Come and Get Me - 3

Matthew awoke on his own the next morning.

For a moment, he'd thought he was home he'd slept so soundly. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had a rude awakening, or maybe it was the fact that the rush of events of yesterday were just so exhausting that his mind didn't care where he was. Whatever the case, however, he was glad to have been feeling all right, if nothing else.

The constant rocking was something he'd grown used to by this point, and with two days it no longer made him nauseous, which was a relief for the most part.

Most of the morning, no one came for him, so he was left to his thoughts. He thought of Alfred, and if he was coming to get him. He wondered of Kiku, and the German man from the day before. He wondered then of Arthur, the captain, and was curious of the overwhelming feeling that circulated through him last night. Questions yet again spun like a wheel in his mind, and it was most unpleasant. He grimaced, the worst possible scenarios played over and over: if Alfred didn't care, if the pirates were planning his death, Alfred not knowing he was on board and touching the ship. He gripped the sides of his head, and sighed.

He really should be a more optimistic person, he grimaced.

Matthew was not called for at any point in the day during the morning, nor the afternoon, which left him to be consumed by his premonitions of getting killed somehow, someway.

The faint glisten of laughter chimed above him, but he didn't grow hopeful. He'd learned throughout the course of his life to not get hopeful of anything that seemed legit and good.

True to form, nothing happened for a while still. Occasionally a roar of laughter or applause made its way down to him, but for what reason, he didn't know.

Alone with the silence, unwanted things formed in his mind. He closed his eyes, those unwanted memories rearing in his head---gruesome, violent, bloody. A feeling of regret washed over him, but he couldn't stop.

The memories kept flooding.

"Papa! Papa...! Where are you Papa?" he cried, tears dancing down his cheeks. It was hot, everything was ablaze. His home, his life, all of it was torched and charred.

"Papa!" Matthew screamed again, and finally noticed the limp figure on the floor. He rushed over, kneeling down.

"Mathieu...my precious, brave son..." the man croaked, reaching a weak hand to touch his cheek. "You...must...get out."

"No Papa! I don't want to go without you!"

"My son...you...must survive. You must...find your brother and...survive for Papa. Papa won't last much longer...but Papa will be all right if he knows...the two most precious people to me are safe..." Papa coughed, and Matthew was leaning on him now.

"Papa...!"

"Go, Mathieu. I will be all right. I will get...to see your mother very soon. And...we will be watching you, my little angel. Live on, live on for...us..."

He became unresponsive after that, and when Matthew pulled back, sobbing, he realized something very strange.

His hands were covered in blood. Papa's blood.

He screamed, sprinting out of the house in a mad dash. His hands...they were so red...!

Matthew opened his eyes again, staring down at his hands, flexing his finger as he did.  

That's why he wasn't a good Naval Officer. He couldn't stand bloodshed, he couldn't stand having blood, even his own, on his hands.

It always reminded him of that night.

Matthew sighed, leaning his head back against the chill wall. Was help truly on the way? Rather...did he even really want to be saved?

He shook his head quickly. Of course he wanted to be saved! Why wouldn't he want to be? It wasn't as if he felt anything for this pirate, or this ship. That's right. The only thing he wanted right now was to be back in his brother's presence, and more importantly, home. What else would it be?

