Meet
Jakes scanned the charts in front of him, a cigarette in his mouth and three others burnt out in a glass bowl that had once belonged to a duke. He hadn't slept well, not liking the idea of a stranger aboard his ship, and now he was trying, and failing, to work out the maps in front of him. Their last sailing master, Box, had bailed out at the last port, the coward, and there was no one else on board who had any idea how the damn navigation structure worked.
Including the captain himself.
It wasn't as if the old drunk had been any good at this sort of thing either, all bravado and arrogance, but he at least knew enough to make sure that they didn't sail into any reefs or certain countries they wanted to avoid. He had been violent and loud, and Jakes had decided fairly quick that he'd learn what he could from the man and then kick him off. But Box didn't even last long enough for that to happen, and now here he was, down one man and endlessly sailing towards what he hoped was a port in the Caribbean where he could hire someone more qualified.
The crude map drawings hurt his head and the numbers made his eyes bleed.
Jakes swore loudly, and with one furious sweep of his hand, sent compasses and ship logs clattering to the floor below.
"Shall I come back some other time?"
He glanced over his shoulder as the door to the navigation room was cautiously opened, and DeBryn stepped in.
"No" He bit out, "I was done in here anyway".
"I can see that" He replied, looking around the destroyed room, "Was it always this messy, or are you just having a bad day?"
"Both!" He snapped, shoving past him, "If you want to talk then keep up".
The doctor looked like he was going to roll his eyes at him, but at the last minute held back, and Jakes felt like it was a good decision for both of them.
"I thought you might like to know how our resident unknown is getting on".
"You thought wrong".
"He's been here over twelve hours now, and you haven't visited him once".
Jakes kicked open the door to his quarters.
"Has he died?"
"No".
"Has he woken up?"
"Yes".
He paused, and glanced back at the doctor.
DeBryn gave him a knowing smirk.
"But he's yet to be lucid, if that's what you meant".
"You know full well that's exactly what I meant".
The older man sat at his table without asking, and Jakes bitterly realised that if anyone else in the crew so much as dared to think about doing so, he'd kick them out before they could even blink.
DeBryn was different, though.
DeBryn had known him as a teenager.
... It was kind of hard to be imposing and domineering to the man who'd seen him cry after his first breakup.
So, he poured them both a stiff drink, and then collapsed down in the chair across from him.
"He has no lasting injuries, thankfully, though it'll still be a few days, if not weeks, before he's back to full health".
He stared at him blankly.
"I don't care, doc".
DeBryn raised a single eyebrow.
"Too bad, Sarge".
Jakes sighed, heavily, and downed his glass in one.
"He has the usual scrapes and bruises you'd expect in a case like this. A few minor lacerations that'll heal quick enough if treated properly. No broken ribs from what I can tell, though I suspect two or three are bruised. The drugs, of course, were my main concern, but thankfully he seems to have shaken off the worst of the opium overnight. His right wrist is sprained, so I've wrapped it to speed up the healing process, but from what I can tell… he just needs time".
"Still don't care".
The older man continued as if he'd never spoken.
"He woke up, briefly, during the night, but wasn't altogether there. Started mumbling about heaven and hell".
"Oh Christ".
"Not quite" He smirked, "Milton, actually".
"What?"
"John Milton. Wrote Paradise Lost?"
Jakes stared at him.
"You're telling me he's half unconscious and half delirious and he starts quoting poetry?!"
"So it would seem".
He poured himself another drink.
"Oh good, here I was thinking he was a religious fanatic, when in fact, he's a far more basic lunatic".
"No more mad than you or I, Sarge".
"Not exactly reassuring, doc".
DeBryn smiled, either silently agreeing or unwilling to comment, before finally taking a sip of his own whiskey.
"Still though, quoting Milton by heart? He's clearly intelligent".
"Obviously not intelligent enough to escape".
"Were you?"
He gave him a sideways look, but the doctor refused to back away.
"… Our situations were different".
"Perhaps. Or perhaps not".
"Meaning?"
The doctor had an honest-to-god twinkle in his eyes.
"Meaning you won't know until you talk to the lad".
