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Luckily for Morse, and the doctor's sanity, his stitches had held perfectly throughout his adventures with Trewlove. He was allowed to leave the infirmary again whenever he liked, but was under strict instructions not to strain himself any further. He was also given a curfew, which sucked, because the ship was ten times more beautiful at night than it was during the too hot days.
Morse found himself wandering the decks aimlessly every morning until he inevitably bumped into Trewlove or had to duck behind a mast to avoid Fancy. Strange, too, he tried to evade, usually without luck, because as large as the man was, he was shockingly light on his feet. On the plus side, the quartermaster wasn't sure what to make of him, especially after his moment the other day, so their interactions were usually limited.
As far as the captain was concerned, he hadn't gone out of his way to avoid the man, but likewise, didn't try to seek him out. Now that his night-time wanderings had stopped, Morse realised how busy running a pirate ship actually was, and whenever he caught sight of those familiar brown eyes, they were always directed at someone or something else.
He told himself it didn't matter.
He told himself a lot of false things.
Morse has asked around of course, subtly and mostly to the few DeBryn had introduced him to, but as far as he could tell, everyone onboard genuinely liked the captain. They were all steadfastly loyal to him, that much was for certain, and even those who'd served on the crew before Jakes was put in charge, didn't hold any grudges. Strange, in particular, had served on The Cowley since he was Morse's age, and had spent a good ten years under Thursday's rule. He'd even been here longer than Jakes, and yet seemed perfectly content remaining second in command.
When Morse had asked him about it, about why Jakes had been chosen as captain and not Strange himself, he'd simply puffed up his chest like a proud mama bird and declared that there was "no better man".
It was weird, to say the least.
Considering the man's dark looks, dark thoughts, and dark personality, it was true that he made the ideal pirate king, but beyond that…
Well.
He'd been at the wrong end of Jake's infamous ire on more than one occasion, and if he was that aggressive and arrogant all the time, then he couldn't see why anyone onboard followed him. If he did have a kinder side, then Morse was yet to see it, and he often himself wondering about the man's past.
Not many set out to be a pirate captain, after all, and very few of those had loving families and warm homes. Jakes was clearly bitter about something, and seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Between that, and how adamant he'd been the night Morse had told him about his parents…
As much as he wanted to know more about the man, he also knew that he wouldn't like the answers he found.
"-so then this holds a winding of match to fire the cannon with and... and whenever that happens, I strip naked and dance around the doctor singing 'I saw my Lady weepe' until he cries".
Morse blinked.
"Sorry, what?"
Trewlove sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Shilling for them?"
Three days after his first release, and he was half propped up against a cannon as Shirley explained exactly what a botefeux was and why it mattered.
"For my thoughts?" He replied, straightening up with a groan, "They're not worth that much".
"Good, cause I'm broke anyway" She grinned, hopping up on a barrel next to him, "You need advice on something?"
"No, no, nothing that important" Morse replied, joining her, "Just… everyday chatter, I suppose".
"Given the size of your brain? I doubt it".
He gave her a dirty look and she wasn't afraid to elbow him in the ribs in response, doctor's warnings be damned.
"Come on, maybe I can help. There's clearly something on your mind".
"It's just… How much do you really know about Jakes?"
"The Sarge?" She asked surprised, "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged, trying to look indifferent.
"Curiosity, I guess. He seems to be… quite the character".
She snorted inelegantly.
"That's one way of putting it".
"See!" Morse exclaimed, "That! Right there! The guy clearly gets on your nerves, and I know he drives DeBryn mad once a day, and yet you all still… Oh, I don't know".
"Put up with him?" Trewlove finished, smiling, "Remain loyal? Follow him to the end of the world and back again?"
"The earth is round".
Her nose wrinkled.
"Oh god, you're not one of those, are you?"
"Magellan literally sailed around the world! Not to mind the countless documents that have survived since the beginning of time! Plato, Aristotle, Claudius Ptolemy, they all figured this out centuries ago!"
"Magellan was a drunk and a fool and died before the voyage was complete. So who's to say it wasn't all made up?"
Morse stared at her.
Trewlove stared back, unperturbed.
"… We're getting off topic".
"Right, yes, the captain. What do I know… Well, to be perfectly honest, there's not much I can tell you".
