The journey to the ship was painstaking, even at a fish-man's increased swimming speed. It took just about every last bit of strength she had to get aboard the ship, unable to stand afterward. She would do her best to crawl to ensure that each person she'd carried was breathing just fine, administering CPR where it was needed. She'd tried to keep them above water, but it was inevitable that she had to dodge a few shots by diving a few feet. 

Once that was settled, she would slump over on the deck, hands clenched while she looked around. She was certain that even if this wasn't the same group of pirates, she very well might wind up having to fight to continue protecting her wards. ...She had to, didn't she? When all the world wanted someone dead, even bacteria, it was a doctor's job to hold the entire world at bay even to save just one life. And so the fish-woman would shakily rise to her feet, unsure if she'd have to fight anymore.

But by all things good, she'd fight if she had to.