House Of Gold

Chapter 33 - Love

James was better prepared, this time.

He ditched his boots for a pair of soft slippers that he found in the back of his wardrobe, along with a storm of scattered pictures across the floor. He'd tucked the one of Heath, Jesse and he into the pocket of his jacket.

Along with that, he brought another pocket knife, this one for Olivia. He felt horrible as he slipped the blade into his belt -- it was just another sign that he couldn't rescue them. They'd have to protect themselves.

A horrible flu was rampaging across the crew, stomping through his men and leaving them crumpled in heaps on the floor. Andy, Bones and three others were among the first fatalities. About two thirds of the living crew were already sick, in varying stages of decay.

Morphie (James wasn't sure what the original name he'd been given was-- everyone called him that now) was doing his best, but the man was no doctor. The sick bay was full to the brim, with infected men spilling into the hallway. Morphie's medicinal credibility was questionable, at best, but he'd managed to nurse several men back to health so far. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

James didn't know when they'd be able to get the two women back. A solo mission seemed to be the most plausible option at this point. Paddle up a lifeboat, sneak out with the two of them, get back on the Fina and sail the hell away from here.

There were kinks in his plan, of course, but James refused to think about them. Guilt clouded his logical thoughts.

The Encantador's deck was still slick and puddled from the last night's thunderstorm. He tried not to look too hard, or the divots filled with water started to look like pools of blood.

This time, the door that led below deck was locked. He inserted his pocket knife into the lock, careful not to break it. The last thing they needed was for the Cubans to find out he'd visited.

He made his way down the dark hallway in slow, measured steps -- just one creak could mean the end of him. Tiptoeing the rest of the way, James finally allowed himself to breathe when he reached the door.

There was a new lock on it, a steel one that wrapped in a noisy chain across the bars. James set himself to the tedious task of unraveling the hitch, using one hand to pick the lock while he kept the chain from clattering with the other. It seemed to take forever. He could feel himself breaking out in nervous sweat.

He'd left around one fifteen: late enough that the pirates would be asleep, early enough that he'd have a bit of time to stay. Something like thirty minutes had passed since then. He was beginning to feel antsy.

Finally, it was done. James lowered the chain to the ground and rapped his knuckles against the wood door, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest.

Scuffling. Silence. Creak.

"Thank god," came Heath's voice, a hushed whisper in the stillness of the night. The door creaked open more to reveal the interior of their dinky cell-- four gray walls and a dirty floor without much more to be said for it. "I thought you weren't coming back."

Upon seeing Heath, his heart leapt with relief. At least she was alive, right? James pulled the metal grate closed behind him, forcing himself to be slow about it. Once the wood door was shut as well, he pulled Heather into his arms and closed his eyes.

Surprised, she didn't respond for a moment. Then she hugged him back and whispered, "It's good to see you."

James responded, "You too." They stood there in each other's arms for a moment before pulling away. He studied Heath's face, taking inventory of what had changed. She had new scars slashing up and down her cheeks like airplane streaks across the sky. Her eyes looked paler than before, and her eyelids drooped. But she smiled at James.

Behind her was not one, but two more people.

His eyes locked first on Olivia. Her crumpled body slouched against the wall, her golden blonde hair limp around her face, her delicate fingers intertwined with someone else's.

The other man was one of them. He had bronzed skin and thick black hair with hard brown eyes that returned James' stare. The man held Olivia's hand, her unconscious head resting on his shoulder. He looked younger than James, but he couldn't be sure.

Heath cleared her throat. "This is Robin," she said, nodding toward the guy. "Robin, this is James."

James ignored this introduction. Why should he care who this spaniard was? He crouched down beside Olivia, reaching out to touch her. Running his fingers first over her wrists, he found her pulse. It was weak, but there. Robin tightened his hold on her hand at first, but then let James hold her.

She woke almost immediately.

Her pale eyelids fluttered open, revealing those familiar blue eyes, fizzling with recognition and something like hope. Olivia stared at him for a moment. Then she sat up and kissed him.

Her lips on his felt like sinking back into a comfortable bed after a long time sleeping on the floor. He pulled her closer, kissing her back. Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck, combing her fingers through his hair.

"Hey there," he whispered when she finally pulled away.

He was shocked when rather than responding, she rested her head on his chest and began to sob.

Heath met his eye. She didn't look all that surprised. Maybe they were in worse shape than he had thought. Olivia herself was covered in cuts and bruises. Her eyes were outlined in dark circles and her face looked pale and almost blue. What had happened?

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he breathed. "We'll get you out of here soon."

"No!" She cried. The sound of her voice filled James' heart with longing. It was weak and quiet, but still undoubtedly Olivia. "Take me with you. I want to go home," she begged. "Please don't leave me here."

James ran his fingers along her neck, finding her pulse again. He kissed her collarbone, refusing to meet her eye.

Heath put in, "You can't. You know what happens when you try to do that . . ."

What was she talking about? "Wait, you guys tried to escape?"

This time, it was Robin who responded. He nodded and said, "And we almost made it, but even in the rainstorm, the Captain was awakened by our footsteps on the deck. Heath tried to jump overboard when they caught us, but they captured us all again. He is too good. The only way to win is force."

He spoke with a slight accent, not at all what James had expected of a Cuban. James glanced at him. "We can't use force. More than half of my crew is sick."

Olivia began to cry harder. "Don't leave me here," she repeated. "I'll kill myself, I swear!"

Startled, James stared at her for a second. Then he leaned down and kissed her again, slowly as he could. She shivered in his arms, fingers tracing over his cheek. Poor thing. She looked absolutely miserable. "You can do this," he promised. "Just give me another week."

Renewed sobs shook her body. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and pressed her lips close to his ear. She whispered, "I love you."

No you don't, he wanted to say. You can't. You're too young. You don't know what love is.

But instead, he whispered back, "I love you too."

XXX

#TeamRobin . . . XD