Crew
By day six, Morse was bored, restless, annoyed, and 'cabin fever' didn't even begin to cover it. The doctor, DeBryn, he reminded himself, meant well by keeping him below deck, but he'd spent far too much of his life locked up in confined spaces, and now that he suddenly realised that he didn't have to…
Well.
Salty air had never felt so good.
Most of his injuries were even healed, angry bruises fading from purple and blue to green and yellow. Shallower wounds on his arms and chest had closed up completely, and the few deeper marks on his back that had required stitches were now more irritating than helpful. Even his sprained wrist, the only reason that DeBryn had for keeping him inside, was no longer as weak and sore.
In short, Morse was more than ready to re-join the land of the living, even if they were pirates and he was sort of technically their prisoner? He thinks. He isn't entirely sure, to be honest, and doesn't want to ask in case they suddenly remember that he's not one of them and throw him in the brig.
The doctor still insists that he's part of their crew, a guest, as such, and that he'll be left go as a freeman once they reach port.
It sounds too good to be true.
But DeBryn was being surprisingly kind to him, despite his scathing wit, but in that regard, at least, Morse could hold his own. The man gave him three meals a day, provided intellectual conversation from time to time, and hadn't so much as raised his voice once, even when a particularly acerbic jab was sent his way. It was almost as if he actually liked talking to him, and Morse couldn't help but feel like the other shoe was bound to drop soon. The doctor was a pirate, after all, so shouldn't he be swearing and yelling and hitting?
In fact, the only piratey-thing that he'd seen yet was the captain.
Captain Peter Jakes.
One of the most feared men on the seven seas.
Bastard.
Morse sighed and leant more heavily against the ships railing.
Captain Peter Jakes was a right bastard. He was loud and abrasive and rude. He was violent and angry and oh so very bitter. He was…
Interesting.
It had been a long time since Morse had found something interesting.
The strange man had honestly scared him the first time they met, standing and smoking and sneering at him until he could do nothing else but lash out. Jakes could have killed him in a flash if he'd wanted to, and oh how he'd wanted… But then he'd left. Just like that. Taking his righteous anger and suffocating arrogance with him.
Morse didn't see him again until the very early hours of the next morning, when the moon was high in the sky and the ship was at its most silent. He'd waited for DeBryn to go to bed, counted to nine-hundred in his head, and then quietly slipped from his cot into the crisp night air above deck.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside.
Morse had been alone for all of thirty minutes before he arrived. Surprisingly, he hadn't been yelled at, or told to go back to his cabin, and even more surprisingly, they'd actually had a somewhat civilized conversation.
Jakes looked different in the moonlight.
He made a striking figure, standing at the edge of his ship, lean linen-clad legs, black shirt offsetting pale skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds and made all that more startling beneath the shadow of his hat. He was quite remarkable looking during the day, but there and then, in the depts of darkness, he was something else entirely. Between his hollow features and deep-set eyes, the shadows of the moon had made his face look more like skull.
But then Jakes spoke, and he spoke well. He had a decent sense of humour, didn't argue with him again, and was almost considerate about what he said. He had no discernible accent, with only his sharp t's and clipped r's giving away his Englishness. But years at sea had worn away any distinguishing features that would narrow it down to a specific place. Given the fact he wasn't much older than Morse, and yet had been a pirate long enough for that to happen, as well as the fact that he wasn't just a pirate, but a pirate captain, meant that he must have started when was young. Really young. And he couldn't help but wonder why.
Captain Peter Jakes was an imposing figure before he even opened his mouth, and Morse wanted to reach inside of him and wrench that façade apart to see who was underneath.
Running a hand through his hair, he breathed in the sea salt and felt the rushing wind and couldn't even be annoyed at how cold it'd gotten.
If the doctor knew he kept sneaking out like this, he'd probably throw a fit.
