Dawn
The sound of loud footsteps woke him late the next morning and Morse groaned and pulled the blankets up further to cover his head.
Cleaning and organising the navigation room had taken most of the night, but even then, his curiosity won over his tiredness and he found himself flicking through the log that Jakes had been keeping. They wanted to port as soon as possible, and it didn't take long to realise that their current route would end up bypassing the nearest safe harbour. So, Morse had made a few adjustments, made good use of the sea charts and a compass, and then dragged himself up above deck just as the sun started to rise.
Fancy was on lookout, which was both a blessing and a curse, but at least he took the new plot without question and agreed to give it to Strange when the man woke up.
After that, it was an exhausting trek back to the infirmary where he collapsed on the bed and swatted irritably at DeBryn when the man tried to wake him less than an hour later.
The doctor thought he was still hungover and Morse didn't see the need to correct him.
The footsteps got closer and closer, bypassing the gun deck and seeming to head straight for the infirmary. Morse groaned again and tried to block out the sound with his pillow.
Which worked pretty well.
Until-
The door slammed off the opposite wall with a loud smack and bounced back only for a tanned hand to stop it. DeBryn immediately jumped up, partly in shock and partly out of respect.
"What has-"
"Where. is. he?"
Jakes.
Morse buried himself further underneath the blanket and mourned his lack of sleep.
"I don't understand, what are-"
"DeBryn. I am this close to stabbing you where you stand. WHERE IS HE?!"
He let out a heavy breath and reluctantly rolled out, pulling the blankets down from his face.
"What?"
Jakes spun around to face him and-
Holy shit was he furious.
Morse frowned, trying to remember anything wrong that he did yesterday but came up with nothing.
"You!"
He stormed towards him, and DeBryn took a halting step forward, clearly wanting to protect him but also knowing that getting in front of the captain right now would be a seriously bad move.
Morse awkwardly struggled to sit up, tangled in the sheets and annoyed and tired and-
"What?" He repeated as Jakes stopped in front of him.
"Get. Up. Now" He snarled, eyes dancing with fire and hands visibly shaking in anger.
He sighed and reluctantly stood, grabbing a shirt off the floor and tugging it on. He barely had both arms through before there was a vice-like grip around his wrist and he was yanked forwards.
"Hey!"
"Jakes-"
"NO!"
DeBryn paled but wisely kept his mouth shut, instead quickly following them as the captain dragged Morse through the ship. He was still half asleep, stumbling under the speed Jakes was pacing at, and splinters cut into his bare feet with every step.
What the hell was wrong with this guy?!
Emerging above deck, he wasn't given a single second to adjust to the light and was instead hauled towards the quarterdeck stairs and shoved up the steps. The crew on deck watched with equal parts curiosity and concern as DeBryn struggled to keep up with them.
Jakes finally stopped a few feet from the railing and with one last forceful jolt, he sent Morse staggering against the burnt red wood.
He immediately scowled and spun back around.
"What the hell is-"
There was a blade at his throat.
Morse froze, hardly daring to breathe as the captain kept his cutlass a mere hairsbreadth away from his neck.
DeBryn stopped at well, pulling up short at the sight of the weapon, and from the helm, Strange took a cautious step forward.
"Sarge-"
"Shut up".
His voice cut across the deck like a knife, every single sailor and crewman silent as they watched the scene in front of them with rapt attention.
Morse studied his face almost frantically, trying to work out just what on earth was happening. The sun and the hat cast a shadow across his eyes but his mouth was turned down in its signature scowl.
He swallowed thickly, hands slowly raising in peace.
"… What have I done?"
His grip tightened around the cutlass.
"What have you done?" Jakes hissed, "What haven't you done?! Since the second I laid eyes on you, you've been nothing but trouble! You talk back, you use the quarterdeck as your personal observation post, you've disobeyed everyone's orders at least once, you work when you're not supposed to, you get drunk in the middle of the day, you insist on being a crew member but don't show up every morning, and you know, I could have gotten over all that. I could have ignored every single little insult you've sent my way because, as you said, I only have to play nice until we port… But what you did last night?"
