Chapter 19

Once Wilde settled in, the teen turned out to have both a wicked sense of humor and a mischievous streak.

Case in point, the brat stole something, most often something important, on every island they stopped at. The little idiot even had the balls to leave a calling card; said card was a joker, and the pun was so awful it was physically painful. (He actually groaned the first time he heard about it and Wilde, the brat, laughed so hard he cried at the look on his face). Marshall quickly lost track of how many crown jewels and national treasures were in his ship's hold, but he also got a measure of payback for the amount of trouble Wilde caused him.

Two words: haki training.

He bought several extra bags of potatoes, blindfolded an increasingly nervous thief, and silently passed one of the bags to a grinning Vertara. Taking careful aim, the two of them let loose, the vegetables hitting their target with satisfying thuds. As far as awakening Observation Haki went, throwing potatoes at someone was one of the gentlest methods. And the most amusing. Every yelp and near-trip as Wilde attempted to dodge the flying spuds was hilarious.

"Zehahaha!" Marshall cackled, watching as the visible parts of the teen's face turned red.

The resulting litany of curses just made him laugh harder.

"Alright, this has been a long time coming, but it's time to organize the treasury." He declared.

"Why?" Vertara asked, head tilted curiously.

"Because for the last few months we've just been tossing things in random rooms, Wilde doesn't know what half the things he stole are and last night I went in to get some Beris for supplies and nearly tripped over some kind of scepter." He answered.

A moment of quiet.

"Yeah, that's fair." She admitted.

Wilde just looked at the ground and mumbled something about grabbing the most heavily guarded thing. Which, while good for bragging rights, wasn't so good for keeping inventory. One day that boy was going to get in over his head, he swore, and it wasn't going to be pretty. Marshall sent Vertara to get her inventory book and pen, still firmly Not Thinking about what said objects were made of, and led Wilde in getting to work.

(An hour later, Marshall's recitation of everything he found was abruptly cut off as he held up a woman's bustier made of diamonds and silver and looked blankly at Wilde.

The teen blushed and refused to meet his eyes, the scratch of Vertara's pen on paper loud in the sudden silence.)

A number of islands later, Wilde indeed bit off more than he could chew, and just like he'd predicted, it wasn't pretty.

The teenager made the mistake of trying to steal the treasure of Enyo Island, a legendary sword belonging to each generation of royalty. Considering the religion of the island was focused around the war goddess of the same name, it should come as no surprise that the guards, nobles, and even the citizens were trained warriors. Warriors who didn't take kindly to thieves who tried to make off with their sacred relic.

The three of them had separated after docking, Marshall to get needed supplies and Vertara and Wilde to explore. Business as usual, but then his haki started shrieking. His blood felt like it had been replaced by ice when enraged howling and animalistic screams of pain reached his ears. Before he even registered the movement, he was sprinting towards the source of the sounds. Using Shave, he got to the scene barely a minute later, skidding to a halt and taking in the situation in seconds.

A crowd of people in official uniforms, all of whom looked angry, some kind of priest, and a man holding a radiant sword standing above Wilde, who was laying on the ground in a pool of blood.

Something snapped in his mind, and an enormous wave of pressure surged out. The crowd between him and his crewmember fell like puppets with their strings cut.

(He didn't know it, but the targets of his rage would swear to their dying day that as they lost consciousness, they felt the mythic rage of their Goddess.)

Vertara was just finishing up the preparations for departure when he landed on the deck of the Coddiwomple, the injured Wilde clutched to his chest and his front soaked with blood from sloppily dressed injuries.

"Launch!" He barked, striding quickly towards the little-used infirmary, "Get us the hell out of here!"

"But the Log Pose-" Vertara tried to half-heartedly protest, looking at the teen in her captain's arms in concern but knowing how important it was for the navigation tool to reset before sailing, only to be interrupted.

"Fuck the Log Pose and set sail!"

The infirmary door slammed shut.

Asclepias was an island of doctors, an island dedicated to the study of medicine and healing. The island boasted the best medical school in the New World. A degree from the Asclepias Medical Academy guaranteed one a job in whatever hospital they applied to.