But since he wasn't allowed to do anything but sleep during the day, Morse figured he might as well embrace his new-found freedom at night, while DeBryn was none the wiser.
He'd half expected a reprimand the first morning after he'd stood at the rails, but the doctor hadn't said anything and Morse didn't mention it either. Perhaps it was too early for Jakes to have told him.
By the next day, he still hadn't been yelled at, and Morse started to wonder if the pirate captain was keeping his secret safe.
By day four, he was convinced that, for whatever strange reason, the man really wasn't going to tell DeBryn about his night-time wanderings, and for that, he felt absurdly grateful.
Jakes even re-joined him at the old wooden railing some nights, though they never spoke to each other again. Sometimes they'd stand there for hours without so much as a solitary word, just staring at the sea and the stars. Others times, Jakes would only stay for a few minutes, as if confirming to himself that Morse was, in fact, still alive and hadn't frozen to death in his flimsy shirt in the middle of the Atlantic.
The silence was strangely… comforting, in a sense. Morse hadn't expected it to be, given how much of his life he'd already spent in silence, but with the crashing waves and creaking ship, it was surprisingly peaceful.
Sometimes Jakes stared at him with something indiscernible in his eyes, and Morse felt horribly seen. It was almost as if the man knew what his past life had been like, despite their vastly different backgrounds. But then again, living as a pirate wasn't exactly easy either, so chances were that Jakes had been beaten up a time or two before.
Morse really didn't know anything about the captain, and he knew even less about pirates.
Oddly enough, it was that first revelation that bothered him the most.
The next morning rose bright and clear, the perfect day for sailing, and even the doctor was in a good mood from it. He entered the room whistling, and smirked at Morse's resulting scowl.
"You won't be looking like that for long, once you've hear what's on the agenda for today".
"More sleep?" He guessed sarcastically, "Ooh, maybe even a power nap!"
DeBryn rolled his eyes at him but didn't take the words to heart.
"Well, if you really want to stay here, then I suppose I can't stop you-"
"Stay?" He asked sharply, "As in the opposite of go?"
"As in it's about time you got some fresh air, your wrist is healing nicely, and the crew are curious to meet you".
"They're curious to- what?!"
DeBryn's smile only widened.
"One of the lads overheard your row with the captain the other day, and considering that no one onboard dares to raise their voice at him… Well, news travels fast, and even faster on a pirate ship".
"So, I'm a- a what? A circus act?"
"More like a novelty. It'll wear off soon".
"Once I speak to them, you mean?"
"You do have a certain charm about you".
"Derisive sarcasm?"
"That too".
Morse stared at him. DeBryn stared back. They both smirked.
"Well, no time like the present" the doctor announced, clapping his hands together, "So up you get, there's a fresh linen shirt in the cupboard, and I'll meet you outside the door".
Most of the crew were in the mess for breakfast, and thankfully DeBryn agreed with him when Morse said he'd rather not do this all at once. So, in the meantime, he was given a tour of the ship, and wisely kept his mouth shut when he was shown the quarterdeck for the 'first' time. The Cowley, its name, looked a lot different in the pale sunlight, made of shiny red wood and deep blue paint. At the front of the ship, the bow, DeBryn called it, was a large wooden carving of an ox, painted the same shade of red as the timber, with white eyes and horns. Apparently, it'd been there since the ship was first built, three captains' ago. The doctor only vaguely remembered the man, a short stout fellow named Bright, but command had quickly fallen to his successor after he'd been killed in battle. He had a lot more stories about Thursday, but said they were only fit for fireside musings, and the crew could tell them better than him anyway.
After the bow spirit came the forecastle deck, then the forecastle itself, the main deck, and finally the steering wheel and the quartermaster's deck. He also found out that no one but the helmsman and the captain himself were allowed to set foot on it.
Whoops.
Directly below it was the captain's quarters, strictly off limits, and the next level down had the gun deck and the infirmary. The base of the ship was used for storage, both food, rigging, and ammunition alike, and in the middle of these two decks lay sleeping quarters and the gallery.
