A/n: Sorry if this chapter is a little slow; I just wanted to show more of the characters. Plus, I needed a chapter that was a little laid back, ya know?

Chapter 15:

Sea Sick

Adam threw a canteen and a bag full of cloths over his horses back and hooked them on. Othello and Romeo where talking about something quietly so he couldn't hear. Soon after Romeo mounted his horse, said goodbye, and rode away towards the Capulet's house.

Adam sat up on his horse and watched as Othello packed his belongings onto his horse. "Why did we have to leave Emma?" Adam said breaking the silence.

Othello looked up for a second, but looked back down and continued packing. Adam looked away not expecting an answer. Othello mounted his horse, "She was becoming a burden." He simply said.

"We could've at least helped her find where she was, she's just a young girl, she's not going to ever find her way back if-"

"She has Bassanio with her." Othello interrupted while kicking his horse to a galloping start. Adam followed beside him.

"When we left she had no idea where Bassanio is! We don't even know where he is!"

"He's in Belmont," Othello said coldly.

"And how is she supposed to find Belmont?" Adam jerked his horse to a stop. Othello turned his and stopped so he was facing him.

"We have no time for this drama, Adam."

Adam turned his horse and began to ride back to the Capulet's house. Othello rode up to his side.

"What are you doing?" he yelled trying to make him stop.

"I'm going back to get Emma! There's no way she's going to be able to find Belmont by herself. I'll meet you back in Venice." He kicked his horse making it go faster, leaving Othello behind.

A ship on the way to Belmont

Emma sat up quickly in her hard, bed. Her back hurt from lying on this wooden plank all night and her stomach hurt from the swaying of the ship on the waters. She hated boats, all kinds of boats. She didn't care if they were rowboats or cruise ships she hated them all.

She stood up and stumbled over to the door of her small, box-like room. The door practically opened itself. There was no privacy on this ship. She was lucky to get a room of her own instead of sleeping with the smelly sailors in the deck below. The thought of it made her shudder.

She continued stumbling down the narrow hallway of the ship until she reached the captain's chamber. She knocked quietly. Within a few seconds Bassanio yanked open the door.

His face showed both amusement and surprise when he saw her, "Emma! What a surprise. Is there something wrong?" He gathered the last words from the disconsolate look on her face.

She just shook her head, "Nothing's wrong, I just don't like ships… at all."

Remembering his manners Bassanio offered Emma to come in. His room was well lit by candles. On his desk sat three maps and various pencils along with a beautiful quill pen and ink well. There were all kinds of contraptions Emma had been forced to learn about in her history class. They all seemed much more glorious when you could look at them in person.

One of the first things she noticed was an astrolabe hanging near a small window in the corner. She immediately rushed towards it and began examining it from every angle. History had always been her week spot. She loved looking at historical artifacts. Even though it technically wasn't one yet she would at least be able to say that she had seen one up close.

Bassanio's light laugh interrupted her thoughts. "You have seen one before?" He laughed looking at her from the threshold of the door. He sent a heart stopping beautiful smile towards her. There was a slight feeling of edginess that lifted in the air, forcing them to both look away. Emma looked back at the astrolabe and Bassanio at the floor.

"I have read about them. But never have I seen one up close like this," Bassanio pulled the door shut, the sound redirected Emma's attention on him, "it's beautiful." She finished.

Bassanio walked to the center of the room and began marking on one of the maps on his desk. Emma watched, feeling almost like she was bothering him. "Do you want me to leave? I mean," she stumbled over her words, "am I being a burden in anyway?"

Bassanio glanced up from his maps, not standing up completely, "Not in anyway," he flashed her another heart-stopping smile, "I enjoy your company."

Emma sat down on the bed and nearly sank neck deep in it's softness. The down pillows, blankets and mattress made it extra soft. It surprised her; her bed was a simple piece of canvas cloth thrown over a wooden plank.

She looked up; Bassanio was looking down scribbling on his maps again. This gave her time to examine his appearance. This was the first time she could recall seeing him in non-formal cloths. She had never noticed before in the dark rooms, even if she had been sleeping right alongside him. He was wearing a loose white shirt, tight black pants and boots that rose up to his knees. She could see almost all the way down his shirt while he was leaning over the maps. She had never noticed before how strong he looked.

He must have noticed her staring, or maybe it was the awkward silence, but he looked up at her and stood up straight, dropping the quill he was using back into the ink well, and walked over to where Emma was sitting.

He sat next to her on the bed, "What's wrong Emma? You've looked like death was upon you for the past three days. Ever since that party."

Emma shook her head, "There's nothing wrong, Bassanio." She looked up at him; she knew he didn't believe her.

"Emma, I can tell when something is wrong! Why can't you just tell me?"

Emma felt her eye's begin to swell up again, "Because I don't know what's wrong, I don't know why I'm so upset about them leaving me." She put her head on his shoulder.

"That wasn't something Othello would do without a reason," he said pushing his fingers through her long black hair.

"I'm not upset about Othello," Emma blurted out without meaning to. Bassanio stopped combing her hair and looked down at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Emma raised her head and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I don't know…" she whispered and began to cry again. The good thing about Bassanio was that he was always there for her to cry on his shoulder no matter what. She felt like she could tell him anything.