Chapter Text
Soaked to the bone by unrelenting rain, Captain Zemo tightened his grip on the wheel. He struggled to maintain his control of the ship against the monstrous waves, but the Captain refused to surrender. His knuckles would turn white and his voice hoarse over the storm before he capitulated. The wind whipped through the sails, waves smacked the sides of the ship with some even crashing on deck, sending white foam and water across the crewmates’ feet, and thunder roared through the night.
It wasn’t the worst storm Captain Zemo ever saw, but it was enough to make him wary and take the helm himself. Oeznik, his first mate, held the wheel while Helmut went back and forth from the helm to the mainmast. The sails were always at risk during storms, catching the wind and causing the masts to break, and with almost twenty years at sea experience, there was no better man to lead than Helmut Zemo.
“All hands on deck, there’s not a moment to spare!” He pushed his hair out of his eyes, grateful it would slick back and stay. “You,” he grabbed one of the men that ran by him, “check the backstays! We don’t need them snapping in these conditions!” The man nodded quickly, terrified by his captain and the storm, and Zemo clapped him on the shoulder. He took off running to check the ropes.
“James!” he called out, spotting the man returning from below deck, “how are the ballasts?” Balance was key at the moment, and the ballasts ensured the ship stayed upright and level. Despite missing an arm it was never difficult for James to be busy on deck.
“Working well, Cap’n, sir!” James could be distrustful of his captain, often resisting orders until Zemo explained his rationale, but he was a loyal man. He, like many other members of Zemo’s motley crew, were Navy deserters or sole survivors of shipwrecks. They trusted their Captain, their loyalties knowing no bounds, but they enjoyed teasing their Captain too. In a storm, however, that threatened to turn the ship over or run them aground, they knew not to question him.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Zemo made sure to praise his men, instilling confidence in them no matter the rain or the wind. Rewarding good work was part of building rapport and loyalty. The most efficient and revered pirate captains ruled through respect rather than fear.
The majority of storms at sea didn’t last too long, they were short and intense gales, but they didn’t hover over a ship for too long. Often the best choice, when caught in the midst of a blow, was to batten down the hatches, watch the masts and the keel, and ride out the inclement weather. A less prepared ship might have panicked and scrambled, failing to lift anchor or tie up the sails in time, but Captain Zemo ran a tight ship. A lesser captain would have allowed all hell to break out when a storm rolled through, but not Zemo.
As he stayed steady, so did the ship. With Zemo’s firm guidance, the Bloody Baron weathered the storm with minimal damage. Some ropes were frayed and damaged and a few sails had holes torn in them, but it was nothing they couldn’t manage. A day or two fixing and mending and it would be smooth sailing.
When the sun came up in the morning, clear and bright, the Captain returned to his chambers to sleep, a mercy to him after a long night. In a cabin at the rear of the ship near the officer’s quarters, Zemo settled into his bed by the window. Sunlight never bothered him, so he didn’t close the curtains, but Helmut didn’t want to roll out of his bed when the ship rocked, so he made sure to secure the bed rail. He only made that mistake once, and it was enough to ensure he never did it again.
***
A day or so after the storm, they found a wrecked ship amongst the rocks. Sam in the crow’s nest spotted it first, and word traveled to the Captain who pulled out his own telescope. Looking east toward the well-risen sun, he spotted the trademark wood and other debris scattered across the surface. Some captains lay anchor near the wreckage to scavenge through, finding barrels of oil and other useful or sellable materials, but Captain Zemo had a second reason for drawing near.
He always searched for straggling survivors. In any given wreck there were bound to be one or two, clinging to some door or other scrap wood to survive, and Zemo gave them a chance. He understood, without ever telling them, what it was like to sift through the wreckage, unsure if he wanted to live or die, and he admired their will. Zemo offered them a spot in his crew or to drop them off the next time they stopped at a port. Most, after spending a week or two aboard the Bloody Baron, decided to stay.
After anchoring the boat safely enough away, the crew readied a handful of small rowboats to traverse through the debris. Anything they spotted of value or use would be hauled out of the water and loaded up. Any people still breathing would be dragged from the dreadful driftwood and given food, water, and dry clothes. Helmut stood on the bow of the rowboat and peered through his telescope. His men were smart enough to know what cargo was still worthwhile, but they sometimes missed people and mistook them for dead. The trick was to pay careful attention to their breathing and for any slight movements, and Zemo did with one eye closed and his brows furrowed. He pressed his lips into a thin line, scouring for any signs of life.
“Lots of high-class people here, Cap’n.”
“It could have been a passenger ship crossing the Atlantic,” Zemo mused, looking away from his telescope. With the buildup of colonial settlements and port cities, it didn’t surprise him. Such outposts needed governors, tradesmen, and ordinary people to work and live. Not every ship traversing the sea could be a merchant, a navy brigade, or a pirate.
