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While it wasn’t unheard of for pirate crews to specifically target Marine warships, it wasn’t super common. Unless there was some personal reason, most pirate crews weren’t going to invite the eyes of the world. There were almost always better targets out there.
But sometimers, of course, there were personal reasons.
Of all the Blackbeard pirates Bogard thought might come after Coby and his crew looking for a little payback, Vasco Shot wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. Bogard was no expert, but the man didn’t seem like a hunting dog, so much as a guard dog. Or maybe just a sleepy old hound.
But here he was, larger than life, his ship grappled to Coby’s by more than a dozen lines. They’d been trying to cut the lines free, but once Shot had begun blanketing the deck in fire, putting out the blaze became the urgent mission. That gave the pirates time to tether the two together, allowing the pirates to pour over the railing.
And Shot was looking for “those brats who messed with our home” pretty much immediately.
“Do you know how much booze we have in those buildings you wrecked?” Shot roared, flinging more fire around and storming onto the deck.
Coby darted forward, surging to meet the pirate before he could get to the rest of the crew. Garp would have approved, Bogard thought. Or done it himself.
Bogard moved in quick, controlled bursts. After what had happened with Blackbeard, with Garp, he’d been offered his own ship, but he turned it down.
It wasn’t exactly like he owed Garp, or these kids, or anyone. But he’d been watching them grow long enough that he didn’t want to just cut them loose. Not yet.
He cut down one man with a sharp, diagonal strike, stepped over the body and a thrust went into the gut of another. Shot was a big man, with a big ship - it dwarfed Coby’s Marine-issue vessel. And most of his crew was larger than your average human as well. Bogard ducked around a slow swing from a big, round dude and sliced into the back of his leg. Depending on the medical care he got, that mian might never walk again, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.
They hadn’t started this fight.
His eyes drifted again to the main clash. It was a remarkably even battle, given Shot’s natural advantages. The pink-haired young man’s eyes were narrowed, focused on nothing but the opponent in front of him. Bogard approved. He knew his men were at his back, so he could trust them without worry.
He was seeing more and more of Garp in that kid.
As he took another pirate out in the middle of some half-considered attack, hsi eyes swept the battlefield. It was always hard on the deck of a ship. Many of the men were up here, trying to repel the boarders, but some of them were probably belowdecks. If the pirates had any sense, they’d be trying to get down there,looking to put a hole in the hull in a few places. Let the sea in, let the waves do their work.
A collective shout from the direction of the forecastle caught his attention. He worked his way that way, trying to get eyes on the fight.
There was a large man with a massive blade up there. A bunch of the men were lying on the ground around him, bleeding, screaming. The man looked around him and grinned, then thrust the blade through the chest of the nearest Marine. The man let out a brief, terrible cry, then slumped back, lifeless.
Oh no. They didn’t have any info on Shot’s second in command yet, but this man was clearly plenty dangerous on his own. Large, incredibly fast, even stronger than his muscled frame would suggest. Clearly not on Shot’s level, but incredibly dangerous, moreso than any of the other pirates, especially with the crews trapped together on these limited vessels.
Anxiety clenching in his stomach, he started moving in that direction, shoving through the press of warring bodies.
Before he could clear his way up there, someone burst through the line, skidding to a stop in front of the swordsman, weapons held out to the sides in a ready position.
Bogard’s heart sank.
It wasn't that he didn’t think Helmeppo was capable in battle, or even ready to take on an opponent of this stature. He’d seen the kid … the young man take on plenty of people who probably thought he’d be easy pickings, and seen him be the only one standing at the end.
Hell, while Garp had been focused on Coby - maybe because of his intensity and will, or maybe because he reminded Garp too much of the past - Bogard had spent a little more time with Helmeppo. Coached him up in the use of blades, helped him find appropriate weapons for his fighting style, ran him through extra drills again, and again, and again at his request. He saw the way Helmeppo seemed to be adding a little bit to his training and practice and workload every time Coby pulled off some amazing feat.
