Chapter 10: Of Veracity and Sincerity

A period of silence ensued while each of us took a position behind our lopsided longboat for cover, in case it was necessary. I gripped my rifle and glanced over the port side. I couldn't see the pirates' longboat anymore, and feared that they had landed. Frustrated and weary, I hit the butt of my gun upon the ground and, battling through the knife in my side, observed hoarsely, "We need a more defensible position."

I mentally looked over our options. We hadn't many: so far, we knew very little of the landscape we were marooned on, and our entire arsenal consisted of one rifle and a little flintlock. I considered sending the Doctor out to survey the terrain, and perhaps to find a better position of defense, but as I drew a breath my side received an intense stinging sensation, and I exhaled, feeling it strike up and then melt into a heavy throb. I admitted to myself that I might need the Doctor; my side had never behaved so badly before, but that left us with no choice but to remain at the longboat and wait like sitting ducks for the pirates to find us, for there was no one else to send.

Mr. Hawkins was sitting glumly beside me, stroking the now quite regretful looking morph, seemingly in some deep thought. I stared blankly ahead of me, wondering whether it was better to just send the Doctor forth and keep the boy out of potential danger to face alone. The Doctor's words came back to me: his mother would be very upset if anything was to happen to him, and I found that I couldn't blame her. But then his battle for the map returned to my memory. He had been determined in his attempt to retrieve the map, and although unsuccessful, he had proven that he could be independent, and a quick thinker besides. And Silver hadn't shot him. I reckoned up with a certain amount of optimism that we held a marvelous factor that worked to our advantage: Silver's weakness was on our side.

I trusted Jim. He was a good man in his line. "Mr. Hawkins," I said through the pain in my side, handing him the flintlock. "Scout ahead."

Jim took the weapon impassively and checked its priming. "Aye, Captain," he replied, and rose to his feet.

I attempted so as well, but the pain in my side objected bitterly, sending fiery needles up and down my left rib. I crumpled, crying out, and landed into the Doctor's ready arms. He eased me onto the ground again, murmuring quietly to me, and when he had propped me against the longboat he took a deep breath and sighed, "Now… let's have a look at that."

Mr. Hawkins took his leave.

I forced an amused smirk. "A look at what?" I asked shortly, easing off the boat as gingerly, but as nonchalantly as I could. The Doctor kneeled before me and poked his glasses. "A look at your side, Captain. I think you might have hurt it."

"Ah. Well, there's a monumental conclusion in that, Doctor," I told him with bland sarcasm, fighting passed the choke overtaking my voice, "and I congratulate you for your cleverness—but I think even the morph knows I'm injured, so there's really not much necessity for you to confirm it—" I could not force any more than that, for the pain in my side flared angrily, and I had to clench my teeth rather suddenly to prevent myself from too large a reaction to it. I really couldn't understand why I was being so obstinate; was not the Doctor attending to any injuries the reason I'd sent Jim ahead and not him? Still, I couldn't stand seeming weaker than I had made myself appear, and the Doctor looked worried behind his little gold-framed spectacles, and I'd convinced myself long ago that the last thing I wanted was pity.

The Doctor leaned forward in an all-out crouch when my sentence cut short for the pain, and he evenly distributed his weight upon his hands and knees so that his face was level with mine.

"Captain…" he cautioned earnestly.

I dropped back against the longboat. The pain in my side was a roaring conflagration. "Have at it," I relented.

He rose up from his hands to his knees again and scooted toward me. Then, rubbing his nape, he said, "…If-if you'll forgive me… Unbutton your… coat."

I obliged to this, casting my eyes down to my middle to undo the three buttons lining the front of my uniform. Underneath I wore a white shirt, and when my coat was completely undone, I attempted to twist round, wondering if perhaps any blood had stained its side.

"Th-there isn't any blood," the Doctor assured me when he saw me turn to my left. "Try not to move any more than you have to, Captain. I can handle it from here."

So I lay still, feeling foolishly helpless. The Doctor came quite close to me and leaned forward, pulling the end of my shirt out from under the belt of my pants. I looked up at his face, but his eyes were concentrated upon my side. I looked away.

"It hurts when you speak, does it not, Captain?" he inquired somberly, and I suddenly felt his fingers slide underneath my shirt and press gently against my left side. It surprised me only a moment, but for that moment I sat dumbly, distracted mindlessly by his touch. The tips of his fingers felt smooth and warm, like marble pressing gently along my rib. I absorbed myself in it, sitting helplessly as it became a sensual inundation, until at last I fought to pry myself from the sensation. Had he asked a question? Yes, he had—and quickly I brought my heavy focus to his inquiry, bringing me round from the dizzying concept that he was touching my skin.

Answering his question did not occur without some hesitation. I'd never had one wish to show the Doctor that I could get hurt. He'd seen that I was susceptible to vulnerability already, and I couldn't reveal it to him again. I'd embarrassed myself enough in front of him.

"No…" I replied slowly, "it doesn't hurt, not unbearably—"

The knife in my side stabbed so forcefully and so suddenly that I could not catch myself, and a cry escaped me before I could stifle it. The Doctor's reaction to this was, for the most part, subtle, which I greatly appreciated. The largest reaction he had was in his fingers, of which I was still acutely aware: when I cried out, he snapped them from my side.

