Date: 2nd of March, 1719
Place: Aboard the Caribbean Siren, below deck

Hawk had awoken in such terrible pain. Things were quiet now, except for a few groans of others injured. The fight must have been over. Considering that he had awoken here, and not died or awoken in a cell, they must have at least escaped, if not won. Who was taking care of him? He tried to sit up, but he could not. A thick piece of wood had splintered off from cannon fire and hit him in the side, miraculously missing any internal organs. He'd seen his wound just before being dragged off. Hawk still would have fought, had they let him!

After trying to sit up a few times, Hawk gave up. He was used to the loneliness he kept himself in, so he lay there, staring at the bottom of the floor above. Loneliness was much worse when you couldn't get out of bed and do something to pass the time. He half-wished someone would come speak to him, but he didn't call out or ask if anyone else was awake. He just lay there, silent, as the spider does waiting for something to fall into her web.

The ship had just anchored in Basse Terre, and most of the crewmen had headed already towards Belle’s tavern, while the captain and the quartermaster lingered a little more on the docks, looking at the other ships around and asking themselves which of the smugglers would give them a better price for the looted goods.

The crew’s shares hadn’t been fully divided yet, but the coins were enough for an advance everybody enjoyed. One would think that only those who were to keep watch remained aboard, and those who had been on duty before and now they were sleeping. Perhaps a few of the confused newcomers too, but most of them had time to befriend a little some of the French-speaking, or, respectively, Spanish-speaking pirates and they were conquering for the first time, eyes widely open, the legendary nest of debauchery that Tortuga was considered.

Well, wrong. Andrea remained aboard the “Caribbean Siren” too. He had no reason to hurry ashore, but he had, instead, all the reasons in the world to remain aboard. And those were, mainly, the wounded men he had volunteered to take care of. Sol knew to ask Belle if she knew any doctor ashore or from an anchored ship who might see them too, but until then he had been the one who, with a few helpers, had cleaned, stitched or bandaged the wounds and made a strong willow bark tea, with marigold and elder flowers, good both for fighting fever and washing wounds. And now, a teapot with freshly made tea and two cups in his hands, he was seeing the wounded again, the most feverish and the awake ones being helped to drink some bitter tea, irrespectively how loudly some of them protested.

He arrived to Hawk’s bed and he smiled to his friend, seeing that he was awake now. The dark, troubled and feverish gaze met a pair of green eyes which were trying their best to spread hope:

”Salut mon ami! How are you feeling today?” he asked.

He could hear someone approach him, and had he been in better health he would have spun around to meet them. The Native American worried who it might be for a moment before the person stepped into view. It was Angel, asking Attacking Hawk how he felt. Well, it was rather obvious, wasn't it? Though he wasn't dead, he was in a lot of pain. However, like an animal, Attacking Hawk did not show it. To show weakness or pain made you a target to the world.

Attacking Hawk looked at the cups in Angel's hand, wondering what he was doing with them. He then looked at the ceiling as if he didn't want to look Angel in the eye. "I am fine." He replied, not wanting to reveal the pain he'd woken up in. After all, having a piece of wood stab you in the torso wasn't exactly ticklish. "I think that we have won," Attacking Hawk guessed, still averting his eyes to the ceiling. "How many have died?"

Andrea smiled, seeing that his friend was now conscious and the worst of the fever had passed. He answered his questions the best he could:

“Yes, we have won. The taken loot seems quite impressive, we got new recruits too… but we have also lost enough men, unfortunately. I couldn’t count them, especially that some added later to those fallen in the battle, and I avoided asking Sol, because he seemed more worried than happy. I’ve got a French newcomer willing to help me dress the wounds, but you know how it is. One who isn’t a real doctor can only do so much… and the rest is at God’s mercy. But I am very glad that you aren’t among the losses. Take a cup of tea, it’s good to avoid your fever rising again.”

He expected the usual grimace at its bitterness. Nevertheless, bitter or not, the drink was useful. As for how the injured man was feeling, of course he knew it must have been painful, and he admired Hawk for not showing how much it hurted, but at a certain moment he’d need to know it in order to be able to assess how it was healing.

