Short update is short. I tried to post a link in my profile for the names and pictures of the pirates of Silver's crew, but apparently you can't do that anymore. You can google it though, and I'd suggest having it open in another tab because until today I didn't know more than like maybe five of them. Jim is very ooc in this fic so far but it'll get better. You know, eventually.

Jim felt his head loll to the side, coming out of a fitful sleep. Dim light was peaking through the door, but from sunrise or sunset, he couldn't tell. His back ached, and his body was covered in painful scrapes and bruises. His mutilated fingertip was swollen and probably infected. He shuffled around in the straw, trying to get comfortable, or at least less uncomfortable. A sharp pain in his arm made him look down at it. The skin had festered and was now covered in blisters the size of his thumb, one of which had popped. He winced.

"Ow." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. His throat felt dry, and his tongue was thick in his mouth. He rolled onto his side, then sat up. There had to be a way out of this. Amelia and Delbert had been gone for days now. How long would it take them to get help? Would anyone even believe them? Amelia's reputation aside, they'd been chasing after a fairytale. Jim tried to picture her explaining herself and swaying her superiors. Suddenly he didn't feel very hopeful.

He jumped as the door creaked open again, the familiar skittering of footsteps making his hair stand on end. Scroop had been down here every day since his capture. Every time that door opened, it meant a beating. Scroop no longer held himself back, and no matter how much Jim pleaded he wouldn't stop until Jim was nearly unconscious. Jim shut his eyes as his cell door was thrown open.

Scroop seized Jim by his hair, throwing him against the wall before grabbing his bad arm, sharp pincers lacerating blisters. Jim ground his teeth, but this time he didn't fight. Scroop was going to do whatever he wanted. Jim could at least try to retain whatever dignity he had left, and if he didn't struggle maybe it wouldn't be that bad. The pirate took his mangled finger. Jim half expected him to snap it backward, or to slice it off. His claws were certainly sharp enough. Instead, he felt the claw gently snip off the remaining bit of nail and torn flesh. His hand throbbed in time with his pounding heart. When Scroop let go, he stood waiting.

"Good." Jim bit down on his tongue to hold back his sarcasm. "Sssomeone's learning..." The arachnid held up a bottle, pouring something over his hand. Only when the alcohol began to sear into his wound did Jim realize what it was. Rum. The alcohol splashed over the popped blisters and Jim hissed in pain. He winced, expecting some form of abuse but none came. Instead Scroop smiled at him, a familiar gleam in his glowing gold eyes that made Jim uneasy. The larder door flashed before his eyes, and it was only then that Jim fully realized that they were alone. His ankle was still shackled. Pins and needles ran up his spine as Scroop reached out and touched his chest. He felt the sharp point of his claw trace an invisible line down to the buckle of his belt. When he tugged at the belt, Jim snapped out of it, jerking away and tripping backward as the chains went tight. The pirate stood over him, still smiling. With a low chuckle he left, shutting the cell behind him.

Jim turned his head and lost what little had been in his stomach. For reasons he couldn't explain he felt dirty. Scroop had only touched his shirt, nothing else. Jim didn't care. He wanted to burn his shirt, wanted to shower in the hottest water possible, wanted to scrub his skin raw. Jim leaned his head against the wall.

Scroop pulled the door shut behind him, heading back to the galley.

It wasn't that he desired the boy in any way. Far from it; he found humans repulsive. No, he'd love nothing more than to gut him alive while that cyborg watched. He still could. He had time. Scroop almost couldn't believe Silver hadn't put up more of a fight, but the cabin boy had just gouged out his good eye. It was safe to say they were definitely not on friendly terms.

He'd seen Silver coddle the kid. A man he'd helped to burn entire families alive in their homes had held a crying teenager with all the compassion of a nursing mother. He'd be back, and then Scroop would have that cyborg wrapped around his claw. For now, let the brat rot in his cell. He'd bother with him later.