"Doesn't it?" he asked from me again, this time a bit more forcefully, and I clenched my teeth behind unopened lips in frustration. He watched me for a moment as I sat stoically, struggling a little to take in ragged breaths. Eventually I regained the ability to breathe normally, and his fingers once more began to press my rib, slowly, reviving the sensuous stupidity it rendered in me.

"Feel free," he informed me dully, after another short pause had been allowed to pass between us, "to tell the truth whenever you like." I glared at him, and he added almost gently, looking at me, "I'm not here to pass judgment."

I remained inarticulate; I felt I had already answered his question quite sufficiently.

He chuckled softly. "How long has it been since you've shown even the slightest evidence of frailty?"

I looked back up at him incredulously. "Twenty-four years", I replied exaggeratedly, deciding to disregard the performance I gave him when Mr. Arrow was lost, and added sharply, "And I'll thank you for keeping your comments out of—"

But at that very moment the Doctor's fingers pressed down against the location of my injury, and I again had to stifle a cry.

"A fracture… Perhaps even a broken rib, I think," the Doctor diagnosed in an indifferent sort of way, removing his fingers from my side. "Better not talk unless absolutely necessary, Captain, so as to prevent the possibility of a punctured lung."

I stared at him wildly, as though I expected that simply from being under my glare the Doctor would liquefy and melt away. "If I don't speak," I coughed out, "then how am I supposed to communicate my commands to you or Mr. Hawkins? Like it or not, Doctor, we're in a less than secure situation, and—"

"—and like it or not," the Doctor broke in, to my great astonishment, "we will have to muddle through without you making so much as a peep."

My jaw dropped perceptibly before I thought to shut my mouth. I was by now very much appalled. "Was that a facetious comment I heard venture out of you? I could have you in for insubordination, Doctor, but I shall pretend I didn't hear it so long as you will drop this ridiculous nonsense—"

"Captain, stop talking."

"I have to talk if I'm to guide any of us out of this mutiny!"

"I don't think you're in any condition to do so much—"

"I shall be the judge of that!"

With that my side roared in protestation, and I felt myself tense at the pain that ran along my rib. Quieting, I leaned back against one of the thwarts in the longboat and breathed sharply. The pain did not dispatch for some time, and I remained in that position for the duration, with the Doctor kneeling beside me, and the realization that perhaps I was more incapacitated than what I wanted to believe beating severely over me. I felt humiliated, and quite upset that I should bear humiliation, and was quick to direct my frustration at what I considered to be the one to blame. The Doctor had, after all, proposed the preposterous idea that I should sit quietly while my crew rebelled in wait for my side to heal. What would he do without me? Without my guidance, without my help? I felt it safe to assume that if the pirates attacked, he would have little better an idea of what to do than if a ship he was sailing underwent some minor turbulence in its flight. He would panic, and fall short of experience, and meanwhile I would be sitting there like a doll with the decree not to deliver so much as a peep. Oh, well, I thought, let him feel in control. Let him feel useful and intelligent in his declarations. He would find that he was wrong and I was right when the pirates took us prisoner, tied us and gagged us and marooned us here while they stole off with their trillions of gold.

But as I thought of all this, a strange indignation took hold of me. It was a feeling that, despite the revelation it would bring to prove he was wrong, I didn't want to see the Doctor fail in so important an endeavor. I found that underneath it all, I was in every truth quite worried for the Doctor.

After a long time, the Doctor moved to his vest. "Here," he said simply. I looked back up at him.

He pulled from the inside his vest a long piece of white cloth, which was almost a dishtowel in appearance, but was actually comprised of much finer material. He lifted the thin piece of cloth to present it to me as if he were giving me a casual gift, and then inched forward and draped it about my neck.

"What in the world are you doing…?" I asked him, still owning a rather poisonous tone of voice. The Doctor looked at me. "Hush. Don't ask. It isn't necessary."

I sat silent as I was bidden and let the Doctor take my left arm gently from my side and tie a knot with the two ends of the cloth around my forearm, creating a sling for my arm. I looked at him again, raising an eyebrow, and he explained to me, "A sling… I thought it would help to keep your arm off your side. It… looked as though… Well, I find it probable that it hurts you a little when your arm rests on your injured side."

Upon thinking back, I recalled with slight, irritated amusement that I had moved my left arm as far away from my injured side as possible. I smiled just slightly, in spite of myself, as I stared at the manufactured sling. Perhaps the Doctor was more observing, or efficient, or even more vital than I had been giving him credit for. The Doctor twisted the new sling around until the knot he'd tied at my arm sat comfortably at my nape, and with that he sat back on his heels. I then thanked him. He looked, somewhat reprimanding, up at me, and I said slowly, "…It was necessary."

There was a long pause. We watched each other carefully, perhaps I more than the Doctor, and I was again stricken by the profound, eloquent dark of his eyes. We were sitting relatively close together, and for a brief period I found within myself a soft desire to move closer. This I never did, but as the long silence passed the Doctor scooted forward on his knees until he was quite close beside me behind the longboat. He took up the rifle and sat down, his knees out in front of him and the gun in his lap. He touched his glasses, and then looked at me. I noticed with a strange awe that if I'd moved only a breath's distance, our noses would have touched. It was a euphoric realization, but as soon as it had come it had gone, for the Doctor cleared his throat.

"I'll keep watch until Jim comes back. In the meantime, Captain… I want you to rest."

Sleep came easily to me.