AN: Thank you to my amazing beta Cara (: Please review and let me know what you think. Enjoy!
Chapter 3
Four days had passed since the Ligeia had taken down the small slave ship, and it was now on its way to Tortuga. The ship was travelling at about six knots and the sails were full. Santana watched as Kurt and Brittany scrubbed at the deck. They had been at it for over eight hours and the pale skin of the two of them was red raw with sun burn. The sun was low in the sky, but they had still not finished the whole deck, and as Captain Anderson had ordered, they were not to rest until the deck was sparkling. Kurt's muscles ached and were screaming at him to stop, but his mind told him to forge on and not to be defeated by these evil pirates.
The boy sighed heavily and looked to his right at Brittany, who was equally as exhausted with tears silently streaming down her face. The blonde had not spoken since they had been thrown aboard the slave ship. Kurt had made attempts to get her to talk, but she appeared broken and there was next to nothing he could do about it. Kurt looked up to the sound of the Latina clearing her throat.
"You picaroons are done," Santana said, throwing an apple core over the side and carelessly into the sea.
Kurt and Brittany were roughly pulled up by their shackles and led to the brig. Kurt obliged not having enough strength to fight against it and allowed himself to be pushed forcefully to the floor. Once he had watched the brunette lock the door to the cell and disappear, he used his remaining energy to crawl ovrr to the blonde and wrap his arms tightly around her.
In the distance the boy heard Santana yell: "Brooks if I see you or anyone near the brig, I will strap you to a cannon and throw you overboard!"
Kurt sighed deeply, his mind returning to the night before when he had just powerlessly watched Brittany be beaten to the ground. The images were still vivid and the screams continued to play through his head like an unbearable musket shot reverberating through his body. Kurt gently kissed the top of the blonde's head and stroked the matted hair, trying to soothe the poor, terrified girl in his arms.
Kurt had no words for her. He could give her no hopes or promises that they would be saved and as they sat on the cold, damp floor of the Ligeia's brig, a wave of complete helplessness washed over him and a single tear ran down the boy's cheek.
Drifting in and out of sleep, Kurt's dreams were filled with the face of Captain Anderson with his sly grin and dark eyes. The boy's hatred for the captain grew at the thought of how many innocent people the captain had killed and how he acted like he was merely disposing of rotten food, as though those human beings were worth nothing to him.
Kurt awoke to a small tugging at his shirt.
"Kurt," a small voice said.
"Brittany?" the boy said, turning to face the girl; he had almost forgotten the sound of her voice.
"What is it? Are you alright?" Kurt flooded the girl with questions having had no communication with her for about a week. He couldn't believe that she had finally broken her silence.
"I think so," Brittany said, turning to look at Kurt in the dim light of the moon that was shining through the gaps in the wooden slats of the ship.
"This isn't a dream, is it?" The girl said dejectedly, and as Kurt looked at her properly for the first time, he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying.
"No," was all the boy could manage to say, squeezing the girl comfortingly as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"Why did this happen to us Kurt? We were doing everything right. We changed, and yet still they denounce us." Brittany's voice crackled as she buried her head into the boy's chest.
"I know," he said, tears beginning to roll down his own cheeks. He had been pushing down his emotions as soon as Brittany had stopped speaking, and now that the blonde had found her voice, his emotions had surfaced, rearing it's ugly head like a kraken.
Neither knew how to console the other and the only thing they could do was hold one another, but not even that seem to fill the empty space that they both felt in their chests. Kurt knew that what the blonde had said wasn't true; they hadn't changed, they had merely appeared to have changed. But what did that matter now? They had been driven from their home town and were currently enslaved on a ship being treated like menial objects. If they were objects, then technically they should be able to harbour feelings. Kurt only wished that this were the case, for Brittany, and for himself.
***
"Wake up," Santana ordered, running her sword along the metal bars which created a large clanging reverberation through the cell. The two bodies in the brig merely stirred, causing Santana to become angry.
She had already allowed them to sleep for longer than usual, knowing that yesterday's hard work had been tough on them, but Santana wouldn't admit to going soft on the slaves to the men.
"Bilge rats, I said move it!" The Latina yelled, wrenching open the cell door and gesturing with her head towards the main door with an exasperated look on her face.
Santana watched impatiently as the couple groggily rose, groaning as they stretched their muscles, making the shackles rattle as she released them.
Santana herded the pair on deck and grabbed some rope on the way to the starboard side of the hull. To prevent the slaves from escaping, the Latina tied the rope to two cannon balls before tightly wrapping the weighted rope round their waists.
"Don't even think about throwing yourself overboard," Santana said sternly into Brittany's ear as she tied the knot behind her.
The men jeered at the two slaves as they busied about their jobs around the ship. Santana laughed along with them. She didn't find it remotely as amusing, but she only joined in to avoid doubts from the crew.
"You'll be scrubbing the canons, so get to work," Santana commanded, throwing rags at Kurt and Brittany, not allowing her eyes to linger on the blonde for too long this time.
She turned on her heel and marched up to quarter deck where the captain stood, watching over the crew and slaves. She stood next to Blaine and yawned deeply. The shorter woman hadn't had a sounds sleep since the blonde had joined the ship's crew, and Santana's didn't understand why. What sleep she did get her dreams were filled with the girl's beautiful face and the look of terror that had been etched on the blonde's features after her beating from Brooks.
Santana looked at Blaine and noticed the vacant expression on his face, also looked fatigued, and the Latina wondered if his cause for sleep deprivation was the boy the captain was currently staring at.
