**English version of the WATTYS 2019 WINNER story**
1672, Caribbean Sea.
He lost everything for her. She risked everything for him.
But maybe love is not enough to bridge over so many deep differences between them, and the only way for them is goodb...
Flores left the bridge and Castillano remained there, eyes on the Phantom sailing away.
The year away from her hadn't been in vain.
He wouldn't let her get away without finding out what had really happened.
He wouldn't make the same mistake of not trusting her.
He wouldn't lose her again.
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Jean wasn't happy to assume command of the Phantom, a responsibility he didn't want and felt too big for his shoulders. But it was what Marina needed from him, and just like the rest of the crew, he felt it was the least he could do for her. So there he was, on deck and below, making sure Bones had all he needed, the repairs progressed and the Phantom stayed on the course their captain had set.
One of the times he went to the bridge, De Neill pointed at a blurry spot on the northern horizon. The lookouts hadn't called it because it wasn't a threat, and Marina had ordered to avoid any unnecessary noise to keep from disturbing Morris and the other rescued captives.
Jean studied it through the telescope. "Looks like a brigantine," he said.
"Maybe she's sailing from Honduras to La Hispaniola," said De Neill.
"I'll tell Oliver to keep an eye on her."
"How's Morris?"
"As far as I know, he's hardly alive. The pearl is with him."
De Neill shook his head, grimacing. Nobody wanted to even consider what would happen if Morris didn't make it.
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Maxó made a quick inspection of the Holly Avenger, looking for anything useful for the Phantom's sickbay. And he found that Segovia hadn't settled for a berth. The former general had one pretty bed in his cabin, sturdier and broader than military Spaniards used to have onboard their vessels.
Soon he knocked softly on Marina's door. He waited, but there was no answer. He traded a concerned look with De Neill, who was still at the helm, and opened the door only enough to stick his head in.
"Pearl?" he tried, managing to keep his rough voice down.
A soft shuffle was the only sign that the girl was in there. Well, like she would be anywhere else. Maxó breathed deep and walked in.
Marina didn't even look up. She was sitting by Morris' head, squeezing a soaking handkerchief over his parted lips, dripping water in his mouth drop by drop.
Maxó would've gladly spun around and left, because he couldn't tell what was harder to see: the awful state Morris was in, or the girl's quiet sorrow. He set his jaw and tiptoed to the table.
When Marina heard what he'd found on the Spanish frigate, she told him to bring the bed onboard right away.
"We have it out the door, pearl. Want us to bring it in?"
Maxó knew that at any other moment, the girl would've laughed, cheering for his anticipating her. That morning she only shrugged and nodded to the larboard wall, at her corner, for them to set the bed there. Then she turned to her friend again, dipped the handkerchief in fresh water and resumed her effort to keep Morris hydrated.
Maxó went out and came back in a moment later with three more men. They dismantled the doors to carry the bed into the cabin, moved Marina's wardrobe chest and set the bed in her corner, the only spot where it fit. Nailing it to the floor would've been too noisy, so they tied it like a cannon.
Maxó had been wise enough to bring along sheets, covers and pillows, so they were able to made the bed for Morris. The four of them grabbed each a corner of the tablecloth where he rested and moved him carefully to lay him on the fat soft mattress. Marina lined the bench cushions on the bed against the wall, so Morris would rest his shoulder and arm on them, instead of lying on the wounds in his back that Bones had stitched up only a few hours ago.
Morris didn't even blink. As soon as he was settled and the doors were placed again, Marina dismissed the pirates. Maxó let the others go ahead. The girl didn't even notice he was still there, busy taking the washbasin and clean clothes to the end of the bench, by Morris' head.
Maxó swallowed one of his threads of curses, watching her kneel down by the bed and go back to squeezing the soaking handkerchief against her friend's lips. He approached her and leaned forward.
Marina shivered when she felt his caress down her hair. She looked up, found Maxó's eyes and hers welled yet again. He crouched down by her and pinched her cheek clumsily.
"Don't despair, little pearl," he whispered. "If the boy has any chance to survive, you're love will make it happen."
She could only nod, swallowing her tears. Maxó nodded too, forced a quick smile and left.