It wasn’t that he was jealous of Coby, exactly. Bogard had thought early in Helmeppo’s career that he might be the sort of man to be prone to that sort of pointless competitiveness, stuck in an endless external war he could never win. Coby was a prodigy, almost preternatural in the trajectory of his growth. Whatever Helmeppo might want, whatever work he might put in, trying to keep up with that beat for beat was either going to demoralize him or kill him.
But Bogard had come to learn while they trained in those first few months that Helmeppo’s yardstick might acknowledge the other, stronger people in his sphere, but once he’d gotten over himself, his focus had been surprisingly healthy. He wanted to be better than the him of yesterday, of last week, of last month. If he wanted to measure against Coby, it was mostly so he didn’t lose his ability to help his friend, to watch his back and help keep him and the whole crew safe.
It was funny, Bogard had reflected after that first year. Everyone had their eyes on Coby, had his name on their lips - startled, impressed, astounded. He couldn’t blame anyone. He was impressive.
But since everyone else was keeping an eye on him, Bogard had kept an eye on the other cadet Garp had scooped up. And he was impressed by what he saw. The growth Helmeppo had built up surprised Bogard in the best possible way.
He wasn’t a monster, physically. He was a good Marine who could sometimes take on monsters.
But the monsters in the Grand Line were larger and more dangerous than any storybook had ever imagined.
The space around the pirate swordsman was clear save for a few bodies and the blood that darkened the planks. The man wasn’t near as tall as his captain but stood a good twice Helmeppo’s height. It wouldn’t have been a problem if the guy was slow like some of the larger fighters on the seas. But he was quick - not Coby quick, but very quick nonetheless.
Helmeppo clearly wasn’t expecting the full velocity of his moves. On the man’s first swing, he started to dodge out of the way, and only realized at the last moment that there wasn’t time. His blades flashed up, not enough to stop the sword, but enough to redirect it. The blade scraped hard off Helmeppo’s combined weapons, off to the right, and bit deep into the wood. The man struggled briefly before wedging it free.
Helmeppo took advantage of the delay, moving in with a spinning step and letting the kukri cut into the man’s main arm once, twice, three times. The swordsman’s blood poured from the cuts, not enough to even remotely stop him but enough to run down his arm, slicking his grip.
The wounds just made the man grin as he rounded on Helmeppo, sword between them. The fact that the man hadn’t used armament haki on that last attack suggested he didn’t have it, which was going to help. But as Bogard cut someone else down, trying to get through, the swordsman swung again, his massive blade reaching people a good ten feet from him.
Helmeppo seemed to realize the same, ducking and using his kukri to redirect the swing again, up this time. Almost not up high enough - the swing took his hat. He scrambled in, trying to get close enough to blunt the sword swings.
Turned out that was a bad idea when the guy could palm your face. The swordsman took his left hand off the sword, taking another, deeper cut from Helmeppo’s flashing blades in order to reach out and snag the Marine by one arm, dragging him in closer and pivoting to throw him.
In the split second he was in the air, Helmeppo’s training and instincts kicked in admirably. He dropped one of his weapons so he could snag the railing, preventing him from flying over the side. He hauled himself back up, landing in a crouch on the deck.
The pirate was already closing the gap, sword raised.
Bogard, finally shoving through to the front of the ship, didn’t quite follow what happened next.
The pirate charged and swung. Helmeppo, already low, did … something. A kick maybe, but the pirate’s legs obscured most of it. The sword slammed the railing, taking out a huge chunk of it, and the man’s momentum carried him off the side.
But when he was gone, so was Helmeppo.
Honestly, the best case scenario -- the one the plan was supposed to give him - was that he could trip the big guy off the side of the ship and then maybe no one would have to deal with him for a while. Helmeppo certainly didn’t want to deal with him. The guy was a large pain in the ass, both figuratively and, at least on the first part, literally as well. Certainly too dangerous to let roam around the deck, cutting furrows in the crew again and again and again.
