Happy Valentine's Day! This has been continued as per weevily-biscuits's request and in thanks for the most kind review. It also doubles as a present for a Certain Someone. Enjoy, my lovely. :D

Chapter 2: Desolation Island

Ashgrove Cottage was a sight for the season, and Jack knew it. But as always, he had opened his home to his friend and, as always, society knew and directed any regular correspondence to Stephen Maturin to the Aubrey's. Diana Villiers' several letters, the address written in so earnest a hand, had softened Jack's heart towards her, or as much as his heart could be softened towards the woman who was his wife's cousin and had set his friend into such desperate straits. It was not quite in his nature to hold a grudge against a landsman, much less a landswoman, but sometimes it was a close thing.

Jack was aware that while he knew the feeling of Stephen's heart, Sophie knew the very letters. It was with a hidden relief that he passed along each penned missive to her safekeeping. He reminded himself that Diana was a good woman, that Sophie and Stephen loved her, and that their love alone made her acceptable. He was concernedly conscious of how matters might have turned differently if he had not separated Stephen and her on their return from India, and was sorry for it.

But life did not entirely run around the Doctor: not that the Doctor was often at Ashgrove to be revolved around. As soon as they had landed in Portsmouth, Stephen had set off to London as if Saint George's dragon itself was after him, and his reasoning was easily guessed: the Home Office no doubt wanted an exact and witnessed account of the Mauritius and La Reunion, and further absences were the result of them promptly setting him off on some other derring-do. He had flitted like a spirit at Ashgrove since, appearing for a space as brief as an afternoon or as long as a week. Otherwise, the Doctor would be gone for months, and Jack had received notes from the Maturin y Domanova estate in Catalonia and Trinity College in Dublin as well as the Grapes in London.

Jack occupied himself with Sophie, the children, his home building projects, and the Sea-Fencibles. He wondered whether it was too soon to teach Fanny and Charlotte astronomy in his little observatory, (if Stephen was allowed to teach them the natural philosophy of a butterfly, Jack did not see why they were not to be allowed the angles and mathematical equations of the stars) and inquired monthly when George might be taken to the docks not surrounded by a cloud of females, hats so elaborate and skirts so wide that he could not see the ships.

Stephen was set to visit today, however, on the pretext of attending to Mrs. Williams' health. Jack joined his wife in hoping that the promised commission of the Leopard to New South Wales would tempt Stephen back into the Aubreys' arms on a more permanent basis. It was a light scheme, but with Diana looming in London, Sophie had been more and more eager to see Stephen and suss out his emotional state. Jack's own interference was mired in other reasons: his lingering misgivings about Villiers, his previous mistake regarding them, and a two year voyage without his friend would be a mighty long one.

The visit seemed to be going well, or at least the first day of it. Stephen had begged off the offer of the Leopard, but had not said no directly. Though Jack thought he had the signs down correctly, Stephen had declined Jack's offer of companionship and Jack had brushed the refusal away as a 'not now.' The hour was late, and they were just finishing their supper of broth when Sophie prodded her husband, "Jack, you have forgot haven't you?"

Jack swallowed the soup and replied, "My dear?"

"Stephen's present."

Jack suppressed a blush and ardently wished he had not drunk so much wine at the club. "Yes, yes, well," he blustered. He quickly retreated from the table to his and Sophie's upstairs room where hid the box, letting his wife respond to Stephen's astonished face and murmurs of surprise.

When Jack scurried back in, Sophie was just saying, "I caught Jack admiring it through the window and insisted he purchase it for you. And you may not sneak it back by giving it to the children; I know you are thinking of it."

"My dear," Jack coughed. "I have found it."

Stephen looked up from the table, surprise still in his features. Jack handed him the long, narrow box like the shyest school boy, and tried to hide this shamefaced behavior by sitting back down. Stephen made quick work of the paper and carefully opened the long rosewood to reveal a simple silver chain with a round medal at the end, about the size of a shilling.

"It is a Saint Stephen medal," explained Jack. "It is my understanding that in the Catholic tradition children are named after saints, who later become their patron. You never—well, you have not mentioned any particular saint ever, but Sophie thought you might appreciate the gift. It is silver. I thought gold a bit flashy."

Jack tactfully did not mention his personal pleasure that the silver had come from the same mine as Sophie's wedding band. Stephen lifted the necklace out of the case, and the jewelry confidently winked in the candlelight. His mouth was open a little in awe, and Jack admired how the silver did indeed fit nicely with the blue of his eyes and the paleness of his face.

Sophie commented through a sip of wine, "The Bible says that Saint Stephen was a great orator and could convince anyone with his logic."

