A/N: I was attacked by a plot bunny during my lecture today. I don't now where this came from. We were talking about the Middle Passage and it came to me. It has absolutely nothing to do with the Middle Passage! But whatever... Anyway! It's purely a cute little Tom story I wrote this afternoon while I should have been doing other things or at least working on the sequel of To Wives and Sweethearts... which by the way is actually not going horribly. Anyway, cute little Tom for you! The whole idea stems from me randomly remembering how in Desolation Island Tom Pullings was telling Stephen about his Granddad and how the stories he used to tell made him want to go to sea and how he used to talk all the time about wrecks. I personally think Tom's Granddad was a little be nutso... but aren't they all? Anyway, I don't have my copy of Desolation Island here... it's across an ocean right now... so I just had to wing it. I do know however that the HMS Wager and John Byron were real and that's who Tom's Granddad was talking about so that's how we get this story... I still would like to know why the Middle Passage made me think about this.... All I know is I had to write it because it wouldn't go away and wouldn't let me work on anything else! So enjoy!

Ocean of Dreams

A young boy of perhaps five or six years scooted up the branches of a tree near his home in New Forest with a careless disregard for the confines gravity placed on man that was so common in a child so young. He was a sweet-faced little boy, small with unruly dark hair and eyes that sparkled with his youth. The world was a place for him to play, and nothing was as it seemed. He had been a good boy all day, dutifully helping his father on their small tenant farm without complaint, after all, he was a big boy now, breeched more than a year, and it was his job to help his father. As a reward for being so good and helpful he had been told to go play until his mother called him. His father did not have to tell him twice, for as soon as the words were uttered young Tom was running across the grass to his favorite play spot.

It was not just a tree. It was his tree. The branches were perfect for a little boy like Tom to climb up and see far into the distance. To Tom, this was no tree, it was the main mast of a ship. His ship. The fields disappeared into a vast expanse of ocean, as far as the eye could see. The cottage became an enemy ship, from varying nations. Today it was French, but the day before she had been Spanish like Granddad had fought in the year forty, and the day before it had been vicious pirates from all over, who pillaged towns and raped the women. Not that Tom had any notion of what pillaging and rape involved, but when Granddad spoke of them in his stories Mama always became very cross, saying that a little boy should not hear of such things, so he imagined they were not very nice things to do at all.

When on his "ship" Tom was no longer a little boy, but the legendary Captain Pullings, who never once lost a fight and sailed the seas, fighting all who dared stand against England. He swung from branch to branch, shouting as a Captain must, for Tom ran a tight ship and would not tolerate insubordination or debauchery. Again, he was not entirely sure what debauchery involved, but it was another thing Granddad got in trouble with Mama for mentioning to him, so he decided anything that made Mama angry with Granddad would certainly not be tolerated on his ship. After all, he would want to take his Mama with him sometimes to show her what a good Captain he could be, and he might fall down sometimes and no surgeon could make him right again better than his Mama. Papa would come too of course, for Mama would be sad without Papa, and Granddad, and they would all see how brave and big he was and how he was the greatest Captain in the entire Royal Navy and would be so very proud of him.

Suddenly, Tom spotted some sheep moving through the field in the distance, but they were not sheep at all, they were cannonballs! The boy sprung into action immediately, shouting to his crew. "Down!! All hands!" He cried, swinging to a lower branch, catching his shirtsleeve by accident and ripping it. However, the boy ignored it. A Captain could not be troubled by the damage to his shirt when his ship was in danger. When the threat had passed he scrambled up and down the branches, shouting his orders. They would board the French and take that ship as a prize. Then he would have sacks full of money to bring home and would buy his Mama all sorts of jewels and nice things, and Papa could hire more hands to help on the farm and they would move to one of those grand houses and never have to worry about a thing, and everywhere he went people would say "That's Captain Pullings! Best Captain there ever was!" He would of course be humble and polite, because all heroes had to be humble and polite, but that didn't mean when alone he couldn't beam with pride.

He was deep in combat with the French, jumping from limb to limb, risking his own limbs in the process when a familiar cry broke the game. "Thomas! Come inside!" It was Mama. Tom looked up noticing how late in the day it must be and how hungry he was, and scrambled back down to the ground, and raced towards the cottage as fast as his little legs would carry him.

At the door his mother waited, amused at the disheveled state of her son, frowning slightly however, at the ripped shirt. "Thomas Pullings, what happened here?" She asked.

