In the end, the door had to be kept wedged open by the chair, thanks to the insane wind that blew in angry gales about the ship. Said wind overturned the chair fairly quickly, but there wasn't enough room in the cabin for it to be shoved out of the way, so it still did the job. Theo remained propped up against the wall, the pistol in her bad hand while the other bundled in the blankets, keeping them in a white knuckle grip every time she felt the temptation to double over in pain.

Such pain couldn't be pushed through - it wasn't a headache, nor a mild sort of period cramp, it was borderline debilitating. But while it couldn't be pushed through and forgotten about in favour of what was really important, that didn't mean it couldn't be used. Every streak of white-hot pain that struck through her abdomen, along with every burning prickle in all five fingertips of her right hand, she took and she shoved towards her anger. The anger itself had started out as fear, but she'd stoked it and sharpened it and fed it thoughts of Beckett's smug face, Mercer's sadism, the fact that after all they'd been through so far she and James were still not safe, that she'd blabbed under torture, that she'd been tortured, and the fact that they were even here at all rather than in the guest room of some tavern somewhere basking in newlywed bliss. The fact that she knew her dad was watching just strengthened her resolve.

The muscles in her thighs burned with the effort of keeping her from sliding off of the bed, her feet planted flat against the mattress just before her backside, the maelstrom they ship was being steered through keeping the cabin at a constant angle that tilted her in the direction of the door. She could see James from where she sat - something that was comforting right up until the first assailant tried to take him on, and she was faced with the fact that she could do little other than sit here. Still, her husband was a fierce fighter and that fact rang no more truly than when he was protecting what he held dear, and the member of Jones' crew who had attempted to take him on was disarmed and flung over the rail down towards the main deck within moments.

By the time another handful of attackers had been dispatched in a similar manner, rarely taking him more than a step or two out of sight of the doorway, the inside of the cabin was soaked and the anger Theo had so carefully curated was the only thing stopping her nerves from being totally shot. James' hair was soaked, plastered to his scalp as he took the opportunity offered by a lull to glance over his shoulder, likely making sure she was still conscious and hadn't started fitting, and then he turned his attention back to the battle.

Theo didn't have to see his face to note the change in him when he did, his back straightening and his shoulders squaring, sword raising up despite the fact that nobody was yet running at him. The deck outside was a blurred mass of swinging swords, growls and grunts, punctuated by brief snapshots of those engaged in the fight before their footwork took them once again out of sight, and so it took her a moment to spot what he had seen. But then, through the rain, she saw the head-to-toe black garb and dour face of Mercer, and for a brief, stabbing moment the fear almost broke through the anger. Almost.

James' free hand trailed back slightly, ghosting over the door frame to the hospital cabin as though reminding himself why he could not go running to Beckett's right hand - or maybe trying in vain to see if he could close the door after all. It didn't matter, though, because Mercer was marching towards him with a single-minded focus, barely even side-stepping when Jack, engaged in a breakneck sword fight with Jones' shark-like First Mate almost knocked into him.

Theo knew there would hardly be any love lost between Mercer and James - not with Mercer's penchant for resorting underhanded tactics and James' value of honour, not with Mercer's loyalty to Beckett and James' betrayal of him, not with Mercer's would-be murder of the Governor, and certainly not with what he'd done to her that very morning. She could feel the furious, icy glare emanating from James regardless of the fact that all she could see was the back of his head, and it hardly surprised her. What did surprise her was the look on Mercer's face. Not a sneer, nor a snarl, but a smirk.

Not much could have riled James into an even greater fury, but Theo expected it didn't assuage his temper, and the moment Mercer was near enough that he wouldn't have to abandon his defence of the door to engage him, James was on him.

A few inches taller than Mercer, James rained down blow after blow upon him the second he was near enough to do so. Years of tireless training could not allow his anger to drain the skill and precision from his strikes - in fact, it wouldn't surprise her if it only added to it in James' case, and the smirk soon slipped from Mercer's lips. Theo pushed herself to the edge of the bed. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, lifting it slightly as she prepared to fire it without really intending to do so. Not yet, anyway.

Rain lashed in at her with every strong gust of wind, but the shelter of the cabin still gave her better visibility than what the others had out there - she didn't have to squint against the constant onslaught of the storm to see what she was doing, but it would still be far from a clean shot. She was no expert marksman to begin with, and outside it was sheer unbridled pandemonium, James' attacks coming quick as lightning. It made him a formidable foe for Mercer, no doubt, who might've very well been wondering if he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew in targeting James so. It looked to Theo that he could barely deflect one blow before he had to worry about where the next one was coming from.