Of course, that would be a disappointment to any man hoping to find an easy payday. Sure, most passenger ships still carted valuables as it was far more economic to fill the steer before launching the ship, but not nearly as much as a cargo ship or a merchant’s fright. Some passengers did sometimes wear gold or silver jewelry, which they would slip into their pockets out of the Captain’s sight. Despite his sinister reputation, Zemo did not stand for the defilement of the innocent. These poor people, bloated and decomposing, did not deserve to have their precious trinkets stripped away. Those little rings, lockets, and pocket watches were their reminders of home as they crossed the Atlantic.
Zemo brought the telescope back to his wary eye, and he thought he saw movement in the distance. A woman, identifiable by her bright yellow dress, clutching to a part of a door it seemed. She kept her face turned to the side, her dark brown hair had come loose from its elaborate style and pins, but her shallow breathing was evident by the soft movement of her back and shoulders. He nudged the man by the rudder to head in her direction.
As they passed multiple swollen bodies and barely floating barrels, Zemo stripped off his greatcoat and rolled up his sleeves. He dipped his fingers in the water, just enough to slick back his hair and keep it out of his eyes, while he focused on the shipwrecked woman. She shifted a little, no doubt exhausted, but still clinging to life. Helmut rolled up his white sleeves and knelt at the edge of the boat, preparing to move her to safety.
“You’re alright now.” He started talking to her as they moved closer. If she was conscious it would be a comfort to know she was no longer alone. Zemo was there to help her, not hurt her.
She heard him, his voice betraying some soft but husky accent she couldn’t place, and she turned her head slowly to look at her rescuer. Blinking slowly against the blinding sunlight, she squinted to see him. She saw his starched white shirt first, rolled up to his elbows showcasing his strong forearms and a plunging neckline revealing a thick patch of chest hair. When he moved closer, smiling softly to comfort her, she noticed the stubble covering his cheeks and the concern in his eyes. Exhausted, her eyes fluttered closed again.
Zemo picked her up in his arms, and she felt his firm grip on her as he drew her near, not caring about wetting his clothes. He sat back in the boat, holding her in his lap, and he tucked her dark hair away from her face and behind her ear. Her eyes flitted open at his surprisingly delicate touch, and Helmut reassured her again with a little grin. One of the crewmates caught it and gave Captain Zemo a look. Never one to besmirch his reputation, Zemo glared the man into compliance.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered just for her. Zemo directed the men to row back to the Bloody Baron, and he kept a tight grip on her. He studied her, deciding what she would need when they returned to his ship. Her face, chest, and hands were red from the sun with blisters in some spots, there were small cuts and bruises mottling her skin, and she shook a little from fatigue. For a moment, he swore he felt her weakened hands strengthen their hold on him, but he brushed it off. Surely not. It must have been an impulse, a natural reaction, to grasp for dear life for so long.
***
Helmut was the one to carry her onto the ship. He held her tight in his arms, urging her to grab onto him to make it easier, and she latched her hands around him. In his quarters, he could check for any cuts or scratches, tend to any sunburns, and make sure she drank water. After such a harrowing experience, rest and hydration would do her a world of good.
Her tulip yellow dress, faded by the sun and the saltwater, showed the life of someone high in society. The lace, now faded and torn, had once been delicately handcrafted. The simple but elegant floral design of the dress showed the work of a tailor or another fine artisan. But, wet clothes would simply not help her recuperate. Helmut asked Wanda and Natasha to put her in a clean set of clothes, some of his own the only spare on such short notice, while he stood outside the door. It would have felt improper for him to stay.
In the meantime, he visited the ship’s doctor to acquire the proper remedies. He was familiar with all the ingredients, but sometimes his stores were a little lacking. A poultice for her burns would help her, and they would need to clean any cuts she endured. When he returned with the medicine, Wanda and Nat left her tucked into his bed. Zemo thanked them for assisting him before instructing them to assist the rest of the crew.
He sat on the edge of his bed, hers now for the time being, and mixed the treatment. Helmut carefully spread it across her cheeks, and her eyes opened slowly again.
“This will help you, I promise.” She didn’t protest, her throat too scratched and irritated to speak. He understood, so he didn’t ask anything of her. Instead, he continued spreading the poultice and spoke softly to her. “Sleep. You’ll feel better.”
She was so parched, but the bed was so comfortable, and she didn’t know what to do. The last thing she remembered was dozing off to sleep, the cottony sheets surrounding her, and his lilting voice in her ear telling her to drink the water he left her.
***
Zemo stood below deck next to Oeznik and oversaw the unloading of their new cargo. The boatswain and quartermaster took inventory of every barrel, adding them to their ledgers and directing the crew to either store the barrels with the rest of the materials or to set them aside for sale. The Bloody Baron rocked a little under their feet, not severely, but enough that if any barrels came loose they were likely to roll away from the man.