"He was also the first martyr," Stephen replied casually, the first thing he had said since opening the gift, "Stoned to death by Jews angry with his belief."

"Well, I shall not see you stoned," Jack interjected, angry at the thought. "Absolutely not."

"Saints protect their keepers, so you needn't worry, dear. You must put it on," Sophie said, addressing Stephen now. "Let me help you with the clasp." She rose, undid Stephen's neckcloth, and clasped the chain expertly. "There. Now you will come to Ashgrove safe and sound always."

"I thankee," Stephen said, a smile lighting up his face all at once, as if he had been taken out of a dream. He patted it against his chest, and Jack noted that he had guessed a good length—the chain was long enough to not choke, but short enough that a neckcloth could conceivably hide it, if necessary.

"You are very kind," the Doctor repeated. Stephen's smile beamed at Jack, and Jack's heart glowed in response. He was very glad the gift was well-received and brought cheer. Now if only Stephen could come sailing….

~D~

As the tide turned, Stephen was allowed to come aboard the Leopard and, with the news that they were to carry convicts, Jack was especially glad. He was not so glad when he met Mrs. Wogan, who of all the ill luck bore a sticking resemblance to Diana.

At the soonest opportunity, Jack invited Stephen to music, which the Doctor accepted. Jack's sea-fiddle was ready in a trice, which left him time to observe the neat bent of Stephen's neck over his instrument, the shaven scruff where the hair began, the way the candlelight queered itself against the blue of Stephen's eyes. Jack momentarily forgot himself and the ship in how Stephen's long fingers delicately ran rosin on 'cello strings, how they gently fingered the tension screws until all sang true.

"I suspect you will hardly see each other," Jack muttered.

"I'm sorry?" replied Stephen, startled, sitting up to address the Captain. "What did you say, brother?"

"Nothing, nothing," Jack waved him off. "I was only thinking that I hope the superintendent of the prisoners and the guards know their work. Is Beethoven too strong a start?"

~D~

The Captain was always eager to establish a happy ship, but the fates seemed almost as set against it as they had aboard the Polycrest. While he would not normally wish a fellow Englishman's death, the superintendent of the gaolbirds and the surgeon had set their charges in the most deplorable conditions, which was not to be tolerated on a naval ship of the line. Rats already surfacing from their dens: it was unclean.

Stephen seemed to be improving: though still gaunt and more peevish, the sea air was at work and the naval routine was familiar and comfortable. Mrs. Wogan had already proved more kind to him than Jack had thought possible, and as such his annoyance at her increased access to his Doctor vanished. Martin, the assistant, was able to babble in Latin and French. When they stopped St. Jago at Cape Verde, Jack was subjected to a joyous intellectual tirade on puffins and priests.

If only he could stop the shaking. Stephen's hands kept doing it, even when Jack caught them in his own.

~D~

The ship was so brought by the lee with ill luck that Jack pressed his mind from all comforts: gaol fever had broken out exactly as the trade winds died and the doldrums ensnared. The fumigation, caulking, and tarring proved too late, and weeks dragged by with only great decks of human bodies sown with headaches, langour, fevers of delirium, great mulberry rashes, and coma deaths. Jack was not so worried for Stephen, who had quarantined himself with the sick. His only opportunity of seeing the Doctor was at the daily funerals, during which he would pass long glances, studying for any signs of weakness. He never saw any and contented himself in the assurance that Stephen was immune. He always seemed to be. Perhaps he was touched by the saint, or at least Providence.

The Captain caught the winds again and sailed them out of the doldrums. The Captain only for a moment felt the Doctor's touch when he emerged from sickbay, a finger tracing his jaw. The Captain breathed out and it was gone.

They were not safe yet. Privately, Jack thought this voyage was more than a little cursed, what with its plague and women and parsons: obstacles they simply could not recover from and finish their mission in New South Wales. Stephen had even grown a ridiculous beard. He could feel the uncertainty in his bones. The Captain would of course never let the crew know.

~D~

The Captain was broken apart when Larkin murdered Mr. Howard. It was a stark, outright madness. A ship so desperately short of hands, to have said hands killing one another, to have Stephen caring for an outright murderer, all with the Dutch Waakzaamheid almost upon their stern: pure, utter madness.

After Larkin was clapped in irons, Jack passed the word for the Doctor to come to his cabin at his earliest convenience. He stood at his table and examined his charts while he waited. With some delay, the reply was well met, and within an hour Stephen lit his door. "You called?" he asked.

"Come in, come in," Jack replied. "Would you care for a glass of grog?"