DeBryn's words stuck with him throughout the rest of the day, despite his best intentions on sorting out the navigation room. He wasn't going to go see the stranger yet, he couldn't, partly because he didn't want to but also partly because he'd be damned if he proved the doctor right.
Still though.
There was some truth in those words.
As uncaring as he made himself seem, there was still this tiny little corner in his heart that just ached for the boy. He tried to tell himself that it was human nature to care for wounded creatures, despite his traitorous mind constantly reminding him that he didn't sympathise with the boy; he empathised. It was a losing battle.
Either way, it meant that he eventually gave into the urge of wanting to see the stranger, but he made it a point to wait until everyone else was at dinner before doing so.
What DeBryn didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Jakes silently strode across the deck, glancing around once before ducking below and walking the length of the ship to the small infirmary room tucked in at the end. He opened the door slowly, knowing that the doctor was in the mess but remaining cautious just in case. Thankfully, DeBryn was nowhere in sight.
He quietly slipped into the room, glad to see that it was already well lit, the fading light outside contributing to the long shadows being cast across the wooden walls.
Jakes didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that the stranger was sound asleep on the rickety cot.
He stared at him for a moment, taking in the sun kissed skin and white bandages and tawny coloured hair. He looked strangely young, now that the blood and dirt had been cleaned away, but still older than Jakes had expected. Definitely late teens, but more likely early-to-mid twenties.
Old enough to leave the situation he'd been in, that's for sure.
Jakes scoffed and turned back to the door. He had no time for idiots, or do gooders either, so whatever reason the boy had for staying with people like those…
He shook his head. They were nothing alike. DeBryn had been wrong after all…
There was a first time for everything, he supposed.
He had one hand on the door handle and the other searching his pockets for cigarettes when he heard the rustle of sheets behind him.
Jakes froze.
There was a creak of wood, more movement of cloth, and then sudden silence as the boy no doubt caught sight of him.
Fuck.
He swallowed thickly and then reluctantly turned back to face the stranger.
Ocean blue eyes pinned him in place immediately.
Jakes felt his breath catch.
A reflection of the outside world stared back at him, endless and foreign, fathomless depths that betrayed nothing below the surface, capable of changing at any moment, a near exact replica of the Atlantic Ocean on which they sailed.
He could drown in that gaze.
"... Hello".
He quickly shook himself out of it.
"Wotcher".
"I..."
The boy trailed off as he glanced around the small room.
"... What am I doing here?"
"Healing, I'd hope".
"You're a doctor?"
Turbulent eyes latched onto his once more.
"No" He snorted, "Quite the opposite, in fact".
"... Did you bring me here?"
"My crew did. Not me".
"You're the captain".
He gave him an appraising look.
"And you're quite sharp".
The boy flushed and ducked his head, and Jakes was all too painfully aware of how similarly he had first reacted to positive reinforcement.
"I'm on your ship then?"
"Looks like it".
"... Thank you".
He sighed and pulled out a box of matches to light a cigarette.
"Don't mention it".
"No, I- I have to-"
"Hey" He snapped, "Really. Don't mention it".
He frowned.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want you to!" He scowled, "Christ, the last thing I need is rumours saying I've gone soft".
"Oh" He blinked, "Who are you, exactly?"
He took a long drag from the cigarette.
"Captain Peter Jakes" He smirked, "Perhaps you've heard of me?"
He took a special sort of delight in seeing the dozen emotions that flashed across the man's face in quick succession.
But, of course, the brat couldn't even do that like everyone else either.
Fear, hatred, and disgust he was well used to.
Shock and disbelief, he'd come across a few times.
But then there was this- this- curiosity that the stupid stupid brat finished with that was now getting on his nerves.
"What?!" He eventually snapped.
"Nothing!" He quickly replied, "I just... You're a pirate".
"So you have heard of me".
"Everyone's heard of you".
Jakes frowned.
"You know, somehow, that sounded suspiciously like an insult".
"As opposed to…?"
"A compliment. Obviously. Brat".
"I'm not a child so don't call me that!" He scowled, "And of course it was an insult, why the hell would I compliment you?!"
"I just saved your life!"
"Uh, no, actually, your crew just saved my life. You were very clear about that".
