A/N. I know this isn't a very popular ship, and I'm not even sure if I ship them romantically, but I am a fan of their relationship whatever the nature of it. I just think they are two of the smartest people on the whole damn island and I wouldn't be supposed if they end up running the place by show's end.
John Silver leaned back against the headboard with a hiss of pain. The one upside of the current situation was that their meeting had taken place in the brothel, allowing him the chance to hobble off and find a spare bed to lay down in while the involved parties argued amongst themselves. His job was done as far as he was concerned; he hadgotten them this far, and as long as he ended up with his cut, the rest could squable about the business aspect for as long as they wanted. He had excused himself from Rackham's rantings moments ago with instructions to come find him when they had made up their minds.
He couldn't say he minded though, to be honest. The beds in the brothel were more comfortable than the hammocks on the ship or the cots at their makeshift campsite. And his new role as quartermaster had him on his feet, well foot, all day. He grimaced as he looked down and wondered if he would ever get used to the view. He had heard stories of people being able to feel their limbs, even after they had been removed for years, but all he felt was pain. It had been several weeks but his wound was slow to heal, almost as if it refused to admit the other part was gone for good. He braced himself as he attempted to move into a more comfortable position but all it achieved was a strangled groan of pain and frustration.
"That sounds painful," came an accented voice from the doorway. He looked up and saw the current madam gazing at him with interest. He was not in the mood to deal with whores or drunks or pirates at that moment, anyone really, but he found he didn't really mind her seeing him in his slightly vulnerable state. He didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, and he imagined that was pretty far considering her slight size, but he had always seemed to have an understanding with Max that he couldn't say about any of the other boneheads on the island.
"Well, I wouldn't recommend it, if that's what you're asking." He tried to give her one of his trademark grins but it came out more of a grimace instead. That seemed to be what finally got to her as he saw her forehead briefly crease in worry. It was gone in a moment though as she came forward and sat on the edge of the bed. It would have seemed rather intimate to be laying on a bed with a pretty girl just inches from his body, but when he looked at her upright posture and neutral expression, he found that, at that moment, he cared more about what her mouth had to say than what it could do. Not that the latter was not very intriguing idea, but he had other things on his mind.
"Why aren't you at the meeting?" he asked finally when it became clear she was content to sit in silence. When he had returned to Nassau, it had been clear that the power dynamics between his three co-conspirators had changed, but with everything else going on he hadn't taken the time to find out why. It was strange though, he thought, that he hadn't been more concerned. Knowledge was power after all,it was how he had gotten this far, and he thinks he should be a bit more knowledgeable about the people in charge of the fortune he had worked so hard to get. Yet it had felt a bit intrusive to look into Max. He was sure she had spies collecting all sorts of information on him, but the thought of doing it back had left him feeling a bit queasy. It had felt more like prying and less like gaining information, so he had pushed the thought to the back of his mind and told himself he was too busy anyways.
She turned to look at him, a slightly blank look on her face as if he had called her from her thoughts. "They need to fight amongst themselves for a while; it is how they solve their problems. I do not understand but it seems to have worked so far." She gave him a slight smile, but he watched it drop as her eyes drifted down his body and rested on his legs. He felt a twinge of annoyance and tried to sit up. Everyone else reacted the same way, their eyes drawn to his missing piece, almost as if they couldn't help it. His body heaved violently to the side, his balance thrown off and a pain in his back causing him to freeze in pain. He was about to give another heave when he felt a soft hand again this arm.
"Lay back," she said softly, her hand pushing him back towards the bed, "and turn over. They will call us when we are needed." He stared at her for a moment before doing as told. He was too tired to argue or ask questions, and if he was going to get stabbed in the back, well, there were worse people to do it. He squirmed a bit as he settled down. Sleeping on one's stomach was a luxury on a ship and he supposed he must have gotten used to not doing it over the years, even on land.
He forgot all about his discomfort the minute he felt her small hands pressing into his lower back. He tried, he really did, but he couldn't stop the moan of pure pleasure that escaped his lips at her touch. How had she know the exact spot that had been killing him these past weeks? Her hands continued their path up and down his back, the perfect mix of force and gentleness. If she minded the ungodly sounds that were leaving his lips, she didn't say anything.
After she loosened a knot that had been killing him for days, he looked back at her over his shoulder. "I don't want your pity, you know," he said. He was sure he looked ridiculous, half lidded eyes and a blessed out daze on his face. "I never asked for pity."
"I don't pity you," she said, her hands moving to his neck, pressing down, forcing him to face forward again with a moan of pleasure. "I feel sorry for you."
"I'm pretty sure that's the same thing," came his muffled reply. Not that he was complaining of course; it had been a long time since he had felt this good.
"It's not though," she said, making her fingers moving lower to his back once more. "I feel sorry that it happened to you, it is a terrible thing. I do not pity you. You chose this life, you cannot court danger and not expect it to come calling. And besides, terrible things happen all the time."
He was silent, thinking. She was right of course, he chose this life. He was also relieved that she didn't pity him. Their relationship, for whatever it was, was based on mutual understanding. It wouldn't work if she viewed him as weak. He found himself wanting to ask what terrible things had happened to her. He had heard stories about what had happened between her and the crew of the Ranger, but he had never thought to find out if the rumors were true. He felt a slight surge of anger in the pit of his stomach at the thought, but didn't ask. Terrible things happen all the time.
The silence was a welcome change. His body felt better than it had in weeks and it was nice to have a rest from barking orders at unruly men. An unexpectedly domestic image popped into his head; a normal life, normal job, coming home to his normal bed, and a normal wife. He had never really been drawn to that type of life, always aspiring to something better. And it had been unrealistic, not impossible, when he became a sailor. Now he was quartermaster on a pirate ship captained by one of the most feared pirates in the world: it wasn't a thought he had often to say the least. But even as he pushed the thought away he noticed that it was a rather comforting idea and he thought he could finally understand the appeal.
There was no time to think of that now though. There was gold waiting and a free Nassau to create. He rolled on his side and struggled up into a sitting position, Max holding his arm just a little bit. He stood, reaching for his crutch. He looked down at her still sitting. "If they've killed each other down there, what do you say to splitting the gold 50/50." She smiled, "It's a deal." He grinned back and reached down for her hand to help her stand. She took it, even though he was probably in need of more help than she, and smiled in thanks. Despite the fact that she had spent well over an hour with her hands moving over touching his body, the slight touch of her hand in his brought back the comforting feeling that he refused to think about.
"Right," he says shaking his head to stop from staring too long into her eyes and moving to the door. "After you."