-and-forth banter. The moon shined brighter than it ever had and the cold dark air surrounded them, pressing in on them like a deathly blanket.
After a bit, the conversation had died down and they both leaned out over the water, looking into the night.
"You know, Jean once told me that stars were the eyes of the dark," Scott murmured, watching the foggy puffs his breath made in the cold.
"Did she," replied Remy, under his breath. It wasn't a question, and the way he said it made it obvious that he was very tired.
"Should I go back?" asked Scott. He realized that he was placing himself back in captivity by doing so, but it seemed the appropriate thing to say.
"Hm?" Remy looked over at the captive, barely keeping his uncanny eyes open.
Scott felt himself smile. He gently kissed the captain's half-open mouth and walked away, back to the brig. "Goodnight, Remy."
Scott woke up the following morning to find the door to the brig open, and sunlight streaming down the stairs, above which the busy feet of the crew went back and forth. With a great noise, Piotr stomped down the stairs with a bucket of water. This tradition had been long since abandoned, and Scott was confused as to what was going on. "Piotr?"
"Aye?" the first mate replied.
"Are you going to…" Scott gestured to the bucket.
Piotr raised his eyebrows. "Right! Here y'are." He handed it to the captive.
Scott took it, confused. "What am I-?"
"Throw it over me!" Piotr exclaimed. "Payback! You've got to."
Chuckling, Scott dumped the water on Piotr's head. "Alright."
Piotr smiled, water running down his face. He took the bucket. "Welcome to the crew, Mr. Summers."
"Wait. Are you-" Scott stopped himself. In no way could this be happening. He'd been kidnapped, held hostage for two months, and now this?
Piotr nodded, his smile stretching across his whole face. He held out a hand and gestured to the stairs.
Scott ascended, looking round at the deck. It was different than it'd been last night. Now it was bustling with activity. The Maximoff twins were making adjustments to the sails, John was holding the wheel for Piotr, and a dark-haired girl Scott didn't recognize was up in the crowsnest. And Remy.
Remy was standing on the edge of the ship, grabbing on to a bit of rigging for support. He turned, his strange eyes glinting in the sunlight. "Mr. Summers!" He grinned. "Kind of you to join us." He reached a hand back.
Scott took it, and let himself be pulled up onto the ship's wall next to the captain.
Remy yanked the former prisoner against him, pressing their bodies together. "How's it feel to be free?" he asked, looking out at the vast horizon.
Scanning the shimmering waves below them, Scott sighed, breathing in the fresh air. "Wonderful," he replied. He knew that the captain hadn't meant out of the brig. He'd meant truly free, no rules or law or anything holding you to the evolving world, keeping you in the perfection of the passing age. To be a pirate.
Chuckling, Remy pressed a kiss to Scott's cheekbone. "Good," he whispered.
"Captain, you hopeless romantic you, cut him a break," the girl called from the crowsnest. She was peeking out and looking down at them. "He's only just woken up."
Remy rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that tone, Lee," he yelled up. Then he turned his head so his mouth was near Scott's ear. "But… not entirely hopeless, right?"
Scott laughed. "A little bit not hopeless, yeah."
"Good, just checking," Remy said, before raising his voice to the crew. "What are we doing today?"
Nobody knew, and a mumbling went through them.
"Don't know?" yelled Remy jumping down from the wall onto the deck. "Do you know what we're not going to do today?"
This time, the crew gave a more definite, "No, sir!"
A grin spread across Remy's face. "We're not going to get caught. We're not going to be stopped. We are going to hold onto our ways, our time. Aye?"
A resounding, thunderous, "Aye!" poured from the crew in return.
"And that damned Stryker can just try and stop me," Remy murmured to himself.
During Remy's speech thing, Scott's eyes had been fading things in and out of focus. When he'd tried to clear the blurriness, a sharp pain had sprung through his head. And it didn't go away. The breeze seemed to stop, and everything was too warm. His vision blurred more violently, and he was so dizzy, so terribly dizzy, standing up there on the ship's wall.
"Captain!" yelled Pietro Maximoff, just seconds after they heard the splash.
Remy whirled around, seeing the empty rigging and the space where Scott had stood. "He's fallen."
Piotr went to grab rope. "I could-"
"No!" commanded Remy, his voice harsh. He ran towards the edge of the ship, leapt up onto the wall, and flung himself off into the air, forming his movement into a perfect dive. The water was colder than he'd expected and the salt stung his eyes as he propelled himself downwards into the gloom. Scott's limp form was just barely visible, sinking down and down faster than Remy himself could swim. Suddenly, determination seized him and he kicked out harder until he caught the edge of Scott's sleeve.
Holding on as if to a lifeline, Remy pulled Scott to him and began to kick up to the surface. His lungs were burning and his vision was threatening to close in on him. His muscles stung from lack of oxygen and his body seemed ready to give up on him. Just when he knew he couldn't make it any further, his head broke the surface.
Choking out water, he gasped and pulled air into his lungs. He made sure Scott's head was above the water and pushed down the pangs of fear shooting through him.
"Captain, here!" John threw down a rope with a sort of harness fastened at the end, a loop in which to put one's foot.
Remy pulled it under the water and got his foot into it with one hand, the other holding Scott.
At a signal from the captain, Piotr began pulling them up.
Remy hung onto the rope for dear life, his whole body shaking like crazy. He couldn't bring himself to look at Scott's face.
Putting all of his miraculous strength to work, Piotr hauled them up on deck. When his captain collapsed on the wooden ground, he knelt by the two men. "Remy? You alright?"
Remy pushed himself up, his arms shivering. "Fine. Get him inside, put him on my bed." He watched Piotr carry Scott away until Jubilation, the lookout woman, helped him up.
