Cold. Very Cold.

Caroline couldn't remember when she'd been this cold. Surely, she'd been chilly before, felt the cold nip of winter air on her pale skin, or the rush of cold water on her shoulders. But that was nothing compared to this—this bone chilling cold that could only occur when three things were present: A ship, water, and the English climate. Alone, each of these things were perfectly fine; but together, the mix was deadly. (Although, the English climate alone could be enough to end one running for a warm fire, cup of tea, and a good book.)

The cold seeped right down into Caroline's bones as she walked through the bowls of the Justinian—hell, she was cold wherever she was on this damnable ship—making her body feel totally numb all over. The fact also that she had no shoes or gloves didn't exactly improve the coditions any. The cold was undearable—if she was anywhere else, she'd leave.

But since she was on a boat, in the middle of the English Channel, leaving was no option.

She'd been here about two weeks—two weeks!-it seemed like a eternity. Oh yes, she loved being on the sea, the wind in the sails and the creaking of the boat, but the weather left something to be desired. She also enjoyed seeing Archie again, even though he had no idea she was here, and hopefully never would. Caroline wanted to keep it secret for as long as possible, because she guessed that as soon as anyone knew, she'd be thrown overboard.

Even my breath is cold, she breathed into her hands and felt no warmth, but how can I be surprised?

The ship lurched suddenly, and Carolin missed her footing—she was able to do this quiet easily since she could not feel the ship underneath her feet, that had somehow gone from a light pink to a dark blue—her feet made a slipping sound as she tried to regain what was lost, but it was in vain. She tumle backwards and prepared herself to hit the cold boards, body tenced.

"Watch your step there!" Instead, though, she landed in someones hands. A grip on her shoulders, pushing her back to her feet, "Little uneasy, eh?"

Caroline—once she was standing right up again—turned around to see who had assisted her, whose hand still sat upon her right shoulder.

A officer! Midshipman! Caroline stepped back and snapped a sailor salute, fist for forehead, "E-Evening, Sir." Damn your stutter!

The midshipman scoffed, his teeth almost as yellow as his dark blond air, "Evening to you as well...?"

He wanted her name? "Garner, Sir. Willie Garner. Begin' your pardon, Sir."

"Quite alright, lad." He thought for a moment, "I haven't seen you before...no, I would remember you." He stepped towads her, "you're new here, are you not?"

Caroline nodded hastily, getting a odd feeling in her stomache, "Yessire, just got on two weeks ago, Sir."

He stepped towards here again, and she stepped back. He laughed, "You're not afraid of me, are you, boy? Why would you be?"

She couldn't surpress a shiver—partly from fear and partly from cold. What did this man want from her? He was acting terribly strange, and what she couldn't stop thinking about was a way to get out. Out. Get Out.

"You're cold-" His voice sounded almost concered as he reached out and—to Caroline's horror—ran his hand down her cheek. It was warm, it was horrible, but she was to shocked to move. All she could do was to stare wide eyed up at him, here brown eyes at his blue ones.

His voice was soft, "You are a beautiful lad, aren't you? Come, don't be afraid of Old Jack..." She was now up against the wall.

Out out out out OUT!

"Uhh," She managed, "begin' your pardon, Sir, but I gotta get goin' sir, they might need me on the deck."

The midshipman laughed, a jolly yet somewhat sadistic sound. Then he moved his hand from her cheek—where it had made temporary residence—to her hair, where it fluffed her brown locks, "Good lad, eh? Hard worker, I like that. Get on, then." He gave Caroline a slight shove, "just remember that if you're ever in trouble, old Jack'll stand up for ya—remember?"

"Yessire!" Caroline said hastily, then she ran for the stairs, but paused at the top—but for a moment—and looked back down at the stranger; the grin her gave her scared her like nothing had in a very long time. It was horrid.

She never wanted to see him ever again.

()()()

Two-hundred souls.

There were a big over two-hundred souls on the Justinian. Lieutenants, Mishipmen, Boson, Captain, Sailors, Cabin Boys, Power Boys—two hundred people, and only five walked away from the carnage with their lives. All the faces, people whom she'd known. A majority of them she haden't known the names of, but could recognize instantly; the fellow with the scar on his arm and the missing thumb, the one who always wore that red cap, the one who had been born without a right eye—she could've picked them out of a crowd.