"Or mess" DeBryn added, "Depending on who you talk to. But either way, its where we eat. Hearty breakfast, solid dinner, with something lighter in between".
Emerging back above deck, Morse blinked as he was blinded by the bright sunlight and wondered how the crew managed it daily.
"Oi, matey!"
Morse automatically flinched back as a large shadow suddenly blocked out the sun, and it was only DeBryn's steadying hand on his shoulder that stopped him from running completely.
"Jim" He greeted calmly.
Morse blinked again, adjusted to the light and his own racing heartbeat, and found a tall heavy-set man standing in front of him.
A man who was currently staring at him in surprise.
DeBryn quickly cleared his throat.
"Ah, Jim, this is Morse".
The man nodded.
"Strange".
He couldn't help but bristle.
"What is?"
"I am" He replied, "Me. My name. Jim Strange".
That was one word for it.
"Jim's our quartermaster" DeBryn explained, "And usually Helmsman, too. He keeps things running around here".
"Oh. Right. Uh, nice to meet you, I guess".
Strange grinned, "You as well, matey, though I have to say, you're looking an awful lot better than the last time I saw you".
"The last time you-?"
"He carried you onboard" the doctor said quietly, "After the captain found you".
"The captain found me?!"
"He didn't… tell you?"
"No, he-"
Morse took a deep breath and willed his face not to turn any redder.
"We didn't exactly talk much".
"Ah, yes, the infamous shouting match" Strange said, rocking back and forth on his heels, "I don't know whether to punish you or to congratulate you".
"Why?"
The man stopped, confused.
"What do you mean why?"
"Why would you have to punish or congratulate me?"
He blinked owlishly, mouth open, before turning to Debryn who merely sighed and shook his head.
"… Because I'm your quartermaster" He finally said.
"You're not my anything".
"You're part of this crew".
"No, I am very much not".
Strange, if possible, looked even more thrown, and gaped in response, as if the idea of being unwillingly forced onboard a pirate ship and not being happy about it was… well… strange.
DeBryn cleared his throat once more.
"We're working on it".
Working on what? Morse wanted to demand, hating the feeling of having missed something, but the larger man simply nodded once before stepping back. The sunlight reached Morse once more, and he basked in its warmth.
"Right. Well then, matey, most of the crew are still eating, but there's a few I can introduce you to".
As if on cue, a mischievous lad suddenly dropped from the rigging above them, and landed gracefully on the balls of his feet.
"Starting with this little monkey" Strange grinned, clapping him on the back, and Morse internally winced at the force of it.
The boy, however, remained standing, and brushed back overly long hair from his smirking face.
"Morse meet George Fancy, Fancy meet- Hang on, you didn't give me your first name".
"I know".
There was a beat of awkward silence, before the quartermaster pushed on.
"Okay, well, Morse this is Fancy, Fancy this is Morse".
The boy held out a large hand which he reluctantly shook.
"George is our primary rigger, and does a bit of carpentry when needed".
"Has the doc shown you around?"
Morse nodded silently, but his grin still didn't fade.
"Great! You're with us till port then?"
"Something like that".
Strange smiled at the pair of them, obviously completely misconstruing the scene as one of fast friendship instead of overeager puppy and long-suffering prisoner.
"George, why don't you tell Morse about the ship, daily jobs, roles, that sort of thing, while I talk to the doctor for a minute?"
Oh no.
"'Course! Come on, Morse, I'll show you what I do".
"Please don't".
The boy paid him no attention and instead grabbed hold of his wrist, ignored the resulting flinch, and started to tug him towards the main deck. He gave the doctor a begging look, but DeBryn simply smirked and patted him on the shoulder as he was dragged past.
"You'll be fine. Make a few friends, have fun, and don't overstrain yourself too much".
"They're pirates!"
