A/N: So my goal was to update in 10 days. Well, that totally crashed and burned, but only by 3 days.
So for this chapter, I actually went and looked up 18th century medicine for, like, a 3 sentence part. See how dedicated I am? Also, in this, Lily says something like, "Why am I such a girl?" Basically she means "Why can't I be more like a guy? All tough and insensitive." I mean no offense by it, because I, after all, am a girl.
Ok, so I've just finished reading Linda Lael Miller's Pirates for the second time, and I gotta say, IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THIS ONE ALREADY, THEN DO SO, DAMMIT! It was the first romance novel I ever read, and it's AMAZING! Heck, I based this story off it partially, so it must be good.
-Whacks Raymond- That just about speaks for itself...
Ok, so there's a lot of emotional crap going on in the 2nd half of this chapter. I realize that most guys don't go pouring out their hearts, but due to my extremely limited knwledge of what goes on in the heads of the male gender (aside from the usual perversions), I had to make it a beit sappy. I know it's not realistic, but, hey, I'm a romantic. Romantics like to make things romantic. That would be why we're called romantics. So bear with the un-realistic-ness, please.
Thanks to all 45 of you who reviewed! (Sorry, not enough room to put down all of your names.) However, that's 40 less reviews than last chapter. What happened?
Well, onto chapter 10!
Disclaimer: Hm...I wonder...does JKR sit at her computer for 2 hours a day trying desperately to think of something to write so her reviewers don't kill her? ...Wait, that would be a yes...Ok, people, I'm not JKR. You should really know this by now.
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So here I am, sitting on top of Wilson on the deck of the Intrpid, with all the midshipmen staring at me with their mouths open.
What a fine day this is turning out to be.
I scramble up into a standing postion as the other boys flock around the two of us. It's Walker who speaks first. "Topher...are you alright?" There's a frantic note in his voice.
"I...I'm fine," I manage to say, the gravity of what happened just now sinking in. I cast a wide eyed glance up at the rigging, which is swaying in the wind. My eyes imeaditately fall on the spot where I let go, about half way up the rat lines. From down here, it seems so high up.
A nauseated feeling sweeps over me and I have to grab the ship's railing to keep from collapsing.
"That was the worst fall I have ever seen anyone take off the rigging like that. You're lucky to be alive," Robin says to me, something between concern and amazment laced into his voice.
"You didn't even scream," Freddie says, almost in awe. "It's like you knew it was coming..."
A silence falls over us and I look down at my feet, studying the wood on deck, willing myself not to cry.
God, why do I have to be such a girl?
A few minutes pass, during which I'm completely aware that everyone's staring at me. Then, because I can't take it anymore, I take a breath and walk over to where Wilson is still laying on the hard wood of the deck.
I stop and look down at him for a moment before he says, "Bloody hell, you're heavy."
"Thank you," I say seriously, ignoring his comment. For saving my life? For not telling my secret? For being the only one on this ship who sees me as I am? All of them, or none of them. I don't even know.
Without saying anything, Wilson sits up and massages his stomach where I landed on him. As his hand sweeps over his ribs and he cringes and swears.
"Are you okay?" I ask, amazed that I'm actually concerned for the cretin sitting before me. Though something stirs inside me as the thought enters my head...guilt?
No way. Why would I feel guilt for pointing out what Wilson truly is?
"We should take 'im to The Cochroach," the youngest, Willie, says from my right.
"What's 'The Cochroach'?" I ask him, confused. (As always.)
"It's what we call the doctor," Freddie relpies, also gazing down at Wilson.
"Dr. Roach," Robin adds.
"See, a while back, there was another midshipman your age who got really sick," Walker says, his hands in his pockets. "The Cochroach decided that the kid needed to be bled. But it just made the bloke worse, and he ended up being taken back to his home town, somewhere in Ireland. Last we heard of him, he couldn't even walk."
"Bleeding someone doesn't make them better," I say, qouting Monsieur Pierre Louis, an elderly physician who came to dinner at my former home several times. He was great friends with my father's father, so he was very kind to our family and never failed to explain the gory details of his experiments with the human body. (Once, when he was describing the human intestines, both Petunia and Violet fainted. It was rather funny. Personally, I find Monsieur Pierre Louis' work fascinating.)
"No, and we saw it first hand," Walker agrees, shaking his head.