Morse frowned.
Surely, he wasn't this upset over-
"You destroyed the navigation room and give my helmsman new orders. You changed everything just after I was starting to make sense of it all and-"
"Are you for real?" He blurted, cutting off the man's tirade.
Jakes stilled.
"What?"
That single word was sharper than the blade still pressed against his throat.
"Are you for real?" Morse repeated, beyond exasperated, "I didn't destroy anything. You clearly had no idea what the hell you were doing, the charts were all out of order, some of the maps were so outdated they stilled called Saint-Domingue 'Insula Hispana', the instruments were scuffed, some even broken because of your harsh treatment of them! I did you a favour by organizing that absolute disaster of a room, not that you'd even notice, let alone acknowledge it, because quite frankly, captain, you couldn't tell a compass from a- a- a chronometer!"
He was breathing heavily after his outburst and had clearly taken the man by surprise, the cutlass lowered slightly. Unfortunately, as always, he soon recovered, and the blade was raised once more.
"Walk".
He gestured to either side of the railing he was currently pressed against.
"Where?!"
The sword was pressed firmly against his throat, the point sharp enough to draw a bead of blood.
"You know where".
Morse gave him a disbelieving look before deciding you know what-
Shoving up both shirt sleeves, he turned and clambered up to stand on the railing.
If that bastard wanted to kill him, then he was going to give him one last fuck you by dying faster.
He held onto the rigging next to him with one hand for balance and stared at the murky navy waters below. Shading his eyes with the other hand, he tried to find sight of land in the distance but knew it was futile. His navigating had been spot on, after all, and if Fancy had given Strange the new coordinates as promised, then it'd be many days still before they saw an island.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the captain one last time.
The least he could do was face his killer, and he couldn't help but smirk at the twisted irony. His one and only rescuer being the cause of his death. That just about summed up his entire life.
"Go ahead" He said calmly, letting go of the rope, "Bastard".
Jakes snarled and raised his cutlass to strike, the flash of the blade against the sun burning his eyes.
"Oh, and by the way, have fun with the Navy" He couldn't help but add, "But then again, given your past…"
Morse braced himself to jump, but the blow never came.
Cautiously reopening his eyes, he found the captain staring back almost contemplatively, the rest of the crew behind him frozen in fear.
"… What do you know about the Navy?"
"Morse than you, that's for sure".
The hand clenched around the blade twitched but he didn't rise to the bait.
"Your current course was heading straight for the nearest Royal Navy harbour" He reluctantly explained, "Given that I can only assume you told Strange to ignore my note, you'll like reach them within the fortnight".
"… What was on the note?"
"The correct course. Obviously".
"Leading to?"
"Tortuga" Morse replied, "Within three weeks. Give or take".
Jakes raised his head and he caught a flash of curiosity in his gaze.
"How could you possibly know that?"
For once, the words weren't said in anger.
"Like you said" He snarked, "I'm nothing but an educated city boy with rich parents".
The pirate captain seemed to study him closely for a minute before slowly, ever so slowly, reattaching his cutlass to the belt beneath his coat.
The entire ship seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Explain".
Morse bit back a sharp remark and reluctantly jumped down from the railing, leaning back against it with crossed arms instead.
"… I went to Oxford".
"University?"
"No, the watchmen. Yes, of course, the university!"
"You went to Oxford? You? And, what, you studied navigation?"
"Greats, actually, for two years" Morse replied, "But I dabbled in cartography. It doesn't take a genius to read a map".
Jakes bristled at the pointed remark but was still remaining surprisingly calm about the whole thing.
"So, when you said that you moved around the charts-"
"Ordered the charts".
"-and plotted a new course-"
"And plotted the correct course".
"You were… being serious?"
"Why would I lie about that?" He exclaimed, "You know, despite what you might think, Sarge, my entire existence wasn't invented just to irritate you!"
"Could have fooled me".
"I have. On multiple occasions".
"Brat".