"And for now, so are you" He replied jokingly, "About time you met your cohorts".
It took an entire twenty minutes for Morse to recover from the doctor's betrayal, and when he zoned back in, Fancy was in the dept of discussion about the different types of knots he used to secure the sails.
"-and this one is called a bowline and it's my favourite because no matter how tight it becomes after being loaded for a while, it can always be easily untied, which is a super advantage during storms when your fingers keep slipping cause of the rain!"
Was he seriously this cheerful about everything?!
"Then this one is called a stopper knot, and it's not that good for manning the sails but it's great for keeping a line from pulling through a block or rope clutch, not to mind-"
"Fancy!"
Morse breathed a silent sigh of relief and turned to face the oncoming pirate, a short slight figure with knee-high boots and a cutlass swaying from their belt.
"The captain wants you. Now".
"Hello to you too, dearest" He muttered, "Have you met Morse?"
"Now, Fancy".
The boy shrugged, "Alright. But keep an eye on him, would you? Where's the Sarge?"
"Where do you think?"
Morse followed his gaze to the opposite side of the ship, and felt a sudden jolt as he realised Jakes was staring back at him from the helm. It was too far away to make out his eyes, and the sun and his hat cast a shadow over most of his face, but Morse had the most vivid feeling of being flayed alive by that gaze.
"Right. I'll see you later".
The moment that Fancy struck forwards, Jakes turned away, and Morse was left strangely bereft. Shaking his head at himself, he glanced over at the man who'd be left in charge of him, and-
What.
He blinked.
Blinked again.
And then a third time for good measure.
The pirate grinned cheekily at him, tipping back the customary hat to reveal long blonde hair that cascaded down in waves and a youthful face and brilliant chestnut coloured eyes.
"You're a pirate?" He blurted, "But you're-"
"I'm what? A woman?"
He flushed, "I was actually going to say that you're... young".
"Oh".
Her thunderous expression immediately cleared.
"Right. Well. Yes. I mean, so are you, and- and Fancy's only a year older".
"Seems an unexpected choice for someone like yourself".
"What is someone like myself?"
She was determined to catch him out and Morse couldn't help but smirk.
"I don't know... Bright, I suppose".
"What are bright girls supposed to do? Marry well?"
"Oh, I... I just meant it can be a pretty grim kind of a calling".
"Maybe I like grim".
He found himself smiling at the quick banter, and she returned it readily.
"Morse" He said suddenly, and her smile widened, "I know. The captain's newest adversary".
"Has everyone heard about that?"
"If not in person, then definitely in rumour".
He ducked his head as his cheeks flushed unwittingly, and she laughed, pulling back her hair and replacing the hat. It was like building a mask. With her hair tied up, the brilliant sheen was hidden, and when the tricorn went on top, it revealed nothing. Her features were fragile but androgynous, and between that and the boyish clothes, Morse would be hard pressed to tell her from one of the lads.
"I'm Shirley, by the way. Shirley Trewlove".
"So… what is it you do here?"
She grinned, wide and brilliant, and suddenly didn't look so fragile anymore.
"I'm the gunner".
He stared.
"... I'm sorry, you're the-"
"The gunner" She repeated, "I'm the one who makes things go boom".
Over the next hour, Morse quickly realised that she wasn't fragile at all. She was downright terrifying.
"So, this is where you disappeared to".
Morse jumped and turned guiltily as DeBryn and Strange made their way over.
After their rather rememberable introduction, Trewlove had dragged him below deck to the gunnery and started lecturing about the ins and outs of canon fire. She was a surprisingly good teacher and he actually found the topic engaging in a way that Fancy hadn't been able to achieve. It had been a long time since he'd learnt something after all, and even if this wasn't Oxford and Shirley wasn't a professor and he didn't have so much as a pencil, let alone any paper or books, he was genuinely interested.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but given DeBryn's disapproving look and Strange's less-than-blinding smirk, they'd missed lunch.