"Are you idiots going to stand around talking all day, or are you gonna help me up?" Wilson, who was momentarily forgotten, says iritably.
We all look over at him and say, "Oh yeah," then Walker and Robin help pull him to his feet. He winces, then gives me a look that says, You and I need to talk, so don't go running off again.
Somehow that makes me feel even worse.
The rest of us follow Walker, Robin and Wilson down past our cabins to a dark and dingy room at what seems like the bottom of the ship. "This is where the doctor sees people?" I ask, disgusted at the sight before me.
"Yup," Freddie says glumly.
No wonder that boy got so ill after being bleed, I think, stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep them from being contaminated. The instruments are all caked with dirt and blood that's probably decades old. I get an uneasy feeling imagining the man using these tools on Wilson.
Gah, what is wrong with me? Why am I worrying about him?
A short and balding man scurries into the room, seemingly surprised that there are people in here. "Yes?" he asks.
Walker steps forward. "There was an accident on deck. Could you check him out to make sure nothing's wrong with him?"
"Oh, well, I'm very busy," the tiny man stammers, wringing his hands in his lap. We all glare ferociously at him (Mine being the most vicious of them all, for reasons unknown to myself), and he quakes under them. "O-okay..." he says, egding around us to get to Wilson, who's been set up on a table-top.
"Your...your clothing...please remove your shirt," the doctor manages to say after a while. With a little difficulty, Wilson manages to pull his shirt over his head, and I have to try very hard to keep from admiring his rather defined muscles.
I can't be too obvious, now can I?
The doctor picks up one of the disgusting instruments and proceeds to poke and prod Wilson in various place on his torso, apparently looking to see whether or not he winces. I count each time the doctor goes up and down his rib cage. On wince...two...
There's three total. Two on the left, one on the right. God, if ever there was a time I feel that I need to lose weight, this is it.
But I really feel terrible. I mean, it's all because of my stupidity and lack of the ability to follow directions that Wilson got hurt at all. Not that I really care about him at all, but wouldn't you feel horrible if you broke someone's rib? And here, I broke three.
I must be the most vile creature alive.
The doctor seems to have come to the same conclusion that I did, because he issue a loud series of coughs and then begins to wrap Wilson's chest in bandages. After that's done, he gives Wilson a sip of something black and disgusting looking before declaring that if in a week there's still pain, he should come back and be bled. I notice the others cast dark looks at the little man as he says it.
Somehow, I think this man's stuck in the 16th century. He looks it, too.
Since 'The Cochroach' is finished with him, Robin and Walker hook their arms back under Wilson's and heave him back up towards the midshipmen's berth, the rest of us trailing behind like lost puppies. When we reach the room Wilson and I share, Walker turs to me and says, "I don't know what it was that Roach gave him, but could you kep an eye on Jack to make sure he actually survives to be 'bled next week'?"
Not to thrilled at the idea of being shut up in the same room as Wilson, I say, "But...what about...my midshipman's training?"
"I think the captin'll excuse you in this case. And it's not like we're gonna tell him..." Walker replies as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well...alright then," I say, because I can't really come up with a reason not to. At least, not one that I can say out loud to the lads here.
I open the door and Walker and Robin duck inside and deposit Wilson carefully onto his bed. "You alright, mate?" Freddie asks from the doorway.
Wilson gingerly feels his ribs and nods slowly, like he's in more pain than he wants to let on. Ergh, why can't guys just say that no, they are not okay for once in their lifes? I mean, it's not like the others are all gonna turn on him and eat him or something.
Though I suppose I'm being a hypocrite because just a few mintues ago I was wishing to be less emotional. Oh well...
"Okay then," Robin says, and he and Walker move towards the door.
As Walker passes me, his quietly says, "Don't let him leave here or jump out the window or anything like that. This bloke can be as stubborn as a herd of bulls."
"I heard that," Wilson says from his bed, sitting up a bit to glare at the back of Walker's head. Walker grins that horrible gorgeous grin at me and leaves quickly, closing the door behind him.
Great, so now I'm all alone with this idiot. And now my stomachs going all funny and for whatever reason, I really want to get aways from Wilson. Odd...
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I stare at the closed door for a moment, then turn around and walk towards the large dresser. I put my hands on it and look out the tiny porthole window at the foamy waves that crash against the Intrepid's hull, willing myself to calm down as I do so.
