Talk
DeBryn cautiously entered the infirmary, unsure of what he'd find, but based on Jakes' fury, most likely a body. He was therefore pleasantly surprised when he found his patient not only still alive, but sitting up and staring out of the small porthole next to the cot. This was one of the few rooms below deck still high up enough to have some form of window, and he could see the blue ocean beyond.
Closing the door behind him, the boy startled, but then spun around, clearly furious, mouth partly opened in preparation of a verbal lashing, before suddenly stilling.
He blinked, straightened up, and then gave a sheepish smile.
"Sorry… I thought you were him".
"Him?" He asked mildly.
"The captain. Jakes, or whatever".
"You two didn't get along, then?"
"That's one way of putting it".
The boy turned back to the water, but DeBryn could tell that his attention was still firmly on the doctor, ready to listen to him, ready to react if necessary… ready to run.
It reminded him all too well of another traumatised young man he'd once stitched up, and he desperately hoped that the two of them would put their differences aside and actually talk.
"The Sarge can be… prickly" He admitted, gathering clean bandages and adhesive tape, "But he's a good man, and good to his crew".
"I'm not his crew".
"In his eyes, you are. And you will be, until we reach port".
The boy turned as he approached, his distrustful gaze the same colour as the world outside and making him look far far too young. Then his focus latched onto the supplies in his hands, and he relaxed marginally.
"You're the doctor".
"I am" He agreed, "Max DeBryn".
"Morse".
"Just Morse?"
"Just Morse".
He nodded in acceptance and held up the bandages, "May I?"
The boy, Morse, reluctantly nodded, and turned so the doctor wouldn't have to twist awkwardly to change the dressings.
"You said he's a good man, but he looked like he was going to kill me".
"He wanted to".
"And held himself back?" He said dryly, "How noble".
DeBryn frowned, "He's not… Captain Jakes is different than what you'd expect. Not half as wild as the rumours are, I assure you. He just... gets riled up easily, and he's not the best at expressing that anger".
Morse snorted, "He had a hand on his sword!"
"And yet he didn't draw it until after he'd left the room… Quite surprising restraint, on his behalf".
"Do you expect me to congratulate him for not killing me?!"
"Of course not" DeBryn replied, easily seeing now how the quick witted lad had managed to infuriate Jakes so much, "But dragging a stranger onto his ship makes him worry for the safety of his crew, as it should. You just happened to be the unfortunate soul he took that out on".
The boy was still unconvinced, so the doctor sighed as he finished unwrapping the old bandages, and waited until he had his full attention before speaking.
"Jakes may be ruthless, harsh, and occasionally violent… But he's not heartless" He swore, "He's not cruel, despite what you may think".
"How do you know?"
"Trust me".
"Why?!"
DeBryn paused, "Yes. Why, indeed… Fair enough, I suppose... But I first met that lad when he was just two weeks shy of eighteen".
Morse gave him a surprised yet curious look and he smiled in response.
"I know him" He said simply, "But you don't. And you don't know me. And you have no reason to trust either of us… But if you can't trust my actions, Morse, then at least trust my words".
"... He's not cruel?"
"Doesn't even come close".
The boy slowly nodded, not convinced by half but at least willing to give the captain the benefit of the doubt, and honestly, that's all DeBryn could hope for right now.
"Well then, let's move onto less tenuous topics, shall we?" He teased, picking up the new roll of bandages, "There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about".
He immediately tensed, obviously expecting the worst, and the doctor felt a sharp pang in his heart at the fearful defensiveness. That conversation would have to wait for another day.
"'The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven'".
Morse was surprised out of his apprehension, and his eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a moment.
"… Milton" He finally said, and DeBryn smiled, "You were muttering it, last night".
"I don't remember".
"You wouldn't. The amount of opium in your system made sure of that".
He made a face and scowled.
The doctor continued to work and patiently waited.
"… It wasn't even the drugs themselves" He suddenly said, "It was the- the bloody taste of them".
"Bitter".
He nodded, stormy gaze a mile away, and DeBryn thought it best to distract him.
"I'm more of a Donne man, myself. 'No man is an island', and all that".
"Rather an odd outlook for a pirate".
"Ah, but I wasn't always a pirate, now, was I?"