"And just what, exactly, do you think you're doing?"
Morse glanced down at the barrel of gunpowder he was elbows deep in with a stack of pistols at his feet, and tried his best to look innocent.
"Not overstraining myself?"
"Morse".
"Not overstraining myself too much?"
"Morse".
"Hey, you're the one who said to make friends!"
"Oi!" Trewlove snapped, "Don't pin this on me, you landlubber! I didn't know you were under doc's orders".
"And where the hell did you think I was for the past week? Hiding in the captain's quarters?"
"Well, given his preference-"
"TREWLOVE!"
They both turned back as Strange took a sharp step forward.
"That's enough. To your station. Now!"
"Yes sir" She muttered, flashing Morse a quick smile as she passed to say there were no hard feelings.
His own escape wasn't so lucky.
"Come on" DeBryn said, "Back to the infirmary with you".
"But-"
"Now, Morse. I need to check your stitches".
He fought back a scowl and stalked past them, making his way for the infirmary door at the other end of the ship. He sat down on the cot, already mourning the fresh air and, shockingly, the company. He quite liked Trewlove, and given time, he was sure that he'd grow to… well… maybe not like Fancy, but at least tolerate him.
It would take him a while to get used to that much perkiness.
He was surprised when Strange followed him in after DeBryn, and his mind unintentionally flashed back to what the man had said about punishment and how he'd disobeyed the doctor by working with Trewlove. He felt his breath catch and automatically gripped the edge of the cot to try and hide his shaking hands.
"Morse?"
He was a large man, and a pirate at that. Trained to fight, to hit, to cause pain and he was definitely heavy handed, he'd seen that when he clapped Fancy on the back.
"Morse".
The thought of that same hand coming towards him, crashing down on his head and chest and arms and being too slight too light too weak to stop it until-
"Morse!"
His head was unceremoniously shoved between his legs and he suddenly gasped for breath.
"That's it, nice and easy" came DeBryn's voice, "Breathe, Morse, slow down and breathe".
His head was spinning and he clenched his eyes shut tight to try and stop the white flashes that swam across his vision. There was a steadying hand on his knee and another warm on the back of his neck, and he was grateful he knew where they both were because the last thing he needed right now was to wonder what the doctor's other hand was preparing to do to him.
"Deep breaths" He said, "Calm down, you're safe, you're not in trouble, nothing is going to happen to you. Take your time and breathe".
It took a long long few minutes for him to regain control of his own bloody lungs, and Morse mentally cursed in every language he knew that he'd shown weakness to the doctor. And to Strange. Who was still in the room.
The quartermaster was standing in the corner, the door shut next to him, looking bewildered and rather awkward, hunched over as he was in order to fit in the stoop.
His obvious discomfort made Morse feel a bit better.
"There you go" DeBryn said quietly, slowly releasing him, "Better?"
He quickly nodded, running tired hands over his face, feeling strangely hollow.
"Yea, yea, I'm… I'm good. Thanks. And, um… sorry, for… you know".
"I do" He agreed, taking a seat on the old wooden stool across from him, "But you don't have to apologise, Morse. What I'd like you to do, is tell me what triggered it so we know what to avoid in the future".
"It was nothing. Really. Just… me being irrational… as usual".
He gave a self-depreciating smile.
"I doubt that. And it very much was something" DeBryn replied calmly, "You don't have to tell me, but it would be in your best interest… Was it something I said?"
"Not you" He blurted out, before he could think better of it, and his eyes flashed to Strange in fear of rebuttal.
Unfortunately, the doctor caught the look and his mouth opened in a silent oh. He stood up slowly, very obviously slowly, but thankfully didn't move any closer to him. Instead, he turned to Strange.
"Ginger and turmeric, wasn't it?"