"Bastard".
Jakes stared at him for another moment before-
Smiling.
He straightened up and tipped his hat, "Alright then. You want to make yourself useful, fine. How does Sailing Master sound?"
Morse blinked in shock.
"Good? Good. You start immediately".
And with that, he spun on his heel and strode off towards the main deck. The crew didn't move, too surprised and confused and a little bit scared to step out of his way, but he glided between them as easy as waves broke against the shore. He made it all the way to his cabin before they snapped out of it, DeBryn being the first to move as he quickly followed the man into his rooms.
Next was Fancy, slowly letting the rope in his hands go, which in turn caused a sail to creak ominously and then swing dangerously. There was a yell, half the crew hit the deck and the other half quickly scrabbled to grab a hold of it.
As the commotion successfully diverted attention from him, Morse allowed himself to react to what the hell had just happened.
Legs weakening, he all-but collapsed back against the railing, heart racing and pulse throbbing and actual white stars flashing before his eyes and he forced himself to release the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.
Holy fuck.
Despite his upbringing, despite his so-called parents, despite being kidnapped by an honest to god pirate captain in the middle of the Atlantic fucking ocean-
He had never been so close to death.
The sound of running made him glance up, and he found Trewlove's worried gaze rushing towards him.
She halted abruptly in front of him, hand reaching out, then retreating, and then reaching once more. It was like she feared him suddenly breakable.
She wasn't wrong.
Morse closed his eyes tightly, waiting until his breathing evened before looking up once more.
The sail had been retied, Fancy had been scolded, and Trewlove still stared back at him anxiously.
Strange slowly made his way over from the helm, hands wringing in front of him in a rare sign of nervousness.
"You alright, matey?"
Morse felt sticky hot blood trickle from the shallow wound on his neck and wanted to throw up.
"... What the fuck just happened?"
Strange sighed before his usual grin tugged at his mouth.
"What just happened, Morse, is you finally earned the Sarge's respect".
The door slammed loudly behind DeBryn as he stormed into the captain's quarters.
"What the hell was that?!"
Jakes tugged at the cravat around his neck and hung his hat on the door of the alcohol cabinet. He needed something a little stronger than rum right now, and something told him that the doctor did too.
"What was what?" He asked mildly.
"You were going to kill him!"
He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and grabbed two tumblers from the top shelf.
"I gave him enough warnings".
"That doesn't make it any better!"
Jakes sighed and walked over to the table, pouring two glasses before recapping the bottle.
He held one out to DeBryn but the doctor kept his arms by his side and glared.
"Suit yourself".
Leaving the glass in front of him, he sat down with a heavy sigh and took a much-needed sip.
After a moment, the older man took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled out the other chair, joining him.
"What happened, Peter?"
He winced.
That particular name only ever came out when DeBryn was worried. Really worried.
He gave a half-hearted shrug.
"I snapped".
"I could see that. Why?"
"The brat irritates me, that's why".
"Peter".
"Max".
The doctor finally raised his glass, waiting for the captain to explain. And unfortunately, Jakes knew from past experience that the doctor could wait a long time.
"… I don't know, alright!" He finally snapped, "He's been making things difficult since he got here! He always talks back, he never does what he's told, and he interferes with everything!"
"Sounds a lot like someone else I know".
Jakes glared at him from over the rim of the glass but the doctor maintained his innocent façade.
"No".
"No what?"
"No. He doesn't. Stop trying to draw comparisons where there are none!"
"I've only mentioned it twice, Peter. It may seem like years ago for you, but I still remember the angry 17-year-old Thursday hauled out of a bar as if it was yesterday. You said that your situations were different, and you're right, to an extent… But abuse is still abuse-"
"Don't".
DeBryn sighed and Jakes avoided his gaze, instead staring resolutely at the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
"Peter… He gets under your skin because he reminds you of you".
"I'm not 17 anymore, doc".
"No. But you're still angry. Still bitter… But Morse is the last person that you should take that out on".
