Trigger Warning: This chapter is about John the army surgoen's past life, which means WARFARE, GORE, and of course, DEATH. (Did I mention this fic is extremely obsessed with historical accuracy?). Also there's mentioning of LOSS OF CHILD.

A million thanks go to my wonderful betas, thedragonaunt and missClaraOswinOswald. They offered me great help to make the language right!

A few Dutch words were put within the dialogue. Just to make it feels more periodical. missClaraOswinOswald translated the dialogues.

Chapter 13 Sinkan

When John Watson first decided he wanted to make a life on a ship sailing east nearly twenty years ago, little did he expect he would end up on an island he had never before heard of, not to mention in a village like this. As a trained surgeon, he knew he could always find employment as long as there were ship-owners willing to take a risk for yet another venture. But once he made it to Batavia, he soon realized that, if traveling was what he'd been after, joining the army would be the wiser path.

He didn't expect he'd be sent to anywhere further north than Java.

Upon his first arrival at Taioan - the long sandbank miles away from the main island - all John could think of was that he wouldn't leave this place alive. The fortress of Zeelandia may have been an effective stronghold for guarding the lagoon, but he and three hundred army men were soon to be sent north to fight the hostile clans. And after a month of sailing past the northernmost of the island and subduing clan after clan by firearms, John found himself being thrown back to the central part of Formosa and trapped within the deep mountain, as a typhoon hit them unexpectedly in October. Days and days of heavy rain left them cold and ill. Eventually, their gunpowder was all wet and there was no dry wood to be found. But it wasn't until their local interpreter abandoned them and some of their men began to freeze to death that their commander decided to leave the mountain, marching the troop back to the safe coastline, where they could at least have the sea on their side and obtain supplies from their ship.

Yet, of course, things could never go that easy.

Just as some of the surviving men showed the first signs of recovery, strong winds from the ocean blew their ships away from the shore. Without the means to retreat, they had no choice but to march south, on foot, hoping to reach Taioan as soon as possible, given that they were only thirty miles north from the fortress. But, after days of wading across creek after creek, suddenly they were surrounded by enemies again. The very same clans from the mountains, which were, in fact, a kingdom named Quataong, with a king and hundreds of trained warriors - as their commander finally remembered to inform them - had clearly followed the troop all the way to the plain, learning enough of how musketeers fought, by watching silently from the sidelines, before they ambushed them, soundlessly, with rocks and spears and arrows. They had driven John and the army men into the bushes, for cover, where they had taken a rout leading to the next village, in the hope of procuring shelter and supply.

That turned out to be a grave mistake.

The first village they came across had already been burnt down. It seemed that the kingdom of Quataong was a lot larger than the commander had believed. And out of pure rage and idiocy, the army was ordered to retaliate against the next village by setting fire to everything they could see.

What they didn't know was that this was exactly what the Quataong warriors were waiting for.

As soon as the army entered the next village, they were immediately engulfed by heavy smoke coming from the nearby forest, as the evacuated villagers burnt down bushes, upwind, to smoke them out while warriors attacked them along the road, snatching them one by one into the thick underbrush, as arrows fell upon them through the thick smog. By the time the wind finally dropped, only half of the troop was left, as they found themselves near the coastline, with their ships in sight. The wisest call, at that point, would have been to send for the boats and retreat back to their ships. But the commander, like all of those who sought rank and glory in the army, insisted that they made a formation to turn back and fight the warriors, despite John and other two officers' fierce objections. It wasn't until he finally returned to Taioan that John learned about the primary goal of their expedition was to crush the kingdom of Quataong. But none of the men, even the two officers, apart from the commander were aware of that when they loaded their remaining firearms with the little gunpowder they had left and arranged themselves into three rows, to face the hundreds of warriors armed with shields and long spears, emerging from the long, thick grasses and underbrush, by the shore.

John knew from that moment that this battle wouldn't end well for them.

They held back at first, expecting the enemy to march closer into their effective firing range. But apparently the Quataongers had learned enough to stay away. So the commander ordered them to stay put for the moment, believing those savage warriors would eventually lose patience and march forward. But soon the tide began to rise and they were all standing in the water. Deciding not to risk losing their last batch of gunpowder, the commander ordered them to return to the unoccupied higher ground, nearby. That was when they realized that the ermemy had long been hiding, in the grass of the higher ground by the sea, waiting to attack them when they moved.