"Captain Anderson, what ails you?" the woman asked, shifting in her jack boots.
She and Blaine were friends, but the relationship was deemed inappropriate that they usually refrained from conversing unless it was strictly business.
"Nout," Blaine said, the vacancy in his eyes shrinking which was replaced by the usual sparkle to show his presence in the world.
"I was merely seeing to the sea charts," the captain said, looking down at the parchment on the crate before them. "The course is set and we should port at Tortuga within the next few days," he added, tracing the route with his finger.
"Good. So we can be rid of the cargo and out of there before the-" Santana stopped herself, only glancing up for a second to see Brooks inadequately tying the reef sails.
Storming towards the oaf, the Latina bellowed, "Brooks! I said tie it fast, not as loose as a whore's corset," and snatched the rope from his grasp, pulling it tight.
Since he had attacked Brittany, Santana had made a point of making an example of Brooks. The actions of the man caused a rather surprising amount of anger within Santana and the woman had a compulsion to protect the blonde girl. As she continued to scold Brooks, she heard the sound of two splashes, one shortly followed by the other.
Santana spun round. Where Kurt and Brittany should have been was empty decking. Santana tore off her waist coat before pulling the small knife from her belt and dove over the starboard side, plunging into the deep, cold water.
Bubbles surrounded her and her vision was blurred as though looking through a misted window. The Latina's heart was hammering as she looked down and followed the trail of gas particles leading her to the ever sinking girl. Santana reached out, grasping at the cloth and pulling it towards her. The girl's blonde hair shrouded her face like a veil, almost seeming as suffocating as the water. The Latina sawed at the rope, praying that her lungs would hold out longer. The cannon ball was still dragging them further into the darkness. With the cord cut, Santana used her remaining strength to reach the surface. It seemed fathoms away. Her lungs were burning but she fought on, dragging the limp blonde with her.
She felt the air on her face, inhaling it like it was her first breath and clutched the blonde to her chest. Trying to keep her head above water, she yelled breathlessly, "Cast a line! Cast a line!"
Santana gripped Brittany as tightly as she could; scared that letting her go would cause the blonde to die. What felt like an eternity passed until she felt a rope land next to her. She blindly gripped it and allowed herself to be reeled in like a fish on a hook, cradling the girl, scared that she was too fragile to be touched by any other person.
The next few moments were blurred. She laid the unconscious girl on the decking and knelt by her side. The crew disappeared into the background and all Santana could see was the cold, damp girl. The Latina took Brittany's shoulders in her hands and shook her fiercely.
"Wake up," she urged, allowing her emotion to uncharacteristically creep into her voice, praying that Brittany wasn't dead.
A wave of terror washed over Santana as she stooped over the body, unmoving and lifeless. Why did she care so much? Why did a girl - a slave that she had only known for a matter of days - have so much of a hold on her?
The Latina closed her eyes, allowing a blackness to swallow her. She slipped into grief, her heart feeling as if was about to give up, Brittany being the motor that powered it.
***
The captain sniggered to himself as his first mate reprimanded Brooks, admiring how such a small person could hold so much anger - but then again, she did keep the crew in check, and even Blaine himself.
He looked back at his sea charts, inspecting the route they were taking. Lost in his thoughts, the Captain was abruptly brought back to reality when the sound of bodies hitting the water travelled to his ears. His eyes darted up to see Santana running towards the edge of the ship. Blaine watched as the small woman disappeared over the edge of the hull, creating a loud splash as she impacted with the water. He reacted instantly.
Ripping of his coat, Blaine unsheathed his sword and leapt in after the Latina. The man's heartbeat pounded in his head and the only thoughts that came to the captain's mind were how he had to save Kurt as the water surrounded him, attempting to suffocate him within the first few seconds.
Blaine forced his eyes open, the water clouding his vision, and dug deep with his arms powerfully moving towards the mass of cloth that resembled Kurt. Blaine raced after him, pushing down the need to take a breath. The captain felt like he was racing against the weighted ball that was dragging Kurt to a watery grave and he forced his limbs to move.
Finally, the boy was within reach and with every ounce of his strength, Blaine slashed at the rope with his sword that connected the boy to the canon ball. Willing his body not to fail him, Blaine fought to the surface, pushing Kurt above him. He could only pray that the boy would remember how to breathe once out of the black water.
Breaking through the liquid membrane, Blaine gasped, allowing the air to enter his lungs which filled him with a new energy. In the distance as if miles away, Blaine heard the Latina's familiar voice calling for a line and he felt the rope smack the surface of the water that was near him. Blaine gripped the rope in a vice like hold, his muscles shouting at him to give up, but he willed himself not to.
Nearly dropping to the floor with the weight of Kurt in his arms, he stumbled onto the deck, putting the body in front of him and throwing his sword to the side. Dripping wet, Blaine waited and hoped to see if Kurt's chest would rise and fall.
All noises were faded and all that Blaine's vision allowed him to see was a motionless boy. Blaine's eyes hardened. Please don't die, please don't die, was running through the captain's head as he willed his life on to Kurt, wishing that he could give the frozen boy some of his energy. That was when Blaine realised that he would give Kurt anything. Literally anything. Why was this happening? He was Captain Anderson; no one had ever made his heart ache as much as this boy, who was lying unmoving in front of him. Kurt wasn't allowed to leave him, not after this revelation. It just wouldn't be right.
