When Jim Hawkins first set foot on the RLS Legacy , he had done so with a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. This was destiny, after all; his old unbearable life was gone, quite literally burned to the ground, and like a bird liberated from its cage here he was soaring to new and glorious heights. For maybe the first time in his whole life he felt special, a proper chosen one finally embarking on his life's quest. And why shouldn't he? It wasn't just anyone who could unlock the secrets of the spherical treasure map which had upended everything.

Finally he had proof, tangible proof that he mattered resting in his own coat pocket, barely heavier than a handful of purps for all its hidden mysteries. Or so he'd thought. In the span of a few terrible minutes he'd gone from the boy holding the key to the mysteries of the stars in his hand to a mere cabin boy, the lowest of the low on this ship, and there wasn't a single thing he could do to change it without abandoning this voyage entirely. The injustice of it weighed heavy on his shoulders, banishing the newfound excitement and returning him to the same defeated slouching from before.

You thought you were something amazing, didn't you? Thought you were some kind of big special hero? Well, serves you right. The captain's not cruel, she just sees what everyone else does – that you're a stupid boy who can't be trusted with anything but grunt work.

"Shut up," Jim muttered under his breath.

Funny how that snide, demeaning little voice in his head sounded so much like his father even after all these years, especially considering there were some days when Jim could barely recall what the man looked like–

"Eh? What's that? Gotta speak up, Jimbo, I've only the one ear."

Ah. Yet another significant facet of his current dilemma: one Mr. Silver, the ship's cook, whose whims now ruled every aspect of Jim's existence.

The boy emerged from his brooding thoughts with a small scowl of annoyance, his gaze flicking from the vegetable peeler in his hand to the mountain of a man seated just over an arm's length away. "I didn't say anything," he replied morosely. "I was just… lost in thought."

"Hm." Silver didn't seem to believe him. He wasn't easy to read sometimes, but right now he had an almost piercing look of skepticism fixed on his charge. The golden glow of his artificial eye still unnerved Jim whenever it was turned in his direction. That, and whatever contraption had been built into the right side of his head looked like a series of wheels perpetually turning. It reminded Jim of a computer constantly processing information, inexhaustibly thinking.

Thinking about what? Jim had to wonder. He still harbored a fair share of suspicion toward his taskmaster, and he couldn't help keeping the final, haunting admonition of the late Billy Bones at the forefront of his thoughts:

Beware the cyborg.

But then the suspicious look on Silver's broad face shifted into something less severe, albeit still stern. "Well, ya'd best do less daydreamin' an' more peelin'. All these yelatos ain't gonna skin themselves, y'know."

Jim stifled a groan as he looked at his current chore. Piles upon piles of yelatos, due to be peeled manually and then handed off to Silver for slicing… and he had barely touched the tuber in his hand at all despite the fact it had been a few minutes. Instead of earnestly peeling the vegetable he'd been half-heartedly worrying at it with his little tool, absently emulating the action while his mind wandered.

But now here he was, back in the galley, and he knew if he dawdled again he'd have to endure a scolding from Silver. Already the cook had established himself as a man given to small bursts of temper, and while he never turned as threatening toward his ward as he could be with other members of the crew, Jim knew better than to push an already tenuous boundary.

Thinking about Silver's temper only reminded him of the unsettling near-altercation with Scroop mere days before. Recalling how the menacing rigger had shoved him so viciously against the mast made his skin crawl and he shivered a little, sitting up straighter in the process.

It would be easy to keep going in silence. Part of him dreaded the prospect of actually conversing with Silver, who was grumpy at worst and prone to making bad puns at best; he preferred to keep others, especially adults, at a distance and if he couldn't accomplish this physically, he was more than happy to settle on emotionally. But on the other hand, talking might make this whole endeavor at least a bit less… unbearable.

"I was just thinking," he half-mumbled as he set about stripping the yelato of its rough hide, "About the other day. The whole thing with that… bug guy."

"Ah, our little tangle with Mr. Scroop." Silver spoke of it as if the show of force on his part had been a regular Tuesday for him. For all Jim knew, maybe it was. "Still on yer mind, eh?"