"Not at the present," Stephen demurred, sitting down.

"Well," Jack said uncertainly not knowing how to begin. "Ah, Stephen, I would like to add an amendment to your behavior regarding Larkin."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You are aware, my dear, that I am under Hippocratic oath to provide for my patients as best I can."

Jack looked up at this and saw a great weariness in his friend: Stephen rarely lost patients and he had lost so many, so recently. It was a strange thought: while Stephen considered Jack as expert a seaman as ever was, to the point of ridiculous notions of being able to command winds and tides and orders, Jack equally thought of Stephen as some distant relation of Ascelpius, the Greek god of medicine. However….

"You say he is mad," Jack began.

"He has brain fever," Stephen corrected.

"Yes, well," Jack mumbled, "my official orders put him under your care. He is a capital fellow when he is not killing people unwisely, to be sure. But unofficially, I want you to take extreme caution."

Stephen creaked out a laugh. "Are you worried for my safety, joy?"

Jack did not think it was capital of Stephen to laugh so. "He killed a sworn shipmate without so much as a 'by your leave,' and while I can train up a crewman to take Larkin's place, I cannot teach anyone else physic."

"But you have Herapath for all love. Have you forgotten him? The former stowaway that you promoted to my helpmate."

Jack experienced a flash of jealously. "I have certainly not, but he is not approved by the Sick and Hurt Board."

"And how often have you sailed on without any surgeon at all, before we met? Not one drop of medical knowledge aboard and more than a hundred men in a tiny wooden ship."

"That is not the point." Jack knew Stephen took his meaning, and he was put out that it was not acknowledged.

"Haha, I shall keep myself unhurt, my dear," Stephen managed, wiping his eyes of mirth. "Oh, how you surprise me."

"And how am I surprising you?" Jack asked. Now Stephen was just playing cruel.

"I am surprised you thought it was necessary for me to be told."

This mollified the Captain greatly, and he offered his Doctor a small smile.

After this, Jack paid especial attention to Stephen. They walked on the rail together; they observed the albatross and other birds. Stephen seemed much improved since Jack had last taken time to truly notice: Mrs. Wogan provided him with all sorts of knitwear and lady gifts, and Jack was almost sorry his orders were to leave her in Australia.

The scoundrel Grant tried to comment on Jack's change in behavior out of earshot, saying that Jack and the Doctor were "living in each other's pockets and from there drinking well." Jack ignored him, knowing a flogging would only rally Grant more supporters. Stephen did not take it so lightly and, knowing Jack's mind about outright revenge or challenge, found excuse to prescribe Grant a course of potent laxatives. This filled the animal part of Jack with vicious, if brief, pleasure.

~D~

The Waakzaamheid closed in.

The Captain took the shot.

The mast fell.

"My God, oh my God," he said. "Six hundred men."

Jack drifted between memory and darkness. He was conscious of Stephen's hands upon his brow, but that would blend easily into the memory of the night after Mauritius. The rocking of the hammock in sickbay could be the present, or it could be from his time after the Nile, him young and waiting for Nelson to acknowledge the wounded. That could be Sophie's voice even, singing in the kitchen, or it was possibly Mrs. Wogan with her babe. The ocean waves blurred together his life, its sound as constant as it was.

"Jack, Jack." Stephen was calling him.

Jack was on the quarterdeck of the Waakzaamheid. He saw the ball headed for the mast. He shouted in warning—they had the ships the wrong way 'round—but to no avail. The mast fell with a mighty crash, and ship tipped dangerously on impact. Jack ordered his men to the other side—they must balance everything out—but it was no use for the other Captain was truly Poseidon and had called up a wave to eclipse them all. Jack passed the word for all hands to find safe harbor. Jack broke off some of the quarterdeck rail and called for Stephen, but Stephen was not to be found. Instead, Pullings appeared, offering Jack the broken mast. "Use this," he said. "I shall navigate."

Jack woke with a start, or thought he woke. He was in the sickbay; it was night save for a guttering lamp; Stephen was in a hammock beside him, asleep.

"My dear?" Jack whispered. Stephen was clutching something against his chest: Jack could see the knuckles of the fist peeking over the blankets. He reached over and brushed the blankets down and realized Stephen was holding a small chain that hung from his neck: he could see it enter and escape his clutched hand. With a finger, Jack lifted the string up. The thing gave a slight rattle, but Jack did not understand until the pendent slid into view: it was the Saint Stephen medal he had given the Doctor, all those months ago. Stephen was holding the chain in his sleep.