”I have to give my tea to a few others, then I come back to you, to check if your bandage needs changing.”

This meant a new stop in the kitchen, where Lucky had hot water for him, because he was aware of the amounts of tea Andrea used after battles. The cook had been slightly wounded once and in his care, too.

Faithful to his promise, in a little while Andrea was back, this time ready to concentrate all his available time on his friend.

Hawk listened to Andreas words, nodding. He wondered who was among the fallen? He raised an eyebrow when Andrea said he was glad Hawk was not among the fallen. "It will take much more than this to kill a true Santee warrior. Many of your people have tried, and still you all fail." Hawk said, shifting a little as if offended. He meant White Men, though he didn't include Angel in that group. He really didn't care how offensive his words sounded. They were true.

Hawk sat up slowly and sipped the tea, but he didn't recoil hard at the bitterness. His face merely twitched briefly into a scowl. He didn't care about making Angel feel like he thought it tasted well. He simply didn't like showing his emotions much, even for something as simple as bitter tea. He said nothing as Angel walked away, watching him leave out of the corner of his eye. Hawk quickly finished the tea, not wanting the bitterness to last very long.

Angel had indeed come back, not that Hawk cared one way or the other. He missed the smoke and chants of the healers from his own tribe. He just didn't feel like he was healing without them, but he had learned by now that he would. He didn't know what to say to Angel when the man came back, so he simply held out the empty cup that had once held bitter tea. "It is finished." He responded.

Andrea smiled at his friends’ words.

”Not MY people, you know the French aren’t mine. And I don’t think any of my countrymen had adventured to your lands… or even here,” he protested on a low tone, not really offended and not trying to seem offended. ”I can say there have been enough who tired to kill me too… Genovese, British, French Navy lately, Spanish…” he added.

There was a bell for each person, calling the soul when the time would come. But theirs hadn’t come yet – and Andrea would fight the black reaper to keep Hawk by his side.

”I am here to help you keep your life. I need you, my friend.”

Of course he did need the friends who were exactly his opposite, Hawk and Cass, their silent calm and deep thoughts, in contrast to his talkative openness, his sensitivity and youthful rush.

When he came back, he took the cup and simply told Hawk:

”Hopefully the fever will go away. Let me see the wound now, I think the bandage needs changing.”

Most of their crewmates were already in Belle’s tavern, eating and drinking, but he didn’t miss it yet. He preferred to remain with Hawk, even longer than necessary, because he remembered the time when he had been the wounded one. Loneliness was more depressing when in pains.

"No, just White Men." Hawk explained to Andrea. It wasn't only the French who'd wronged him. He sighed. Of course, there had been a few of his own that wronged him, but not many. Not as many as the White Men. He shrugged when Andrea claimed he was here to help save Hawk's life, but he was secretly grateful.

Hawk sighed, allowing Andrea to take the cup from him. He started to take the bandages off, deciding not to wait for Andrea's help.

Andrea tried not to hear Hawk’s comment directed against all the white men – as if there weren’t still white men the ones who had warmly received him in this crew and who have considered him as one of them. Well, not only white men – pirates were international – but it mattered less. Some of them liked him, others not much… but it had nothing to do with the skin colour and more with what language they spoke and how many common points they could find with him. Damn, Andrea was as white as milk if not tanned by the sun, and still many disliked him for various reasons.

When he saw Hawk trying to take the bandages off, Andrea stopped him:

”Don’t take my job! I might need this practice on you for the next ones,” he joked.

With him, this approach might work better than any other way to convince him. He started doing it himself, with care, and after a due (and painful) cleaning of the wound, he applied a clean one.

”Don’t make any hasty moves which might worsen your wound, we don’t want it to open again!” he said.

Then he took his friend’s hand and he looked at him:

”What do you want to hear from me in order to distract your thoughts from the pain? I am ready to tell you battle stories, funny stories or what you like, from my time back in Europe…”

He needed something to get distracted too, even if his pains were of another nature. Not waiting for Hawk's answer, he started reminiscing childhood scenes from aboard "Colomba". Anything was good, as long as it kept their minds from the painful present time.