None of it's mine.
You're all lovely.
*****
Captain Jack Aubrey grinned with his eyes shut as the Surprise crashed and slid and
slipped over a swell just barely capped in a delicate white foam. He sighed with pleasure as the
spray and sun hit his face simultaneously, then opened his eyes to look out to the blue, blue sky,
with the green, green sea laying happily below it, and he could not ask for more. The ship
hummed and purred lovingly beneath him, and he laughed out loud. 'My God!' he exclaimed,
'So this is why I became a seaman!' He swung lightly down from his grip on the starboard
shrouds nearest the bow, and glanced to the forecastle, where a small group of men were
gathered in idle conversation. Jack was compelled to get them moving, working on something or
other, but the ship was gliding so sweetly, he supposed a few more moments could not possibly
do harm; he did not have the heart for it today.
Walking along the deck he knew so well (here the creaky board, here the knot that had
somehow avoided being blown away over the years), Jack spotted Doctor Stephen Maturin and
smiled warmly, his tanned face beaming. Stephen was enamored with the passing sea, lost
entirely within himself. Jack watched him for a moment, then piped up, 'I say, Stephen, you are
enjoying yourself!'
The thinner man blinked then swung his head around in a slow, easy arc to look at Jack.
His indifferent face bloomed into a look of affection and happiness. Jack mirrored the smile and
said nothing more, simply looking out the same direction that Stephen had been, reveling in the
company of one he knew well, and the sun on his back.
Both men stood in silence, not looking at one another; no glances out of the corner of the
eye to make sure the other was still there, no shifting of shoulders to check. Friendship has never
needed eyes.
***
Faces flushed. Sweat beaded. Fingers clamped, released, moved swiftly, purposefully,
eagerly. A gasp that could not be heard for the noise. A gasp from a different pair of lungs, and
now both were lost in it, giving themselves up. Stephen closed his eyes. Jack's had been closed
long ago.
One long, perfectly unbroken chord echoed through the cabin.
'You played excellently, brother,' said Jack with a warm smile, mopping his damp neck
with a grimy handkerchief and tossing it aside. 'You do Mozart great justice.'
Stephen laid his bow aside and gingerly propped the cello against his chair. 'No more
justice than you, joy.' He took his own handkerchief (much more liberated of salt and grime) and
dabbed his own forehead. 'Your enthusiasm inspires me. I am in awe.'
'Oh, stuff,' replied Jack with a pleased grin, taking a glass of port in his hand, sloshing it
around a bit. He stared into its depths then looked up again cheerfully. 'Your new rosin, it is
splendid! I feel I need only use it once in a week's time, and such sweet playing til the very end!'
'I am glad to hear as much.' Stephen looked up at Jack with a mild smile. 'With all my
heart.'
Jack grinned back to him. 'To friendship!' He laughed and took a long drink.
'Upon this toast, I shall always agree. With all my heart, to friendship.'
***
'Carpenters abaft mainmast, to the bow!' called the midshipman of the watch. Two
carpenters came gradually up, wringing their hands and staring wide-eyed at the midshipman
inquisitively. 'To the prize ship; she's suffered a great break below the waterline, and if we mean
to bring her to port, we must fix 'er up right quick.' The carpenters exchanged glances.
'Captain's orders.' And that was all they needed.
'Stephen, have you seen the prize? She's monstrous! A merchant lacking half her
complement, my God, the luck!' Jack grinned as he came into the cockpit. In his mirth, he
clapped a wounded gunner on the shoulder, who groaned sharply at the contact with his burned
flesh; he had slipped and suffered a sore price for it, his shoulder striking the scalding metal of
the cannon. 'Apologies,' Jack said quickly, then came up to Stephen. 'I am in no mood for the
bill, but I must have it, I'm afraid, Doctor.'