"More like still on my back," Jim remarked dryly. "Bet I'll have that bruise for another week. What's his problem, anyway?"

He handed off the now-naked yelato to Silver, who took it after giving it a quick once-over. He wasn't approving or disapproving, merely efficient; within seconds that mechanical arm of his was slicing the yelato into sections which fell into the bucket before him.

"He's a rough sort, rowdy as they come I'd say." Silver paused for a moment, as if considering his words. "Rowdier than warranted, leastwise. Ah, but don't you be dwellin' on the likes o' him. I'd say he's learned his lesson… which I also hope goes for yerself ."

Jim frowned at the note of criticism at the end of that statement. Of course. Couldn't even strike up a simple conversation without it coming back to his mistakes. He instinctively averted his eyes and didn't reply, instead reaching for another yelato and slicing its skin off with a newfound vengeance. As he guided the peeler over its dry, lumpy surface he felt himself sliding back into his previous sulking, and as his heart sank inside his chest his mind began to drift again.

"Hey, now." Something in his expression must have tipped Silver off that a nerve had been struck. A small chorus of mechanical sounds rose as the cyborg shifted in his seat, turning a bit more in Jim's direction. "If ya got somethin' to say, Jimbo, let's hear it."

"If I had somethin' to say I'd just say it," Jim retorted. It was a lie of course, but it was a necessary lie, because if he did say what was on his mind he knew it would only be embarrassing for everyone involved. "Besides, like you said… yelatos aren't gonna skin themselves."

Just leave me alone , he wanted to snap. His face felt warm, his throat felt too tight, and he deeply regretted trying to chat up someone who clearly only cared about pointing out how much he still failed to measure up. The bigger the emotions swelled the harder it was to think logically, and instead of crying he focused everything on peeling the yelato in his hand with a vengeance.

He scowled as the peeler hit a particularly stubborn bump and pressed harder, frustration building and driving the force behind the instrument. Then the small blade slipped suddenly, slicing cleanly through the yelato's moist white flesh… and embedding its sharp edge directly into Jim's left thumb.

Instead of flinching or yelping or anything one might expect from such an injury, Jim merely sat there and stared at his hand, the angsty tangle of his thoughts briefly vanishing into the ether as a new, more pressing sensation moved in to take its place: pain.

"Oh," he remarked absently, as if noting the day's weather.

An exasperated sigh emanated from Silver and the cook quickly got to his feet, looming over Jim, who was already bracing for what was sure to be a scolding even sharper than the blade. He shoved his wounded hand into his coat pocket and turned his head away on seeing Silver's cross expression, more chagrined than anything and eager to get this over with. Even though the cook hadn't said a word yet Jim's mind was already berating, the same evil little voice from before gleefully heaping criticism upon him while he held his breath and waited for the coming tirade to be over.

Stupid boy, the voice hissed, now sounding less like his father and more like Scroop. Can't even do something so sssimple correctly, can you?

"Well, come on, get on up."

"Huh?"

Jim's head swiveled back around and up to get a good look at Silver, who had his hands on his hips in an impatient sort of way.

"Did ye shove yelatos in yer ears too? I said get up. An' get that hand out o' yer pocket, needs a proper tendin' to."

"Wh-" Jim did as he was told, too caught off guard to act surly. He glanced at his thumb and saw beads of blood welling up from the cut there, and one of them swiftly grew large enough to start trickling down his hand. He hurriedly reached for one of the cleaning rags left over from wiping tabletops earlier in the day and dabbed at it, not even thinking about how sanitary such a thing might not be; he simply wanted to avoid inconveniencing Silver any further at any cost. "No, I mean, it's fine, it's basically a papercut–"

"Mighty messy for a papercut," Silver observed with a raised eyebrow. He then sighed and reached up with his organic hand, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if he had a sudden headache. "Gods above an' devils below, what to do with ye?"

Disappointment. Annoyance. These were emotions Jim was used to seeing in the adults around him, and he wasn't a bit surprised to see them in Silver too. After all, he was an assignment , a task Silver hadn't really wanted to do and only went along with because the captain said so. He had to clench his jaw to keep from mouthing off in response to Silver's rhetorical question.