The Maximoffs flitted nervously back and forth, watching the action, and John was untying and coiling up the rope.
"Wanda," Remy said, accepting the blanket her twin had just handed him. "Wake him up. Figure out what happened and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"I'm no miracle worker, Captain, I just know how to look after ailments," she replied, already heading for the cabin.
"I know, and that's all I'm asking of you," Remy said, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders.
"Where are we even going anymore?" Jean asked, shading her eyes from the sun and standing next to the captain by the wheel.
"We're finding him." Logan's voice was gruff and he didn't look at her.
Jean looked at her boots. "Still?" she replied quietly.
"We're finding him," he repeated.
"Are we really, Logan?" she said loudly, her voice a bit hysterical as she looked him in the eyes for the first time since they began talking. "Are we really finding him? Because it's been months and we haven't even got a lead. He could be halfway across the world, in Singapore, locked up. He could've been sold as a slave, he could've been-" She stopped, taking a shaky breath. "He could be dead. And where are we going to find him if we don't even know where to look?
Logan let the question hang in the air. He knew that she was right, and that all of the crew was thinking the way she was. Rogue still trusted him and stood by him, and would for a long time, but how long until everyone else had had enough? He was trying as hard as he could and nothing was coming of it. Maybe Scott really was gone. And besides that there was the whole Stryker problem to worry over. The Commodore hadn't sent a reply to Logan's letter, and although there was a possibility that it couldn't have arrived yet, Logan was beginning to doubt it. "Jean, please. I can't look any harder than I already am. I want him back just as much as you do, I promise."
"You can promise that you want him, but can you promise that you'll get him?" She turned her back and walked away.
Logan let out a sigh, leaning his head against the wheel. He had to do something, and fast, to keep them with him. "God dammit," he muttered to himself, and flung the wheel around. "We're headed to Singapore!"
Evan ran up to him. "Captain, why?"
"Someone there will know something," Logan said firmly.
"Right," Evan replied, saluting. "You lot!" he called to the crew. "We're off to Singapore!"
They all slowly turned, to look at Logan. He'd been so lethargic, so nonchalant yet worried, so lacking action, that they had feared for him. But now they saw him, their captain, as he once had been. The wind through his hair, a glint in his eye, and a determined, sure smile across his face. Their days of doubting him were over. A cheer rose up from among them. They were finally going to end their search.
And Logan, looking over the crew, the family he knew and loved, felt his confidence restored as well. And, right when he thought the day couldn't get any better, he saw Jean. Her eyes were still sad, but there was a smile playing about her lips, telling him that she believed in him. He laughed, hands firmly gripping the wheel. Singapore awaited.
Scott's eyes slowly fluttered open. Everything was dark except for several warm orange glows around the room that he reasoned to be candles. Slowly, things fell into focus. He didn't recognize the room he was in, but it was beautiful, and the bed he was on was soft and covered in velvet. He tried to sit up, but a pair of hands pushed him back down. He glanced around, but he couldn't see anyone and he began to panic.
"Scott. Scott, can you hear me?" Wanda Maximoff stepped into his line of vision.
He sighed, letting his heart rate slow down to normal. "Wanda. What-"
"Don't ask questions, okay? You fell quite a ways," she said, taking a case down from a shelf on the wall. "You've been out for hours, it's dark. What was the last thing you remember?"
Scott tried to think. "Remy… he was talking to the crew, and then- then I couldn't see straight and I fell from the edge of the ship. I think I passed out before I hit the water."
"Well, you didn't lose any immediate memories, that's good," Wanda murmured, almost to herself as she extracted from the case a strange little flute. It had intricate carvings decorating its outer wood, and it gleamed in the candlelight. "The Captain dove in after you and pulled you out. Piotr got you two up onto the deck and I've been with you since. I know what happened to you, but…"
"What?" asked Scott, feeling nervous.
"But it's pretty bad and I'm not sure you want to hear it," Wanda finished, polishing the flute on her dress.
He looked up at her. "Wanda, tell me. Please."
She sighed. "Something… happened to you. I mean, obviously, but do you know how since you got onto the ship, you've always been in the brig, or you've been out at nighttime?"
Scott squinted his eyes, thinking about it. "I… I guess I haven't, really…"
"Right, you haven't seen sunlight, real light, in a long time. Til this morning. What I've figured is that something happened, and now you're sensitive to it. Too sensitive. You'll pass out," Wanda said softly. "I'm sorry, Scott, I can't do anything about it."
"What do I do?" Scott asked, hearing his voice crack. "I- do I- do I just stay in the dark forever? How can I fix it?" He knew he was hyperventilating, but it didn't matter.
"Shh. It'll be okay," she said. "Calm down. I have a solution to prevent you from fainting again, but I think you need rest."
"Rest?" he repeated weakly.
"Just listen," she whispered, and put the flute up to her lips.
The sound that came out was unlike anything he'd ever heard. Its tone was perfect and the notes that came out were breathy and haunting. It had such a wild, windy quality that it was exactly what sailing should sound like. The melody skipped up and down the minor scales, every note more eerie than the last.
And slowly, unbidden, unwanted, memories began to flow into Scott's mind. At first, he couldn't place them. A dark room, his own wet shirt sticking to his chest, blood on his face. There was a familiar voice, foreign words. Then he slowly started to piece together what these were from. A powerful, enticing scent, so utterly different than anything Scott had been exposed to previously, comprised of cinnamon and cumin, cayenne and nutmeg, seawater and smoke. The memories were of his first night on the ship.
Bit by bit he slipped away into sleep, the music lulling him off and the memory of Remy's cinnamony smell making him feel safe. The velvet of the blankets around him was soft against his skin and his headache that was so prevalent before Wanda had started playing was fading away, leaving him to dream.