Surge
The Etherium had been a little rough lately. The violent gusts from the Lubins Current had forced the Captain to keep the hatches battened down. In a way, it was a good thing—Jim was safe from some of the more arduous chores that came with the position of being Cabin Boy. In another way, it was the worst. Every bump or lurch in the hull caused Jim's stomach to flip in such a way that he was certain he was very near losing his breakfast. And he was not about to endure the mockery of the crew while they watched him mop up his own puke.
Back when he had first boarded the ship, he'd tossed out the Etherium sickness medication his mother had absolutely insisted he bring.
"Jim," she had chastised when she'd seen it lying untouched on his dresser and not put away in his bag the day they were to depart. "Trust me, even the heartiest spacers need this. Now, make sure it gets packed."
He had rolled his eyes and stashed the stupid bottle before he could safely dispose of it away from her knowing gaze. At the time, he had thought of all the years spent riding his solar surfer—the acrobatic flips, twists, and tumbles he performed had never given him reason to suspect he might develop motion sickness.
But here he was, head bent over the bucket in the galley, stomach roiling with the ship's momentum, sweat beading his brow. Maybe one day he'd learn. As the ship groaned again, Jim released a small vocal noise to accompany the vessel. The stack of dishes he had to clean after breakfast lay untouched beside him. He'd hardly had an opportunity to scrub the first plate before a powerful wave of nausea had overtaken him.
Jim heaved into the bucket, but managed to catch himself before anything came up. He was trying very hard not to throw up (even though, admittedly, he knew he'd feel much better). The last thing he wanted was for a seasoned space dog like Silver to find him a weak mess on the galley floor. Not to mention the jokes from the rest of the crew—who all seemed to be handling it just fine so Jim hoped he'd eventually get used to the current. But as of that moment, he'd have to suffer through. Thank goodness Silver had gone up on deck to check the ropes and lines. It meant Jim had a few more minutes of privacy.
There was a small startled shriek that erupted from the base of the galley steps.
Well, a few more minutes of mostly privacy.
Jim lifted his head to see Morph zooming toward him. The shapeshifter splattered against Jim's chest with a worried warble and Jim tapped his 'head' in return.
"It's okay, Morph," he said. "Just a little sick. Nothing to worry about." He gave the small creature what he hoped was a convincing smile. Morph twittered in return, obviously concerned. Just then, the ship tilted again and Jim's face paled. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes to ride out the feeling. When he opened them again, Morph looked nervous.
"See?" Jim panted. "Fine."
Morph chittered in disapproval. Jim supposed the shapeshifter was still taking his instructions to look after Jim very seriously, because a moment later, Morph darted away up the galley stairs presumably to find his master.
"Great," Jim muttered. He mopped at his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and sat up. Every little movement made his body ache. For some Etherium motion sickness, it sure hurt more than he had expected. He grabbed a nearby plate and set about wiping it down in the soapy basin at his feet. With a final thought and using the toe of his boot, he nudged away the bucket he had been leaning over in order to hide the evidence that he might have needed it.
No sooner had he done so then he heard the thunk of footsteps on the galley stairs. The familiar creak of metal limbs and whir-churn-whir of the cyborg's gears was quickly becoming a familiar sound to Jim's ears.
"Jimbo, Lad," Silver said as he stepped down into the galley and approached Jim. Jim looked up, feigning indifference. "What's this I hear about you being sick?"
"I'm fine," Jim said, but clenched his jaw again as, again, a wave of nausea gripped him. Was it suddenly colder in the galley?
"Aye, an' that's why I see only one plate clean, I suppose, after leaving you down here half an hour ago," Silver frowned. Dang it, Jim thought.
"Just a little rough from the swells," he admitted, finding there was no use hiding it. However, that didn't mean he needed to tell the cyborg how painful it really was just to be sitting in his position at the moment. Morph cooed and settled on Jim's shoulder, nuzzling into the young man's neck to comfort him.