'Two dead. . . and eight wounded, two of which may fester, but my concern is not greatly
placed upon it.' The doctor looked up from his stitching of a somewhat more aged midshipman's
arm and bit the thread quickly. 'You'll be quite all right, if you keep it clean.' The midshipman
nodded, touched a knuckle to his forehead towards Jack ('Sir,'), and dashed back up to the deck.
He could be heard already giving orders. 'The enthusiasm of youth,' murmured Stephen.
'And the stupidity of it,' finished Jack cheerfully. 'Stephen, I daresay we shall be
downright stuffed with--' he broke off as Stephen rushed around the bloodied table to him. The
darker figures crowded on the edges of the small space watched, fascinated. One man moaned.
'What's this, Stephen? I'm quite all right, I assure- no, Stephen, it's just a small- honestly,
now!'
It seemed that Stephen had temporarily gone deaf. He was pulling at cloth that was tightly
fastened around Jack's neck. 'Breathe, my God, brother, you must breathe!' cried Stephen. Jack
instantly became still, taking deep, slow, steady breaths. He was shocked to find that when he
stopped panting, a bubbling rasp could be heard in his rib cage; pain stung his side and he felt his
eyes water. Stephen was pressing, prodding his side. Now Jack's coat was off, and he saw the
dark stain around a tear on the right seam. His breath came in, a long wheeze, and dread flooded
him. He found it difficult to breathe quite properly.
'Stephen, my l--'
'Hush.'
Jack was silent.
Prodding on his right side. A sharp, wheezing gasp of pain, and now Jack choked, and
something like panic came to his eyes. He felt a handkerchief, clean and white, stuffed into his
hand. 'Cough,' Stephen's voice instructed. Jack obeyed and felt his stomach heave as a coppery
taste filled his mouth. He spat into the handkerchief and was not entirely startled by the blood
blossoming over the cloth. He turned and spat onto the table, choking a bit, fighting his heaving
stomach against dread and the horrible taste, intermingled with the stabs of pain in his side. His
vision blurred. 'Such a fuss you make, Jack.'
There was a small noise of a thread being snapped, then Jack looked down and found
that Stephen had delivered a neat line of stitches to his right side. 'Stephen, that cannot be all that
there is to a lung puncture!'
Looking perplexed, the physician pulled off his spectacles to look Jack over. 'It is true,
that stitching would not solve all in such a case, though you need not fear, joy, for you suffer only
a bloodied nose and a moderately deep gash on your right side. The latter shall be healed in two
weeks, the former, five minutes.'
Jack looked astounded. Stephen only smiled momentarily then resumed work on his
wounded.
***
Jack did not close his eyes so quickly tonight. He watched Stephen, whose eyes did in
fact happen to be closed. Jack smiled and plucked his bow across the strings, staccato!, staccato!,
largo, staccato! Stephen's bow was graceful. The callused, practiced hands held it gently,
drawing it in long, gliding caresses across the strings, and Jack wanted that grace. He attempted,
and smiled at the reverberations coming from within his violin. How beautifully she responded!
Stephen looked up and smiled as his friend's eyes slid shut in the flowing tones. His own
bow began what Jack's had left, staccato!, staccato!, largo, piano, piano, piano.
***
'JA is behaving more reservedly lately, and I feel as though I may attribute greatly to this,
though in what manner, I cannot say. He is all silence as I redress his wound; his bow grows
more cautious. I long for an allegro.'
***
Jack stood on the deck, observing the midshipmen plot courses to the Hellespont. They
were really splendid young lads, not a bad soul in 'em, and he could count the number of times
he had had this luxury on just one hand. He glanced aft and smiled inwardly. Stephen was seated
at the stern, enveloped in some book or another. 'Right. . . excellent work, lads. Carry on.' He
started to stroll towards the stern then instinctively turned. Four heads shot back down to their
work; none had anticipated a doubling-back. 'And continue carrying on, or the price of millers
will spike sharply and inexplicably.' Four sets of eyes widened and four quills scratched a bit
more furiously than they had moments ago.