He should have been suspicious when the first part of the plan went exactly as he wanted. The sword missed, the railing broke giving his target an even easier path into the ocean, he even managed to hook an arm across the front of one leg, tripping the man. Unless he somehow caught an outcropping somewhere on the hull, this pirate was going into the drink.
Things never went that cleanly.
Helmeppo was just thinking that when he felt a tug at the back of his shirt. It felt like barely anything, at first, but then the sky was twisting around him, the water rushing up to meet him, and then-
SLAM.
Water could definitely break your fall but it could also break your limbs. The deck wasn’t high enough to do that much damage, but when he hit back and shoulders first, it was all he could do to not expel the air in his lungs like some green cadet. His weaponness hand clapped over his mouth as he tried to get oriented and kick toward the surface.
Instead he kept going the other way.
Has that ape still got me by the shirt?
As he tried to twist around, to try to see through the murk over his shoulder, he felt himself dragged down even harder, then something unpleasantly boot-like slammed into his back, driving him further down.
Turning the push into a bit of a dive, Helmeppo curled around toward the surface and his enemy again. The water was reasonably clear here, but his visor was filling up, so he yanked it off.
Oh. Maybe he should have left the visor in place.
Since joining the Marines, he’d kind of hoped he wouldn’t see his death coming - it would just be some sort of unhappy surprise, an explosion on the battlefield or something if he had to die in the line of duty. But now, the pirate’s sword was just cutting through the water, straight at his face.
Luckily, the water made it harder for the pirate to get the sort of power he could on land. Blocking the attack with his remaining knife did have the unfortunate effect of pushing him deeper and the pirate toward the surface, which was not ideal honestly. He could hold his breath a decent while, but that number came down considerably when fighting.
He wanted to let the guy surface, surface himself somewhere else and regroup. But he’d seen the look on that guy’s face, back on deck. And he’d been fighting pirates long enough to know that look.
If that pirate got to the surface first, Helmeppo was never getting there at all, that was the long and short of it. There was no way he could stay under long enough, get far enough away to shake the guy off before he ran out of air down here.
As Coby reminded him sometimes when he spent too long looking for the right approach, sometimes the only way to go was through.
He just wasn’t sure exactly how to do that. Fighting in water would always be a tricky thing. They’d done drills on it, certainly. Marines, as their name suggested, fought on the seas a lot of the time, so knowing how to not panic like a child if the situation arose.
But after those drills, just about every fighter in the class would hope fervently to never have to put the theory into practice.
Helmeppo took just a moment to yank his boots off in the strange pulsating world of the undersea. Then he took off after the pirate, his bare feet propelling him through the water much faster than the pirate’s booted ones.
Maybe the guy had haki, or maybe there was just something about the way he was disturbing the water, but right before he reached the other man, he saw his target slow further and look down, that grin still on his face.
He HAD to be getting sea water between those teeth. Ew.
Also, shit. Helmeppo had been hoping to get a good, clean cut at his ankle. That plan came from his training with Bogard - there was something back there that affected how you walked, kicked, everything to do with legs. He figured, making the guy unable to point his feet would further slow him, down here in the water. And the slower he was, the better chance Helmeppo had.
After all, the water might rop a long weapon like a sword of some of its power. But if he could get a good hold on this guy, his smaller weapon could be almost at full strength, barring the pressure of cutting through the water. He’d definitely have the upper hand.
Now, if only he could set that all up.
The pirate wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Seeing him coming, he’d turned to face Helmeppo, and actually began swimming down toward him.
Ahhh crap, did he have the same idea?
There was no stopping his momentum, so he just had to press on. He brought the kukri up in front of him like a diver going at a shark - or at least what he assumed a diver going at a shark would be like. The pirate had wisely dropped his sword and was just coming at Helmeppo with both hands.
He was able to cut away the first one, but managed to forget he only had one weapon right now and just kind of brushed the other hand aside like it was some beaded curtain in an eccentric shop on some backwater island.