"I didn't have to let them. This is my ship".
"And last I heard, majority rules" He shot back, "You said 'crew', meaning more than one. Which means you're already outnumbered".
"You're talking of mutiny".
"Good of you to notice".
"I could have you hanged for that".
"After all your crew's hard work in keeping me alive?" He scoffed, "Like I said. Majority rules".
"My crew are loyal to me".
"Anyone can be loyal to an idiot".
Jakes drew himself up to his full height and took a threatening step forward, one hand clutching the cigarette too tightly, and the other resting on his cutlass.
If anything, this only spurred the brat on further.
"Go ahead" He said, gesturing at the weapon, "Let's see how well that works out for you".
He took a deep breath, tried to block out unhelpful thoughts of stormy sea eyes, and forced himself to remain somewhat calm.
"The second we reach land, you're off my ship".
"The second we see land, I'll swim".
They stared at each other, ocean and earth, neither man willing to back down.
"Who were they?"
It was a low blow, but Jakes never claimed to fight fair. He did feel slightly guilty, however, when the boy flinched back and immediately looked away.
"Who were who?"
"Don't play dumb with me".
"No, you've got that pretty much covered yourself".
"Were you sold to them?" He pressed, ignoring the muttered remark, "Traded, perhaps? Won in a game of Patience, was it?"
"Of course not!" He said hotly.
"Then who the hell were they?!"
He bit his lip and avoided his gaze, and Jakes wondered if he'd see actual water in those ocean eyes when the boy next looked up. He wanted to make a remark about his sharp tongue being the reason he was regularly beaten in the first place, but he also knew that that would definitely cause salty water to overflow, and for some strange reason, Jakes didn't want that to happen.
"Alright then. You don't want to say" He replied quietly, "Care to explain what they hold over you, instead?"
He remained silent.
"You weren't tied up, where we found you. Drugged to the gills, yes, but if that were your default state, then you'd be dead by now... You weren't physically being kept there".
"Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage".
That sounded like something DeBryn would say.
"Stone what?"
The boy gave a sad smile, but didn't answer.
"Look, they must have something on you, otherwise you wouldn't stay" He continued, "Unless you really are stupid, and just enjoy getting beaten on a regular basis".
"I wouldn't expect you to understand".
And wasn't that just ironic?
"Try me".
The boy slowly shook his head, and Jakes took a calming breath, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the side of the wooden door frame.
"Fine. Then I order you to tell me".
His head immediately shot up, and he felt vaguely pleased that the sea wasn't overflowing.
"What?"
"I order you" He repeated, "I'll even give you a choice. Question one or question two. Which do you want to answer?"
"Neither!"
"Sorry, not an option" He taunted, "Which is it to be? Who did it or why?"
"I don't have to answer you" He snapped.
"Yes, actually, you do. I'm in charge here-"
"Well, you're not in charge of me!"
Jakes paused, taking in his defensive stance and wild eyes. As bloody infuriating as the brat was, he couldn't help but feel somewhat glad that he still could talk back, despite everything he'd gone through. That spark was irritating, yes, but it was also reassuring. The boy could still fight. He wasn't a lost case yet.
"I'm in charge of you until we reach port".
"I didn't ask to be here".
"Would you rather I left you behind?"
"I- It's not- You're not in charge of me!"
"I'm your captain".
"You will never be my captain!"
His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, and when he spoke his voice was deadly quiet.
"Do you not have any idea who I am?"
The boy turned, glanced him up and down, and then smirked.
"A posh git in a tricorn?"
The sound of the slamming door reverberated throughout the ship.
Jakes forced himself to walk away, even as he drew his cutlass and vowed to strike down anyone who so much as looked at him in the immediate future. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he turned with a growl, both annoyed and relieved to find that it was DeBryn who appeared at the bottom.
Annoyed because he was one of the few people onboard that Jakes didn't actually want to kill.
And relieved because if it had been anyone else, then the unprovoked murder wouldn't have been good for the crew's morale.
"Sarge?" He asked, clearly concerned, eyes flickering between the infirmary door and his obviously furious stance.
"You better keep him in that room, doc" He snarled, storming past, "Or I swear to Christ I'll kill him myself!"