'My dear, you are unexpected,' said Stephen, smiling warmly and closing his book. 'Do
you not have a class?' Jack sat down next to him and took a deep breath of air, looking about him
with a grin. He did not speak for a moment, then finally turned to the doctor.
'You know how much you mean to me, soul.'
'Aye, your life for mine, mine for yours.'
'Yes, yes, you have it exactly. . . though the nature of the thing, I fear escapes you.'
Stephen remained silent. 'But you know now.'
'Yes,' whispered Stephen, bowing his head slightly. 'I know now.'
Jack swallowed a bit, and continued to smile, though the strain in his voice was all too
evident. 'I felt it important. . . necessary. . . to. . . to inform you, Stephen.' His attempts to sound
casual were hideous failures. Stephen's head bowed a bit more.
'I am sorry, joy, with all my heart; I cannot.'
***
'Surely, JA is making a mistake: too long away from port and he has become confused.
We are still fastest of friends; God looks to me with a sympathetic eye, certainly.'
***
'No. . . I did not suppose you could. I had hoped- .' He searched in vain, then said no
more.
Stephen did not meet his eyes. 'I wish for our friendship to continue.'
'Just so, my dear.' Jack smiled painfully. 'I could not bear to lose you.'
'Nor I you. My affection for you is very great--'
'--But not so great as that. I understand.' Jack nodded, his smile still fixed, and almost
sympathetic. The sea gently passed, mewling softly at the hull as the Surprise glided along. The
sun was near the horizon. 'How silly of me to trouble you with this, Stephen. It was really very
thoughtless.'
'It was not thoughtless at all, joy. I dare say much thought as could be given was put
towards the action.' Stephen watched a tern with mild interest then smiled to Jack. 'It is not so
great a thing, sure. I pray you did not trouble yourself.'
Jack smiled affectionately to Stephen, but said nothing and returned to the midshipmen.
*****
You're all lovely.
*****
Captain Jack Aubrey grinned with his eyes shut as the Surprise crashed and slid and
slipped over a swell just barely capped in a delicate white foam. He sighed with pleasure as the
spray and sun hit his face simultaneously, then opened his eyes to look out to the blue, blue sky,
with the green, green sea laying happily below it, and he could not ask for more. The ship
hummed and purred lovingly beneath him, and he laughed out loud. 'My God!' he exclaimed,
'So this is why I became a seaman!' He swung lightly down from his grip on the starboard
shrouds nearest the bow, and glanced to the forecastle, where a small group of men were
gathered in idle conversation. Jack was compelled to get them moving, working on something or
other, but the ship was gliding so sweetly, he supposed a few more moments could not possibly
do harm; he did not have the heart for it today.
Walking along the deck he knew so well (here the creaky board, here the knot that had
somehow avoided being blown away over the years), Jack spotted Doctor Stephen Maturin and
smiled warmly, his tanned face beaming. Stephen was enamored with the passing sea, lost
entirely within himself. Jack watched him for a moment, then piped up, 'I say, Stephen, you are
enjoying yourself!'
The thinner man blinked then swung his head around in a slow, easy arc to look at Jack.
His indifferent face bloomed into a look of affection and happiness. Jack mirrored the smile and
said nothing more, simply looking out the same direction that Stephen had been, reveling in the
company of one he knew well, and the sun on his back.
Both men stood in silence, not looking at one another; no glances out of the corner of the
eye to make sure the other was still there, no shifting of shoulders to check. Friendship has never
needed eyes.
***
Faces flushed. Sweat beaded. Fingers clamped, released, moved swiftly, purposefully,
eagerly. A gasp that could not be heard for the noise. A gasp from a different pair of lungs, and
now both were lost in it, giving themselves up. Stephen closed his eyes. Jack's had been closed
long ago.
One long, perfectly unbroken chord echoed through the cabin.