Arriving on the island after nearly a week of frantic travel and almost too late for Wilde, Marshall didn't give a damn about that. Standing in the lobby of the hospital, nearly incandescent with rage as he held his unconscious crewmate, he roared at the terrified receptionist, "I'm telling you, get a fucking doctor out here! I don't give a shit about protocol or waiting periods, if my crewmember dies I will end you! So get a doctor out here and do your fucking job!"

Fortunately, an older man in a doctor's coat and a woman in a nurse's uniform rushed out before he could make good on his promise. He put Wilde down on the gurney they wheeled out and watched as the nurse set up an IV, measuring the teen's pulse and blood pressure and a dozen other things he couldn't identify. The gurney was taken to an operating room; he sat on the bench outside, his haki fully focused on what was happening inside. Strangely, the nurse was the one moving the most, performing what felt like half the operation.

Five hours passed and Vertara arrived, sitting quietly next to him. A beat later, he grunted, "Sorry."

He didn't need to say what for.

Vertara understood, and she nodded. "Accepted."

Just like that, all was forgiven.

An hour later, the light over the operating room door flicked off and the doctor slipped out. He had some blood on his gloves and sleeves, but not a lot, not enough to have performed surgery of any sort. Nodding as the doctor droned on about bloodloss and internal bleeding, getting about half of it wrong, he kept his suspicions and what he'd sensed with his haki to himself.

Wilde was put on bed rest for two weeks while his wounds healed, not that the thief was awake to hear it. A terrified receptionist brought him the check-in paperwork, which with Vertara's help he managed to fill out to the minimum standard. Acting on his suspicions, he parked himself in a chair in a corner of the room, refusing to leave even when visiting hours ended.

A nurse made one attempt to get him to leave. She didn't come back for another try.

Night fell, and Vertara returned, slipping through the window and perching on the sill like a tiger prepared to pounce. "Is he okay?" She asked quietly, her voice a whisper of sound that nonetheless shattered the quiet atmosphere.

"I don't know." He frowned. "The doctor's clueless. Barely did anything during the surgery, half the things he told me afterwards were wrong."

"That...doesn't seem good," she said lowly, brow furrowed.

"It's not." He confirmed, sighing and rubbing his eyes tiredly. Half an hour passed, moonlight shining around Vertara and casting the woman's silhouette across the floor before he spoke again, "This is an island of medicine. Tomorrow I want you to take advantage of that. Search the island for any medicine or equipment you think will help if something like this happens again; concentrate on the smaller shops and stalls for herbs - those tend to be higher quality." He rattled off the instructions smoothly and without pause, not taking his eyes off Wilde.

Vertara made a noise of agreement, and that was that.

At around five a.m, the door to Wilde's hospital room opened on silent hinges, light from the hallway spilling in.

Vertara had already left, heading back to the ship to get some rest before her shopping trip the next day, leaving just him and Wilde in the room. The teen was sleeping peacefully, and he had his haki running at full power, which was the only reason he sensed the nurse's approach. Opening his eyes into thin slits, he took a long look at the woman carefully examining Wilde's chart.

The woman was tall, dressed in a white nurse's uniform that failed to conceal her prominent chest with a skirt that barely reached her knees. Her heels added a few inches to her height, but even without them the top of her head would have reached the base of his throat. From what he could see, her face was unquestionably beautiful, shoulder length dark hair framing her face and subtly applied make-up enhancing her elegance. She had light green eyes and full lips currently turned downwards in displeasure as she flipped through the pages on the chart. When she put down the chart and started fiddling with Wilde's IV, he decided it was time to make his presence known.

Deliberately shifting his boot on the floor to make noise, he watched as the nurse tensed, straightening as his shadow eclipsed hers. She turned around, body language screaming defiance, and he had the privilege of seeing her falter when he looked her right in the eye and asked her seriously, "He going to be okay, Doc?"

Marshall couldn't describe the look that crossed her face, and he didn't try. All he cared about was her answer.

"Yes." Firm and implacable.

I won't let him be anything else, her eyes said.