She knew them. Everyone.

So why—why, God is heaven—did one of those lone five have to be him?

The moment Caroline saw him, the wet, dark blond hair, the blue eyes, the scraggily features, heard his voice—and could've sworn, felt his presence—she felt dread and fear in the most pure of forms. Never before had she experienced this pure of a foreboding, even with everything he'd ever done to her, at that moment in time, she'd never felt worse.

Her stomache lurched, she wanted to vomit, wanted to scream, wanted to run. Do something, anything, just to get away from there. Get away from that moment in time when she turned around and saw those eyes—the eyes that sent trembles throughout her very soul—staring back at her, and those lips, grinning sadisticly. It was if Satan himself had strolled up from hell and decided to make his new residence inside her very being.

She didn't even hear when Horatio spoke to her, something about Pellew and his cabin—was she suppose to go there? She wasn't sure. Her eyes looked straight forward, as if in a trance. Images flashed through her memory; feelings, sensations. Suddenly, she couldn't breath, only could hear that voice in her ear,

"...you're not afraid of ol' Jack, are ya?"

()()()()

The Captain's cabin seemed incredibly colder when Simpson was in it. The once invitnng room, with it's dark wood desk and red carpet now seemed fearful and small, far too small. IT took everything that Caroline had left not to start figiting in her seat, or to get up and leave all together. Besides the fact that the Captain had insisted on the officers gathering in his cabin to hear Simpson's story, and she had no way to explain her absence without spilling everything—which she simply could not do.

They—the Indy's faithful officers—were gathered around the large dining table, Simpson sitting at one end, Captain, Mr. Ecclston, and Mr. Bowles standing at the other. Midhsipmen and Lieutenants sat and stood about, ready to hear the tale of they bretheren's demise. Caroline had been able to get a seat, and sat parralell to Horatio, who looked to be in the 'sloth of dispond', eyes cold, thoughfully looking at the table.

Archie was to her left; he'd also been staring at the table since he arrived, totally silent with a blank expression on his face. She knew the hell he'd also been though—damnit, they'd all been through it, just some more than others. The things that haunted him in his nightmares, that spured on his fits. The midshimen had succesfully kept these problems secret; they all knew that if the Captain was aware of Archie's fits, he would be immediately discharged. Something that, even though Archie wanted it more than anything, he didn't want to have to tell his father, who had forced Archie into the service in the first place.

And so, there they were. Souls lost in a sea of their own pain and past (it was hard to tell one from the other, they both meant the same thing) each asking the same question, 'what the hell am I going to do now?'

The threesome barely heard Simpson as he revealed the story of the Justinians last stand,

"The Pappilon jumped us from the fog." Simpson paused and took a swallow, his adams apple bulged out in his sun tanned neck, "everytime we thought we knew where she was coming from, she came from somewhere else...it was like there were four ships, not one." No one spoke as the midshipman hung his head, "Poor Captain Keene...I was standing with im when he was hit...tore-"

Caroline had to resist the urge to stand up and scream when Simpson's voice caught in his throat, and a single tea rolled down his cheeks. The utter fakeness of it all drove her near insane! Simpson never gave a damn about Captain Keene; it was dishonoring to the old Captain's name to think the fiend ever did.

"...tore his insides out, and..." Then when he started to cry, she almost had to forceably hold down her arm. Her gaze shifted from the table to Horatio, across from her, who looked back; their expressions were the same, 'what the hell is going on?'.

However, the Captain seemed to think that Simpson was interely sincere; although he looked a tad unnerved that one of his majesty's own would begin weeping so openly, "Alright, Mr. Simpson." he sighed, "do not distress yourself further." then turned to the short, stout, grey haired man on his right, "Mr. Bowles, the map, if you please."

Mr. Bowles handed off the map, and Pellew spread it across the table, and pointed towards a spot.

