It had been two days.

Two days with nights full of bad sleep, if you could even call it that, two days of wet clothes and backbreaking work, two days of the rolling, quasi-temperamental sea, but Jimmy was used to it all. So when his feet touched hard, dry, unmoving ground for the first time in over three months, Jimmy felt quite the stranger to it.

Stepping off the ramp and onto the worn decks of the New York City harbour, he let out a breath as if in relief, and uneasily scratched the back of his neck as if in answer to the itching, laboriously repressed memories that threatened to surface. Paranoia stealing in on him, he glanced behind him again towards the ship, taking in the shadows of the small crew moving about on board, tying up and locking down for the night instead of unloading their hold for the docks to take inventory.

They had arrived later then they had meant too; the sun was almost gone from the sky, creeping it's way slowly back beyond the line of the sea, and Jimmy felt he would like more then anything else to follow suit, to creep back beyond the waves and disappear. It was the end of the second day after the first storms began, and in retrospect, Jimmy thought that maybe they had made decent time after all, weather and plaguing conditions taken into account.

That was one thing Jimmy could do well and he knew it; read the sea. He could tell how long a storm was going to be when it was still a few hours off, could tell how hard the rain would fall and when the wind would switch directions. Jimmy wasn't much one for pride; he didn't compliment himself on anything and didn't feel like he was any better at anything else then anyone aboard the ship at one time. But reading the sea was the one thing he took pride in.

But now the winds had died and the rain had stopped; not a ripple in the stillness of the evening. He could feel it pressing down on him, making him jumpy and tense, the feeling of non-existent electricity thick on the air. Jimmy could still smell the faint hint of rain, and from the lingering dampness of the deck, he was safe to assume that there had been foul weather here, too.

Side-stepping quickly out of the way as a sailor off another vessel passed, carrying a large crate crammed full of what appeared to be spiny, ill-temper lobsters, Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair to loose some of the grit, replaced his hat, and momentarily wondered where he could find someplace to bathe. From the looks of it, the farther away from the port you got, the busier the streets became, and Jimmy knew that he had no idea where he was going to go once he got out of sight of the S.S. Venture.

He supposed he knew who he had to find, though the name didn't seem to want to surface, dancing around in the back of his head with such arrogance that Jimmy finally decided to ignore it all together. Besides, the city was huge, and Jimmy didn't even know if he lived here anymore; probably not anyway, people move and things change, and Jimmy was damned if he would count on anything being the same anymore.

Quickly scanning the upper deck once more for Englehorn, who he assumed would be looking for him right about now, needing something moved or put away, a rope tied or a sail drawn it, Jimmy slipped behind a precariously balanced pile of crates, presumable left behind by the last ship to dock in their port, and slipped into the gathering night, his footsteps echoing lonesomely off the surrounding galleys.

--

Englehorn watched in still silence as the inconspicuous shadow made it's way across and away from the docks, his eyebrows lowering subconsciously in acceptance, the expression laced with slight annoyance.

Hayes would have been able to stop the boy, once. A gentle hand on the arm, a guiding jerk to the wrist, and Jimmy would have been pulled back on course; back into what he knew. The city would scare him; the lights, the sounds, the people. New York was no place for someone to be alone, even more so a somebody like Jimmy. But the boy was stubborn, and would not admit to his fears, and Englehorn knew he'd press on towards whatever futile goal he was trying so desperately to accomplish out there in a world he knew nothing about. There was no point in stopping him; it would be like caging an animal, something that the boy had already been subjected to for too long.

Captain Englehorn had never had that same control with Jimmy as the kid's African mentor, more of a second father then anything else; when he couldn't get the annoyingly stubborn stowaway to do what he asked, to follow a certain order, it was always Hayes he called for to get the job done.

Sometimes, even after all the chiding and threats made in thickly veiled caution, Jimmy would still refuse the order, lips pursed and his strong jaw set, hands balled halfway into fists in silent defiance. Then Hayes would sigh and nod his head, waving a passive gesture at Englehorn before departing to do whatever task or chore Jimmy had decidedly refused. Then sure enough, as soon as Hayes was out of sight, Jimmy would relax, a strange sadness passing over his face as he rubbed at the dirt smears that always covered his cheeks while aboard a long voyage. It was like the defiance was a part of his nature that he hated, but couldn't help. The Captain was hard pressed to think of a time when after one of these confrontations, Jimmy did not go straight up to the deck to ask after the crew's jobs, often taking work away from others to have something to do himself.

Before, Jimmy had been easy to deal with in the long run; at least the boy was always doing something. But now Hayes had passed on, regretful as it was, and Englehorn knew he could no longer control him.