Stephen sat in Jack's great room, across from the captain's desk, watching him examine the numerous maps and charts in front of him. Jack squinted at the paper, a magnifying glass to his eye.

"It's been two days, Stephen," he said without looking up. "When are you going to clear that boy for work?"

"Not until I feel better about that cough. His fever has left him, but I'm still not confident he's up to being put on regular duties. He's only child, not like your regular able-bodied seaman; his health should be taken more seriously than an adult member of this crew. I'd like one or two more days, at least."

"I suppose a few days away from the rest of the men would put their minds at ease." Jack shuffled some papers across his desk. "Why he ever stabbed that sailor is beyond me."

Stephen tilted his head to the side. He'd come to make his report on the boy, and he trying not to let his displeasure show. He'd made his opinion on flogging perfectly clear in the past, and now was not the place to repeat it.

"The man would not leave the poor boy alone, and was far too close to let anyone feel comfortable. Wolf simply felt trapped, like an animal responding to a belligerent cornering it into danger. The response was nothing unnatural, if anything, entirely predictable, and furthermore, the man had hideous oral hygiene."

Jack put down his pen. "Stephen, don't tell me you agree the boy."

"He had an entirely valid argument! That seaman's teeth are most offensive."

Jack put a hand to his mouth then dropped it back to the desk. "He is a good sailor and you can't just do things like that! Teeth have nothing to do with it!"

"I beg to differ. A person can tell a great deal about another from the state of their teeth. For example, this man's utter disregard for cleanliness displayed his willingness to not only ignore his own comfort, but the comfort of others."

"Still, that is no cause for violence aboard my ship."

"But it is an explanation."

Jack shook his head and turned to the window. "I hate to interrupt your lovely musings, doctor, but were you going to ask me something?"

"Ah." Stephen crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap. "I'm thinking of taking on an assistant."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "You have an assistant."

"A surgeon's mate, yes, but no loblolly boy. I simply desire an extra body to keep the surgery clean and look after patients."

"Who did you have in mind?"

Stephen looked purposefully over his spectacles. "The boy."

Jack laid his hands on his desk chuckled mirthlessly. He stood, chair scraping behind him, and paced across the room, ducking his head to avoid the ceiling's beams. He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Stephen uncrossed his legs. "For what reason? I see no harm-"

"'No harm?'" Jack turned to face his friend, a hand on his jaw. "He stabbed a man - a member of my crew - simply for touching his arm! I can't have someone so erratic put in charge of sick and wounded."

"He's more of a danger to the men where he is now than in sick bay. If he acts this poorly in response to minor offences, imagine how disastrous the consequences will be if he's forced to continue living in such close quarters. With me, he'd be isolated from the other men, and under my direct care."

Jack threw his hands in front of him. "Stephen, he's a pirate!"

"He's just a boy, Jack!" Stephen exclaimed, jumping from his chair. His voice bounced off the cabin's walls and hung in the resulting silence. Jack blinked at him in surprise, but made no other reaction. Stephen stared him down, waiting for his own pulse to return to its natural rhythm.

"He's just a boy," he continued. "And he's scared, and lost, and I'm afraid in very bad company."

Jack stared at him, frowning slowly. "What makes you think he'll be any better with you than he is now?"

"He'll be given time to himself, and a certain amount of privacy, both of which would be highly beneficial to him and those around him. In a secluded environment, I could observe his behavior and perhaps learn more about him, why he acts the way he does."

"He's not one of your bugs. I don't think he'd take kindly to being put under a microscope."

"I only wish to help him. Currently, the only comforts he has are his brand and the unforgiving life at sea. You remember Mr. Hollom."

Jack sighed and sank back into his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned, a doleful quiet having settled about the room.

"Where did he come from?" Stephen asked.

Jack heaved a sigh, his broad shoulders slouching. "He was part of a crew of corsairs captured in the Mediterranean. The entire company was to be tried for piracy, most likely strung up as a result. Set an example and all that. Wolf is so small...the Commissioner of Prisoners took pity on him and handed him over to me as an pressed ship's boy. A hushed matter of business. Entirely illegal."

"French privateers? I thought they were taken as prisoners of war?"

Jack shook his head. "Not all the time."

"The commissioner had the boy branded."

"Yes, he did tell me that."

Silence resided over the two once more, the lull in conversation stretching into a respite. Stephen pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. "He's Spanish, you know."

Jack looked up. "Really?"

"That's why he doesn't speak. He can't understand a word anyone's saying."

Jack straightened and put his arm down. "I can't say I'm surprised. He certainly looks Spanish, but what was he doing on a French ship?"

"I don't believe he was there of his own volition. His circumstances are unclear, and he won't tell me anything about what happened to him. I suspect he is a victim in this whole mess, a certain variable that went unaccounted for. Were I to spend more time with him, perhaps I would gather further information."

Stephen waited for Jack to respond, inwardly hoping he'd take the offered bait. Jack squinted to himself, staring through a stack of astronomy books. His eyes flicked back to Stephen.

"The crew would be safe from him, you say?"

Stephen allowed himself a shadow of a smile. He nodded. Jack drummed his fingers on the desk, still thinking. He gave a defeated sigh and leaned back in his chair, pulling a piece of paper out from underneath a pile of maps and charts.

"I shall inform Mr. Allen to change the muster books."

Stephen couldn't help himself; a smile stretched itself wide across his face, and he clasped his hands together tightly in his lap. "Thank you, Jack-"

"Yes, yes." Jack gave an unamused smile and glanced up at the ceiling. Stephen knew the annoyance was directed at Jack himself for giving in, and he laughed inwardly at the captain's childish ways.

He stood, ready to excuse himself since Jack obviously meant to preoccupy himself with other matters. Just because he had shown himself to be lenient did not mean he no longer had control over his ship. Naval men could be such silly creatures.

"Would you be receptive to play this evening? It's been far too long since we've done Baccherini."

Jack glanced up, pencil in hand. "Of course, doctor. I am never one to refuse Baccherini."

Stephen nodded and turned toward the door to leave.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you what will happen if your boy strays out of line?"

Stephen paused long enough before the doorway to give his response. "I know my duties, Jack."

He opened the door and excused himself from the room.