“What are you going to do with the girl?” his aging but trusted first mate asked. He had not joined the crew when they picked through the wreckage, but he saw Helmut return with her. Rescuing people was not unusual for the Captain, a portion of the crew joined following this method, but Oeznik sensed she was different.
He toyed with the question for a moment. All kinds of misfits had been rescued: former navy men, people from opposing crews, working-class men and scullery maids, but never someone from high society. As one of the sole survivors of her ship, she would be presumed dead. Despite his assurances to protect her, there was no doubt her reputation would be tarnished should it be known she was rescued by pirates.
“There is no place for her here, yet she can’t return to her world,” Oeznik continued when Zemo still didn’t answer.
Finally, Zemo spoke. “When she has rested and recovered, I will ask to determine who she is and what it is she intends to do. Until then, there is nothing I can do.”
“If I remember correctly, sir,” Oeznik used his old title for the Captain, which bristled him despite his calm demeanor, “she is sleeping in your quarters.”
“Indeed she is. If I remember correctly,” he countered, “there are other cabins on this ship.”
Oeznik was quiet for the remainder of the time. He provoked his captain enough for the day, and there were far more important things to do than meddle. Besides, he could interlope later.
***
Several hours later, Mary awoke groggy and sore. Her dreams were full of terrifying storms, near drowning, and then a man rescuing her at the end. With a start, she remembered none of those events had been a dream. Tears sprung from her eyes and she sniffled in the sheets. Mary didn’t even know where she was, but she felt so overwhelmed she couldn’t help the fat tears that rolled down her sticky cheeks.
She fell asleep again, lulled by the rocking of the boat. When she awoke this time, it was dark in the cabin except for one lantern left on a desk. Mary reached for the water beside her to quench the dryness in her throat. Then, she thought for a moment. She remembered a man and his firm grip, so she wondered where he was. He wasn’t in the room with her— she felt as if he would have said or done something by now— and she contemplated trying to find him. Mary didn’t know him, but he was the only person she knew on the whole ship.
Then she realized there was some sort of rail up on the side of the bed. This was not new to her— crossing the Atlantic her berth had one— so she tried to find the mechanism to put it down. After succeeding, Mary put one unsteady foot on the floor. In the warm light, she realized she wasn’t wearing her tulip yellow dress anymore but a black pair of pants and a starched white shirt. Vaguely, she remembered two red-headed women helping her out of her soaked dress and into the new clothes, but she couldn’t remember their names.
Slowly and gingerly, Mary stood up from the bed. Her head spun and she lurched with the movement of the ship, but her determination strengthened her. She would find the man who rescued her. Her bare feet padded softly on the floor, and she peered out into the hallway. Something in her gut told her to turn right, so she did, careful to remember in case she needed to find her way back.
Miraculously, Mary made her way onto the main deck of the ship, flooded with moonlight and starlight. She felt the cool wind and shivered, and she could smell the salty brine of the sea. Somewhere behind her, she heard the quiet muttering of a man. She turned around and looked up to see a man hunched over a table. There was a staircase to either side of her leading up to him, and she once again chose the one on the right. She walked slowly up the stairs, one hand on the railing at all times and every step a struggle.
He looked up at her as if he had been waiting for her, and he greeted her with a smile. It was the same man who rescued her. She carefully walked toward him, very aware of their unusual situation and her improper attire, but his materials on the table caught her attention. Various charts and maps were spread out on the table, books were open to specific pages with a telescope of a compass keeping them in place.
“What are you doing?” Mary asked, using her voice for the first time in days. It scratched and hurt, but she pushed through. It sounded horrible, and she regretted speaking at all.
“I’m following the stars,” he said warmly, not bothered by her voice. “Would you like to know their names?” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he invited her closer.
“They have names?” she practically croaked out. She blushed, impossible to tell with her sunburn, but somehow he must have known she felt embarrassed.
“Of course,” he assured her, “all beautiful things have names. May I know yours?”
Mary didn’t feel like a beautiful thing, her hair tangled, her skin burned, her dress ruined, and her voice that of a frog’s, but she blushed even more at his compliment. He seemed genuine about it, earnestly awaiting her answer.
“Mary, Mary Spencer,” she answered with another rasp.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary Spencer.” The way he said her name made her feel as if she was one of the shimmering stars above. It made her feel special despite her disheveled state. “I’m Captain Zemo, but you can call me Helmut.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles, his soft lips just brushing her skin, and his brown eyes meeting hers as he looked up. She shivered again, but this time not from the wind. “But you need more sleep, sternchen. Do you remember the way back?” He raised one eyebrow at her quizzically.
She nodded rather than speak again. Helmut smiled with his laugh lines showing and his eyes crinkling, understanding why she chose not to use her voice.
“Goodnight then, Mary Spencer .” He acknowledged her name with a little nod. “I will see you in the morning.”
Smiling back at him for the first time, Mary left Helmut to his maps and his stars.