Jakes downed the rest of the whiskey in one go and relished the way it burnt his throat going down.
"… I wasn't really going to stab him".
"I know" DeBryn replied, smiling, "The boy would have jumped long before just to spite you".
He snorted.
Perhaps they were sort of similar.
Jakes kept his footsteps quiet as he made his way to the navigation room.
He'd remained in his quarters long after DeBryn had left, knowing that the crew would be walking on eggshells around him for the foreseeable future. He'd meant what he said; he genuinely didn't want the brat to die, quite the opposite, in fact. There was just something about him that… maddened him to no end.
So yes, he struck out, despite knowing that he'd never go through with it. But seeing the boy standing there, barely balancing on the edge of the railing with wild curls and rebellious ocean eyes, willing to drown just so he could die before Jakes himself could kill him…
He felt the corner of his mouth curl up into a smirk.
He actually felt somewhat proud of the brat.
After everything he'd gone through, he was still defiant to the last.
The very thing that annoyed him, that razor-sharp wit and unforgiving tongue, was the same thing that made him like the boy.
The lantern flickered against shadowed walls as he passed, and he hoped that everyone else was still at dinner. He had chosen his timing carefully, after all, and it wouldn't do any good for someone to bump into him or listen in now.
Reaching the door at the end of the hallway, he silently pushed it open a few inches and glanced inside.
Morse was hunched over the table with a hundred different papers in front of him, just as Jakes had predicted.
Smirking, he decided to wait a few minutes before making his presence known, and instead decided to take in the rather… appreciative view in front of him.
Morse's back was facing him, white shirt pulled taut over a narrow back and surprisingly strong shoulders. He could make out every ridge in his spine, as well as a few dark lines he tried not to think about. The boy's hair was as wild as ever, flickering a broad variety of golds and browns in the unreliable light of a nearby lamp. One hand was twirling a piece of chalk around nimble fingers, while the other drummed out a seemingly random tune on the back of his neck as he haphazardly tilted his head to the side. His legs were crossed beneath the table, and Jakes realised with a start that his bare feet were still pin-cushioned with splinters from their eventful morning.
He frowned.
DeBryn had followed him back to his quarters after their… altercation… but he still would've thought that the doctor would check in with him, especially after Jake's own sword had drawn blood from the boy's throat.
Unless, of course, the brat had hidden himself away in here since this morning.
Just like Jakes had done in his own room.
He had a feeling that the universe was trying to tell him something.
"Wotcher".
Morse jumped half a foot in the air, the chair tumbling backwards and crashing to the floor as he spun around with his arms raised, ready to fight, or defend, against any potential intruder.
When he saw that it was Jakes, he slowly lowered them, but the tension remained in his body and after this morning, the captain couldn't blame him.
"… Sarge".
He nodded and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and not failing to notice how the boy automatically took a step back. He distantly wondered just how much damage he'd done this morning by trying to kill him, and more importantly if he'd lost the man's trust completely.
Making his way over to one of the bookshelves in the corner, Jakes busied himself with looking for the battered copy of Robinson Crusoe he'd spotted during his brief time in the navigation room.
After a few, tense moments, Morse started to relax, and eventually, he picked back up the chair and returned to whatever it is that he was doing.
Jakes waited another few minutes before speaking.
"So, DeBryn says I've been a bit of an ass".
Morse choked.
"He- He what?!"
He hummed, scanning the middle shelves, "I know. That was my reaction too".
Crouching down, he pulled out an older Daniel Defoe work and scanned the cover of it briefly.
"But apparently, he's not the only one who thinks so, and I'm… somewhat… inclined to agree".
"… Why are you telling me this?"
He replaced the book on the shelf.
"Because I've come here to do the one thing, I swore I'd never do".
"… Help me?"
"Worse" Jakes replied, standing and turning to face him, "Apologise".
Morse stared back with wide eyes, the flickering light making them look more like an evening on the Caribbean than the dark Atlantic waters outside.
"You want to apologise?"
"Well, I don't want to" He scowled, "But I have it on very good authority that apologising is what one does when they've been…"
"A right bastard?"