"The mouth of the Gurant. The Pappilon lies just here between the shoe batteries of Shaude and Blay-" He mointed toward the midshipman; Horatio, Archie, herself, and the others, "You gentlemen—and lady—will go in with the boats and cut her out. Lieutenant Eccleston will be in general command. Mr. Eccleston?"

"As you have seen first hand," Eccleston began, "she is a ship of war. Wel armed and fuly crewed. We will be attacking at night..."

Caroline tried to listen, she wanted to show the Captain that she could do the work, that she was at least somewhat worthy of the title 'midshipman', but it was difficult to concentrate. Everytime a thought about Simpson poked its way into her brain, she had to mentally shove it back down.

And how was Archie? She cast a glance in his direction, to see his face had started to turn almost a pale. What would she do if he had one of the attacks now? More importantly, what would the Captain do? From under the table, she reached her right hand over and grabbed his; it was cold and sweaty (hers was probably also) and he flinched when she touched him. That was the only thing that hurt more than what Simpson did to her, it was what he did to Archie; he was never going to be able to have a normal life after this, she knew this would always haunt him, no matter where he went.

She squeezed his hand, then petted his with her thumb—he swallowed, and she could've sworm that she could feel his heart beat, and it was fast. But after a moment of her hand in his, it started to slow a bit, which was promising. If only all problems could he sloved so easily...

"..so much for the theory." And with that, the Captain snapped the map shut, the sound jerking Caroline back to the present circumstance. The Captain looked up and down the table at the surrounding officers, "Any questions, gentlemen?"

The usual silence followed. It was unusually for men to ask questions outfront like that, if they had any at all, they usually would wait until afterwards and ask someone privately. Never in public, as it might be seen as a show of weak-

"Sir," Simpson spoke up, "I'd like to volunteer to go in with the boats."

No.

"If you think you're up to it, Mr. Simpson." The Captain replied, unaware as to what he had just done.

Archie's pulse quickened again.

Mr. Eccleston nodded, "We will be glad to have you, Mr. Simpson. You will go with Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, and Miss. Finny."

Caroline looked up again at Horatio, and they look they enchanged was heavily foreboding. Looking back, Caroline always wondered why no one had seen the looks and asked about it, but no one did. They simply were excused and filed quickly from the cabin. Archie was one of the first, getting hurridly to his feet and almost running from the room. She watched him go, and gave Horatio one last glance, then hurried after him.

"Archie." She called, almost running down the hall, "Archie, wait!" but he either didn't hear, our was ignoring her, because he continued his steady pace, and disappeared admist the ships workings. Horatio caught up to her.

"Did you get him?"

"No." She replied, heaving aheavy sigh; she felt her voice catch in her throat, and as the graity of this situation fully landed upon her, but for a moment, she was a helpless girl, "Horatio..." Her voice was quiet, but emotionfiled, "what are we going to do..?"

Horatio put both of his hand son her shoulders, and stooped down so her might look her in the eye. His voice was strong and determined, "There's no need to be afraid, Caroline. He has no hold over us here." he shook his head, "I won't let him hurt you—I promise."

She wanted to believe him, oh, how she did. Somehow, though, he words were not enough to soothe her mind; Simpson would always have a hold on her, she couldn't think of anything in the world which would undo that. Horatio turned and walked back to the cabin, and she watched him disappear around a corner. Standing in the storage room always made Caroline feel especcially alone, the mens voices muffled through the walls of wood and barrel. The loudest sounds were of the ships groans and creaks.

So alone. She needed some fresh air—they'd be leaving soon, wouldn't they? Didn't she just hear the midnight watch called? That would make it around eight o'clock. Could the day have gone by so quickly? No, she'd need to go to the berth first to get ready. The fresh air would have to wait for the time being, so Caroline followed Horatio on his trek to the Midshipman's Berth.

There, she found Archie there alone—were had Horatio gone?-sitting at the table, head in his hands. What was he thinking? Caroline hated this so much. She grabbed her things from her hammock, then walked over to the table and sat down next to him. How many times had they done this? Just sitting there in the silence, not saying anything, yet letting everything be known.