I dunno, just ignore me and get rid of me later I guess? Sure worked out for my dad.

But the more he forced himself to keep his eyes on Silver instead of looking away, the more he started to see something else in the cyborg's face as the bearlike man lowered his hand and adopted a more thoughtful stance. It felt a bit too much like getting his hopes up, and he knew how well that tended to end, but if he let himself believe… there actually seemed to be genuine concern there.

"I keep a stash o' medical supplies nearabout me workspace, as we've no surgeon or the like aboard," Silver told him, gesturing over his shoulder toward the heart of the galley. He then gave Jim a little shove in the prescribed direction, though not unkindly. "Hop to it."

"But-"

"Go on, get movin', one foot in front o' the other."

"Yeah, yeah, I know how to walk ," Jim muttered, only to nearly trip over his own feet because Morph flew between his legs and came up with an excited coo right in front of his face, startling him.

"Do ya now?" Silver queried. The pneumatic joint of his robotic peg leg hissed as he followed Jim. Hiss-thud, hiss-thud. He chuckled as Morph bathed Jim's face in slobbery kisses, even as the youth protested and sputtered. "Best step carefully with little Morphie around. Ended up on my arse plenty o' times on his account."

"Morph, quit it," Jim grumbled, trying in vain to fend off the affectionate blob with his arms. He was dangerously close to giggling . "Morph, this is serious–!"

"Don't bother explainin' seriousness to him, ye'll just get him confused," Silver advised. He stepped past Jim and ran his left hand along the edge of the gyroscopic stove as he did, then paused to do a double take. "Well done on the degreasin', by the by. Smooth as the day she was installed, I'd wager."

As he wiped his face with his sleeves, Jim felt the corners of his mouth threatening to pull into a smile. Whenever Morph showed himself it was like Silver's personality shifted, his usual no-nonsense demeanor becoming almost playful. And the effect was starting to spread to Jim as well, try as he might to resist it. Morph's delightfully disarming presence was like a ray of light banishing the darkness, and it was hard to maintain a gruff or depressed front with all of the pink shapeshifter's antics.

That, and the compliment Silver had just paid him was helping to lift his mood. He watched as Silver rummaged around the shelves searching for the first aid kit, feeling a bit silly for how dismally his thoughts had nosedived earlier. A part of him wanted to apologize for the show of anger, perhaps explain, but he couldn't seem to find the words. And so he settled on petting Morph with his uninjured hand, coaxing satisfied trills from the little beast.

" There we go," Silver muttered, pulling what almost looked like a lunchbox out from behind an assortment of spice tins. "T'ain't much, but it'll have to do. Now go an' sit yerself down at a table an' we'll patch that right up."

"I can do it myself," Jim spoke up, seating himself as quickly as he could.

"Oh? All yours, then." Silver gave a little shrug and set the kit down in front of Jim, then ambled over and helped himself to the seat opposite the boy.

Do you have to watch? Jim wanted to ask, but as before he managed to keep it behind his teeth. He wasn't surprised when Morph immediately zoomed over to Silver and started cuddling up to his face. Now a bit mollified by the fact Silver's immediate preoccupation would be his pet, he set about opening the box and blinked as he took in the sight of the items within.

"This is…" Jim's voice trailed off as he picked up a vial of ominous-looking green liquid that bubbled in its glass when he moved it. "Not at all like the first aid kits at school." There were three separate bottles of pills, none of which were labeled, another vial of equally ominous purple liquid, and a mysterious small paper bag bearing only the words DO NOT EAT scribbled diagonally. There was also a roll of bandages, which he was relieved to see, and a little tub of benign-looking ointment.

"Sure ya don't need a hand?" Silver asked wryly.

"I–" Jim paused as he comprehended the joke. "Har har," he answered, completely deadpan. He picked up the roll of bandages and fumbled at it, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tried to remove the rubber band with only his uninjured hand. "See? I'll have it in a second… there's a trick to it…"

"Mmhm," Silver nodded, more amused than anything. Morph had now melted down into the space between his neck and the collar of his shirt, contentedly burbling. "I'll take yer word for it, Jimbo."

