Chapter 33

"Hey, you okay?"

Looking up from where he was swirling motes of light around his fingers at Olivia's question, Wilde shrugged half-heartedly. He didn't bother answering, still haunted by the remnants of the nightmare the night before despite knowing that his captain was alive and well and talking to his sister at that very moment. He could see in her eyes that the doctor knew he was far from okay. None of them were okay, hadn't been since the disastrous encounter with Charlotte Compote. He could also see from the stubborn set of her jaw and slight furrowing of her brow that Olivia wasn't going to accept silence as an answer.

Finally, after a long period of silence, he sighed, admitting lowly, "I'll be fine, it's just nightmares, you know?"

And that was the thing. She did know, they all knew. The entire crew knew what he was going through, were experiencing some variation of it themselves, nightmares and all. He didn't think a single one of the would ever forget the sheer terror they'd felt that day in the infirmary, waking up to the smell of blood so thick in the air they could taste it, yet not a single drop stained their bedding. Lines of red covered the floor, leading to each of their beds, new blood trails crossing old like a macabre spiderweb.

In the center of that web was his captain, sitting propped up in a chair and covered in blood.

Wilde couldn't even tell if the man - his captain! - was still breathing or not. He didn't remember who screamed; a loud, piercing howl broke through the horrified inaction that gripped them and setting off a flurry of motion. Olivia dove from her bed, ripping the sheet that tried to wrap around her foot to shreds and Shaving over to her captain's side.

It was like a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders when the doctor cried out.

"He's still bleeding!"

They managed to get the captain moved from the chair to a bed, removing his bloodstained clothes in the process. The doctor knew getting them to leave the room was a lost cause and so didn't bother to try, instead banishing them to a corner to stay out of the way as she and Rune went to work.

Hours went by in nerve wracking silence until Olivia stepped back and announced that the captain would be fine, and then the relief was palpable. By unspoken agreement, there was always someone in the room with their captain, most often two or three as Olivia stepped up, determined to prove, if only to herself, that Marshall was right to give her the position of doctor.

(Helping clean the infirmary floor, Wilde had scrubbed at the caked on blood, his teeth clenched as he attacked the stains with fervor, hating himself for being so weak but so grateful that his captain cared enough to go so far to save them. The only other person who'd done that for him was Krystalene, and the realization that somehow Marshall had come to mean just as much struck a chord.

He didn't stop until every inch of the floor was spotless.)

Vertara took command while their captain healed like a proper First Mate, but not one person complained when Marshall woke up, least of all her.

However, physical wounds aside, there were also the less visible injuries to deal with. The defeat had been a wake-up call in more ways than one. He knew the rest of the crew had nightmares (dreams of waking up with their captain gone gone not breathing gone because he was saving them no no please no) too, and that they dealt with them in their own ways.

He personally threw himself into training his Devil Fruit powers during his watches, conjuring sparkles like fireflies and the mythical will o' wisps that lured sailors to their deaths on foggy nights, the Coddiwomple surrounded by unearthly light.

The nightmare the other night that had him waking up with the urge to go and check to make his captain was still okay, still alive, was nothing new, but giving into the urge was. He'd slipped into the captain's room and of course, of course, the man had woken up the moment the door opened. Instead of sending him away Marshall had let him climb into his bed and curl against him, feel his body heat and hear his heart beating, and it had helped. He didn't know why, but it did.

Looking at the clear beaded bracelet on his wrist, Wilde smiled softly. Glancing up at Olivia, who was now watching him with a thoughtful look, he repeated, still smiling, "I'll be okay."

Her face softening, the doctor smiled back.

Sitting down next to him so she didn't tower over him quite so much, the pair sat in comfortable silence until Olivia spoke, a seemingly idle comment spoken with a knowing gleam in her eyes:

"I noticed that your hair's getting longer."

Before he could respond, she ran a hand through her own growing locks and said idly, "I get it, you know. Cutting hair at sea is such a hassle." On the surface it was a simple observation, but the soft look on her face made him think. As an image of his captain's back, ridiculously long hair swaying behind him appeared in his mind...he realized they were thinking the same thing. He didn't bother to hide his smile as he made a show of reaching up to pinch a strand of dark hair between his fingers, already grown passed his shoulders since he stopped cutting it.

