Claire spent the next several moments struggling to find a response to his plea. She had never once even considered turning him into what she was. There were a hundred reasons not to ever do that to him, or anyone for that matter. She had already made one childe and didn’t have any desire to go through any of that again. She didn’t want to endure those deadly moments of frenzy, or risk the wrath of whatever Prince may have thought they had claim to the ocean. And she didn’t want to curse another to an eternity of doubts and regrets and pain. She had had enough of all those things for so long, giving that kind of pain to anyone else, let alone someone she cared so deeply for; that was an option that had never entered her mind at all.
She had already been struggling with the idea of just giving him her blood. It would save his life, but also rob him of his will. But despite that, at least it was something that could be undone. It was always painful to force the addiction and consequent withdrawal upon anyone, but forcing an eternity of living death upon someone? That was something she never wished to do again. Even if Aidan had seemed to be coping well in the two centuries since she had embraced him, it was her own feelings of guilt over forcing this existence upon another that were the true reason she had no intention of ever repeating such a thing.
Though when she looked back into Eliot’s pained and pleading eyes she couldn’t help feeling her heart breaking under the weight of any of the decisions before her. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him any more than she could bear the thought of cursing him to become what she was, or even stealing his will and thrusting a deadly addiction upon him either. No option was good. And worse yet, she knew her time to make that horrible choice was coming closer to an end with each moment she risked letting sickness continue to chip away at him.
Then her inner turmoil and outer silence was brought to a halt by an urgent knock at their cabin door. Both she and Eliot turned their eyes to the sound, each looking more than a bit wary, considering their earlier visitor that night.
That was when the acting captain’s voice called to them through the door, “we can finally see land!” he told them gleefully, “we should be on shore within the hour!” and with that he hurried off to share the news with any others who had been too ill to remain on deck and see the sight for themselves.
Eliot let out a sound of disbelief as he looked back at her, afraid to let his lips smile in relief just yet, “am I now hallucinating too, or did he just say we finally reached America?”
Claire tried not to let herself give in to that relief just yet either, but still managed the smallest of smiles, “he said there was land. So... hopefully?” she stated as she gave him another gentle squeeze before moving to rise from the bed.
Only, as she went to stand, his fingers encircled her tiny wrist weakly, causing her to turn back to him, “If it’s not America though...” his pain filled eyes repeated his earlier question, rather than his lips then.
Claire stifled a sigh, “any land is a good sign at this point. And it most likely is America” she added, trying to believe the words herself, “and America would mean food, water, doctors” she assured him with another faint smile.
“But if it’s not...?”
Claire looked down again, “let’s just find out first” was all she could make herself say. She then sniffled again, and made herself rise from the bed to begin gathering their belongings.
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It wasn’t much later that all those who had the strength to, had now gathered on the ship’s deck to watch the expanse of water between that cursed ship and the shore shrinking before them. As they got closer, the many lanterns of the New York shoreline came into view. The sight caused smiles to touch all their lips, even Kaplan’s.
It was a struggle to get all the sick and weakened men off the ship, but it was a welcomed one, as salvation was now in sight for a group of men that had already given into believing that death was inevitable for all of them, just as it had been for those they had already lost.
“Please, we need a doctor” the acting captain called to the first person he saw on the shore that night.
The one he called to was a man who looked even younger than Eliot was, as he warily looked upon the dying men that had finally all been helped off the ship. As Eliot leaned heavily against Claire, she practically held him up to keep him from collapsing to the welcoming dock beneath their feet, the young man spoke warily to them, “it’s not plague, is it?”
It was Claire’s desperation and the fact that she was the one suffering the least physical pain and exhaustion that caused her to be the quickest to speak, “no, they’re just starving and weak from four long months at sea. Please bring us a doctor. We’ve already lost so many” she told him sadly as her eyes moved over the tiny group of men who had remained just barely breathing through the past four months of hell.
The young man gave them all another wary look before nodding and scurrying off to hopefully get them the requested medical help. Claire helped Eliot to a seat on a nearby shipping crate as he let out another wheezing cough.
After a few more moments of waiting on the young man to return with help, another man in his early thirties then approached. He looked over the group of sick sailors warily, before his eyes moved to Claire and lingered on her for a long moment before speaking at last, “it looks like your crew are in even worse shape than mine were” he greeted them with a somewhat sympathetic tone peeking through the crisp British accent.
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As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on Claire. Though she was so preoccupied with trying to keep Eliot as comfortable as she could, that she hadn’t even noticed his arrival until he had spoken. She then looked up at the sound of his voice, and faltered for more than a moment when she took in his appearance.
He stood at a slim and lightly muscled six foot three, in darkly colored and well cared for clothing. His handsome face and ever so slight trace of stubble were accented by jet black locks and equally dark eyes. His more than appealing appearance caused her to turn her attention to him much more fully then.
Claire then narrowed her eyes and stifled a slight gasp as his aura told her that he was Kindred, just as she was. And that realization caused her to falter even more as she struggled to make out any more facts about his feelings or intentions, though had little luck. But her difficulty reading anything more than the fact of what he was, that did do well to cause her guard to immediately go up, as he had to have been at least the same generation as her, if not older.