"I'm sorry Mama. It got caught, but it wasn't my fault!" He defended himself.

"Oh really?" His mother smiled kindly, knowing her son was energetic in his games and most likely barely noticed the shirt at all. "Was it the French of Spanish this time?" She asked, ushering her son into the house to where her husband and father-in-law where already seated for the evening meal.

"Damned French fired a full broadside at us Mama!" Tom exclaimed with enthusiasm as he sat, feet dangling at the table.

"Thomas Pullings! You watch your language young man!" His mother gave him a warning look that told him if he said it again he would most certainly be sent to bed without supper again.

Papa and Granddad chuckled however, and Tom beamed, until Mama gave them all a look, and all three of the Pullings men stopped and became serious, knowing full well if they carried on there would most likely be no supper for any of them. Mama was a stubborn woman who insisted her son not use that sort of language.

They all mumbled their excuses and Mama was amused, Tom could tell, even though she was still giving Papa and Granddad stern looks. Tom rushed to eat his meal, hoping that Granddad would tell him another story before he had to go to bed. Tom loved his Granddad's stories about sailing all over the world and having all sorts of adventures.

As soon as he had helped Mama clean up, and gotten himself ready for bed like a good boy, he went and sat down on the floor at Granddad's feet, staring up at him hopefully, his eyes shining. "I've been very good today." He announced.

"Indeed?" The elder Pullings looked down at his small grandson, who was watching him with a piercing gaze.

"Yes." Tom shifted on the floor, hoping he had been good enough to warrant a story. "I helped Papa all morning until he said I could play because I was so good. Then I helped Mama and got myself all ready for bed like she asked, and tonight I shall say my prayers and fall asleep as soon as she tells me to." Tom rambled on, recounting his good behavior with his innocent hope.

"Hm." His grandfather knew how hard the boy had tried today, and knew perfectly well Tom was after a story, and had every intention of telling one, but still, he enjoyed teasing the lad. "You swore at your Mother." He pointed out. "That was not so good, lad."

Tom scowled, angry that his one little word might cost him a story. "I'm sorry Granddad! I didn't mean it! I was only quite angry with the French! They are so very sneaky you know."

The elder Pullings looked at the cross face of his grandson, outraged at the 'French' and burst into laughter. "So they are, lad. So they are." He easily lifted the small boy onto his lap and Tom beamed, knowing he would have his story. "Now, did I ever tell you about the midshipman I served with in the Wager? John Byron?"

Tom had heard this story a thousand times, but he never tired of it, and so he shook his head. "Tell me Granddad! Please?"

His grandfather launched into the tales of the wreck of the Wager and Captain Cheap and Midshipman Byron. It was both their favorite it seemed, set during the long ago war with Spain. They were going to fight the Spanish in the Pacific but got wrecked along the way. Granddad painted such a picture of the panic and division on the crew of those who went ashore and those who stayed and got dead drunk (at this point his mother usually intervened with a warning look) Eventually, the drunk men came ashore too and made even more trouble dividing up. Five months they lived on that barren island with little to eat or drink. His grandfather loved to talk about the wreck, and his grandson loved to hear it, listening hungrily and vowing that when he was Captain, he would never let such a thing befall his ship. Granddad talked and talked and Tom never seemed to blink the entire time.

"You never know the nature of a man, Tom, till you see him in a wreck. The best of officers lose control and the most loyal crew goes awry, all discipline gone. Even the warrant-officers break into the spirit room to get damned drunk, just like the rest." Granddad seemed lost now, back in the days of the Wager, and Tom was not entirely sure he was even talking to him anymore. "Then they've gone and eaten all there is left, they swarm onto the boats like a bunch of damned fool landsmen. Loyalty counts for nothing and they stab in the back over a slice of bread... I tell you...." Granddad trailed off, and Tom knew his story must be done.

Mama came over, knowing her father-in-law was now lost in his own past and she best get her son to bed. "Come on now, Tom. Time for bed."

Tom slid from his grandfather's lap like a good boy and took his mother's hand. However, he paused at the door, looking at his grandfather. "Granddad?" He asked timidly.

His grandfather blinked, as if pulled from a spell. "Yes lad?"

"Might I.... might I be a Captain when I am big?" Tom asked, he had rarely voiced his hopes to his elders. Oh they knew of his games to be sure, but they did not realize how serious the little boy took them. "I promise I will be a good Captain."