The first sign of the second ambush was a muffled scream coming from John's right side, as a young soldier - a fifteen-year-old boy who had already suffered severe diarrhea - was dragged into the grass, then a spurt of his blood splashed straight into John's face, as a Quataong man chopped off the boy's head, with two others holding him down. The lad's musket discharged, as his head was thrown into their formation. The next thing John knew, he was being blown away and knocked to the ground, on his back, as the still ignited match of the dead boy set up the gunpowders carried on the his belt. A cracked lead bullet pierced his right shoulder, as he landed on his back in the gore of the beheaded soldier. The cloudless sky pinned him thoroughly down ,while the sound of the ocean deafened his mind.

The combat lasted for at least three hours, as the soldiers desperately maintained their formation to protect their comrades in the inner circle, reloading the guns while their enemies charged them with shields, between rounds, pulling a few of them away with each strike and throwing their severed heads back among them. Eventually, they felt their boots soaking in the salty water again, as they were forced back to the shore, as the tide continued to rise. But it wasn't until the Quataongers began to sing that the officers started to beg the commander to allow them to send for the boats. By the time they finally sailed -for a mere twenty miles - back to Zeelandia, only a third of the men were left. Several of them died of their injuries, shortly after they boarded the ships, including one of the two officers. As a result, the commander and the castle of Zeelandia reported to Batavia that the defeat was due the typhoon, disease and the lack of morale.

John was glad that the commander had already left Formosa when he heard about all these, or else he would definitely have put a bullet in his head. He had been isolated most of the time during his recovery, locking himself in the small rented room in the town of Zeelandia. The injury on his shoulder made him unable to lift his arm for a long time. By the time he finally began to feel well enough to go outside, most people whose acquaintance he had made in the service had left the island.

The Company made a peace treaty with the king of Quataong, promising never to trespass on their lands, across the border creek. In return, the king would stop sending warriors to the Company's turf to headhunt, and would release the surviving interpreters and messengers they had taken hostage during the months of negotiation. The treaty was widely hated by the staff because, in the end, only one interpreter - who had two of his fingers cut off - was rescued, together with the bloody clothes of the others. And, upon hearing this, John knew in his heart it was time for him to leave. His function as an army surgeon was no longer truly needed on this island, not when they wouldn't go fight the Quataong in the future. As soon as the next ship to Batavia arrived, he would be on his way.

But then that he saw her, on a bright and warm day in April, passing by his window and accidentally glancing in, while John was staring blankly at the wall of his small room and brooding over the past year. Her eyes met his then immediately frowned and looked away. Despite was all over her fair, smirking face. John heard himself tutting loudly. What did she think she was doing?

Before he could begin to comprehend, he was on his feet and dashing out of the door. Shutting the door behind him, he stared straight at the woman who was now leaning against a wall and still smiling at him. Listening to his own pounding heart, John carefully took her in. She was small and sturdy, in a pair of dark gunny trousers and a matching top with red and blue embroidery around the collar and cuffs. Glancing back at him, she burst into chuckles upon seeing his disheveled clothing, and giggled even harder, as she turned away. Her dark waist-length hair swayed with her, and her laughter soon spread, while the two men who were with her began to titter. That was when John noticed one of the men had a toddler girl in his arms. The similar color and patterns of embroidery on their clothes told him that they belonged to the same family. Perhaps one of the men was her husband. But John had heard before that the Formosan women didn't like to marry. Therefore, it was more likely that the men were her brothers. But John couldn't be sure.

So he observed them, watching them closely from a distance, as they turned their attention to the street vendors. They were heading slowly to the castle. And, at that pace John doubted they would make it there before dusk. The little girl was clearly her daughter, as she kept asking the woman to hold her, which made them walk even slower. By noon, they had moved merely few dozens of yards from where John lived, without looking back once. It wasn't until they reached the chamber of commerce, located at the edge of the town near the castle, that John began to realize they had been aware of him all the time. For he was suddenly approached by a man coming from the chamber, after one of the Formosan men went into the building.

A slightly pale man, whose left hand was wrapped with tainted bandages.