"Ah, a worthy foe. No spacer can withstand a violent wind," Silver chuckled. "You got any medicine?"
Jim gave a slight shake of his head. His stomach flipped at the movement.
"I'll speak to the Cap'n then ta see if she has any to spare. In the meantime, keep at these here if yeh can." As Silver turned to leave, Jim was nailed to the floorboards in embarrassment. What was worse than Silver and the crew finding out he couldn't handle a little wind? Captain Amelia and Mr. Arrow.
"It's no big deal," he spoke up.
Silver eyed him suspiciously.
"You are pale, Lad."
Jim shrugged (the motion made his joints protest), "Probably just the light." It was a stretch, but maybe there was something in his eyes that made Silver finally release him from the humiliating scrutiny.
"If you say so, but I expect these done by the mid-day meal, so hop to it."
Jim gave a sarcastic salute as Silver turned and left the galley. Morph remained behind to watch over his charge. No sooner had Silver's feet disappeared from view did Jim grab the bucket again and proceed to vomit. Morph circled Jim's head anxiously, not realizing it made Jim dizzy.
"Morph, can you not—" He puked again. Great.
Lunchtime rolled around and as Silver entered the galley, he was surprised to see the breakfast dishes all scrubbed to sparkling and placed neatly on the counter. He chuckled. That boy was too damn stubborn for his own good. Silver was no fool. He could see the illness in Jim's face, but Jim was a young man now and capable of making his own decisions. If Jim said he was fine, then the lad was fine. As Silver removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, he expected to see Jim already pulling down ingredients. Jim knew the drill by now. But as Silver moved deeper into the galley, he found Jim wasn't there. Frowning, he thought it odd the cabin boy was shirking his duties—they were well enough into the voyage for Jim to realize that any work avoidance would lead to further trouble from Silver.
He'd have to deal with Jim later. For now, he had a hungry crew to feed and he'd seen some deadly displays before when these particular brigands weren't fed properly. The hour slipped away and Silver cooked. Still the cabin boy did not come to the galley. Even as the crew began to trickle down to take their seats, Jim was nowhere to be found. Irritation flared within Silver, but then diffused at the thought that Jim's illness was probably worse than the boy had let on. As Silver served the last dish to Birdbrain Mary, he removed his apron and took this opportunity to go in search of Jim. Come to think of it, he also hadn't seen Morph for a couple of hours.
Silver headed across the ship toward the crew's quarters, having a hunch that he'd find the lad below. Sure enough, as Silver stepped down into the bunkhouse, his cyborg eye mapped a heat figure in the far corner, hidden behind the other hammocks.
"Jim?" Silver called, walking around the other strung-up beds. When he could see Jim with his organic eye, he stopped short. Jim was indeed curled up in his hammock, but he looked even more gaunt than earlier that day. Morph was snoozing on the boy's chest without a care in the world. Jim's eyes were closed and his breaths hissed out of him. Sweat covered his pale face.
"Ah, lad," Silver shook his head as he let his large hand hover over Jim's forehead. He could feel the heat even from an inch away. This was no Etherium sickness. This was the flu. Jim would need plenty of rest, a cool rag to keep his temperature down, and a bucket. The Legacy came stocked with a few common medicines (which would be located in the Captain's Quarters), but for the time being, Jim would just have to ride this particular illness out. Silver supposed a few days of bed rest and the cabin boy would be back on his feet.
Jim cracked open bleary eyes at the sound of the voice above him. He felt hot and cold at the same time. How was that even possible? A dizzy image of Silver swam into view. He made to roll out of his hammock when Silver put a stern hand on his shoulder.
"Jimbo, you're not well. Now stay put while I fetch you a bucket and some medicine."
While asleep, Jim had been able to pretend his stomach wasn't ready to upchuck anything he put in it, but now…
Jim leaned and heaved all over the sleeping quarter's floor, but having had no more food or water since breakfast, all he managed to regurgitate was stomach acid which just made the nausea stronger. Moaning, he fell back into his hammock and shivered as Morph, startled from his slumber, blinked sleepy eyes and warbled at seeing Silver.