"So, what did you want to speak to me about?" I ask after a moment, making no effort to deepen my voice. There's a small tremble in it that I truly hope he didn't notice.
I continue to stare out the window as Wilson replies. "What are you talking about?"
I roll my eyes and turn so that I'm leaning back on the dresser. "Oh, please, I'm not stupid, you know. Your looks are very easy to read, and judging by your actions earlier," I say, fighting back the blush that heats up my cheeks just from thinking about it, "You have something important to say.
Wilson averts his eyes, and I turn back around. I don't trust myself to look at him just yet. "So, what was it?"
"I...just...wanted to say...that I'm sorry," Wilson replies, the last bit coming out in a rush, like it was hard for him to say.
Startled by this proclaimation, I whirl back around to face him. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Wilson says more clearly, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry for...for last night."
He looks up at me with his beautiful blue-green eyes and it suddenly feels very warm in the tiny cabin. "I'm sorry, Lily."
As my name escapes his lips, I feel my heart do a flip-flop, and for what ever reason, I'm paralyzed there, staring into his bloody gorgeous eyes.
What's wrong with me? I...this...isn't happening. That's it, I just imagined that he said my name with a tenderness I didn't know he possesed. I just imagined that my pulse quickened when he looked at me, and that the room got smaller. I imagined it. I did. Really. End of story.
Wilson, who's unaware of the war I'm battling with myself, plows on, looking down once again at his bed sheets. "It's just...when you first came on the ship...you didn't look like a normal boy. You were just too...pretty. And it wasn't just me who noticed, the others did as well. And then...some of the things you did were just...not normal. I...I started wondering why...and I couldn't come up with anything...but it bothered me...and I couldn't stop thinking about it...about you. I...I thought I was...well...that there was something wrong with me...it wasn't right. And I...I...wanted you."
I stand there in front of him, transfixed on what he's saying. What the hell...?
Gah, what's with my body today? I must be sick - I just got chills.
"But then...then I found you that night. I'd...I'd waited for you to come back from the watch, but you never did. I got sorta worried, so I went back up, and they said that you were...that you were down in the hold. So I went to find you, and...and..."
"And I turned out to be a girl," I finish for him, both extremely embarrased and, for reasons unknown to me, a little esctatic.
"Yeah...and I just...I was so relieved that I...well, I...I'm sorry," he says, looking as if he were a lost little puppy.
"I...understand..." I say after a moment, not sure what exactly it is that I understand.
Wilson sighs, then continues speaking. "But there's something else. Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
"I beg your pardon?" I say, blushing slightly at his question. What right does he have to ask such a thing?
Wilson has the gull to smirk at me and continues on. "Well, I have, but this time, it was different. When I kissed you, there was something there. I know you felt it, so don't bother denying it," he says, cutting across my unspoken protests. "I know you feel something for me, Lily, whether you want to admit it or not."
Mortified, I scathingly reply, "I'll thank you to not tell me how I feel. I got enough of that at home, thanks. And I'd appriciate it if you'd refer to me as Evans, Wilson."
"I thought I told you to call me Jack," he says, not really replying to my demands.
"Right, so I'm just going to automatically listen to you and do everything you say?" I ask sarcastically, throwing daggers at him with my eyes.
"You know, that angry expression really flatters you," Wilson says, grinning at me from his bed.
I back up quickly, doing my best to hide the blush that just rose into my cheeks. "Oh, I'm not angry, I just hate you," I reply icily, moving towards the only door out of the suffocating room.
"You know that's not true," Wilson says, sitting up a bit to keep me in sight. "I don't care what you say, Lily, but you fancy me. I can just tell."
This statement increases my anger to the breaking point. "Go to hell!" I yell as I throw open the door and practically run out. After slamming itclosed again, I back up against the wall behind me and slide down it until I'm sitting on the hard wooden floor.
Fear seeps into me as I think about Wilsons words.
It doesn't mean that. That's not what those things mean. I'm not feeling all jittery around Wilson because of that. I'm not.
I don't fancy Wilson. I don't
But even I, poor, niave, stupid little me, know that's a lie.
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A/N: Can you say 3rd longest chapter ever?
Well, please review! (That's not a request.)
Hugs and fuzzles
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