His cheeky grin was back.
Jakes felt more relieved than annoyed.
"Yes" He admitted, "That. So. You know… I'm sorry for trying to kill you".
"That's alright. Not like I would've let you, anyway".
He stared at him, "I'm the captain of a pirate ship".
"And I'm quite spiteful" came his easy-going reply, "Guess who wins?"
Jakes rolled his eyes at the boy's antics but couldn't but smirk in response.
"Right. So. We good?"
"Well, I wouldn't say good, but… we're getting there".
"Just until port, right?"
Morse smiled, knowingly.
"Yea. Just until port".
Turning back to the bookshelves with a far lighter heart, Jakes continued searching for the book as Morse picked up his piece of chalk once more.
"So, Oxford huh?"
He could practically hear the younger man's hackles rise.
"What of it?"
Jakes bit back an automatic not-so-nice remark and kept his shoulders relaxed.
"Oh, nothing, I guess… I'm just wondering how you went from being a scholarship student in one of the greatest universities in the world to a beaten and bruised body on the floor of a passenger ship destined for the Americas".
The sound of chalk on paper abruptly stopped, and the captain turned back to face him, somewhat apprehensively. Morse was staring at the chart in front of him, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"… He got sick".
"Who did?"
"My-"
Jakes gave him a sharp look and he paused.
"… My mother's husband".
He nodded once, approvingly, and Morse gave a small smile.
"He got sick. Influenza. My sister called for me; she was the only one who knew where I'd escaped to. She had it too, of course, it was everywhere, but… but he was especially bad, and she wanted me to know. The doctor only gave him a few more days to live, a week, max".
"So you went back".
He nodded, "I know I don't owe him anything, and I don't love him, I don't even like him, but I just… I don't know. I needed the closure, I guess".
Now that, he could understand.
"What happened?"
The boy's smile turned bitter.
"He survived. Obviously. But Joycie…"
Jakes didn't have any siblings or any that he knew of, at least, but he had lost a fair share of good men over the years and could imagine that it felt some bit similar to that.
"I'm sorry" He said, quietly, but Morse merely shook his head.
"… She didn't deserve it, you know? She wasn't like them, she was… she was kind".
He stared at the desk unseeingly for a moment before seeming to shake himself out of it.
"Either way, he survived, she didn't, and apparently, it was all my fault… I managed to hide until the funeral, but then I had to come out, had to- to say goodbye… They caught me as I left the graveyard".
"You didn't fight?"
"Of course I did!" He snapped, "But Gwen was after stealing a needle from the doctor and managed to stab me in the arm with it. Everything got blurry, I passed out, and the next thing I know, I'm back in that god-awful bloody basement like a terrified 15-year-old again!"
Jakes slowly nodded, leaning back against the nearest bookcase.
"When did they decide to emigrate?"
"… I don't know. A few weeks later? A month? Time didn't… It was different".
He swallowed thickly, similar memories of his own endless dark prison swarming to the surface of his mind, but he quickly shoved them back.
Maybe DeBryn was right; maybe they were more similar than he realised.
They certainly both had shit childhoods, at least, even if Morse wasn't aware of that fact.
But maybe they could be… the same in different ways?
The doctor's words echoed in his mind.
Abuse is still abuse.
Jakes straightened up and turned back to the bookshelves, finally spotting Robinson Crusoe half-buried beneath a stack of astrological charts. Pulling it out, he headed for the door, Morse already absorbed in his own work once more.
He knew first hand how draining it was to talk about a past like theirs, so chances were, the boy was just counting away the seconds until he left, so he could break down in peace. But Jakes also knew just how dangerous being alone with his thoughts after talking about them could be, too.
"Hey" He said, softly, and Morse looked up in surprise.
He opened the door and gestured down the hallway.
"You wanna get dinner?"
He glanced back at the mountain of papers in front of him, and then at his chalk stained fingers. Reaching up, he put out the lantern and turned to Jakes with a smile.
"Sure".