Not now, Caroline prayed, please, let him just be able to do this. This one thing, just until the attack was over. Please, wait until then. She knew one of them were coming, she could see it plainly, the symptions and circumstances were identical to every other time. Maybe if she did say something...maybe she could help...they had to be going, though. The others would be there soon, and she knew Archie wouldn't want them here right now. Dragging them furtherly into this act wouldn't help anything.

"Archie..?"

"I can't do this. I can't." His quiet voice, and the his hands running through his hair almost franticly, "I..I can't."

What was she to say to that? How could she help him, while she simultaneously had her very soul stuck in a dungeon? Words didn't come, and she just sat there for a moment, trying o figure out something. How she wished this was all just some sadistic dream, and soon she would awaken.

"All hands on deck!" A cry echoed through the halls, and almost at the same moment, Cleveland and Heather came stumbling in, much like a sudden wave. They chatted amongst themselves about something or another.

Cleveland was mid sentence, "..or not we still have a job to do, don't we? Oh, Caroline, Kennedy, there you two are," he grabbed his sword, and Heather reached for his own hat, "I believe you two are needed on deck—time to shove off and all that."

Heather noticed that Kennedy looked rather odd, "Is he quite alright?" he asked.

The dreaded question. Caroline evaded it with skill, "Go on up, we'll be right there."

"Alright, but don't take too long." Cleveland snapped his hat on his head, then they both made a exit. Caroline watched them go, then stood to her feet.

"Archie, you can't let him control you. That's what he wants." What a hypocrite she sounded like! But this was for his benefit, not hers, even though each word seemed to twitch her conscience furtherly, "You can't let him-"

"Damn it, I know!" He slammed a fist against the table, and Caroline noticed he was starting to shake, "I know.."

His anger took her off guard. He'd never yelled at her before, never in anger. It felt like pain. She was just trying to help, one prisoned soul trying to help another, she had no clue what she was suppose to say! Usually they just sat in silence, but this time, silence just didn't seem to cut it.

Damn it, she was starting to cry. She couldn't cry, not then; she had to be up on deck. She walked back around the table and grabbed her hat from a nail on the wall. Archie continued to sit at the table, head in hands, and body continuign to quiver. He was far better than this. He deserved so much more. But no, she had to make a quick exit before the tears began to fall—so she left him there, knowing that he would follow soon. Never would he miss something like this because of Simpson, he would have to explain why, and that was to be avoided at all costs.

One tear slid down her face as she walked down the hall to the hatch. She wiped it away swiftly, and climbed up the stiars into the cold night air. Horatio was standing a few yards away in prope formation, and other men began to gather about, forming into the proper lines. She watched, breathing in the chilled night air, letting it fill her lungs and felt the sensation of her lungs meeting the cold air. A beautifully crisp and clean night, the stars shining and the moons rays bouncing off misty clouds.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

The airs icy feel was challeneged by the sound of that voice. Simpson walked up behind her, taking a deep breath, "Reminds me of night back in England, with the wind coming off from the docks."

Her throat felt dry, and she gulped back, words once again failed her. She wanted to say something, she wanted to sceam, but her throat wouldn't allow her. So she walked away, the skin on the back of her neck standing on end.

"Line up!" A voice called out, and men hurried. Caroline didn't bother, not did want to, look back to see if Jack was following her. What could she do if he was? Stuck in this world that she loved, but hated; one that hurt the people she cared about, and herself, but one she didn't want to leave. Stuck.

There was nothing she could do to stop it—at least, that's what she felt like. Ian said different. Ian. If he had lived, how different would this have been! He would have said something, done something about it. But no, he was gone, and she and her fellow immates were stuck inside a prison with walls that their own minds had created.

It was a ideal night for a suprise attack, but as Caroline stood there in line with Horatio on one side and Archie on the other (he had immerged with only seconds to spare) she realized there was only one thing that could happen that would make it worse, and it would happen. No amount of wishing could do away with the obvious, which only became more clean as she felt Archie shaking next to her.

Everyone was in line, perfect formation, awaiting the go ahead. Near silence filled the ship, no one spoke, filling the air with a unnerving silence—a calm before the storm. Then, the go ahead was given, and she took a step forward.