But James' attack was not without its weak spots - or one very weak spot in particular - and it took Mercer little time to discover it. She wasn't even sure if the discovery was accidental, or if it was just obvious. The man took a few rapid steps back from the onslaught, but James wouldn't only follow him so far before he fell back and waited for Mercer to return to him, resuming his station by the door. It happened again. And again. That was all it took for it to become abundantly obvious that he would only stray so far from her cabin, and once the choice came between following Mercer and preventing her from being open to attack, he opted for the latter.

After the final display of that choice, Mercer grinned. Theo let out a ragged breath - one that sounded almost in unison to James angry half-growl half-shout of frustration, his shoulders heaving as he waited for Mercer to approach once again.

"Go after him!" She tried to call above the furore "I have the gun - go after him!"

It wasn't even just that she wanted to see James get his revenge - for her, for himself, for the both of them - but that she knew Mercer. Appallingly well, after this morning. It wouldn't take him long to thing of a way to exploit James' unwillingness to stray beyond a certain point. The last thing she wanted to see was how he might do so, her heart hammering in her chest at the smugness that overtook his face more and more every time James fell back towards the doorway again.

Even if there was time to get up, dislodge the chair and shut the door so that James might feel comfortable straying from it, Theo knew she simply wasn't capable of the range of motion that it would require, trying in vain to kick it out of position once or twice before knowing it was futile. Even if she could, she doubted he'd leave. The final time Mercer fell back, he made no renewed effort to spring forward again once James returned to the doorway. No, he remained where he was, his eyes flickering between the two of them, gleaming darkly with satisfaction. And then he transferred his sword to his left hand, and drew his pistol from his belt.

It took Theo not even one full glance about the cabin to know any bullet would tear through the clapboard walls with ease. If she knew that, James sure as hell knew that. And if James knew that, James would not move - not even if she dove out of sight of the doorway. If he moved, he left her open to Mercer's shot. If he sprang forward and tried to tackle Mercer before he could even make the shot, it just gave the man a closer target to work with. If he did not move at all? Well. That wasn't an option, either. At least not in Theo's mind. She had a feeling he disagreed, if the way he drew himself up to his full height and made himself bigger in the doorway was anything to go by, using his body to offer as much cover as possible.

Theo braced herself. She wouldn't bother shouting - he wouldn't bloody listen, he was as stubborn as she was - but she had to move at just the right time. Too early, and she'd leave Mercer time to adjust. Too late? Yet another non-option. But she only had to succeed once. She might not have known the finer points of reloading, but she knew it was finicky, and it took time. He had one shot. She just had to ruin that for him. Clenching her jaw so hard that her teeth ached, she pushed herself forward and curled the fingers of her good hand around the edge of the wooden bed frame, crouched out of sight behind James, the muscles in her arm tensed and poised to propel her forward. Her other hand still held the pistol, and she prayed it wouldn't accidentally fire.

She couldn't hear Mercer cock his own gun, not with everything going on around them, but the way James' entire body tensed up before her gave it away readily enough. A bead of sweat flew down the side of her face. She inhaled slowly - shakily, and prayed for a sign that she'd know exactly when to move. The moment she did, whether it was instinct, Achtland, Calypso, or even her father, something within her seemed to shout now! and she put all of her strength into pouncing forward, barrelling into James and sending the both of them down onto the soaking wet deck outside.

It was impossible to tell when exactly the gun went off. It all certainly felt like it happened at once, and she was faintly aware of the crack of the bullet splintering through the wood of the cabin just behind where James' head had just been. What she was mostly aware of, though, was the pain. White hot, world-ending agony burning all throughout her entire abdomen, seizing her up and wrestling control of her body away from her wits, leaving her a tensed, shuddering mess on the floor.

Forcing her eyes open was a feat of sheer will - and one that was an uphill battle, given that they were immediately assaulted with rain and seawater both - and she coughed and spluttered as the water flew up her nostrils, too, burning her airway. Lifting the gun in her hand up on instinct more than anything else, blinking blindly in search of Mercer. James was already rolling to his feet beside her, recovering far more quickly than she was able to, but it was the clatter of Mercer's gun as he threw it down to the deck in anger that finally gave away his coordinates.