Returning Claire’s gaze bravely, it was immediately obvious to the newcomer that when she looked at him, she was seeing much more than any of the sickly mortals surrounding them. He quickly composed himself in the face of her gaze, as vague memories of warnings from a face he couldn’t remember now echoed in his head. Though he couldn’t place the face or name of the one who had warned him not to underestimate the beautiful woman before him, he knew that it was the voice of his creator piercing his thoughts. And then he remembered that he had a task before him that he had to complete if he ever hoped to save his own blood from whatever horrible fate she would suffer if he failed.
“Did I hear that you lot are in desperate need of a doctor?” he stated, putting as much charm and sincerity into his voice as he could, despite the fact of why he was even there speaking with them that night at all.
“I’d think that would be obvious” Kaplan replied shortly.
The newcomer forced a polite smile, still keeping Claire in the corner of his eye as he addressed the men surrounding her, “well, my own ship landed just last evening, and I helped most of those men survive the trip. I don’t have an office here yet, but the inn I’m staying at nearby has some empty rooms that I can probably convince them to turn into an infirmary of sorts for your crew” he offered with another polite smile and slight bow.
“You’re a doctor?” Claire returned skeptically, more than a little surprised by that, considering the only other fact she did know about him.
“Well, I was. Back in England. Though having only arrived in America yesterday, I haven’t really gotten any official practice up and running on your lovely shores just yet” he addressed her with another charming smile.
Claire was still more than a bit wary of him, but her worry for Eliot, and the other men, of course, did make her want to trust him. And now that he had announced his previous vocation to the remainder of the quite sickly crew, she doubted that trying to convince any of them to wait on another doctor would be likely to work without an explanation she couldn’t honestly give them.
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Claire eventually came to find out that this tall, dark, and annoyingly handsome stranger called himself Lucian Ellsworth. Though it was still past three a.m. before she finally had a chance to speak to him one-on-one. After he had spent the last few hours tending to the men from the ship, he entered the common area of the inn, where the innkeeper was now snoring behind the front desk. She stood quickly as he entered the room and graced her with another overly charming smile.
“So, your name was Claire, correct?” he stated softly after casting a glance at the sleeping man and taking a few measured steps closer to her.
“How are they?” Claire asked bluntly, making no effort to indulge in any sort of small talk right then.
He was a bit taken by her disinterest in any sort of conversational proprieties, but gave her another sweet smile nonetheless. “Most will be fine with rest, nourishment and a few days of medicine to stave off any remaining illness” he allowed.
“Most?” she stated shakily, “not all?” she added with further panic.
“They’ve all been quite ill for quite some time. There’s always the possibility that it may be too late for one or two. But for the most part, they should recover easily enough.”
“What about Eliot?” she asked, voice shaking more at his response.
“Sorry, I didn’t really get most of their names. Life or death situation and all” he stated wryly, though still wore a smile as he finally allowed his eyes to move down the length of her body once more.
Claire cast a furtive glance at the slumbering innkeeper before tuning her eyes back to Lucian again, her voice dropping another decibel, “are you even really a doctor?”
Lucian then feigned offense through that still plastered smile, “that’s a rather odd question for the man who has just spent the last few hours tending to your shipmates.”
“Sorry, but your arrival was rather fortuitous,” she attempted some explanation before dropping her volume again, “and I haven’t met many of us who were still practicing doctors.”
“Us?” he repeated with another slightly cheeky smile.
“You know exactly what I mean, Lucian. So please tell me, are you really a doctor and have you really been trying to help them all night?”
“Yes, and yes” he gave in to answering her questions, his earlier feigned offense having been just that, feigned, or so it seemed.
“So, you’re still a doctor, and you still care about... them?” she decided on.
“It isn’t a profession that many of us would have much need of ourselves, is it?” he told her, repeating her own furtive manner.
Claire shook her head as she turned away, thinking on his words as she paced nervously. After another moment she looked back at where he watched her with what seemed to almost be amusement, “I really need to know if Eliot is one of the ones who will be all right” she told him more firmly.
“And who, again, is this Eliot you’re referring to?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Tall, young, long black curls, French accent” she supplied impatiently.
“Ah the one who you had your arms around on the dock. That did pique my curiosity if I recall” he told her with a tiny hint of mischief in his smile.
“Of course I had my arms around him. I was holding him up. He could barely stand” she defended weakly.
“There were several of them who could barely stand” he returned with a smirk, “though admittedly, he was the prettiest.”
Exasperated, Claire spoke again, “just tell me if he’s going to be all right, please.”
“I’m not psychic, Claire” he stated, only to be touched by the sadness that statement brought to her beautiful eyes. He then glanced back toward the sick rooms and sighed, “but if he means so much to you, for some reason” he had to add, “then I will do my very best to help him recover. And I’ll expect to finally see a lovely smile on that pretty face of yours when he does.”