Unsurprisingly, that was not enough. The hand caught the shoulder of his shirt, yanking the too of them entirely too close together for comfort. Then that awful, grinning face was coming at him at speed, and for one jarring second Helmeppo thought the crazy bastard intended to bite him. But no, it was just a headbutt.
The water again deadened some of the force, but he still saw stars. As the guy’s hand let go, Helmeppo thought maybe he was going for the surface again. But as his vision cleared, he saw the guy coming at him again. The Marine blocked his face.
Unfortunately, the pirate went for the gut.
The elbow slamming into his midsection forced a burst of bubbles from him - not an ideal situation because his lungs were already screaming for air. But he took advantage of the momentary change in direction that caused for both of them and looped up behind the pirate.
I gotta finish this now.
Helmeppo’s free hands twisted into the fabric of the back of the man’s shirt and planted one foot on his back. As the man tried to reach back and pry him off, Helmeppo drove his kukri around in an arc through the dim water.
The blade found the softer area right under the pirate’s chin and bit home. That was probably enough, but Helmeppo used his grip on the man’s shirt to drive it further in and give it a vicious twist. There wasn’t enough air to deal with him even one more time. Helmeppo was starting to feel lightheaded, and the burning need to open his mouth and take a deep breath, even though he knew that would be death.
As blood clouded and darkened the water around them, Helmeppo felt the man’s thrashing start to slow. Grimly, he released the kukri - he’d swim faster with empty hands - as well as the shirt and turned his attention toward the sky. The sun wavered distantly, feeling both right there and also impossibly far away. He started swimming as hard as he could, hoping there was time to get there before his lungs overrode his brain.
A weight on his left foot stopped him short.
Twisting anxiously, Helmeppo looked back down. Blood swirled thickly in the water, turning it almost black in the murky light. His legs disappeared into it, obscuring whatever had him. He swished his hand through the cloud trying to clear it so he could-
A face loomed out of the darkness, grinning horrifyingly. His weapon no longer sticking out of its neck - the pirate must have pulled it out himself. A second hand latched onto his leg just below the knee, jerking him down, pulling their faces closer. Frantic now, Helmeppo lashed out with everything he had with his other foot.
It connected, adding a trail of blood from the pirate’s nose and mouth to the mess in the ocean. The eyes closed, the grin fading.
But the hands didn’t release him.
No! This cannot be how this ends, it can not!
He tried to kick loose, again and again, but it was like the guy’s muscles had frozen in place when the man died.
The body began to descend … dragging him with it.
Desperate now, Helemppo faced the surface and scrabbled for the sky with his hands, but he couldn’t get enough pull to offset the weight of the corpse latched onto him. The sun darkened, as though something had interposed between him and the sky, and little dots, multiplying far too fast, began to crowd in from the edges of his vision.
Finally his resolve lost its battle. Water rushed in, setting his lungs on fire, but there wasn’t anything else he could do. There wasn’t enough strength in his limbs to even try to force himself free. His consciousness wavered.
I wonder, he thought as darkness took over, if anyone’ll come to my funeral.
Coby wiped his forehead, stopping another trickle of blood from getting in his eye.
He was holding back, but so was Shot. For different reasons, he assumed -- Coby didn’t want his men dead in the ocean, while Shot would sink himself if the ships disappeared. Coby was sure he looked like he’d gotten the worse end of the deal, and so far he probably had. But he felt like Shot was starting to get frustrated too.
“Ship ahoy! No … three!” shouted someone from the pirate crew, in the rigging halfway up the other ship’s main mast.
Coby resisted the urge to look at the horizon, to see theirs or ours. But when he heard a ragged cheer start to rise from the men at his back, he knew. And a moment later, he saw it reflected in the pirates. A few hesitated, looking to their captain. Others began pulling back to their ship. It was a good craft - if it got started now, it would probably outrun almost anything the Marines could send after them. Shot glared down at him, then called a retreat. It made sense. Without knowing who might be on those ships, it didn’t make any sense to engage them as well. The Marines, and those they reported to, might see this skirmish as something personal, but if he went against more Marines, it would probably mark them even more prominently.