"You haven't heard stories from the others?"
"Oh, sure, but they were all well before my time. I mean, I joined my first crew when I was twenty, but rumour has it that Jakes started a hell of a lot younger than that".
"A cabin boy?"
She gave an abrupt laugh.
"Oh Christ no, can you imagine? The captain taking orders? Saying 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and 'if you please sir'. God no, nothing like that… He actually started out in the Royal Navy".
If he had been drinking something, then Morse would have choked.
"The Royal Navy?!"
"I know. Bit of a surprise for me too, when I found out. A regular little sailor, he was".
"What the- How- Why did he- I mean, what- What happened for him to- to-"
"Turn into the very thing he swore to fight against?"
Trewlove shrugged.
"I don't know. Nobody knows".
"Not even DeBryn?"
She considered it for a moment.
"… No. Not even DeBryn. I don't think so, at least. I mean, he's known the Sarge the longest out of everyone on board, both him and Strange both, but… no. I don't think even the doctor knows".
"So… So, you're telling me that- that the captain of this pirate ship… used to be a British soldier?!"
"Why d'you think we call him Sarge?"
Morse stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.
To consider Jakes, pirate captain if-looks-could-kill bitter and dark and furious Jakes… as an obedient sergeant, arresting criminals, and sailing under the crown?
It wasn't possible.
It couldn't be.
There was no way that-
"Your brain's having a hard time processing that, huh?"
"… How?!"
Shirley grinned.
"I don't know. Really. It baffles me, too… But once upon a time, Peter Jakes ran away to sea".
She shrugged again.
"And this is where he ended up".
"You didn't answer my earlier question".
"Why we all follow him when he's usually a pain in the ass?"
"Not quite so crudely put, but yes".
Trewlove thought for a moment, her legs swinging on either side of the barrel, and Morse adjusted his slouch so it wasn't tugging at the stitches still in place across his shoulders.
"… He's genuine".
"What?"
"The Sarge. The reason I stay. He's… genuine".
"You remain onboard a pirate ship led by a ruthless bastard because he tells the truth? That's not the only thing you should look for in a man, you know".
She shoved at him half-heartedly.
"Not honest, Morse, genuine. It's… Everything you see, you get. Yes, he's arrogant and brash and sometimes things get a little bloody, but… you know all of that going in. He's never once lied to us, never sugar-coated anything or only told half-truths. If we're fucked, then he tells us".
He raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"My prince charming".
This time, she didn't hold back, and he was almost shoved clear off the barrel from her forceful shove.
"Just listen, would you? If things are bad, then he isn't afraid to let us know. But that honesty goes both ways. He doesn't lie to us, and we don't lie to him. We never argue with Jakes, of course, he is still the captain after all, but he always hears us out and, most of the time, he tries to bring our ideas onboard. If something happens, if we fuck up, even if we're just not sure about something, not a single one of us are afraid to tell him... Now how many pirate captains can you say that about?"
Morse slowly nodded, rubbing his arm sorely.
"And besides" Trewlove continued, "He really does care, you know. He doesn't always show it, or… well… he never shows it, really, but actions speak louder than words and all that. We receive a fair wage, food and water are rationed evenly, and we even get days off from time to time. And he's never treated me differently, because of my gender, not once… I've been on a lot of ships, Morse, but not a single one of them has even come close to the kindness shown onboard The Cowley… Truth be told, the captain kind of makes a shit pirate".
He snorted.
"Oh, I don't know, all that doom and gloom attitude is right up your books".
"Met many pirates, have you?"
"Well, the stories can't all be false".
Trewlove smirked, "Maybe not. But I doubt there's any about female pirates. Or handsome, brooding, dashing young captains, either".
"Ah. So that's the reason you stay".
"Oh, give over!" She scowled, "You'd have to be blind not to admire those cheekbones. And besides, he firmly bats for the other team".
"So I was told" Morse replied, recalling his rather stilted conversation with Strange and DeBryn, "What about Fancy?"
"What about him?"
"He seems rather… amorous… towards you".
She sighed, "I know. George can be… obsessive".
"Is that necessarily a bad thig?"