'You played excellently, brother,' said Jack with a warm smile, mopping his damp neck
with a grimy handkerchief and tossing it aside. 'You do Mozart great justice.'
Stephen laid his bow aside and gingerly propped the cello against his chair. 'No more
justice than you, joy.' He took his own handkerchief (much more liberated of salt and grime) and
dabbed his own forehead. 'Your enthusiasm inspires me. I am in awe.'
'Oh, stuff,' replied Jack with a pleased grin, taking a glass of port in his hand, sloshing it
around a bit. He stared into its depths then looked up again cheerfully. 'Your new rosin, it is
splendid! I feel I need only use it once in a week's time, and such sweet playing til the very end!'
'I am glad to hear as much.' Stephen looked up at Jack with a mild smile. 'With all my
heart.'
Jack grinned back to him. 'To friendship!' He laughed and took a long drink.
'Upon this toast, I shall always agree. With all my heart, to friendship.'
***
'Carpenters abaft mainmast, to the bow!' called the midshipman of the watch. Two
carpenters came gradually up, wringing their hands and staring wide-eyed at the midshipman
inquisitively. 'To the prize ship; she's suffered a great break below the waterline, and if we mean
to bring her to port, we must fix 'er up right quick.' The carpenters exchanged glances.
'Captain's orders.' And that was all they needed.
'Stephen, have you seen the prize? She's monstrous! A merchant lacking half her
complement, my God, the luck!' Jack grinned as he came into the cockpit. In his mirth, he
clapped a wounded gunner on the shoulder, who groaned sharply at the contact with his burned
flesh; he had slipped and suffered a sore price for it, his shoulder striking the scalding metal of
the cannon. 'Apologies,' Jack said quickly, then came up to Stephen. 'I am in no mood for the
bill, but I must have it, I'm afraid, Doctor.'
'Two dead. . . and eight wounded, two of which may fester, but my concern is not greatly
placed upon it.' The doctor looked up from his stitching of a somewhat more aged midshipman's
arm and bit the thread quickly. 'You'll be quite all right, if you keep it clean.' The midshipman
nodded, touched a knuckle to his forehead towards Jack ('Sir,'), and dashed back up to the deck.
He could be heard already giving orders. 'The enthusiasm of youth,' murmured Stephen.
'And the stupidity of it,' finished Jack cheerfully. 'Stephen, I daresay we shall be
downright stuffed with--' he broke off as Stephen rushed around the bloodied table to him. The
darker figures crowded on the edges of the small space watched, fascinated. One man moaned.
'What's this, Stephen? I'm quite all right, I assure- no, Stephen, it's just a small- honestly,
now!'
It seemed that Stephen had temporarily gone deaf. He was pulling at cloth that was tightly
fastened around Jack's neck. 'Breathe, my God, brother, you must breathe!' cried Stephen. Jack
instantly became still, taking deep, slow, steady breaths. He was shocked to find that when he
stopped panting, a bubbling rasp could be heard in his rib cage; pain stung his side and he felt his
eyes water. Stephen was pressing, prodding his side. Now Jack's coat was off, and he saw the
dark stain around a tear on the right seam. His breath came in, a long wheeze, and dread flooded
him. He found it difficult to breathe quite properly.
'Stephen, my l--'
'Hush.'
Jack was silent.
Prodding on his right side. A sharp, wheezing gasp of pain, and now Jack choked, and
something like panic came to his eyes. He felt a handkerchief, clean and white, stuffed into his
hand. 'Cough,' Stephen's voice instructed. Jack obeyed and felt his stomach heave as a coppery
taste filled his mouth. He spat into the handkerchief and was not entirely startled by the blood
blossoming over the cloth. He turned and spat onto the table, choking a bit, fighting his heaving
stomach against dread and the horrible taste, intermingled with the stabs of pain in his side. His
vision blurred. 'Such a fuss you make, Jack.'
