Content Warning: Mentions of child death and miscarriages. Also gross wounds.
Abigail quickly settled into ship's life, much quicker than she had anticipated. She had not been assigned to a specific shift or job, but could be seen helping out wherever she could. At first, the crew were weary, women on ships were after all supposed to bring bad luck, but just like Charles predicted and just like it had happened with Flint's crew, she captured the men one by one. It helped that she did not shy away from hard work like they had expected her to.
And so, it came that seven days into their journey south, Abigail found herself assisting the doctor. The winds had freshened up and there was a storm rolling in from the west. They were trying to outrun the storm for now so Charles had called all hands in the early hours of the morning.
The doctor had found her on deck, staying out of the men's way but watching, observing, learning. The wind had pulled strands of her hair out of her braid and was whipping them around her face, the ship rolling in the waves. She had turned her sun-kissed face into the wind and closed her eyes for a few moments when the doctor interrupted her, "Abigail, I need your help. Everybody else is busy."
She quickly followed him into the ship's hold and down to where his only patient was. Johnson had gotten wounded when Flint's crew had taken back the man-o-war. She had seen him a few times she had been down here herself, but he had been unconscious. The wound he had sustained was severe and he was one step away from death's door as the doctor had put it.
Before the doctor moved to open the door, he turned to Abigail, "This isn't gonna be pretty and it's going to fucking stink. His wound is festering and needs cleaning. Try to prepare yourself."
When she entered the little cabin where the patient was lying, the stench made her heave. It was assaulting her senses. She had only ever once smelled something this horrid. She quickly ran out of the cabin, breathing in the fresher air in the hold. The stench however would not leave, rather it intensified now that the door to the cabin was open. Somehow, she managed not to vomit, but the dry heaves continued for a moment. She fought to regain control, after all the doctor needed her.
The wound was on the crew man's left thigh and look gruesome indeed. Originally a deep stab wound, it was now a festering mess. Pus flowing freely now that the bandages had been removed and Abigail could have sworn that she had seen a few tiny maggots wriggling in the flesh. Her stomach threatening to empty itself again, she briefly turned away again.
Finally, she was able to regain her composure, her stomach settling on nauseated but not quite ready to get rid of its contents, and she looked to the doctor, "What do you need me to do?" He handed her a bottle of rum and said, "Feed that to him for now. The more the better. He might be unconscious now but he will wake up when we get started." She uncorked the bottle and took a sip herself before getting to work, thankful for the liquid courage it offered.
She slowly fed him half the bottle before he would take no more, turning away his head and groaning. "Right, best get to it," said the doctor, while she was corking the bottle and placing it back where it had rested before. "Even in his weakened state, he will most likely overpower you. Pain does that to a man, "he continued, coming to stand next to her. "Do you think you can stomach removing the pus, while I hold him down?"
Abigail nodded, not trusting herself to speak out loud. She was, in fact, not sure if she could handle it, not at all. The situation reminded her too much of what happened to her mother. Her mother had, of course, not been stabbed by a sword but the smell was the same. She did not mention any of this to the doctor, not wanting to appear weak, still trying to impress the crew that had taken her in.
But there was no way to stall the doctor any longer. He had bent over the man's torso, firmly holding him down with his arms so Abigail began to work at the wound. The doctor had given her an ample supply of linen to catch the pus with but they soon were all soaked through. She briefly wondered how so much liquid could fit in there. The man on the cot had almost thrown the doctor off him when Abigail began but the rum had done the trick and he had calmed down somewhat. He was still groaning in pain but not thrashing about. At long last, the flow of pus finally stopped. The doctor instructed her to rinse the wound out with alcohol and wrap a new bandage around the sailor's thigh.
He thanked her profusely when they were done but she didn't hear any of it. Instead, she quietly excused herself and made her way into the captain's cabin, unnoticed by the men on deck.
It was eerily cold in the cabin, but Abigail could not tell if it was the air or the thoughts that plagued her. She shivered and moved over to the bed. With a fierce tug she grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her, trying to get warm. The wine from last night was still on the table and she poured herself half a cup before settling in the alcove spot, the blanket shielding her from the outside world but the long buried memories of her mother's death were still haunting her.
It was here where Charles found her hours later. They had managed to outrun the storm and exhausted, the crew had made their way down to the mess hall, but Abigail was nowhere to be found. His concern growing by the minutes, Charles had quickly made his way to the cabin, desperately hoping to find her there. He almost overlooked the tiny bundle in the alcove seat, shrouded by the falling darkness.
He called out her name, once, twice but she only reacted on the third call. The sadness in her eyes almost made his heart explode. He quickly made his way over to her and kneeled before her, her dark brown eyes looking down at him. He gently raised one hand to her face, caressing her cheek, "What happened?" She did not register that he had spoken, only the concern, the warmth in his eyes was what mattered. She needed it. Desperately. So, she came to rest before him on her knees and wrapped her arms around him.
