Scars for Scarsguard

[Admiral Hart]

When the Plunder's Heart was just a day away from the Cove, proximity alarms began to sound all over the ship. "Crew, battlestations. The Mjolnir has just shown up on our scanners. And Thorn is not going to be happy about our swindle from last time. He's not making any strange moves yet, but it's only a matter of time."

On the bridge, Hart balked at an image of Thorn on the viewscreen. "You want me to what now?"

The tall man repeated his previous statement. Hart thought he looked a bit more pale than usual. More strained. "We got a man seriously wounded over here. I need to borrow your lovely doctor."

"So? Why should I care? Or trust a man I robbed less than a week ago?" Hart replied.

"Because I just deoposited half of what I'm gonna pay for her treatment, Jonah." Thorn replied. Hart tapped at his console a few times, and then his eyes went wide.

"That's...Full amount or no deal." Hart replied.

"Alright." Thorn agreed immediately. "Done. And, hurry, would ya, Hart?"

The screen went down, and Hart called in the comm, "Morgan, Dane, and three of Dane's finest men, please, along with Andi, report to the first boarding shuttle immediately. Captain Scarsguard has paid us a lot for use of our doctor. Make sure he doesn't try anything and give his man proper treatment."

[Dr. Andromeda Reyes]

Andromeda blew out a nervous sigh from where she sat in the boarding shuttle as it slowly docked with the small Rapier-Class Corsair, known as the Mjollnir. She fidgeted with the well-stocked medical kit she had sitting in her lap, biting at her lower lip in no small amount of axious agitation.

The huge pirate captain couldn't be very pleased with her for her part in the heist they'd commited against him only a week ago. Not to mention her disappearing shortly afterward, leaving him completely empty handed. This just seemed like a big, huge, uncoincidental set up.

Morgan glanced at her from where he was overseeing the docking process, and the unruffable calm in the younger man's light-brown stare went a long way to calm her down. "Don't worry, doctor," he murmured in his lyrical British brogue, soft and steady with an unshakable confidence in his tone. "Hart sent me and Dane with you for a reason, aye? In the unlikely event that Scarsgard means to be unpleasant, I can take Lyra in a fight, Dane and Coop there will handle the Captain, and the other two can mop up what's left of their fighters."

Andromeda blinked a little at his unproturbed, matter-of-fact tone. "The Mjollnir has over twenty crewmembers."

Dane and the others immediately started guffawing and sneering various insults as to the compitence of those crew members while Morgan merely settled for one of his small, half-smiles of amusement. "Don't fret, doctor," was all he replied. "We'll manage."

A moment later the shuttle had docked with the small ship, and the airlocks locked in place with a loud thud and a hiss. Dane had his hand on Veronica's grip, and the others were also similarly prepared as the hatch slowly opened from the other end. Morgan merely crossed his arms over his formidable chest, expression steely, while Andromeda got to her feet and fell into step behind him.

A handful of faces met them on the other side of the hatch, none of them being the Captain or looking seriously hurt. There were various scrapes and bruises though, but nothing needing her specific attention. They were also not brandishing weapons, which was another good sign.

"Where's the wounded man?" Morgan demanded, his voice having become the hardened, steely tone he used when he was being his most intimidating. The crew members of the Mjollnir reacted to it accordingly, shooting each other nervous glances before the leader of the group finally motioned with his head.

"This way."

Andromeda and the others were led through the bowels of Scarsgard's ship. It was a nice vessel, she decided, if a lot smaller and less fancier than the Plunder's Heart. It was much more utilitarian, less geared toward creature comforts and more toward practicality.

Her nerves increased the farther they were led, until the man came to a stop in front of what could only be the Captain's quarters. Despite her anxiety, Andromeda scowled. She was starting to grow suspicious again, and next to her Morgan didn't look any less wary.

The door was thrown open then, and Andromeda came face to face with one of the tallest women she'd ever seen. The very powerful and intimidating female eyed her with glacier-blue eyes, a long coppery braid falling over one of her shoulders. They flickered to Morgan next, remaining blandly impassive. When they reached Dane, the pale orbs narrowed considerably, but the weapon's specialist didn't seem the least bit proturbed. Instead he blew her a kiss, to which the woman suddenly reached for the handle of one of the enormous guns strapped to either hip.

"Lyra, let 'em pass," came a deep voice from behind her, forcing the female to slowly back down, though her expression said she'd dearly love to be doing otherwise. Instead she stepped aside, finally, moving out of the way.

Andromeda slowly entered, her gaze locking onto the huge man in the center of the room with no small amount of wary caution and mounting annoyance. He half sat, half leaned against a large wooden desk, also looking slightly rumpled like the rest of his crew, his heavy blue coat half-removed and draping over his left shoulder and arm instead. A few hanks of his platinum hair had escaped his braid, floating down around his face and shoulders in wispy tendrils.