Part of him wanted to press the advantage. The world would be safer with Shot in chains again. But he needed to check on his men, make sure the ship had not been sabotaged and make repairs. The sails were still burning, and there were charred holes in the deck here and there.
As the pirates got back to their ships and began cutting the lines, a louder cheer began to grow around him. But as Coby kept an eye on the other ship, watching for a trick, and the ships drifted apart and the pirates started to sail away from their damaged vessel, the cheer began to fade.
Satisfied they were safe for the moment, Coby turned and sighted the three warships approaching. They had maybe ten minutes before the vessels would reach them - assuming they didn’t change course and just pursue the pirates. Around him, the men were seeing to their number who’d been injured, administering first aid and carrying them belowdecks to get more thorough examinations and treatment.
“Captain!”
Coby’s head whipped around at the tone he heard in one of his men’s voice. He could see a number of the crew over by the railing, staring down into the ocean. Coby started in that direction, weaving around those getting medical attention or who’d just fallen to the ground to catch their breath.
The men parted as he arrived, getting one another’s attention to form an open space. He came up to the railing, leaning over, eyes scanning. The deck was unexpectedly, strangely quiet considering they’d just repelled boarders.
“Pull!” He heard an order from down near the water line. This gave his eyes something to focus on.
It was Bogard, hat lost somewhere, gripping a rope in one hand as eager crewmen hauled him up to the deck. At first Coby thought he’d just fallen in.
But then he noticed something draped in the other arm.
It couldn’t be.
Coby pushed away from the railing and began making his way up to the front of the ship. He was moving faster now, and the men didn’t always seen him coming to get out of the way, but he wended through them with as much efficiency as he could, trying to get there, trying to see…
Finally he made it to the spot. Bogard knelt on the deck, fingers on the wrist of a still form, seawater dripping from his coat and pooling on the blood-splattered floor. Coby felt his breath catch as Bogard dropped the hand - almost threw it from himself - and tilted the other form’s head back.
“M…medic,” Coby shouted, looking back, but he already knew they were all occupied. So he stepped forward, haltingly approaching and asked Bogard, “Do-”
“He’s not breathing.” Bogard’s words came out short, sharp, almost a reprimand. Coby jumped, and his mind scrambled for the first aid training he’d taken - more than just the basic, he’d wanted to be prepared, but now it felt like he’d just heard someone else describe the lessons. He couldn’t remember.
“Compressions!” Bogard reminded him. “One a second.”
Coby was dimly aware of Bogard checking the position of Helmeppo’s head, then blowing air into his lungs, causing his chest to rise. But at Bogard’s word, the lesson had come back - the positioning, the pace, how deep he had to press down on the ribcage to force the heart to pump once. He dropped to his knees, positioned his hands, one over the other, and after making sure Bogard wasn’t blowing another breath into his friend, he began throwing his body weight into the compressions.
Why was he in the water? How long? Long enough to have stopped breathing, for his heart to stop. How had Coby not noticed? The fight had been hectic, an utter melee, but how …
“Hold.” Coby stopped on comment, unable to look at his friend’s pale face, wet hair plastered to his clammy skin. So he stared at his wet vest instead. Detritus from the sea clung to the fabric. It would need to be laundered-
The chest rose. Coby waited a moment, then shifted his weight and began compressions again. With every press, he was willing his friend’s heart to restart. He wanted his own heartbeat to somehow reach down through his arms, through their connection, and will it back to life.
There was no way…
“Hold.”
Coby stopped again. Helmeppo’s chest rose. He resumed.
No way his friend was going to die in this stupid skirmish out in the middle of the ocean. Not in such a stupid, pointless way.
Not when Coby hadn’t even noticed.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, aware of how still the deck around them had become, like this was some reverential show.
“Hold.”
Air in. Compressions again.
And on. And on.