Abigail slowly felt warmth returning to her body, relishing the fact that she was in his arms. It was not what she had seen and done with the doctor that had shocked her, rather it was memories. Memories she had buried long ago, but that smell had brought them back.
Charles was worried. This was not like Abigail. She had been remarkably strong throughout her ordeal that turned her entire world upside down. Whatever had done this to her, whoever had done it, would pay, he swore to himself. But to do that he needed answers. He moved one of his hands that had been cradling her back to the side of her face. He stroked it once, gently, but then forced her to look at him, "Abigail, what the fuck happened?" The words came out more forcefully than he had intended but they seemed to bring Abigail back into the moment.
Abigail drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her voice was quiet but steady when she spoke, "I'm unharmed. Nothing happened. It's just memories." Charles drew her back into a full embrace, silently offering comfort. He did not know what had happened to her, what to say to make it better, but he could be there for her. Give her his strength.
Abigail felt incredibly vulnerable but also so very protected in his embrace. Generally, she was not one to feel sorry for herself, but what happened down in the hold had triggered the memories associated with her mother's death. It was then when her father had all but withdrawn for her life. Still sharing the town house in London with her, but not seeing her for days, weeks even. Leaving her in the care of her maid and governess.
She slowly started feeling more and more like herself. It was then that she realized how tightly Charles was clutching her. It dawned on her that she must've been a frightful sight. She looked up at him and placed one hand on his cheek, his beard gently scratching her palm. His steely blue eyes, narrowed and full of questions looked at her, but he made no sound, waiting instead for her to offer answers.
Slightly embarrassed by her actions, Abigail gladly offered up the answers, "The doctor came to me earlier today, to help with Johnson's wound." Charles's eyes narrowed even further when he heard this, his brow furrowing. Johnson's wound was ugly and most likely would kill him. It the wound had been any lower on his leg, they would have amputated it days ago but it was too close to the hip. No wonder that Abigail was disturbed. His line of thought was disrupted when Abigail once again caressed his cheek.
He was surprised when she continued talking, "It was gruesome. I don't know how he is still alive, but I was glad to help. The smell though, it made me remember things. Things that I had almost forgotten. I was so small when it happened." Charles's grip on her tightened again. "What happened," his voice a low, gravely growl. He would punish anybody that hurt her.
"You asked once, if my father loved me. I was seven years old when my mother died. When she died, our entire family fell apart. His love died the day she left us. He still felt responsible for me, of course, and made sure I wouldn't want for anything but his heart was dead."
She sat up a little straighter, her inner strength returning, before she continued, "I used to have an older brother. He was two years older than me and he died to a fever when I was one year old. My mother had it as well but survived, weakened but alive. My father was desperate for a male heir after my brother's death. After all, he needed somebody to carry on the title. From what I remember of my mother she was always with child but none of them survived. Some she lost just after a few weeks of finding out, but some stayed inside for months, almost making it. During these pregnancies my parents were happy and hopeful, so I was, too."
She paused for a few moments, closing her eyes. She kept them closed, when she continued talking, "Did you know that sometimes those ones live? For a while? Tiny children. So fragile. They scream and scream, until their energy is spent." A few silent tears rolled down her face, when she opened her eyes again. "Her last child lived for almost a day. I didn't see it, but I could hear it. I had hidden at the opposite end of the house, but it just wouldn't stop screaming. Something went wrong with the delivery. My mother developed an infection, but nobody told me. They just said she was weak and needed rest. A week after the child had died, I had become desperate to see my mother so I snuck out of my room in the middle of the night to see her. It was the smell that hit me first, the same smell from earlier. Her belly was bloated as if she were still pregnant. Her body pale and her eyes closed. I approached her, just desperate to hear her voice again but when I touched her hand it was cold. She had died some hours earlier, alone."
Charles's hand came up to her face, gently wiping away the tears that still rolled down her face. She was not done speaking though, "I went back to my room and never told anybody that I had seen her. They did not tell me until the afternoon. By then my father had already left on a business trip. The next three years he kept his distance, only ever speaking a few words to me. He left for Charles Town when I was ten."
The more Charles heard, the angrier he got. He wanted to kill her father, over and over again, for what he had done to her. Taking away her mother and leaving her all alone. He wanted to strike out, to hurt somebody, to find a way to channel this rage inside of him.
Abigail's voice was barely above a whisper but it was enough to snap Charles back to the here and now, "Thank you for listening. I've never told anybody." She was all that mattered right now and she needed him. He grabbed her tightly and lifted her off the floor. With swift strides he made his way over to the bed and laid her gently on the mattress. He briefly let her go to take off his boots and then wrapped his arms around her.
Abigail fell asleep quickly in his arms but sleep remained elusive for Charles.
What happened tonight had shocked him to the core. Not the treatment of Abigail by her father. Such things happened all the time, and they were one of the reasons he had turned towards piracy. No, what had shocked him was his reaction. The violent outburst of emotion when he thought something had happened to her. There was now no doubt in his mind that he loved her. He was well and truly fucked.