*~ Disclaimer ~* I do not own any of the characters, plots, or locations from Treasure Planet. Disney holds all rights to Treasure Planet and this story is only created for pleasure, not profit.
Author's Note: This has been edited as of April 20, 2011. I hope any previous readers will approve of the improvements and that you find it as enjoyable as before. Thanks for reading.
A Fatherly ConcernJim coughed and blood spattered over the deck of the ship. Onus laughed, as Scroop took another swing at the cabin boy, knocking him from his hands and knees over onto his back. Scroop's eyes shone maliciously as Jim tried to get his bearings.
"You need to learn your place, Cabin Boy. And we are willing to give you more lessons as much as you need 'em," Scroop sneered as his strode over to the rigging. "We'll be keeping a sharp eye on you."
Onus chuckled as he moved back towards the helm, "Better listen to him, whelp. Or the next time we might take more… permanent action." He slithered away, leaving Jim to struggle to his feet.
Alone, once again, Jim propped himself against the side of the vessel. He peered down at the deck and groaned. 'Man, Silver is not going to be happy to see bloodstains on the deck,' Jim thought, without humor. Gingerly, he prodded his cheek. It was swollen and tender, probably turning black and blue. Moving his tongue around, Jim decided that he hadn't lost any teeth, but there was a nasty cut along the inside of his bottom lip that didn't feel too well. The taste of blood on his lips left a sharp metallic flavor that Jim detested. He glared in the direction that Scroop had left. How he hated that ugly, bright-eyed bug.
The entire crew seemed rather shady to Jim, but Silver and Mr. Arrow seemed to keep the majority of them in line, so Jim didn't voice any complaints. To be honest, there weren't many complaints to be made, on a practical level. They got the work done well enough… it was the murmurs, the quick glances between them that made Jim uneasy, as though they were expecting something to happen. The only one he felt really comfortable around was Silver. Silver…
Pain flared in Jim's leg, and he shifted to ease the pressure on it. Apparently he had a cut down his leg as well, probably the work of one of Scroop's claws, Jim grunted, sitting on the edge of the ship and leaning against the rigging. He looked up into the night and the majestic field of stars around him. They only had about a week to go before they reached Treasure Planet, but Jim couldn't seem to work up the proper excitement for it as he had only days ago. He was too exhausted for fun. Silver had him running around like a dog, mopping the deck, peeling, slicing, scrubbing, washing the dishes… "Feh, what a jerk," Jim muttered half-heartedly. He didn't want to think that he was starting to trust that old cyborg, he didn't want to remember how nice it felt to wake up in Silver's jacket after a long night of doing the dishes …and most certainly he didn't want to think that he was beginning to actually like the odd cook of the ship.
Jim sighed. At least he could admit that he didn't want to disappoint the old coot. He found himself hiding his little "lessons" with Scroop from Silver, pretending that his bruises were from a little rough handling around the ship. After the little spout Silver made about "picking your fights," Jim didn't want Silver to think that he was being hardheaded. Truth was, Scroop kept seeking out Jim, finding any small reason to give him a shove or a short beating if there weren't many people around, particularly Silver or Mr. Arrow. 'It wasn't a big deal,' Jim tried to convince himself, 'you don't need Silver dealing out any favors for you.'
Speaking of which… "Hey Jimbo!" Silver lumbered out of the galley and looked around. Spotting Jim towards the side, he began to walk over, but halted just before the bloodstains on the wood. "Jim! I thought I told you I wanted this deck spotless, what are you doin'…?" Silver fell silent as he took a closer look at Jim, taking in the swollen cheek, awkward position, and sweaty, matted hair.
Jim straightened up and put both of his feet on the deck, holding back a grimace, "Nothing, I must've just missed it. Won't happen again," Jim leveled his gaze at Silver, silently daring him to say something.
Silver kept still, giving Jim a calculated stare. Then Silver turned toward the galley at the sound of Morph bouncing his way out of the stairway over toward Jim. Morph hopped his way up towards Jim's shoulder and was about to playfully rub against Jim's cheek when he noticed the bruise. Morph made a little sad sound and lightly tapped it, causing Jim to break his firm glare and wince a little bit. Jim cupped his hand around Morph to move him away from his cheek and glanced toward Silver again, only to see that Silver had moved over to the railing and was looking out at the stars.
With a small sigh, Jim moved to grab Mr. Mop and Mrs. Bucket. "Might as well leave it for now, Jimbo," Silver said in his gruff manner, "T'aint goin' nowhere. You can get it in a bit." Jim paused, and opened his mouth as if to argue, but Silver interrupted, "Git over here, boy. I'll show you sometin'."
Curious, Jim moved back over to the side and gazed out at the stars, wondering what Silver was looking at and remembering those many nights as a kid looking at the stars, imagining flying among them. Silver then pointed ahead of the ship a ways, "See that reddish light over there?" Jim looked, seeing a dark orange glow near their path ahead of them, and nodded. "Well, that there is one o' the best places for comet ridin'."