Morse finally turned back to him, restless tempestuous blue slowly settling into a smooth clearness.
"What were you? On land?"
"Well, I was always a doctor, but I used to focus more on anatomy".
"As in autopsy?"
"Pathology, if you will" DeBryn replied, smirking as the boy paled and seemed to shrink back.
"Squeamish, are we? You know, there's a word for people like you, Morse".
"Is there?"
"Necrophobic".
"A word for people like you too, I imagine" He replied evenly, "Anglo-Saxon, though, rather than Greek".
He found himself blinking in surprise, sure hands stilling as the boy gazed back at him with glittering eyes.
"… Not entirely a fool, then?"
"Not entirely".
DeBryn found himself full-on grinning as he taped the last bandage in place. It was rare he came across someone who had the same interest in poetry and classics as he did, and he could safely say that none of those people currently resided onboard. It was about damn time that he met somebody who could keep up.
"There" He said, giving a cursory glance over the rest of the wounds, "Those should be fine until tomorrow morning, but they're going to be tight and quite tender for the next few days. So, bed rest, and don't exert yourself overmuch".
"By doing what?" He asked wryly, "Yelling at the captain?"
And yet despite his amused tone, DeBryn couldn't help but feel like that was exactly what Morse was going to do.
It was late before Jakes left the navigation room that night. His argument with the brat had left him in a foul mood, bad enough for him to realise that it was safer for everyone if he just kept himself away from the rest of the ship. At least the tiny cupboard of a room was now somewhat ordered, though being honest, he had no idea if everything was in its right place or not. There was equipment that he'd never seen before, maps for oceans that even he didn't recognise, and curious drawings of sea monsters wrapped around various islands he now wanted to explore.
He yawned, stretched, and then blew out the candle on the desk as he stood. He could find his way around a ship blindfolded, which was helpful for dark nights like this. Making his way above deck, he stood for a moment, watching as dark clouds passed across the sky before finally revealing the moon. It cast a pale, almost ghostly, glow across the ship, making innocent roping look like serpents and barrels like looming assailants. He could just about see the glint of a spyglass from high up the main mast where tonight's lookout stood guard. Turning, he headed for his own quarters, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his bunk and sleep till dawn.
He was half way there when he saw him.
At the very edge of the quarterdeck, half hidden behind the helm and with both hands on the wooden railing, stood the boy.
The brat, Jakes quickly corrected, resuming his walk. The brat that was very much not allowed on his quarterdeck. He bypassed the door to his cabin, already mourning the loss, and instead climbed the three steps to march over to the stranger to yell.
But then he caught sight of the pure awe in his face, with the black ocean in front of him and the wind blowing through his hair, and Jakes distantly wondered when the boy had last been allowed outside.
His anger began to dissipate at the thought, and with every step he found himself becoming less and less annoyed and more and more… well… intrigued.
He stopped next to the boy, putting a safe three feet between them, and tried to see what he was seeing. He recalled old memories of when he'd first seen the beauty that was the Atlantic himself, and how amazed he'd felt when he first saw the ocean on a calm night. It wasn't difficult, staring at the endless stretch of liberty ahead of him, and Jakes found himself falling in love with the waves all over again.
The boy made no motion to leave when he saw him, keeping his gaze firmly on the swaying water in front of him, hands clenching and unclenching on the railing, strands of auburn hair flowing softly in the wind. Jakes knew that look, knew what freedom felt like for the first time, knew what it was to suddenly realise I'm my own person now and no one will ever take that from me again.
It was quite some time before either of them spoke.
"Morse".
Jakes turned at the sudden sound.
"My name" the boy explained, still not looking at him, "It's Morse… Figured you might as well know, since I'm apparently here for a while".
"No first name?"
"None that I care for".
"… Well, it's better than brat, I guess".
He didn't know what prompted him to joke with the boy, considering five hours previous he very much wanted to kill him, but he was glad that he did when he caught a flash of white teeth and moonlit eyes.
"I suppose I should call you by your given name as well, then, rather than what I've been calling you in my head".
"What have you been calling me in your head?"
"A right bastard".
The blatant admission startled a laugh from him, and Jakes was surprised himself by the sound. It had been a long time since he'd genuinely laughed.
"I should have you whipped for that".
"Gross insubordination, is it?"
