ᶠᵘᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘ

       The moment he’d heard of the arrival of Jack Rackham’s ship to Shipwreck Cove, he’d wanted to pay one particular passenger a visit. Not for the reasons that Flint or Elizabeth Swann or any of the other pirates here might have; he was being swept up in this next chapter of his captain’s war almost without thinking, going through the motions as he attempted to work through his grief, and therefore was not focused on it nearly enough to think to seek the pair out to ensure that the partnership between the two crews was still in place.

       He was here to see her. Silver had been so wrapped up in his loss of Madi that he hadn’t thought to visit after their escape from Nassau, but time, as always, helped to provide perspective. Word had spread of how Woodes Rogers had overcome Teach and, in turn, Rackham and Bonny had overcome the governor’s men, and throughout the telling of the story it had struck him just how much he wanted her to be alright.

       Did it hurt to know that she was still here and Madi wasn’t? Of course, but he wasn’t the only one to lose something after the Spanish had razed Nassau town to the ground, and he knew he had to be grateful for everything and everyone they had left.

       ‟ Concern? ” It was phrased as a question, as though unsure what she would make of such an answer. Anne could rightly tell him to man the fuck up, and more he considered that potential response, the more he wondered whether that was exactly what he needed to hear right now. He took another uneven step into the room. ‟ So much has been lost in recent weeks that it seems disingenuous to pretend there’s any other reason, or to dress this up as something it’s not. ”

        The change in him since their last meeting was impossible not to notice. Before her stood a defeated man, one who had lost nearly all the will to fight. Anne knew why, of course; Max’s information had more or less filled them in on everything they’d missed in Nassau, including the untimely death of the maroon camp’s leader. Anne had gotten to know Silver enough since the beginning of this war to know what Madi had meant to him, and the toll her loss must have taken on him.

        “ Didn’t mean here, seein’ me, ”  she responded at length, though her voice lacked its usual grit; in fact, it was almost gentle, by Anne’s standards. Whether that was because she was too tired and sore, or because she empathized with him over the loss of someone he cared about was difficult to discern. “ I meant here, at Shipwreck Cove. With him. ”

        There was no love lost between her and Flint, that much was clear. Some part of Anne had always blamed him for this war and all of the consequent losses, and for wrapping them all up in a losing battle. That Silver would remain by his side, still attached to a cause that had become so severely muddled, was surprising to her. 

        She doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t move. Anne’s learned by now that even the most minute movement is enough to cause her a significant amount of pain. But she finds his form in the darkness of the cabin, and though there isn’t an inch of her body that doesn’t ache, she finds comfort in his presence. “ You don’t have to be the one to do it. ”  It’s a foolish remark, if only because she knows better than to think he’ll trust the task to anyone else. Still, she knows how much the sight of her wounds pain him, knows that the whole ordeal has taken a toll on him. She suspects that some part of him may even feel responsible for what’s been done.

        A silence descends as Anne works on distracting herself, shifting her thoughts from the past to the future. Her wishes have been made painfully clear from the start: end Rogers and walk away. Now, Nassau is destroyed, Woodes Rogers in ruins of his own making. By all accounts, it should be over, and yet somehow they’re still stuck in the middle of it, tied to the cause, to Nassau, even now.

        Carefully, she shifts to look at him more fully, trying ( and failing ) to hide the pain from her features. “ What’re we doin’, Jack? ”

       ❝ We’re here, darling, ❞   his voice his soft, movements stiff as he enters their shared quarters. As if his breathing would disturb her. As if she was made of no more than fragile porcelain being held together with the bandages he periodically changes, unable to let anyone else near her for fear of her falling to pieces while he’s out. He is certain she must hate him for how he’s acting, but he very well can’t help himself. Not after sitting idly by as she fought for their freedom. Alone. Not after he’d nearly lost her when he’d forfeit the battle to do quite the opposite.        Jack suspects they were just about a week out from Flint and his lot arriving at Shipwreck Cove, no thanks to the detour Max had convinced him to take ( and isn’t it a wonder there was still a part of him that put that trust in her, that fought for her despite all she’d put them both through ).   ❝ — how are you feeling? ❞

@nogreathardship !!!

        She’s healing, albeit slowly. It’s a great inconvenience, being holed away in their quarters, practically useless. A sort of restlessness has descended upon her in the midst of this voyage, one that only increases tenfold with the knowledge that they’ll soon be setting upon unknown shores, appealing to pirates they know little about. It’s a fight that Anne has tired of, one that she would gladly walk away from. But she knows that they’re invested now, that they have to see this through if they ever hope to live freely.

        Though her eyes quickly seek Jack out upon his entrance, Anne barely shifts, avoiding the discomfort elicited by even the slightest of movements. As he speaks, she has to bite back her impatience, knowing that his constant inquiries as to her well-being come from a place of love and concern ( even if they do become a bit tiresome ). “ Ain’t much change from before, ”  she mutters levelly. “ Bandages could probably use changin’, though. ”

        She hates that she can’t change the bandages on her own, hates that she has to see the furrow of Jack’s brow every time he sees her wounds and is reminded once more of all that’s happened. Rather than dwell on that, or allow him any further opportunity to inquire after her health, Anne swiftly changes the subject.

        She’s not seen a mirror since her return to the brothel, but Anne can only imagine what her face looks like. Every movement of her features reminds her of the stripes of blood caked across her skin. Judging by the looks she received from some of the girls on the way in, Jack isn’t the only one to notice either. “ Ain’t mine, ”  she responds lowly, plopping down in a seat and grabbing the nearest bottle. She takes a long swig from it, pulling the brim of her hat a little lower over her eyes. “ S’what matters, ain’t it? ”

        It was only the intense and painful jostling of being carried from ship to land that dispersed the haze and alerted her to the fact that they’d reached their destination  ( wherever that was ). There, she’d been attended to by a woman and a younger girl, a rather surprising circumstance but a welcome one all the same; the care was far better than she could ever have hoped to receive elsewhere, she figured.

        How much time had passed since then, Anne didn’t know. She spent most of her time resting, occasionally taking visits from Jack  ( he was far more concerned than he needed to be, far as she was concerned ), and had started to heal. Still, a long road lay ahead.

        As the door creaked open once more, Anne peered through on eye towards the door. “ Fuck’s sake, Jack, ”  she muttered, though there was a softness to her tone reserved only for him. “ M’fine. ”  The thunk of wood against the floor, however, alerted her to her mistake. Anne didn’t try to sit up, but she did become more alert. “ The fuck’re you doin’ here? ”