'Dr Watson,' he stopped a few steps away, in front of John, a frown and a suppressed smile on his face. 'A guest of the chamber just told me you're stalking their sister. Do stop doing that. It's incredibly rude, even for an army man like you.'

John felt his jaw drop. He blinked a few times before he managed to answer. 'You know me?' he asked, yet immediately regretted it, as the man with a bleeding hand snorted a laugh.

'Natuurlijk,' he sniffed then looked away.

'Hoe? Pray tell?' John said with gritted teeth. This man smiled too much.

'Ah, who doesn't know the army surgeon who so heroically got himself shot in battle?' he kept on chuckling. John felt the blood in his head rush into his ears, all at once. Taking a quick glimpse at the man's wrapped up hand, the surgeon felt his shoulder begin to throb, as he inhaled deeply.

'You're the surviving interpreter.'

'Hendrik Bos, at your service,' he raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, wait, in fact I'm quite done with providing my services to clean up the mess left by the army. So please, do stay away from here. And stop staring at that lady. She's a landowner with children so you won't get a chance. If you're looking for company, there's a house down the next street-'

'What's her name?' John asked, sharply, as he looked past the interpreter's shoulder and noticed the woman was now cuddling her daughter against her chest and beginning to unfasten her shirt. A surge of indescribable sensation rushed up to John's head and he felt his eyes began to moisten…

'Did you not listen?' the interpreter's voice came from the side and John was sure he was wincing. But he couldn't look at him at the moment, as the woman was now picking up her daughter and hastily unfastening her clothes, turning away to face the wall. John blinked at such a sight. He had seen mothers nursing before. But this was entirely different. He couldn't tear his eyes away, even if he somehow noticed the other man was reaching for his wounded shoulder-

'Ah!' John bit out, instinctively grabbing the interpreter's hands yet immediately withdrawing, as he realized he'd just touched the man's severed fingers. He meant to apologize but then a solid punch landed on his left cheek, as the other man spit out a string of curses then backed away.

'Mr. Bos?' the family by the chamber called out. John saw the interpreter gritting his teeth. His right fist was stained with blood from John's nose, while his left hand was shaking from the pain of the wrapped fingers.

'Stay away from the chamber, Watson,' he hissed at the surgeon. 'And for the love of Christ keep yourself together. You embarrass us all,' he said while wiping away a tear and sweat from his face, before turning on his heels and returning to the building. John gaped, as Bos disappeared through the door. The woman gave him a hard look then followed the interpreter into the chamber. Her family walked closely behind her, leaving John the only one remaining under the sharp April sun.

He remembered running back to his lodging, all too aware of his greasy hair and dirty shirt. He spent the rest of the day shaving his face and cleaning himself. For the first time in months, John felt his injury was healing, as he could manage to lift his right arm above his head when he dressed. When he had finally finished, he stepped out of his door. The sun was setting near the surface of the ocean. He wondered for a moment what he should do but then soon decided he would go to the pier to see if there were any oysters left for the day. And that turned out to be a life changing decision.

He met them again at the beach, the woman and her family, picking up oysters and shell fish from the Chinese fishermen. None of them noticed him until John made a noise, trying to talk to a clam digger. She gasped, as she recognized him and called her brothers. John expected her to laugh at him as before. But she merely stared and smiled. Pinks patches appeared on her smooth cheeks. The next thing he noticed was that her brothers went away with the little girl. A few moments later, they were the only two left on the beach, sitting together on a large lump of driftwood, cracking shell fish and oysters with sharp stones and eating in silence.

John would never forget it was she who made the first move.

Her fingertips were a little rough but the touches were very gentle. Roaming over his freshly shaven face, she murmured a few words, while he winced at the bruise he had acquired a few hours before. She barely made a sound when John pulled her close and undressed her. Not a hint of shyness was seen on her face, as she stood before him naked, carefully pushing his jacket off his shoulders then unbuttoning his shirt. It wasn't until she leaned forward to kiss him that John realized he had lost himself gazing at her. Her lips were soft and savory with the taste of shell fish. He couldn't help but moan into her when he felt the light tugs at the back of his head. Slowly but smoothly, she nudged him onto the sand, pinning him in place with kisses so gentle that John had to comb his fingers into her hair, for fear she would suddenly break away. But she didn't. She kept on kissing him until the sun completely sank into the ocean, until their vision darkened and the sound of the sea became so overwhelming that she had to cling to him, rolling them both closer to the driftwood to let John take the lead.