He didn't show any overt anger at the sight of her, instead his pale eyebrow twitched high on his forehead and he gave her a teasing grin. "What, no sexy dress? I'm disappointed. And here I thought Hart must keep you dressed like that all the time. If not, he's a damned fool not to."

Andromeda felt her face heat, scowling. Her fist clenched around the handle of her kit. "If the only reason you called me over here was to listen to you try and humiliate me and get back at me for last week, you can just forget it, Scarsgard--,"

He sighed at that, suddenly, cutting her off. "No, no, I really do have a serious injury in need of tending."

"Well, show me to your wounded," she snapped, "or let me get the hell off this ship--,"

Andromeda suddenly noticed the clammy sweat clinging to his dark skin, and the fact that the left hand peaking out from under the edge of his coat was about three shades far too pale. Before she could say anything, Thorn grimaced and pulled off his coat. Her eyes went wide at the sight of all the blood coating the entire left side of his shirt, his left arm hanging somewhat unnaturally still.

Her medical training had her rushing forward without another thought, immediately setting her kit on the desk before reaching for the edge of his torn and tattered sleeve. "My God, what happened?!" she demanded, appalled. Thorn winced as she tore the remains of the shirt wide open. Andromeda gaped somewhat stupidly at the huge gashes that tore into the meat of his broad shoulder, ripping raggedly across it before tearing through the upper part of his back, rendering it a bloody, mangled mess. Her horrified eyes flickered from the wound to his steady stare instead, inwardly stunned.

A lesser man would have been out cold by now, from the pain if not the blood loss. If not outright dead.

"Were you mauled by a bear?" she demanded then, caught between incredulity and anger. Though, where the anger came from, she wasn't entirely sure. It was almost as if she cared for his well-being, all of a sudden. And was upset that he'd been hurt.

Oblivious to her internal confusion, Thorn winced and then chuckled, sounding a touch raspy to her trained ears. Andromeda reached for her kit, snapping it open and pulling out a pair of gloves.

"Near enough," he returned then. "You ever heard of a man named Hoskell?" Andromeda just blinked and shook her head but, behind her, Morgan, Dane and the others all suddenly winced in pained sympathy. "He's a big, burly bastard that works for Tunstall's crew. Strong as a damned ox, and likes to fight dirty with a pair of clawed bracers. Got caught with a surprise hit while we were . . . ah, liberating them from a haul they'd just taken off a derelict supply frigate."

Andromeda made a face, reaching for some anesthetic and applying a few shots to the worst areas. Thorn didn't flinch at all, or even indicate that he noticed them at all. She started cleaning the worst of the blood then, to get a better view of the damage. He had a few deep muscle lacerations in his shoulder, but the cuts down his back looked a little more superficial. "Most Captains are smart enough not to be in the middle of the fighting," she quipped back after a moment. "Or at least smart enough to not be in the way of a man who likes to maul you when he's upset."

Andromeda's minstrations faltered slightly when Thorn suddenly grinned, his silvery-blue eyes suddenly hot and teasing again. "Well I'm not most men, dearling."

Before Andromeda had a chance to respond to that, the large amazonian woman suddenly let out a loud growl. Andromeda turned just in time to see her launch herself forward and then catch a smirking Dane square in the face with a vicious uppercut. The sheer power behind the blow rocked the man completely off his feet, depositing him onto the floor in a heap instead. She tensed, but none of the others made any moves to start fighting. And the woman immediately subsided again afterward, going back to leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

Beside her, Thorn slowly lifted a brow. "Lyra? Do we have a problem?" The woman shook her head, then spoke for the first time since Andromeda had arrived.

"No Captain," she murmured, her lyrical accent thicker than Thorn's was. "Merely repaying a debt. Situation is taken care of."

For his part Dane slowly rolled up to his knees, reaching up to wipe at the blood now oozing from his nose and mouth. He glanced at his fingers, then heaved a sigh before grinning a little and shoving himself back to his feet.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. So that's where he got all the broken noses from.

She forced everything else from her mind then, focusing on the task at hand. In minutes she had Thorn's wounds cleaned and began on the process of sitching him back together. Her movements were quick, clean and utterly precise. When she was through, and after a few months of healing, the man would barely have any scars to show for this. It was a trial, but she somehow ignored Thorn's stubborn, shameless flirting in the mean time. It seemed he was completely unproturbed about past events, even more determined to try and woo her--her own feelings on the matter notwithstanding.

Andromeda finished her work, logging the ridiculous behavior away as playful teasing, flirty diversion or plain old loopiness from the drugs she'd administered. Doing anything else was far, far too dangerous.