"Comet riding?" Jim asked, feeling his heart thump excitedly, and trying to subdue it.
Silver smiled, "Aye, comet ridin'. Most people don' know it, but lots o' comets run by 'ere an' it gives boats a little extra speed runnin' by 'em."
"Whoa…" Jim murmured, looking over at the orange haze with new respect.
Silver stole a glance over at Jim, "You know, Jimbo, it's nice to sail under your own sails, but when dat extra push is needed… there's naught wrong with catchin' a little comet tail to get you goin'. No comet's goin' ta outshine you, when you keep at it." He laid a heavy hand on Jim's shoulder, ignoring the wince on Jim's face, "Nobody's strong all the time, Jim."
Jim stood very still, keeping his sight on the orange nebula ahead, 'Stop it, just stop it! You are not going to be weak in front of Silver, Jim!' he desperately tried to convince himself, resisting the urge to give in to Silver's subtle offer. "Thanks for the advice," Jim said aloud, trying and failing to squeeze some of his old sarcastic tone into it. "I'll just finish up here and be done with it," he grabbed Mrs. Bucket and tossed water over the bloodstains with a stiff jerk. He mopped at the stains with a vengeance while Silver gave him one final look and left for the galley again.
Silver paused at the top of the stairs. "After you're through here, get some rest, Jimbo," he said, in a surprisingly gentle tone, and disappeared below. Jim sighed and continued scrubbing, now at a slower, more contemplative pace.
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Jim hurried down the deck, hands full of rope to reinforce the rigging off the starboard bow. He was so focused on reaching his destination that he never saw the red leg that slid out directly into his path. His face made a painful introduction with the deck and a claw descended around his neck before he had a chance to regroup.
"Well, well," Scroop scowled, "Looks like the Cabin Boy didn't learn his lesson after all. Methinks it's time for another." He dragged Jim further along the bow, where the deck was shrouded in the morning mist. Scroop swung Jim into the railing, slamming him into the wood with a force that knocked Jim's breath away. Unable to breathe, Jim clawed frantically at the railing, trying to settle out his lungs.
Before Jim could make a sound, Scroop began kicking Jim in the legs, the stomach, the chest, hard enough to ensure that the entire area would be tender for days. Then Scroop bent down and started scraping his claws along Jim's legs. And, try as he might to kick the ugly bug away, Scroop had a long reach. "Listen to me, Cabin Boy," Scroop sneered, "I'm going to gut you open, bit by bit until you can understand to stay out of my way." With that, Scroop carved a thick line of blood from Jim's ankle to his knee on each side of his legs. By this time, Jim had caught his breath and was wheezing, trying to cry out. He spasmed in pain and let out a short wail, to which Scroop pressed his free claw against Jim's throat. "Make a sound and you'll regret it."
However, the choice wasn't left up to Jim, as Scroop kept his claw tight against his throat while his other claw moved up to carve sharp lines up his sides, tearing up his clothes and piercing the tender skin beneath. Jim's back was rigid and his eyes were leaking out unwanted tears at his helplessness.
Scroop cackled softly, "I'm going to slice you up, Boy, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it…" He moved his claw over Jim's chest and began to carve a "C." "You're just a worthless Cabin Boy, and that's all you'll ever be…"
A harsh voice interrupted Scroop, "He is not yours to mark." With a whir and a slight crunch, Silver knocked Scroop off of Jim and had him shoved up against the rail in seconds. Jim looked up from his prone position to see Silver looming over Scroop, his mechanical eye a furious red. "Now listen here, Mr. Scroop," Silver growled, "This here boy has been put under my care by th' captain, and if one hair on his head is harmed again, I will personally snap off those spindly legs of yours just to watch you squirm. Understood?"
Scroop looked furious, but also scared at the fierce look in Silver's face. He nodded and scurried away. Silver glared after him a bit, then moved over to Jim, "You okay, lad?" He crouched down and moved his cyborg arm behind Jim's back and tried to prop him up. Jim grunted, but sat up carefully and leaned against the rail. Blood trickled down his neck where Scroop's claws had pinched him and his shirt stuck to the blood along the cuts. Silver sighed and shook his head slightly, "Ah, Jimbo, what have you got yer'self into?"
Jim finally looked up at Silver to glare at him, "I didn't get myself into anything," he said fiercely, though his throat scratched from its poor treatment earlier. "It was that damn bug who's been…" At this, Jim's jaw snapped shut, both at his realization of what he was admitting and the sharp pain that came from Silver lifting him up from the deck into his arms.
"Best get you cleaned up," Silver said, as though Jim hadn't said anything, "Don't want you getting the deck all messy." He lumbered to the galley, glaring at the few people around who dared make eye contact. Jim bit his tongue whenever he was jostled, and tried to hold back whimpers of pain.