Granddad blinked, then chuckled. "God willing, lad. God willing." He said, with a fond look at the boy, knowing full well that the chances of Tom being made Captain were very few. The boy may go to sea when he was older, but he had not the birth nor connections to move through the ranks. However, Tom seemed so hopeful he hated to crush his spirit.

Tom frowned, puzzled by the answer and the look his grandfather had given him. He was about to ask for a more certain answer when his mother tugged on his hand slightly.

"Come along now Tom, little boys who don't get enough sleep do not grow up to become captains." She said gently. His mother also knew the harsh truths of birth and society, but she also had not the heart to tell her son.

"Yes Mama." He said, dutifully following her to his bed and being tucked in with a kiss. He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of the sea and of his ship, feeling quite certain he would become a grand Captain, with a brave and loyal crew, who would follow him to the end.

Years went by, and the little sweet-faced boy grew into a man. His dark hair now long and kept tied away from his face so it would no longer appear unruly, and his sweet-face now decorated with a mean scar, a token from years of hard work. However, he was still the same Tom Pullings who had pretended trees were masts and sheep, cannonballs.

He was walking down a road that had once been familiar, yet somehow now seemed smaller and strange. He rarely came out this way anymore, having been at sea for many years, and now when he was ashore he only left his family when he had to. It was a full day's journey, but he felt he had to do this. And so, before the sun even rose in the sky, he had left his own little cottage, where his wife and children were still asleep, dressed in his best uniform, and made the trip.

He paused at the gate, gazing into the churchyard. 'Is this it?' He wondered to himself, admitting with shame that he barely remembered. He carefully opened the gate, the sun high in the sky made the little churchyard seem like such a cheerful place. The fresh green grass and the clamor of birds in a nearby tree filled the air and made it seemed so alive. It somehow seemed unfitting for the resting place of the dead.

Tom strolled the gravestones looking for a particular name. He was beginning to think he was in the wrong cemetery, when he finally found it.

He paused a moment. Now that he was here he was not sure what to do. The stone was exactly how he remembered it all those years ago, and he wondered why it took him so long to find it. Slowly, Tom knelt down to be at eyelevel with the stone, wondering what he should say, or even if he should speak out loud at all. Well, no one was here to hear him, well, no one living that was.

"Hello Granddad." He said softly, as a cool autumn breeze tickled his neck. Tom paused, as if hoping for a response. Of course, there was none, only the birds, and so he continued. "I have some news for you, I thought I should come and tell you myself." It was becoming easier to have this odd, one-way conversation, and so words seemed to flow from his mouth with ease, as if he were talking to an old friend.

"Soon after you died, sir, Captain Aubrey took command of the Sophie, you remember her? A fine ship, well, I was a master's mate, waiting to become a lieutenant, a day which I was beginning to doubt would ever come." He smiled slightly at the memory. He had been so young then, both he and Mowett, however, it did not seem that long ago. The years had truly flown by.

"Captain Aubrey always put in kind words for me with the Admiralty. Sometimes I think he was as determined that I should advance as I was." Tom smiled fondly of his old Captain. "The day I became a lieutenant I thought was the happiest day of my life. I was so very proud." He remembered the feast that had followed and how they all most likely had a bit too much to drink, especially his father, who had to be carried off to bed.

"I longed for a ship of my own, and I'm sure Captain Aubrey was also working again on my behalf, but the promotion never came. I had not the connections as you very well know." He sighed, remembering the frustration of seeing lesser men promoted ahead of him. Of course, he never once said anything but deep down it had bothered him.

"Finally," He continued, "I must have made an impression in the action with Captain Aubrey against the Turks." Tom took a deep breath, eyeing the new epaulette on his shoulder with affection and pride. "I am a Captain, Granddad. A Captain at last!" He felt as if he should cheer at the long awaited promotion. His wife certainly had, between the constant shower of kisses exchanged between the two of them before the children, hearing the noise, rushed into the room and began jumping all over their father.

"I promise I shall be a good Captain, Granddad, just like I said all those years ago." Tom said, glancing at the sun, noting that he should be leaving soon if he wanted to be home tonight. "I should get home, Granddad, my wife and children will be waiting." He smiled fondly just thinking of them. "I hope you are pleased." Tom rose to his feet, dusting off his trousers. He paused, glancing at the stone one last time. "Goodbye, Granddad." He said softly.

