Here is the begining of a story I've had gnawing at me for some time. I'd appreciate feedback, as it's quite different from conversarai. There is a strong feeling this should become all out slash, later, but I'd like to know what you think and if it's worthwhile posting another chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. You know the drill.

"Dr! Dr! Stephen!" the cry was wrenched from his mouth, not as his friend fell overboard, nor as his crew helped haul him on deck and attempted to get their captain up as well. No. Stephen had gone after enough times for it to be a ritual, Jack left him with the crew and went to dry his clothes.

What had Jack quacking in his boots was the white faced Killick knocking on his door. "Which, if you please sir, the Doctor went under again, but this time he done not bounce back. If you would sir?"

Carefully placing down compass and pencil, Jack followed. Later, he would wonder what would have happened if he hadn't.

He wouldn't have seen his friend, wide eyed and stiff as a board.

He wouldn't have seen the look in his eyes as he murmured the more personable 'Stephen' away from the ears of the crew.

He turned his head to tell the crew to go and do something but, smart as they were, they had already dispersed. Running his eyes over Stephen he frowned, perplexed.

What was wrong with his friend?

"Stephen, my dear friend, what has happened to you this time? I always said you weren't to be trusted on deck without a carer…" All through his talk he had been attempting to replicate his friends wondering hands that had always been able to discern any ill of his own. "Sticky round the base of your neck. Blood I'd imagine."

He was interrupted by a cough at his elbow. "Whish should we instead take the doctor down to his cot sir?"

Looking down at his friends pallid face, Jack shook his head, "Let the doctor sleep in my cot for now, Killick. It is lighter there and perhaps we shall be able to help him more easily." A curt nod and a call was all it took for Stephen to be picked up and carried away, exceedingly gentle. Not a man on board didn't owe Stephen some cure or other. The main problem with a crew with Stephen sailing was the lack of other crewmen half as knowledgeable and certain as his friend. So Jack thought to take it upon himself to undress the doctor from his coat and boots before again looking at that worrying cut. He was lucky he supposed, that it had happened early in the morning, giving him plenty of light to see. It also left him enough time to part Stephens' hair- so unbelievably soft, despite any appearance- and, with the help of a warm wet cloth and basin, wash away some blood. He was tempted to pull up an eyelid, just for a look at those reptilian eyes, but decided against it. After all, he didn't know what to look for and Stephen had always sworn that sleep was as good a medicine as any and better than most.

Almost regretfully he pulled the sheet up, concealing a chest barely covered by the unbuttoned shirt, and repaired to his desk, there to do continued battle with weapons of navigation. Every now and then he'd glance up and see a face, eye's closed, cloth under his head, hair splayed out. It was distracting, to say the least, and soon he went up on deck, as much to reassure himself as everyone else.

A young midshipman, Sinclair, came up to him and, with a slightly furtive look pressed a mostly undrunk bottle into his hands, "From us for the doctor."

Jack nodded, "I shall give it to him now" and turned briskly, sauntering to his cabin again, eager for another look, but not sure if he wanted a change to occur, if it might be for the worst. There was no real change to his friends' state. Still Stephen was lying there, but now his face showed a little more colour.

Hastening to his side he grasped one delicate hand and looked intently at his face. "Stephen, my dear, you must wake soon. You have to get better. There is to be no help for you here. We are days from land. Please, Stephen." He stayed there for a while, rubbing his thumb along Stephens palm, whispering. There were flickers, he thought, of eyelids, but he could feel the draw of the papers he had to go through, and he knew that more would come tomorrow. Duty was a wonderful thing, but not when it interrupted so with this worrying development. Regretfully he sat back down, trying to understand the scribbled notes on the stores they had recently taken in. How much extra had the purser borrowed?