Mere seconds later Jim thought he finally had it, but then his grip faltered unexpectedly. The roll of bandages fell to the tabletop, bounced, and sailed toward the floor… only for Silver's mechanical hand to catch it.

"Guess I had it less than I thought," Jim said sheepishly.

"T'ain't easy, doin' these sorts o' things with but the one limb," Silver remarked. "Takes practice, loads of it." He tossed the bandages from his right hand to his left, and within seconds he'd managed to unbind them without a single fumble. He flashed Jim a somewhat mischievous grin as he set the roll down between them. "Oughtta count yerself fortunate, havin' a professional such as meself around."

"Fortunate. Right." Jim reached for the bandages, hesitated, then sighed. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, much less another person, he knew trying to do this alone would only end in more frustration. "Look… can you help me dress this too? I'll owe you one."

"More'n one," Silver mused, making a show of mulling it over. "I'd say… two, no three extra passes on the heads, make 'em shine real nice…"

Jim stifled a groan, shaking his head. "How about the cutlery?" he interrupted. "That could use some extra polishing, right?"

"Hm. Lad's got a point," Silver noted, addressing Morph. The little blob nodded in agreement. Then he glanced over at Jim again and relented. "Don't worry about it. No deals, not for a thing like this. Now then, show us yer hand, aye?"

Something about extending his wounded appendage so Silver could start wrapping it in bandages made Jim feel small. It was an uncomfortable sort of feeling, as if he were an animal exposing its vulnerable underbelly. He wanted to pull back, to say he'd changed his mind, to turn away and do it himself even if it took an hour… but what had spurred him to ask for help in the first place was the desire to waste as little time as possible, for he knew the sooner they got back to their chores the better. And so he tried focusing on that to keep his cool, though his nerves still gnawed at him and he found himself staring at the empty tables on the other side of the galley.

"Thanks," he forced out to break the awkward silence. "For not leveraging more chores."

"Ye'll be pressed enough fillin' all yer regular duties as is with this little nick," Silver observed, tying off the bandage. His metal hand switched out with a pair of shears and he snipped through the fabric, then reverted back to the hand in a flurry of gears and servos. "Give it a go, see if it's too tight."

"Feels fine," Jim reported, flexing his fingers and then clenching his hand into a fist. The cut stung dully with the motion, but the bandage now wrapped securely around the length of his thumb stayed in place. "Feels great, actually, we can get right back to the yelatos–"

"Not just yet," Silver cut him off. The cyborg made no motion to get up, even though Jim was already halfway out of the booth and ready to go back to the fore of the galley. "Sit yerself back down. I need a word with ya."

Jim complied, but not without hesitation. So this is the part where I actually get in trouble , he thought with a little scowl.

"Now, I ain't much for lecturin', so I'll keep this brief." Silver returned the contents of the first aid kit and closed it, though he had to shoo Morph away from the latch so he could fasten it. "Whatever's on yer mind, puttin' that dark cloud over yer head an' makin' ya slip up with sharp implements… it don't bode well for the cabin boy to be havin' these sorts o' incidents, see." He shifted in his seat, leaning back a bit more, and gestured with his hands as if beckoning. "What I'm sayin' is, well, exactly what I said earlier. If ya got somethin' to say… ya'd best go on an' say it."

"You sure you wanna hear it?" Jim asked, folding his arms. "Usually people tell me things like 'quit complaining' or 'buzz off' when I talk about my feelings. Or they just… ugh, this is pointless, let's just get back to work already."

"Sit down ," Silver growled as soon as Jim's backside left the bench. For a moment he was the same Silver who had intimidated Scroop again, but it quickly melted away and instead of angry he looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Just… stay sittin'," he corrected, his tone softer now. "I'll be straight with ye, Jimbo, I ain't entirely in my element with all a' this either. Betcha we both had different expectations regardin' how this voyage was goin' to go, eh?"

"… Yeah," Jim replied, a bit taken aback by how sincere Silver appeared now. And not only that, but he looked tired as well; Jim was resigned to losing hours of sleep now surrounded by the snores and grunts of the rest of the crew, but he never saw Silver in the same quarters. Did he sleep at all? As silly a question as that seemed, when he caught sight of the bags beneath the cyborg's mismatched eyes he had to wonder.