"Not for you, perhaps. You're a man in a man's world, and yea, I may be a pirate, but the rules aren't that different for us. The reason I became a stowaway to begin with was to escape an arranged marriage… I don't want to be owned, Morse. I don't want to be a- a possession, a thing, something to- to come home to every night who'll have dinner on the table and a child on each knee… I don't want to give up my life for someone who can continue to live theirs".
He remained silent for a minute, giving those oh so important words the care and thought that they deserved. Shirley was right, after all. Women as a whole were seen as objects, and wives nothing more than homemakers. They couldn't work or keep their own money, and even whispering the word 'independence' could have a woman locked up for insanity. He didn't know of any other female pirates, didn't know any other pirates at all, really, but he couldn't believe that their treatment was any better.
"Have you told Fancy this?"
She shifted in her seat, somewhat awkwardly.
"Not in so many words".
Morse could imagine her struggle. Could imagine feeling trapped and imprisoned and caged in. Could imagine being held down and subdued and put in place by the people who claimed to love him. Could imagine having nothing more than the clothes on his back and a desperate desire for freedom.
Could imagine being too scared to speak out, knowing that nothing but pain awaited him if he was caught.
"… I think you should" He finally said, "I think you should explain it to him, what it's like. Being trapped in a place with expectations and rules and… and wanting nothing more than to escape but realising that it'd mean death if you did… Maybe he'll understand".
Trewlove studied him closely, a strange look in her eyes.
"You know, Morse… if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a woman".
"No. Not a woman" He grimaced, "Just raised with the same rights as one".
His wounds began to heal, slowly but surely, and the very next day DeBryn removed the remaining stitches. They were nothing more than a hindrance by now, itchy and irritating and most in the one place of his back that he couldn't reach. The doctor had sworn by them, however, and Morse couldn't help but agree once he caught sight of pale pink scars. They were hardly noticeable unless you knew where to look, and were near invisible amongst the badly healed silvery lines and raised skin.
If he'd been seen by a doctor while growing up, then maybe he wouldn't have had any scars at all.
The area around the healed wounds was still raw and sore to touch, so DeBryn firmly forbade any heavy lifting or exercise. Strange still treated him like broken glass, Fancy still hounded after him day in day out, and Trewlove, on the other hand, took the doctor's orders with a grain of salt and immediately ordered him to help her out in the gunnery.
"It's about time that you put that head of yours to good use" She snarked, kicking a barrel of gunpowder that had to be moved.
When he pointed out that any brainless idiot could shift a few pounds of musty smelling dust, she aimed her next kick at his ankles.
After another few days, Morse started to develop a routine.
In the morning he'd remain with DeBryn, sorting out medical supplies, seeing to the various daily scrapes the crew got themselves into, or sometimes, just sitting on the old worn cot and discussing poetry. After breakfast, Trewlove dragged him down to the gunnery, proclaiming that he was the only other person she could trust with her 'baby'.
Then came lunch, along with blessed freedom from the manual labour she often subjected him to, and next, unfortunately, came Fancy. He found that the boy was manageable in small amounts, and he often had decent gossip and wild rumours that kept him distracted if nothing else. He learnt more about the different types of knots and rope, finally figured out which sail was which, and even helped secure the rigging once or twice.
Dinner was a loud affair in the gallery of the ship, full of laughter and conversations and an appalling mess. Morse was usually squished between Shirley and Strange, who became 'Jim' while they were considered off-duty, and he was given more food in that one meal than he'd received in an entire week from his parents.
He was given odd jobs from different crew members during the day and he was glad of the opportunity to learn and keep busy. He worked so much during the day that he was too wrung out to even consider sneaking out at night, and often he collapsed into a dreamless sleep the second his head hit the pillow.
Life was… surprisingly good.
Currently, he was trying rum for the first time, and Christ was it delicious.
Across from him, Fancy was openly laughing at his awed expression, while Trewlove merely smiled into her own drink and Strange– Jim –gave him a heart clap on the back.
He was proud of himself for not flinching.
Delving into the tankard once more, he ignored their teasing and instead focused on the grog that tasted like sweet grass and burnt his throat in the best way possible.
He could get used to this.
"Uh oh, matey, here comes trouble".
Or maybe not.
Putting down the drink, Morse followed the larger man's gaze to the far side of the room where Jakes had just appeared at the door.
And he looked livid.