But if that were the case, why did his heart choose to race whenever he thought of those enchanting emerald eyes?

~~~

Hours rolled by, and the Canadian had grown weary from being cooped up this whole time. Therefore, his mind substituted his boredom with events long since passed. Papa, Mama, Alfred, everything old and new resurfaced.
He really hated it.

But it wasn't as if he could do much about it. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it, he supposed. It wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter.

Matthew closed his eyes and begrudgingly another memory came.

"Courage men! To be in the Navy we must have courage! How else will you defeat that pirate scum?" Captain Zwingli began, swinging his sword and effectively taking the head of the dummy off.

Alfred was usually good at the exercises. Matthew was not. Alfred expertly removed the head of the dummy, Matthew did not.

"Williams! How can you expect to kill pirates if you can't even remove the head of a mere dummy?" Zwingli barked, and Matthew bowed his head.

"I don't...I don't think I'm..." he was stopped short at the sound of metal clinking, being unsheathed.

"Up with your weapon Williams. Duel me now."

A chorus of gasps rung out, and Matthew stared incredulously. "P-pardon?"

Zwingli scowled. "You heard me. No Officer under my command will be unable to kill a filthy pirate. Up with your sword, or I'll strike you down."

The blond swallowed heavily, but raised a shaky sword.

He didn't even have time to think, Zwingli was already up on him, and he just barely missed him. Matthew cried out, holding up his sword to defend his face as his enemy's own clashed against his own.

"Come on Williams, you can do better than that!" the captain sneered, and struck again.

Matthew side-stepped, his heart rapping against his ribcage. He wasn't ready. He couldn't fight him. He was going to get killed in the heart of a battle he didn't initiate.

Fun, fun, fun.

Zwingli kept at him, constantly striking at him in a relentless manner. He kept blocking, not daring to take a strike of his own. Zwingli feigned an attack, and then brought down instead the hilt and slammed hard into Matthew's wrist. The blond cried out, and dropped the sword, and then suddenly felt a hot feeling and a burning pain on his left shoulder. Instinctively, he went to grab it, and a warm, sticky liquid coated his hand. Those around had gone quiet, just staring in complete awe.

Matthew pulled his hand away, and saw blood, blood on his hands.

At first, his voice deserted him, but then with large, fearful eyes, he looked back at the captain.

"Let that serve as a lesson to you, Williams. Next time I won't be so lenient."

He walked off, and many of the other men walked off with him. But slowly, Alfred made his way over.

"Mattie...?" he nearly whispered, and Matthew's eyes fell to him.

It was then that the blond opened his mouth, and screamed.

His eyes shot open, darting around wildly as the darkness now swelled around him.

When had he fallen asleep?

The sudden sound of the doors opening roused him from his sleepy state, as he looked to the door.

It was Kiku Honda.

Kiku smiled softly at him, leaning down and unlocking him. He took his hand and helped him up, leading him out.

"Captain wants everyone present for this evening...so that includes even you."

The thought was a bit odd to him, but he wasn't complaining. It felt good to be walking around, or at least, out of the cell.

It was long since dark now, and the minute he followed Kiku into that unknown part of the shit the smell of alcohol rushed over him, the echoes of melodious laughter ringing out. His hand instinctively moved up, covering his nose to hide the overwhelming stench.

He really didn't feel like he belonged.

Matthew himself had never been a drinker, nor did he plan to be. It was at this point that, well, he wished he could go back. He felt a wave of nausea overtake him, and he almost vomited. Why did alcohol always make him sick? Guess he'd never know.

Kiku looked at him with a sympathetic expression, as if understanding his pain somehow. But soon after, he disappeared, and Matthew was all alone.

Well this was great. Just great.

Having absolutely no idea what to do, Matthew just kind of...stood there, looking around aimlessly at the area until his eyes wandered their way around to the front.

He found a pair of emerald eyes staring straight back at him.

Matthew's breath caught slightly, as he almost choked on his own air. He grimaced, looking away, but still felt the eyes just tearing through him as he did so.

When finally he changed a glance back, he was no longer being spied upon, which was good for him.

He just felt so useless right now.

Honestly, he just felt so useless. He was pretty much just standing there like an idiot. He wanted to leave, but what would be the cost? He quite frankly didn't want to find out.

It wasn't until about a few minutes in that the captain passed by him, brushing him ever so slightly as he walked. Matthew let a soft shiver run through him. Gosh he hated that.

The more laughter that encircled him, the more sick he felt. He needed out. Now.

It was then that he began to retreat, until he bumped into someone. Matthew stumbled backwards, and fell to the floor, the sound of shattering glass vibrating his ears.

What just happened?

"Oi, who do ya think ya are?" a gruff voice demanded, and Matthew visibly flinched.

"I-I'm sorry about that..." the Canadian mumbled, beginning to get back to his feet.

"Well don't just sit there, pick it up!" the pirate growled.

The Canadian paused briefly, making sure he'd heard that right. He glanced back up, questioning, curious.

"Ya heard me, pick it up!" the pirate snarled.

Was he drunk?

"With...my hands?" the Canadian nearly whispered, not frightened, just blatantly wondering.

"Pick it up!"

Matthew winced, staring at the broken glass. Surely he wasn't serious. If he were to pick it up with his hands, he would surely cut them beyond belief.

"Are ya dumb? Pick it up! Pick it all up!"

The blond winced again, and swallowed heavily. He...couldn't refuse...could he? Slowly, he reached out his hand and almost instantaneously, a pain shot through his right hand. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, as he gazed down, watching the crimson liquid pool in his hands.

His heart stopped.

There was blood all over his hands.

Papa...

His other hand was bleeding too. His heart began to pound faster.

Papa...! Papa...!

More blood.

Papa!

Hysteria began to wash over him. He began to shake, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor.

Matthew began to scream.

It was loud, quickly filling the room. Memories flooded back all at once, overwhelming him. He screamed louder and louder, tears beginning to flow freely down his cheeks.

"Papa! Papa no!" he wailed, his voice strained.

By this point, the boy was curled over, his bloody fingers tangled in his blond locks, and blood was smeared all over his clothes.

Everyone watched in awe, no one daring to speak a word, not that they would be heard anyways.

"Just what the bloody hell is going on here?" a heavily accented voice interrupted.

Matthew was just sobbing now, ignoring everyone and every comment made.

Arthur turned to the boy, and after examining the scene for a mere second, he grimaced slightly, and turned to the pirate who caused the mess.

"You. Damn it all, clean this up."

He then turned to Matthew. "And you, get up. You're coming with me."

The Canadian didn't move.

"Get up!" the captain ordered again.

When again no movement was made, he scoffed, and grabbed him, forcing him up as he dragged him out.

Matthew could honestly say he didn't care what happened to him. Tears till continued to fall, as he presumed to be some twisted punishment or death.

Instead, he was led back to the captain's quarters, where with a rather rough shove, he fell back onto the bed.

Matthew didn't honestly remember much about that night, it was really hazy what happened. But the last thing he did remember was the soft smell of the sheets, and drifting off into darkness.