When she finally made out his dark shape, he was switching his sword back to his dominant hand, his gaze fixed on James, having deemed him the most pressing opponent because he was the only one who was managing to get his feet under him. There was no time to aim; there was barely time to register that nobody stood between the two of them. Theo flailed the gun up, and she squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot cracked through the air, and Mercer went down to the deck with a shouted curse, dropping his sword in favour of clutching at his thigh as it spurted blood that appeared black against his breeches in the grim torrential rain.

And then James was on him, abandoning his sword in favour of his fists - as if there was previously any doubt about just how personal this was.

The first blow sent his hat flying off of his head thanks to the force with which it jolted his head to the left. The second followed soon after. Then another, and another after that. Soon it was difficult to say whether the blood staining James' knuckles was his own or that of Mercer's, for it streamed down the other man's face - first from his lip, then from his nose, until James' knuckled succeeded in breaking the skin at his cheekbone and brow. Then it was difficult to say where it came from at all, just that all of the water the heavens lashed down upon them still could not succeed in washing it away.

It was a sight that captivated, gratified, and horrified her all in one. Captivated because it was like a car crash - impossible to look away from, however gruesome - gratified because of the obvious. The salt water that seeped through her now that she was out here in the elements only added a fresh, hellish level of pain to all of her injuries. Literal salt in the wound. While a reminder of what Mercer has done wasn't needed, it certainly added a level of satisfaction to see James drive his knuckles into the man's face over and over. And the horror? Well, Mercer had not quite dragged her down to his level during his torture of her. She might've been smug to see it unfold, but nausea still welled within her with every sickening, cracking impact and every fresh spill of crimson down the man's face.

So much so that she almost failed to notice his hand grasping falteringly at the folds of his long dark coat. The grip of James' legs at either side of him kept his arms plastered to his sides, preventing him from reaching out to grab his sword, but judging by his grasping it was not the only blade he had.

"James," she falteringly lifted herself up to a sitting position, amazed that none of the fighters on deck had decided to pick her off yet "James."

He did not hear her, teeth bared in a snarl and eyes ablaze with pure hatred, practically glowing amidst the dark hair plastered to his face, as he punched Mercer again, and again, and again. Mercer's legs kicked fruitlessly against the deck as he tried to free himself, but his hand did not move with that same lack of distinct purpose.

"James!" she tried again to warn him, and still he didn't hear, too lost in his hatred to notice anything beyond his fists and Mercer's face.

She'd never seen him so angry - so bent on doing harm with a single-minded focus, and damn everything else. Could it really be that he'd been hiding all of this beneath care and duty while he'd been tending to her?

Mercer's hand flailed for his dirk unsuccessfully thus far, but she didn't dare pin her hopes on that failure continuing, and the repeated strikes seemed to motivate him further rather than disorienting or discouraging him. Survival instincts, she supposed. Theo tried to muster a second wind of the likes of the one that had allowed her to leap forward and tackle James, but it was proving to be a one-and-done sort of deal, attempts push herself up and move proving fruitless.

And then her luck ran out, and one of Jones' crew noticed her. The man's features were so warped that she couldn't even tell what sort of sea creature he was supposed to take after, his body riddled with coral that emanated outwards from what used to be his skull like some sort of twisted mane. Seizing her by the hair, he dragged her upwards and Theo cried out - more at the forced, jolting movement in her abdomen than at the burn of having her hair pulled.

"The cap'n has unfinished business with you, witch," the man snarled.

Theo didn't look at him as he did so - her attention was torn, dragged towards Mercer's struggle for his weapon. Her eyes darted downwards, unable to move her head thanks to the strain being placed on her hair, but the crewman demanded her attention, moving his grip from his hair to her throat, the barnacles and coral poking out of his hand digging and cutting into the soft skin beneath her jaw. Theo threw out a punch blindly, but it glanced across his face and cut her knuckles open, too, his face hardly flesh at all. He laughed a terrible, garbled cackle in response.

The ruckus caught James' attention, though, and when she next looked to him he was halfway up onto his feet, having deemed his own opponent too far gone to be of any concern now…freeing up Mercer's hand to reach for his dirk.

"The knife," she choked out "-the knife! Look!"

Jones' crewman squeezed harder still and she spluttered, her words incomprehensible, James failing to understand her meaning as Mercer's fingers curl around the hilt of the blade he had hidden in his pocket. Even if he did notice, would he turn away from her to stop him? Unwilling to put him in yet another position where he had to choose between saving her and avoiding injury, Theo threw her hand back into the face of the crewman - this time not to throw a punch, but to dig her thumb into his eyes.