Coby wondered how long you gave CPR. He was aware, in some small part in the back of his mind, that if it didn’t work, eventually you had to stop. You had to admit defeat. But Coby wasn’t sure when he’d be willing to do that. He’d be willing to keep trying until they got back, if only…
Under his hands, Helmeppo spasmed. Coby drew back, not sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.
Helmeppo coughed, sea water spilling to the deck as he rolled to his side, drawing a gasping breath. Coby rocked back, sitting on the deck as he watched his friend gasping and struggling, but breathing, and moving. Bogard, in a surprisingly fatherly gesture, shifted to kneel further down, helping Helmeppo sit up and counseling him to try to take slow breaths, to keep coughing if he felt like he needed to get the water out of his lungs. All around,. It felt like the ship began to come back to life.
Coby wanted t5o stay there, to support his friend. But he was responsible for the whole ship, and there might be people he trusted more than Garp’s right-hand man, but not many on the seas.
So he withdrew, seeing to divvying the men up into groups, getting the ship back in shape to head back to base for better repairs, and trying to get his own hammering heartbeat under control.
Bogard strode through the halls, heading back to his quarters - a little smaller than on Garp’s ship, but sufficient to his needs. He stepped in, closed the door behind him, then reached for a hat that he only remembered he’d lost in the ocean when his fingers hit his still-damp hair.
He removed his coat, his shirt, his socks. Here and there the fabric had started to dry, the cloth stiff with salt and sea grime. Hat and shoes, donated to the ocean. Seemed like a small price to pay.
It wasn’t the first time Bogard had performed CPR in the field. They’d lost most of the Marines who needed resuscitation, which made logical sense. Once CPR was begun, the person was already more or less dead. You were just trying to bring them back and death did not relinquish her conquests easily.
Only a couple had come back, and he’d gotten used to the reality of those slim odds, more or less. That was the job - seeking out those who were usually hostile, often cruel, always dangerous. This was not the job to take if you wanted to live a long life.
But Bogard thought, it was a good thing this had been one of the times. When he’d seen the limp form down in the murky water, victorious but still just about gone himself, his own heart felt like it was going to stop.
It was foolish. He’d trained a few men and women over the years. It was one of his jobs. No one of them should be more important than any others.
Why had this terrified him so much?
Grabbing the towel he kept in his room for when he washed up in the morning, he roughly dried his hair as best he could and tried to pull it in some sort of order. Yeah, he definitely needed a shower later. But for now, it would have to wait.
Helmeppo wasn’t any different from the others who…
No. No, that wasn’t quite right, he thought as he methodically got changed into a fresh copy of the exact same thing he wore every day, piling the damp clothes in the corner as a reminder to launder them later.
Helmeppo had come in green. That was the first thing. Fewer skills than any cadet he’d seen in his life. Bogard didn’t get why Garp insisted he be brought along - assumed maybe it was some condition set down by Coby. Though that wouldn’t explain why Garp insisted they both get taught.
Bogard had been prepared to have his patience tested by Helmeppo, especially when Garp basically handed him off for large chunks of the training. Coby could learn far more of what Garp had to teach. But whether by aptitude or just nature, it wasn’t right for Helmeppo and they all knew it. So he’d been given to Bogard so Garp could concentrate on Coby. And Helmeppo came in with so many things that grated on Bogard’s nerves. Terrible form. Ignorance of the basics of combat. A haughty attitude that he’d not earned an inch of.
But as he’d been thinking earlier, when he saw the lieutenant commander throw himself between his crewmates and the threat of the second in command, Helmeppo had surprised him. He complained and whined, but he also worked hard. Sometimes, in those early days, Bogard even caught the taller man being the one to initiate extra practice, harder drills, longer hours. He’d thought the blond was a millstone Coby was going to drag along to become even stronger, but it turned out they were pushing one another in different ways.
So Bogard had spent a little more time with him, extending their practice on the days Coby went with Garp. And while there wasn’t time for much small talk during their practices and matches, he got enough here and there to revise his opinion, again and again.