It was nowhere near his captain's impressive mane right now, but maybe one day...

It's said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and really, there were far worse people he could have chosen to copy.

When Olivia ran a gentle hand through his hair, he leaned into the touch, resting his head on her shoulder as dots of light like swarms of fireflies danced around them.

Yeah, for the first time since the nightmares started, he was okay.

Feral starting to talk was unexpected but pleasant surprise after the mental whirlpool the crew had went through. Not that the swordsman said much beside asking for seconds and training, in that order, still preferring to say as few words as possible. The woman refused to use her newly revealed voice to fill in any of the gaps in her medical file, much to Olivia's frustration. What Olivia didn't know was that Vertara had seen the swordsman smirking as she walked away from the fuming doctor and so was certain that that was just Feral's version of teasing.

Out of respect the cannibal declined to tell her, sure that the doctor would either figure it out eventually or Feral would enlighten her after she'd had her fun.

It was a relief to see everyone getting back to normal after the ordeal they went through. She hadn't been as worried about Marshall as the others when they found him (Marshall was strong! Stronger than her father, stronger than her whole tribe, stronger than the one who'd laid them all low! There was no way he would die so easily!), but she'd still worried. The smell of blood, usually so tantalising, had instead made her feel ill, knowing that it was Marshall's, her first friend's, blood. Words couldn't begin to describe how glad she was when he was back on his feet.

The rest of the crew hadn't had her certainty, that bone-deep surety that he was going to be fine, so she'd done her best to keep them calm. She did her best to take care of them, but when it came to assuaging their worries nothing was more reassuring than the presence of their captain.

Night-terrors weren't something she had experience with, and she could admit to having no idea what to do about them. There was no spell or potion or trick she could use to guard their dreams; all she could do was prowl the ship at night, peering into rooms to check on her sleeping crewmates. And yet, where she was lost and floundering, Marshall knew exactly what to do, she mused, remembering her friend holding Wilde close in the aftermath of a night-terror.

That was why he was the captain, she thought, smiling as she pulled her thoughts back to the present. She resumed her hunt for the Coddi's resident swordsman, following her haki and the scent of booze, clashing steel and fresh blood (Feral must have torn her stitches again, Olivia wouldn't be pleased ) to where the swordsman was practicing at the rear of the ship.

Judging by the way the sea parted a bit further with every swing, the woman was making progress. The wrappings around her abdomen were spotted with dots of red (yup, definitely tore her stitches), and Vertara clicked her teeth unhappily.

"Olivia won't be happy you tore your stitches again," she said, one hand propped on her hip.

"Don't care." Feral grunted, not even flinching at the redhead's arrival.

"You might not, but Marshall will," she pointed out, "he's already taking it easy with the training you asked for, do you really want to give him an excuse to drag his feet?"

Feral paused at that. Staring thoughtfully out to sea, the pensive look on her face swiftly transformed into a scowl as she growled, "no," and huffed as she sheathed her sword. Marshall would take every opportunity to make her take it easy and the swordsman knew it.

"What are you working on, anyway?" She asked curiously, adding, "that didn't look like Tempest Slash," because if it was there would have been more wind.

"Enhancing strike speed and power with haki." Feral explained, loathe to waste words when the answer was obvious.

Vertara slowly closed her mouth, having been about to say something else, pausing briefly, "well, at least you're practicing at the back of the ship this time," she settled on.

All she got in response was a grunt.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to why she'd originally sought the swordsman out. "So I've got a craving for Sea King - want to help me toss out the nets?"

"Yes."

Tigers, as a general rule, were mostly solitary creatures.

Sleek, powerful hunters, masters of their domain, what use had they for others outside of breeding season? Anything they wanted to do they could do on their own, and anything else wasn't worth doing, or so his kind tended to think.

Of course, there were exceptions to every rule.

Spending time with this particular pack, this crew, brand new beaded bracelet glinting forest green around one paw, Trax had to admit that he was starting to see the benefits.

Rune arrived on deck to a mixture of cheers and growls, the noise loud enough to make him look up from the book he was reading. Seeing Vertara, Feral and Wilde fighting to haul one of the fishing nets over the side, he blinked. "What are you-?"

He was interrupted before he finished his question.

Splash!

"What in the name of Davy Jones?!"

If his voice was a bit high at the end, well, he didn't think anyone would blame him.