The man startled, clearly having subjected himself to waiting until whatever the hell just happened was dealt with, but quickly recovered and stepped out from under the stoop. Morse straightened up just a little bit too sharply, and although he got an odd look for it, neither man mentioned it.
"Yes, please, doc. You have enough?"
"Should last till we port, anyway" He replied with a smile, "So you're safe. Is that all you're here for?"
"Yes, thank you".
He hummed and nodded, and Morse found himself slowly starting to relax once more.
Strange was here for the herbs. That was it. Just the herbs. Not for him, not for punishment, not for-
The man in question saw him staring and took another step closer.
He forced himself not to flinch.
"You alright, matey?"
"… Yea. Yea, yes, of course, sorry".
"Hey, it's like the doc said, there's nothing to be sorry for... We all have our own demons".
It was a rather profound statement for someone so… muscular.
"Why don't you take my seat while I get this ready?" DeBryn said, making his way to the cupboards against the far wall, "Once you're gone, I'll see to Morse".
"Oh right" He sat down, almost comical looking on the small stool as he turned back to him, "Sorry for the delay, matey. I've been on guard the last few nights. It's playing havoc with my…"
He gestured at his stomach and Morse could have cried from relief.
"I think I can live without the details of your digestive timetable".
It was real, it was the truth, they were both telling the truth, he really did need the herbs it wasn't just a trick or a ply to lull him into a false sense of security it was real he wasn't being punished it was real it was real it was-
"Listen, matey, while I'm here-"
He swallowed thickly and brace himself.
"-I think we should talk about what Trewlove said earlier".
Strange leant forwards so his arms rested on his knees. His gaze met Morse's confrontationally, but was more apprehensive than hostile.
"She's a smart girl; one of our best, but sometimes… well, she has a habit of speaking her mind, and it's not always for our benefit".
Now that his fear was gone and his pulse was slowly, Morse found himself somewhat curious about where this conversation was going.
"You made a joke about being in the captain's quarters, and she mentioned his… preference".
Strange's gaze bore into his own, as if trying to drill the solution of this weird topic into his mind. A few seconds passed without another word, and Morse realised that that was exactly what the man was trying to do and now it was up to him to reply.
"… And?"
Succinct, as always.
"Well, you… you know what she was referring to, matey, don't you?"
"The captain's preference?"
"Yes".
"Yes".
Strange opened his mouth, closed it again, and then gave him a look as if to say he was being particularly stupid.
"You said that you could have been in his quarters. Trewlove said that it would… shall we say… agree with his preferences… You do know what she was implying, right?"
Morse shrugged, "He likes men".
Strange winced at the bluntness but nodded.
"So, what of it?"
"It doesn't… bother you? Knowing that our captain lays with other men? That isn't a problem for you?"
On the rickety table, DeBryn had become suspiciously silent, no longer cutting the plants that he held in his hands, and Morse distantly wondered that if the man had to decide between killing his patient or degrading his captain's honour, which one would he choose.
Luckily for him, he'd never have to made that decision.
"I don't see why it should bother me" He replied, "Is it a problem for you?"
"What? No! Of course not!" He leant back, as if blown away by the assumption, "I just wanted to make sure that you- I mean, it's just- Well, you see, matey, I- That is, we- we- we have a-"
"A live and let live policy onboard this ship" DeBryn finished, turning back around to face them, "If you have a problem with who the captain likes, then you're kicked off. Likewise, he doesn't say anything about our partners. As long as everything's legal and consenting, then… well, as I said, live and let live".
"Glad we're in agreement, then" Morse replied evenly, and after another moment of the doctor searching his expression for any hint of deceit, he nodded once and smiled.
Strange also grinned, standing once more, "Good to know we won't have any problems, matey".
"About this, at least" DeBryn teased him, before handing out a small bottle, "Your medicine, Jim".
"Thanks doc. See you later, Morse".
With a tip of his hat, he left, and the doctor turned back to the younger man once more.
"Now so, lets about those stitches, shall we?"