Silver looked up from the maps and charts that cluttered the captain's desk. B.E.N was silent, his wiring having been disconnected after Silver had grown tired of his rambling. As annoying as he was, the android was proving to be rather useful now that his memory chip had been restored. At first he'd refused to help them until his new 'buddies' were safe. One of the crew had stepped forward and had threatened to shove his circuits into a vat of acid and make him drink what was left through a tube. Silver remembered the way the hunk of metal had trembled and leaked oil all over the deck. In the end B.E.N had cooperated, and they were now headed for one of Flint's hideouts. Turnbuckle had the helm, Onus was in the crow's nest, Mertock and Aguanoggin had the night watch. The rest of the crew was in the galley celebrating with rum and talk of what they would do with their share of the treasure. Silver should have been down there with them, but he couldn't bring himself to celebrate. So he'd locked himself in the captain's quarters- his quarters- and had been pretending to chart a course for a distant planet. He sat back with a sigh, rubbing his one good eye. The lights were warm and bright but his eye still strained to make out the myriad of tiny lines before him. After so many years spent relying on his prosthetic eye, he was finding himself more and more at a disadvantage without it. He had to get it repaired, and fast.

Glancing back down at the star charts, Silver noted they would soon pass a small planet in a neighboring system. He'd been there before, and if his memory served him it was almost completely covered in water. The people who called it home made a living selling fish to spacers who traded there, as well as coral and glassware. Silver tried to remember if there was anyone who might be able to fix his eye, but thought better of it. No, they better not stop. As soon as Amelia got in touch with her peers, the pirates would need to either destroy or disguise the Legacy. He didn't doubt she had friends in high places. He imagined them returning, with only a skiff between them and missing an entire crew. He chuckled- her pride would take awhile to recover from that. Always was too big fer her boots. Delbert would most likely never sail again, the poor man, but then timid people like him belonged in their sprawling houses sipping tea. Space belonged to the men and women who stared death in the face and dared it to come for them. Like Arrow. Losing him had been a right shame. Sure, he hadn't been on their side and in hindsight maybe it had been a clever move to kill him early on, but damn if he wasn't a good spacer. Silver had seldom seen anyone so comfortable on the deck of a ship, save for-

Jim.

He pushed all thoughts of Jim out of his mind. The boy had made it clear he no longer trusted Silver, and wasn't interested in his help. The cyborg's eye gave him only brief glimpses of his right side, sometimes in infrared, sometimes heat signatures. Most of the time it was only a dark void, just like when he'd lost that eye the first time. The useless scrap metal ball still sat and twitched in the socket. What kept Silver from going down to the brig to check on Jim, and what kept him from letting himself worry, was the thought of what Jim could've done if Silver hadn't turned his head. He shuddered, imagining losing his good eye as well if not something much worse. If there was anything Silver was better or just as good at as lying, it was holding a grudge.

He shook his head. Flint's trove, the legendary loot of a thousand worlds, was finally his after a lifetime of searching. He should be more worried about moving it somewhere safer. As long as the Captain and the Doctor were missing, his treasure was at risk. The entire empire would be on his ass as soon as the word got out, and that woman had a mind sharper than a new blade. She'd more than likely memorized their coordinates. They had to be ready, even if the only way to get at the trove was with the map. A fleet of ships could blockade the entire planet. But how do ye go about movin' tha much loot? The Legacy was an admirable vessel, but she was much too small to make much of a dent in the mountains upon mountains of wealth. It would take years, decades even. No, their best bet was to lay low for awhile. They would take what they could carry, and disappear. Even if the Captain and the Doc did manage to scrape together a rescue, without the map it was doubtful they'd ever find the planet again, even with their coordinates. After all, nobody had until now. The map was the key, and it was locked up tight in the vault not five feet from where he sat.

He'd buy a nice house somewhere, an estate. Upgrade his prosthetics. He'd buy his own ship, no his own fleet of ships. He'd become the fiercest pirate the Etherium had ever known. Everything he'd ever wanted, just waiting for him. All he had to do was take it.

So why, then, was dread clawing at his gut?

R&R