He roared in response, grip almost loosening on her throat before it tightened with renewed vigour, up until she was certain if he squeezed just a little more, he'd crush her neck entirely. She dug it in further, her cry coming out as a wheeze as the move aggravated her nail-less thumb, willing him to let go. Hoping to up the ante, she lifted her other hand and grasped blindly for his other eye, but it was too encased in coral for her to do any damage. Her eyes flew to James again, now stepping away from Mercer and reaching for his sword, either unaware or uncaring that the man was beginning to falteringly sit up. If his eyes weren't so coated in blood, he'd have probably struck already.

Her panic heightened as Mercer slashed out blindly with the blade and narrowly missed, but just as she was about to give up hope, something - or someone - acted. The largest wave the maelstrom had yet sent flying across the ship washed over the deck, bashing into them with the force of a bus. They were swept sideways, and the pressure disappeared from her neck as she rolled down onto the floorboards. When Theo regained her bearings, the crewman had been washed to the other side of the deck and was clinging to the ship's rail for dear life. A moment later his grip wavered, and he went hurtling into the ocean. While she, James, and Mercer remained where they were, the dirk had been knocked clean from Mercer's grasp…and lay instead at James' feet.

Mercer noticed it at the same time James did, but he was too late - too disoriented, too punch-drunk. He'd barely reached for it by the time it was already in James' hand, and then her husband planted one boot flat on the man's chest for good measure before turning to her, holding out the dirk as though offering it to her. The question was unvoiced, but clear. Do you want to be the one to do it?

Theo hesitated. She wanted her revenge - and she wouldn't cry to see Mercer dead. In fact, she'd find a great deal of pleasure in it. But her desire to deal the blow was little to none. She was sick, and she was tired, and she was hurting, and she'd gotten her shot in. And it had felt good. But she wouldn't find as much joy in the act itself as she suspected James would. He needed to do it more than she did - she just needed it to be done.

She shook her head. And she doubted she was imagining the relief on his face when she did. When his boot lifted from Mercer's chest, the man made a faltering attempt to sit up, spluttering and choking on the mix of blood, rain, and sea water all over his face, but James' hand replaced his boot quickly as he knelt beside him, slamming him back down and sending his head smacking downwards. Mercer struggled against the grip, and James punched him yet again with the hand that held the dirk, the blade ripping through Mercer's coat as it passed over it.

The move knocked a bit of the fight out of him, but James paused and waited for a bit of coherency to return to the man, left arm keeping him pinned against the deck while the right held the blade up to his face, pricking against his left cheekbone. Rather than beg or make a show of contrition - or even fear - Mercer grinned a bloody, crimson snarl up at James, spitting crimson as he spoke.

"You're both dead, anyway - you and your whore wife-"

His sentence was cut off in a wet gurgle as James slipped the blade down, and drove it seamlessly point-first into his throat. Fear did reach his dark, widening eyes then - cold, and almost too human for a man like Mercer. He choked and spluttered as blood filled his airways, legs kicking against the deck in protest - first fruitlessly, then weakly, and finally not at all.

Only when he stopped twitching did James slide the blade out. Mercer was already staring unseeingly up at the stormy sky as James wiped the blade against the shoulder of his coat and then rose, approaching Theo so that he could haul her to her feet gently but swiftly. Once she was standing, he artfully flipped the dirk so that he held it with the flat of the blade pinched between two fingers and presented it to her - whether to arm her, or as a symbol that she'd been avenged. Maybe both at once.

Accepting it, she hung her head as he pressed his brow against hers - like the battle didn't continue to rage around them. Her body felt heavy in a way that had little to do with the water saturating her hair and clothing both, and the adrenaline sent tremors through her from head to toe. A moment slipped by, and then she breathed raggedly.

"The key. Around his neck."

She wavered on her legs as he returned to Mercer's body, yanking the key from about his neck. It had barely been in his grasp for more than a second before Jack, still embroiled in his fight against the shark-like Dutchman crew member, flew by and snatched it from his grasp in a run-by-grabbing. Theo sighed her relief at that. It wasn't something she wanted anywhere near her or her husband - and if it was going to be anybody's responsibility, Jack was the hero of all of this. It seemed like a good enough shout. Or at least she hoped so, as James helped her hobble back to the cabin, testing out the weight of the blade in her hand as she went.

Mercer might have been dealt with, but this thing was still far from over.

A/N: So apparently this battle is going to be three chapters long. Christ. Absolutely did not anticipate Mercerbowl alone being 4k words!

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