"Sorry," Jim panted. His head felt like it was about to split and now he would have to clean his own puke off the floor.
"Don't you worry about tha'. Ol' Silver's seen worse. I'll be back shortly. Looks like you caught the flu."
"H-how is that possible?" Jim muttered, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing.
"Not sure, Jim. Could be that you came into contact with somet'ing your body t'ain't built up an immunity to."
Jim sighed in frustration as he closed his frowning eyes.
"I'll inform t' Cap'n you're not well an' tha' I'll be covering yer tasks."
"What? No, I'll be fine tomorrow," Jim's eyes flew open. The way he looked at Silver made the cyborg cook come to a sudden realization. Ah, he thought. So that's what this is about.
Silver chose his next words carefully, "Listen to me, Jim. There ain't no shame in admitting you need a break. Some of the strongest spacers I've seen 'ave succumbed t' a little bugger."
"You sound like my mom," Jim grumbled.
"Well she's a smart lass if that's the case. Don't let a little pride stand in the way of your health, Lad." For a moment, Silver felt the disturbing truth of his own words as he flexed his cyborg hand unconsciously. Jim, bright as the boy was, of course noticed. Something seemed to pass between the two of them briefly. Something Silver had no name for. The cyborg cleared his throat, "An' if the crew give ya any grief, I've got many a smarmy tale about their worst sailing experiences." Silver then winked at Jim with a deep bellied laugh.
Morph, to illustrate Silver's point, shapeshifted into Aquanoggin rolling around the floor with exaggerated tears flying from his wailing face while he clutched his knee. Jim released a breathy laugh.
"Now," Silver continued, straightening up. "I'll be back t' clean this up. I'll brew you my strongest batch of ginger tea, and we'll have you right as rain t'morrow, understand?"
Jim just nodded as he let his eyes close again, drawing his jacket closer to his arms. Silver turned to leave, Morph perching on his shoulder, when a quiet sound stopped him.
"Thank you," Jim whispered. Silver hesitated for a second, but it was a second longer than he should have. Rather than respond, he continued up the steps onto the deck of the Legacy, shaking his head.
Because as much as Silver denied it, as much as he tried to repress it, he felt a tenderness for the young man he hadn't felt in years.
Silver let a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, that was alright for now.
A/N: Well, then, here I am again with more Treasure Planet stories. I didn't think I'd write or post Fan Fiction ever again, but I love the universe of Treasure Planet so much, and it's important to keep Jim Hawkins's adventures alive, right? So I guess there's nothing to be done but write more about the cabin boy.
It's interesting to see the growth of my stories over time. My teenage self wrote the most garbage fanfics about this universe (some of which you can still read on this very old account here, so feel free to mock!). As an adult, I've taken on a new appreciation for Jim's character. He's dynamic and clever and stubborn. Nowadays I also find it enjoyable to explore Silver's sudden shock at having this angsty teenager enter his life and *bleep* it up. So this story started with focusing on Jim's perspective and ended with Silver's.
I hope I didn't butcher Silver's accent or any of the characters. They're tough to write. I really had to get into the mind of Silver or Jim. What would an adult pirate say to a young man who struggles to see his own worth? Jim doesn't want to appear weak in front of this strong figure who is starting to take on the role of being Jim's mentor. Jim has a lot of self-doubt. He wrestles with the belief that he was partly the reason his father left years earlier. In a sense, I had this idea that Jim might be unwilling to show how ill he is because he wants to impress Silver a bit, make the salty cyborg see him as a confident spacer that can do his part. Silver, of course, is no fool and provides Jim the direction he needs. I also started writing this months ago, finally finished it today. I got some minor flu symptoms right now—maybe I was inspired to write about Jim throwing up? Motivation strikes at strange times.
This will be an open story for me to post silly drabbles of the RLS Legacy's crew and captain whenever I'm inspired.