They descended into the galley and Silver laid Jim on one of the tables as gently as possible. He walked into the kitchen to pick up a few bottles and a rag, and moved back over to Jim. Carefully, Silver removed the ripped and bloodied shirt a little bit at a time, tearing off strips of it. Then, he took one of the bottles and poured it over the wounds on Jim's chest, causing Jim to wince, slightly. Silver used the rag to clean around the cuts with what was apparently water. Next, he took another bottle over to the claw lines, causing Jim to hiss in pain and grit his teeth tightly. The alcohol stung, even while Silver quickly dried the area with the rag. After rolling up his slashed pants, the same procedure was repeated on his calves. All this was done with no words from Silver or Jim, and the kitchen was quiet, with the occasional dripping liquid and muffled pained sounds from Jim.
With a few finishing touches, Silver grunted and sat back to look at his work, "'Fraid there's naught around for bandages in here, 'least what I know of. You best get some fresh clothes on ta help with keepin' 'em clean."
Jim sat up cautiously and kept his eyes on his damaged legs. "Thank you," he murmured.
"Ehh, nothin' to it, Jimbo," Silver rubbed the back of his neck absently. He then busied himself with putting the bottles back to sorts and throwing the bloody rag to the corner of the counter.
Jim started to edge off the table, but Silver motioned him to stay put. With a scowl on his face, Jim stilled, and when Silver stayed silent, snapped, "I suppose now comes the lecture of 'pickin' your battles' and all that?"
Silver stiffened and slammed the last bottle back into place, "Now see here, boy. You knew very well when I said…"
"When you said that you'd be keeping an eye on me, that you wouldn't be doing me any favors?" Jim returned ferociously. "I don't need favors, I can take care of these," he gestured to his bruised body.
Silver gave Jim a masked look. "T'aint no favor. What needs be done, needs be done, eh?" he said with more than a little calm to his voice than was natural. By this, Jim could tell that Silver was trying to hold something back … and on the edge of failing.
Jim quickly ducked his head, not meeting Silver's gaze. "Well, I suppose you'll be needing to make a report then, right? Got to keep the cabin boy in ship-shape and all," Jim muttered, bitterly.
A string of curses in a language Jim couldn't quite guess at came from Silver's direction as the cyborg turned away towards the kitchen, then back again. Silver's eye rolled around in what Jim knew to be a frustrated manner and he warily kept quiet. A stiff kick to one of the tables seemed to take some of the aggression out of Silver and he turned back to Jim, "Now listen here, Jim, and you listen close, y'hear? I've seen yeh been workin' in all kinds o shape lately. Don' you think those black an' blues are so easy to hide from me," here his mechanical eye gave a twitch. "An' the whole time, I noticed yeh've not complained, not once. But I can't tolerate lettin' this carry on, no matter how yeh've been tryin' to keep up. I can't allow someone like…" a short pause, "…someone in my charge to be hassled to that extent. The only report I'll be makin' will be a meeting with Mr. Scroop," this last was let out as nearly a growl.
Jim stayed quiet and let himself take a quick glance back at Silver. Silver's mechanical arm was clenching in a rather furious manner, but the rest of him seemed to have calmed. Silver then turned and met Jim's gaze for a few moments before Jim looked over towards the stairs, feeling unaccountably embarrassed.
"Well… ok, then," Jim said, softly, "I guess I'll just be… headed back to work." He moved to go to the stairs with a hard wince as he returned pressure to his legs again.
A disgruntled sound came from behind him and Jim found himself lifted back onto the table with the same frustrated look on Silver's face again. "You will be going nowhere for now, lad," Silver stated clearly and firmly. "Too much motion with those legs and yeh'll be trippin' over yer'self all over." He moved to the other side of the room and quickly rearranged the tables so that one was pushed longways against the wall. Then he seemed to pull a spare blanket from nowhere and a bag of something from the kitchen laid out on top of it. Without much ceremony or warning, he scooped up Jim and moved him to the makeshift bed, accompanied by a rather useless struggle from Jim.
As soon as Jim seemed to resign himself to his lack of decision on the matter, Silver straightened up, "Best be getting someone on the job topside, then. Make sure yeh don't do nothin' stupid with those legs or yeh'll have hell to pay when I get back," Silver threatened with a mocking grin and headed towards the stairs.
"Silver!" Jim surprised himself by calling out to him, much as he did on his first night on deck, the night of his first dealings with Scroop. However, this time, Jim looked Silver in the face and said with almost as much reluctance, "Thank you …for everything."
Silver kept a small smile on his face for a brief moment and turned back, "T'aint nothin', Jimbo," he murmured. "T'aint nothin' at all."
Jim lay back as Silver moved out of sight and allowed himself a contented look, "Damn old cyborg," he murmured and fell asleep with a smile on his face.
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