Captain Pullings then turned and left the little churchyard, starting towards home once more, mounting the horse he had left waiting and hurrying home to his family. And somewhere, he was sure his Granddad was smiling.

It was late when Tom finally returned to his little cottage. He suspected everyone would be asleep so he took extra care upon entering as to not to wake them. However, he found his wife sitting peacefully by the fire, reading quietly. Smiling he crossed the room, putting his hand on the book and lowering it, kissing her as a greeting.

"You should not have waited up." He said softly. "It's very late."

She merely smiled, rising from her chair to greet him with an embrace. "Then you should not have taken so long." She teased, kissing him again. "You know I can't sleep alone." She pointed out.

Tom tilted his head, amused at her. "Then what do you do when I am at sea?" He asked.

"Oh I find a substitute." Her eyes sparkled teasingly.

Tom tried to hide his smile, attempting to look cross but failing miserably. "Oh really? And who is this man, my dear?"

"Oh you know him, he's got dark hair and green eyes and is about this tall." She held up her hand to indicate a very short person, a child. "And there are others as well, who usually are not to far behind him to join me in bed."

Tom laughed, knowing she was talking about their children, "It's a wonder the bed does not break." He said. "They're growing fast."

"They are." She agreed. "How was your trip?" She asked softly, she knew where he had gone, for he had told her. In fact, she had encouraged him to go.

"Quite nice." He said, with a yawn. "It's very peaceful there, just how I remember it." He covered his mouth, as the yawn grew wider. "Excuse me."

"I told the children you would be in to kiss them goodnight. It was the only way I could get them to sleep." His wife said, "Go do that, and then come to bed. You look tired." She said.

Tom nodded, knowing his wife was one to be obeyed. He may be a Captain at sea but in this house she would always command. He slipped into the children's room; all of them were sound asleep. With a smile he leaned down and kissed each of them, tucking them in just a little tighter, making sure they were all warm.

When he got to the last bed, his son of four years was awake, sleepy little eyes greeted him and gave him a tight hug as Tom knelt beside him. The boy played with the golden fringe of the epaulette on his father's shoulder.

"You should be asleep, son." Tom said gently.

"Yes Papa." The little boy replied, his green eyes, which Tom had no doubt would someday mirror his mother's, had a questioning look as he allowed himself to be tucked in tightly into his bed.

"Is something wrong, John?" Tom asked softly, as to not wake the others.

"Papa," John started, his little voice barely above a whisper. "Might I be a Captain too one day? When I am big?"

Tom smiled; suddenly he remembered asking that question as a lad, and his grandfather's response. Kissing the boy's forehead again and securing the blanket once more he answered as his grandfather had, with a musing smile, "God willing, lad. God willing." He brushed the boy's unruly dark hair from his forehead, "Now, go to sleep, John. Little lads who do not get enough sleep do not grow up to become captains." He recited the words his mother had told him many times before as a boy.

John nodded, and quickly squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make him sleep faster. Tom chuckled fondly, watching him a moment, until he realized he was being watched.

His wife stood in the doorway, watching her husband's exchange with their son. She had to admit it was a sweet sight, and had been happy just observing her husband and their children. Tom rose to join her in the doorway and kissed her again.

"And what about captains who do not get enough sleep?" She asked teasingly as they left the room where all their children slept soundly, pausing to tuck a stray strand of hair back into his queue.

With a cheeky grin Tom Pullings kissed his wife and lifted her off her feet, "Those captains, my dear Missus Captain Pullings, have very pretty wives, whom have been neglected terribly while they were at sea, and the Captain wishes to make up for lost time." With those words he carried his laughing wife back to their own bed with the knowledge that their children were sleeping.

That night, little John Pullings dreamed of the day when he would also be a fine captain, just like his father. He would sail the seas having adventure after adventure, just like his Papa in all those lovely stories he told him. John Pullings dreamed he would be a great captain, just like his father.

The End

A/N: All together now... "awwwwwww". Little Tom is so cute! I forgot how much fun it is writing stories with little kids! Anyway, hope you enjoyed my little plot bunny.

Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed To Wives and Sweethearts! I promise I'm working on the sequel slowly but surely! If these plot bunnies and classes would leave me alone I'd get it done a whole lot faster!

Please review and tell me how insane I am with my weird ideas! If you review little Tom and little John will make you cookies!