There was a small noise of a thread being snapped, then Jack looked down and found
that Stephen had delivered a neat line of stitches to his right side. 'Stephen, that cannot be all that
there is to a lung puncture!'
Looking perplexed, the physician pulled off his spectacles to look Jack over. 'It is true,
that stitching would not solve all in such a case, though you need not fear, joy, for you suffer only
a bloodied nose and a moderately deep gash on your right side. The latter shall be healed in two
weeks, the former, five minutes.'
Jack looked astounded. Stephen only smiled momentarily then resumed work on his
wounded.
***
Jack did not close his eyes so quickly tonight. He watched Stephen, whose eyes did in
fact happen to be closed. Jack smiled and plucked his bow across the strings, staccato!, staccato!,
largo, staccato! Stephen's bow was graceful. The callused, practiced hands held it gently,
drawing it in long, gliding caresses across the strings, and Jack wanted that grace. He attempted,
and smiled at the reverberations coming from within his violin. How beautifully she responded!
Stephen looked up and smiled as his friend's eyes slid shut in the flowing tones. His own
bow began what Jack's had left, staccato!, staccato!, largo, piano, piano, piano.
***
'JA is behaving more reservedly lately, and I feel as though I may attribute greatly to this,
though in what manner, I cannot say. He is all silence as I redress his wound; his bow grows
more cautious. I long for an allegro.'
***
Jack stood on the deck, observing the midshipmen plot courses to the Hellespont. They
were really splendid young lads, not a bad soul in 'em, and he could count the number of times
he had had this luxury on just one hand. He glanced aft and smiled inwardly. Stephen was seated
at the stern, enveloped in some book or another. 'Right. . . excellent work, lads. Carry on.' He
started to stroll towards the stern then instinctively turned. Four heads shot back down to their
work; none had anticipated a doubling-back. 'And continue carrying on, or the price of millers
will spike sharply and inexplicably.' Four sets of eyes widened and four quills scratched a bit
more furiously than they had moments ago.
'My dear, you are unexpected,' said Stephen, smiling warmly and closing his book. 'Do
you not have a class?' Jack sat down next to him and took a deep breath of air, looking about him
with a grin. He did not speak for a moment, then finally turned to the doctor.
'You know how much you mean to me, soul.'
'Aye, your life for mine, mine for yours.'
'Yes, yes, you have it exactly. . . though the nature of the thing, I fear escapes you.'
Stephen remained silent. 'But you know now.'
'Yes,' whispered Stephen, bowing his head slightly. 'I know now.'
Jack swallowed a bit, and continued to smile, though the strain in his voice was all too
evident. 'I felt it important. . . necessary. . . to. . . to inform you, Stephen.' His attempts to sound
casual were hideous failures. Stephen's head bowed a bit more.
'I am sorry, joy, with all my heart; I cannot.'
***
'Surely, JA is making a mistake: too long away from port and he has become confused.
We are still fastest of friends; God looks to me with a sympathetic eye, certainly.'
***
'No. . . I did not suppose you could. I had hoped- .' He searched in vain, then said no
more.
Stephen did not meet his eyes. 'I wish for our friendship to continue.'
'Just so, my dear.' Jack smiled painfully. 'I could not bear to lose you.'
'Nor I you. My affection for you is very great--'
'--But not so great as that. I understand.' Jack nodded, his smile still fixed, and almost
sympathetic. The sea gently passed, mewling softly at the hull as the Surprise glided along. The
sun was near the horizon. 'How silly of me to trouble you with this, Stephen. It was really very
thoughtless.'
'It was not thoughtless at all, joy. I dare say much thought as could be given was put
towards the action.' Stephen watched a tern with mild interest then smiled to Jack. 'It is not so
great a thing, sure. I pray you did not trouble yourself.'
Jack smiled affectionately to Stephen, but said nothing and returned to the midshipmen.
*****