The captain was heading directly for their table, footsteps silent but still seeming to demand attention, and the laughter in the room started to fade. His stride was purposeful and quick, and Morse only had enough time to swallow his mouthful of rum before he reached them.
Strange nodded, "Sarge", and immediately started to stand, no doubt about to be called away for duty.
To his surprise, as well as the rest of the table, Jakes merely waved a dismissive hand at him, sharp gaze pinned solely on-
Morse.
He swallowed thickly and tried to desperately remember what he'd done wrong.
The captain jabbed a finger at him.
"You. With me. Now".
His voice was low, controlled, and furious.
Spinning on his heel, he faced the door once more, clearly intending to be unquestionably obeyed.
Fuck that.
"Why?" Morse called after him.
Next to him, Shirley choked on her rum.
Jakes slowly turned back around.
"… What?"
He shrugged.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why should I follow you? Why should I go outside?"
"Because- Because I just ordered you to!" He snapped, his expression a strange mix of bewilderment and indignation.
Morse resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man.
"That's not a valid reason".
Strange subtly nudged his leg under the table, giving him a warning look that oh so obviously said 'shut the hell up up'.
As usual, he didn't listen.
"Why do you want me to go with you?"
Jakes stared at him as if he'd suddenly gone insane.
The rest of the room did too, all laughter and conversation having officially died away.
"We need to talk. That's why".
"About what?"
"About- Just get the hell up and follow me".
Morse sighed and folded his arms across his chest.
"No".
"… No?"
"Yea. Exactly. No" He snarked, "It's the middle of dinner, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and this is my first time having rum. I'd rather not be interrupted, if it's all the same, and especially for no reason".
The captain took a slow step forward until he was all but pressed up against the other side of the table, Fancy looking absolutely terrified being seated right next to him.
"The reason" He spat out, "Is that you've been working on my ship".
"And?"
"And what the hell are you doing working on my ship?!"
"What do you mean, what am I doing?" He exclaimed in disbelief, "I'm trying to pull my own weight, is what I'm doing! It's only right that I do some bit of work if I'm going to be treated like everyone else anyway. Or am I suddenly a prisoner?"
Jakes reeled back as if he'd been struck, and the sweet taste of victory was somewhat damned by an annoying stab of guilt.
"You said I was part of this crew" Morse continued, quieter this time, "Everyone else says so too. At least until we reach port. Or am I mistaken?"
"… Until we reach port, yes, you are" He reluctantly admitted.
"Well then. Problem solved. I don't see any other crew member not working, so why should I be any different?"
"That's not- You're- It's-"
He cut himself off with an aggravated sigh as he realised his own words had come back to haunt him.
Morse felt a brief stab of victory.
And then, slowly, surely, Jakes began to smirk.
That victory quickly turned to fear.
"You're part of this crew, yes?"
"… Yes" He replied slowly, really not liking that smug look in the man's unfairly chocolate-coloured eyes.
"Then, like you said, it's problem solved. If you're a member of this crew, then you should act like one".
"Good".
"Good" He echoed, straightening up with a flourish.
"Then, as a crew member, I expect you'll have no problem obeying captains' orders, will you?"
That devious bastard.
Jakes didn't wait for an answer; his smirk widening at the sight of a suddenly flabbergasted Morse, before turning on his heels and heading straight for the door.
"With me, Morse" He called over his shoulder, "Bring the rum if you have to. Captain's orders".
Next to him, Trewlove blinked rapidly.
"… Holy shit".
"I agree" Strange said hollowly, "You know, Morse, I should put you on mess duty for talking back to the Sarge like that… but it seems like you working is the problem to begin with".
"It's not my fault he was being a prat!" He snapped, already mourning the loss of his dinner, "So go ahead, give me those extra hours. If it irritates him, it'll be a bonus".
"… Holy shit" Shirley repeated, "You just… I mean, when I heard that you'd argued with him, I didn't think… Holy shit".
"You've already said that" Morse replied dryly, standing up to squeeze past her, "If you ask me, that captain of yours could do with getting talked back to a hell of a lot more often".
"Not just our captain, matey" Strange replied, "Yours, too".
He sighed as he finally made his way around the table, tankard of grog still firmly encased in his hands.
"… I should have known that'd come back to bite me".