~D~

Jack recovered of course, to a ship half-dead and half-broken. Grant had gotten them stuck into an iceberg, and they were sinking as they stood. Incessant pumping was needed to keep them afloat, and all were growing restless. The Captain was needed, and Jack was glad Stephen could, ultimately, take care of himself.

It did not come as a surprise that Grant was set on the boats, and the Captain did not have time or thought to grudge him. All had to do what they thought best.

Which of course meant he had to tell Stephen, squarely, without bias. He passed the word for the Doctor immediately after Grant left his cabin, not wanting to give himself time for misgivings.

When Stephen came in, his courage failed however. He could not look at his friend whilst admitting so miserable a fault. "Stephen, the boats will soon be away, probably some time before nightfall. If you choose to go, pray dress up warm and take my waterproof cloak. They will take you, I know."

With Grant, it was easier. He could be the standing stern and firm Captain, tapping out impatiently against his tables of maps. With Stephen, he could not hold out as such long. He backed away from the table and rummaged into his sea chest as a distraction and procured the whereabouts of the waterproof cloak. But he did not take it out. He wanted Stephen to decide.

"They? You do not go?" Jack looked up sharply. Had Stephen assumed that Grant's getaway was his idea? Stephen was almost reaching out to him a little, and his eyes were peering, scrunching his brows.

"No. I stay with the ship. But I do not wish you to feel the least obligation to remain, if you had rather not."

"It is a matter of principle with you?" Now the confusion colored Stephen's voice, and Jack gripped the cloak from his chest involuntarily. Realizing his gesture, he let it go, moved back to the table, coughed, and nodded. "Listen, will you lay it plain before me, now? I speak for some papers I have, not for myself. Principles aside—for I know your views on what is right in a captain—which is the better course?"

Jack drew himself up to stand at attention. Mere naval matters were easy to him, reciting as easy as kiss your hand. "I may be wrong, but I still think the ship. Yet the launch may get through. Bligh took his boat farther, and Grant is an excellent seaman: he will certainly be in the launch."

Stephen's answer was swift, and his hand was almost upon the door. "Then I shall give him what I can copy. Forgive me now, Jack, I must work as fast as I can. The ship is all on a buzz with this talk of the boats, and there are some fellows may break out in no time at all."

Jack made an inarticulate noise at this proclamation, which stopped Stephen's hand. "You are staying?" he said. Now that the answer was upon him, Jack's stomach roiled. "Stephen, I entreat you, the principles that keep me here, do by no means bind you. If you deem the launch a better choice, I pray you go, please."

Stephen turned around sharp. "Jack Aubrey, I am staying with you, whether it pleases you or not." All at once, Stephen came back into the room and kissed Jack soundly on the mouth. Jack abruptly recalled how much he missed this and gathered the man to him, pressing them closer. But as it soundly came, it was soundly gone, with a slightly breathy, "Now I have papers to copy" trailing behind.

~D~

After this encounter and with so many of the crew now consisting of old shipmates, Stephen moved to bunk with Jack. It was a boon, the feeling and comfort of a body only a hammock cloth away. Jack's thoughts were more on Sophie of late, but only in the semi-darkness of an oil lamp, with his arm draped over Stephen's middle while the Doctor read. Only then did he let himself ponder his chances of ever seeing her again.

He was used to the feeling of having lives depend on his decisions. He had held Stephen's life in his hands more times then he could count. But to condemn them both to such isolation and cold as could be found near the South Pole, to condemn Sophie to having neither of them: this was new. Guilt wracked.

It was the night before their scheduled landing on Desolation Island that these feelings came to a fore. The Captain was confident that if they failed to make a landing while on the Leopard, the jolly boat could be put to purpose to carry them ashore. Being marooned so close to the Antarctic was not a pleasant prospect and, while there was the scarcest chance that whalers and the like used the land as a stopping point, England and Ashgrove seemed very far away indeed.

He and Stephen had adjacent shifts at the pump: it was normally Jack's practice to sleep directly afterwards, waking when Stephen bumbled in. They would have two shifts to themselves, and then Jack would be at the pump. But tonight he did not want to and could not sleep. Instead he paced the quarterdeck in a steady beat, to and fro, running over all the adjustments needed in his head, checking that all was in place, that they would be ready the moment the island was in sight. If Bonden wasn't as capital a seaman as he was, he would have said something sharp about micromanagement and worryworts and watch pots.

The moment the watch was called and the pump shifts changed, Jack alighted below. He arrived in the great cabin before Stephen, and his heart sank a little. But soon there was a bumbling noise, and Jack turned to see Stephen—exhausted beyond all measure, Stephen—tumble in. "Good even', Jack," he said. "Have you not been asleep?"