"Something like that, yea".
Morse glanced over at him, a teasing glint in his limitless eyes, and Jakes had to fight back a smile.
"I told the doctor to keep you in the infirmary" He said, turning back to the ocean.
"DeBryn isn't my keeper".
"No" He agreed, "Your keepers are currently somewhere in the Atlantic and possibly dead".
The boy froze.
"… Possibly?"
He studied him closely.
"I assume you've heard of keelhauling?"
He looked vaguely sick. Jakes glared.
"What, don't tell me you think that they didn't deserve it?!"
"No, no, it's not that, I just-" He took a deep breath, "... I'm not a big fan of blood".
He stared at him.
And blinked.
Then snorted.
"I know" Morse sighed, "One of life's great ironies, huh?"
"I don't know, it could be worse. You could be scared of water, for instance. Or pirates".
"Well, sorry to break it to you, Captain, but you're just not all that scary".
He risked another look at the boy, but found his head tilted up at the stars. The clouds were clearing once more and the moon reflected in his eyes, turning the green-blue a far deeper navy, with glints of silver on the surface.
"Question one" Morse suddenly said.
"Question-?"
"Earlier on" He explained, "You told me to choose. Either answer question one, or question two… I pick question one".
"You don't have to-"
"My parents".
Jakes stilled, every bone in his body freezing even as his muscles tensed for a fight.
"What?" He asked quietly, voice deceptively mild.
"You ask who they were, who… did this. To me. They, um… they were my parents".
He shrugged, eyes firmly on the stars.
"Or, well, the man was, at least. My father, he, uh... Well, when I was about three, my mother took me and ran. I'm sure you can imagine the reason why. But then she died, and I was sent back to him. He'd remarried, by then, and Gwen was… Well, the evil stepmother and all that".
He gave a humourless smile.
"So, there you have it. The answer to question one. They were... are my parents".
"No they're not".
He was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice.
"What?"
"Your parents. No. They're. Not" Jakes repeated firmly, "Christ, Morse, if you even spent just one hour with-"
With Thursday.
With Win.
With Sam and Joan and-
"… Those aren't your parents, got it?"
He slowly, hesitantly, nodded.
"Good" He growled, "Those monsters don't even deserve to look at a child, let alone-"
He cut himself off once more and took a deep breath to try and calm down.
That itch was back, bubbling up from beneath the surface, wanting to hurt, wanting to harm, wanting to kill.
He settled for remembering that woman's screams as her husband's body was dragged over razor sharp barnacles instead.
It would have to do.
Morse abruptly straightened, and then all but threw himself forward, leaning so far over the edge of the railing that Jakes had to fight the urge to grab him by the scruff of the neck and yank him back.
"Look!" He exclaimed, "Over there! What is that?"
His voice was full of wonder, so Jakes decided it couldn't be something bad, and took his time trying to find whatever the hell the boy was so excited about in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the damn night.
Directly ahead of them, just beneath the surface of swelling waves, was a blue, luminous glow.
"What is that?!" Morse demanded, turning back to him, like a child who'd been given a puppy for Christmas.
"Dinoflagellates" He replied calmly, even as his heart swelled at the pure joy the boy now radiated.
"Dino what?"
"Dinoflagellates" He repeated, feeling a strange thrill at knowing something the younger didn't, "They're a type of plankton".
"But- But they can't be! They're glowing!"
So are you, Jakes wants to say.
"It's a broad term" He says instead, quickly looking away, "Used to describe pretty much every slow-moving creature in the sea. Only a few of them actually glow, however".
"There's more?!"
His eyes were as wide as saucers, sparkling like the shallow waters of the Caribbean.
"There's more" He confirmed, "Not many in these parts, though. They tend to prefer the coast".
He didn't think Morse was even listening anymore, attention firmly riveted on the bright blue glow they were slowly but surely sailing towards. Jakes continued to stare at him, wondering how different his own life would've been if he hadn't gotten out at fifteen. He'd never have met Thursday, that's for sure, and likely would've never taken to the sea.
He'd likely not have survived that long.
But Morse had.
And he at least deserved some amount of kindness for that, didn't he?
So, he keeps his mouth shut, leans forward to rest his arms on the old wooden railing, and watches the boy with ocean eyes.