She felt much warmer than the sands beneath them. The small sounds she made rhymed with the sound of the waves. Under the faint skylight John could see that her sparkling eyes never left his. Her arms circled around his shoulders, carefully avoiding putting pressure on where he'd been shot. How she knew of his injuries, John couldn't fathom at the moment. All he knew was, since that moment and for many years to come, it was the sparkles he saw in this evening that kept him on the island. Even after they became estranged, long before their son was born.

At dawn, they walked back to the town, holding hands. Neither of them broke the silence. She and her family remained in the town for nearly a week, reviewing the contract the Company had drafted in the chamber. Their rental lodging was merely two doors down from John's. Each night, she'd come to lay with him but never fell asleep. They murmured and spoke to each other in bed. John supposed she could understand him a little, because she always listened closely when he spoke. But she never responded much. She always left at midnight. And during the day she and her family were always in the chamber. The last night before her return to the main island, she stayed until daybreak. John only realized she was leaving the town when he woke to find her gazing at him, fully clothed. She said something to him, as he rose up. Her family was already waiting for her outside. It wasn't until when their son came along that she told him she was wishing him a good life and safe voyage on that morning.

She didn't want to see him again. But John didn't know.

He went to see the interpreter Hendrik Bos, asking if he knew where to find that family. That bastard refused to spill a word.

'She didn't even give you their name, Watson. If I breathe a word to you it would be a betrayal of confidence. God knows how hard I worked to gain their trust.' He then sent for a Javanese doorman to throw John out and told the rest of the chamber staff not to let John in in the future.

But his attitude soon changed, within a week, when John went to ask him yet again and saw him almost past out in pain when his four-year-old son Fredrik - it was the first time John met him - accidentally grabbed his wounded fingers, outside the chamber. After taking off the bandage, the surgeon soon found out it was the oily ointment the castle provided for him that kept his wounds from healing. Otherwise, the pain should have eased weeks ago.

'I could tell you where to find her. But you have to find someone to bring you into their clan. I certainly won't be the one to introduce you. It would be too obvious. And you don't go there uninvited, if you value your neck,' he told John, days later, when John visited his house. The man had become much more agreeable since John changed his dressing and told him to take a dose of turmeric every day. But the grudges Bos held against the army men remained unresolved. 'We don't need another war. Although I'm fairly certain they won't send men to revenge you should you get yourself killed, not after you people lost so disastrously last year.'

John couldn't help but sniff. 'I thought we won against the Formosans long ago.'

'By utilizing the blood feuds among separate clans, yes. Which is lucky for you. The lady you wish to seek belongs to the clan of Sinkan. A clan which is actually friendly to us. So friendly that my son, Fredrik prefers staying there to Zeelandia. They have their way with children,' he shook his head and sighed. 'May I give you some advice, Watson?'

'Sure,' John shrugged, as he finished dressing the man's broken fingers.

The interpreter swallowed, as he resumed. 'Let this pass. Don't try to go there. A surgeon with your skill can easily make a fortune in big cities like Batavia. You should take the next ship as you had planned and leave,' he said. John let out a slight snort.

'Waarom?' he asked.

'Because it won't end well for you,' Bos said without a thought. John immediately narrowed his eyes, surprised by his assertion.

'How would you know?' the surgeon inhaled deeply with a frown. He would have questioned further but, just at that moment. the interpreter's son ran over the threshold, covered in mud from head to toe. The father scolded him while helplessly shoving him towards the small yard behind. John jumped up to followed them, stopping at the back door.

'I could be wrong, of course,' Bos spoke while pouring water onto thy boy's head. 'But I've seen men like you, Watson. Just ask yourself this, before you ignore me. When you die, which you will in time, can you see yourself being buried on this island?'

John didn't know how to answer the question until years later, when he buried his son.

The Dutch words appeared in this chapter: (translated by missClaraOswinOswald)

Natuurlijk = of course

Hoe =How

Waarom =Why

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