Now that the moment was there, Jack could not find words easily. Stephen, poor old Stephen, he was more exhausted and tired than Jack had ever seen him. His shoulders slumped; his skin ashen; his eyes circled as thick as Jack's thumb; his cheekbones sharp. Had all the goodness done on the previous parts of their voyage been erased so easily? With a flash on insight, Jack wondered in horror if Stephen had been thinking on Diana.

"We will reach Desolation Island this coming noon," Jack said. "And I—"

Stephen shuddered bodily and collapsed into Jack, arms grasping him and tugging his lips down to meet. Jack groaned in response, hugging Stephen close. Such a slight frame, so small. Such…heat.

The kissing continued for a full two minutes. Stephen wormed his way under Jack's cloak, making it wrap around both of them. The Doctor then suddenly broke off, breathing hard, and nuzzled into Jack's collarbones. "I-I wanted to remind you of that, my dear, before you continued."

"Perhaps I do need more reminding," replied Jack, dazed. Stephen was a very thorough kisser.

Stephen chuckled. "I remind you that I chose to go on this adventure with you, and that it has been beneficial to me. Those papers I sent with Grant were important to the Crown, but we shall not suffer greatly if they are not delivered. They would make the future easier, but no lives depend on the information." He kissed Jack again.

Jack let the cloak fall so he could tentatively lift up Stephen's shirt and place hands on the skin. Stephen hummed in reward. Jack opened his mouth, Stephen took the opportunity to suck on his tongue, and Jack's knees buckled.

"Shall we lay out the hammocks?" Stephen laughed. "And you say I am the sensitive one."

Jack, thinking of revenge, slid hands from Stephen's shoulders, down his back, and finally to cup his arse. He squeezed, and Stephen squeaked. "Ha."

"That is a cheap trick," Stephen said, indignant.

Jack merely smiled. They untangled one another and laid out the hammocks and a few blankets to form a thin mattress, using the cloak to supplement the loss. Stephen gestured Jack to lay down on his side, and Stephen sat cross legged, placed Jack's head on his thigh, and began alternatively scrubbing into the scalp and smoothing the strands down. "You should not feel guilty. Every action is my own. You have done more than enough, Jack."

"I have not said anything about guilt," Jack said. It seemed always just so with Stephen: the man knew Jack's heart's heading before he himself. Jack turned his face and kissed Stephen's knee.

"My dear, your being screams it."

"Tomorrow will be rough," Jack changed the subject.

Stephen sighed. He undid Jack's hair ribbon and began running his fingers through the strands now, sorting out the tangles.

"It is not your fault. If that tart Grant knew how to avoid icebergs, we would not be in this mess."

"He is gone now."

"Yes."

"Why did you not get into his boat, Stephen? When you entrusted your papers to him?"

"I entrusted copies of my papers, just so I had an egg in each basket."

"We shall be fine," Jack said, trying to sound encouraging. He nuzzled into Stephen's knee. "The current will take us straight there; it's only a matter of switching the weights about. And now all the hands are excellent seamen and know their duties in and out."

They were silent for a moment, before Stephen added, "Do not think yourself so low, joy."

"Oh, for all love." Jack sat up and kissed Stephen languidly, taking his time. Stephen shuddered again and opened his mouth. Jack ventured to explore. Stephen groaned and tugged them both down again, opening his legs to invite Jack closer.

Jack took it and settled between the Doctor's legs. From this position, he broke off the kiss and sucked at the space behind Stephen's ear. Stephen brushed Jack's hair out of the Captain's face absently and hummed as Jack moved down Stephen's neck, leaving trails of bites and kisses. When he reached where the neck met the shoulder, he paused to take off Stephen's shirt. A glint of silver caught his eye.

"Do always wear this?" He caught it in his hand, examining the medal. The engraving was indeed worn.

"I know of no better place to put it," Stephen said.

Jack kissed the warm metal. Stephen, impatient, raised up to brush his face against Jack, kissing the Captain's neck in turn, rubbing his cheek against Jack's stubble.

They lay together, stroking and petting and soothing, for awhile, easy in each other and themselves. Remembering scars and heartbeats and breath. It had been so long.

When they woke, it was morning. Killick had not yet found them, so Stephen prodded Jack into a sitting position. The Doctor untangled his hair and slowly and methodically braided it. He trailed the end across Jack's bare shoulders, tickling the skin, and the Captain shivered not from cold. Stephen kissed the nape of Jack's neck.

"Whatever comes, my joy, I shall be with you to the last."

Jack hummed and was immensely glad Stephen could not see his face.