He learned, in bits and pieces, about the kid’s attempts to learn a weapon earlier in life, only to have the common early mistakes everyone made mocked so thoroughly that he had simply abandoned the idea before he was even near old enough to enlist.
He learned about the life of no expectations and no responsibility that had never tried to shape him.
He realized how much of that haughtiness (though not all, not all) was a shield for who Helmeppo had been before.
He learned about a father whose neglect was read as love until the day he explicitly made it clear there was no love in him for his son.
And he saw, in the way Helmeppo talked about it, that while that rejection had felt like a surprise, he had also known, somewhere underneath, for much longer.
He wasn’t supposed to pity the recruits. They all had their baggage. People didn’t join the Marines because they were well-adjusted humans with perfect lives. But as he saw how Helmeppo blossomed, given a goal and proper attention to help him reach it, he found himself talking a little more than he usually would. Offering words of encouragement he might not have in other circumstances.
Feeling proud of Helmeppo for his accomplishments.
Yeah. It wasn’t quite the same.
Once he was dry and dressed, he headed down to the part of the ship where the doctors did their work. It was always a busy area after serious combat, and it took a few minutes to find the right place. The beds were all full - a number of men badly wounded in the fighting, a few with terrible burns, and of course one near-drowning.
Helmeppo was sitting up, staring out the nearby porthole at the thin circle of sky that could be seen from here. As Bogard walked over, he turned back, smiling wanly.
“Are you here to tell me I can’t leave yet either?” he groused.
“Should I?” Bogard countered. There were no spare chairs so he leaned against the wall by Helmeppo’s cot, arms crossed, fresh hat tilted down toi block out most of the room.
“Please don’t,” he replied. “I have already heard it from one medic, one guy who’s apparently been appointed as some sort of medical bouncer and Coby. One more will not make me any less antsy but it might push me to try to escape out of pure spite.”
“Hm.” Bogard glanced around the room.
A lot of injuries, but as far as he knew, not too many dead. Some, certainly, and any deaths were bad, if inevitable. But the crew had acquitted themselves well against one of Blackbeard’s crew. Probably at least partly because Shot was not quite as focused as some of the others, but still.
“They’re just being careful,” he concluded.
Helmeppo shook his head. “I’m just taking up space they could use better for someone else. I’m fine.”
He didn’t think Helmeppo was actually serious about defying the doctors. But just in case…
“You died out there,” Bogard reminded him flatly.
Helmeppo started to protest out of habit, but caught himself. Sighed. “Fair.”
“So?”
Bogard had not been working with these two near as long as he had with Garp, but to an extent Coby and to a much more thorough extent Helmeppo had learned to interpret his laconic approach to communication. Helmeppo grimaced, clearly not wanting to do this, but eventually said, “Feels like I was breathing knives while I was asleep. And I asked them not to tell me how many ribs Coby broke.”
“That’s how it goes,” Bogard said. It would be quite a feat to do compressions hard enough to make a difference and not break any bones. Plus Coby didn’t always know his own strength.
“Yes, wll, I suppose it does beat the alternative,” Helmeppo admitted airily, though the gravitas was somewhat undercut by a coughing fit. Bogard watched, trying not to let concern show on his face.
This, too, happened in instances like this.
“Get your rest,” Bogard ordered, once the fit had passed. “The crew needs you back at 100%.”
“Yes sir.”
There was a heavy dose of sarcasm in the words, but Bogard didn’t miss the way he also shifted back toward the center of the cot. The noise of the rest of the room intruded for a few seconds before he added, “I heard you pulled me out?”
“Yeah.”
Helmeppo went silent for a bit. Then his eyes went to the porthole again. “Sorry about your hat.”
“No problem.”
They made a little more small talk, but Bogard didn’t want to stay too long, now that he’d seen Helmeppo was awake and in good spirits. He understood the thank you in the words Helmeppo had said, but he didnt need it.
He’d thought Garp let his affection for Coby maybe override his better judgment sometimes.
He might have to rethink that position.