"Yeah, I think when I got on this boat I had an idea of how it was gonna go, and then it didn't," Jim went on. "I felt… well, I feel stupid, like I got my hopes up, and then it all just hit me in the face. And I feel like maybe that's just how it is, you know? Like I'm supposed to be disappointed. Or maybe I don't… maybe I don't deserve anything better."

As soon as those words came tumbling out of his mouth he felt horrified and wished he could simply shove them back in, undo their existence. He forced himself to look at Silver, expecting to be punished somehow for letting those things slip. But instead of scorn or derision he saw something else there, something unexpected.

Was it understanding ? He almost didn't dare to hope.

"I know I need to pull my weight on this ship," he continued before Silver could say anything. "I know that. I just… ah, forget it. That's all I got."

Silver pondered this, eyeing Jim as if recalculating something. In a way he almost seemed to be looking past Jim at something only he could make out. Then Morph nudged the side of his face and elicited a little laugh from the man, breaking whatever spell had taken hold.

"Is that all, then?" he asked, the levity in his tone subdued. His smile didn't last long. "I ain't so good at the feelin's bit meself, truth be told. But I'll tell ya one thing. Ye ain't the first to wrestle with his lot in life, always wonderin' if there'll ever be anythin' better. And ye won't be the last. But the important bit…" With this he sat up a little straighter. "Important bit's that ye keep at it. This ain't forever, ya know."

"But what if it is?" Jim asked. He could feel himself shrinking down inside his jacket, trying to hide. "Back at the Benb… back at my mom's place all I was good for was bussing tables and washing dishes and cleaning up everyone else's mess. And as far as I can tell, that's all anyone thinks I'm good for here too. I just want a chance to do something bigger. To do it right ."

"Ah, ye'll get yer chance to prove yerself sure enough," Silver assured him. "Take it from a career spacer, nary a voyage passes without one or two wild turns. Ye'll get tossed from the fryin' pan to the fire, then right into the nearest sun for good measure! End up crispier'n a side o' Bonzabeast bacon, but ye'll have tales to tell."

"I don't want to be bacon ," Jim muttered, still sullen.

Silver went quiet again for a few seconds, then looked down at his metal hand ruefully. "Didn't really fancy being a ship's cook meself, but that be how the chips fall when yer down an arm and a leg. People look at ye an' only see what ya can't do, with barely a thought for anythin' else. Why, I'd more readily fancy meself a gunner or a rigger, but sometimes ye just have to settle." He gave Jim a grim but knowing look. "Ya got two choices, lad. Either chafe at it 'til it leaves ye raw an' miserable… or commit to bein' the best ye can at what ye've got. Me, I'm keen on the second option. An' like I said, it ain't forever. Just a step along the path."

Jim didn't know what to say. He hadn't even thought of how Silver's disability related to his job on the ship before, but it made a lot of sense the more he considered the cyborg's words. And when it came to people looking at him, only seeing what he couldn't do… it took Jim back to the Benbow, back to the cops calling him a loser to his face, and he felt a pang of empathy.

He glanced down at his bandaged hand. For all his rough edges, Silver had been surprisingly gentle while tending to him. He could have told Jim to suck it up, left him to figure it out on his own, but he hadn't. He was no soft touch by any means, but neither was he quite as hard-bitten as Jim had assumed starting out. And maybe… just maybe, they did have something in common after all besides being stuck with each other.

"So?" Silver probed, once again pulling him out of his own thoughts. "Whatcha think about that?"

"I think," he said after swallowing hard, "I'm ready to get back to peeling yelatos now."

"Hm." Again with that skeptical look. But it shifted into something almost sly within seconds. "Without takin' yer fingers off, I'd hope," Silver quipped. He scooted out of the booth and stood with a grunt, taking a moment to stretch his back while Morph flew circles around him. When he turned to look at Jim again he was all business. "Go toss that bloody peeler in the sink, fetch one of the spares. Oh, an' grab the soup crackers, Morphie here's lookin' a bit peckish…"

On hearing the words soup crackers Morph squealed and made a beeline for the kitchen cabinets. Jim scrambled to go after him before he could start knocking all the seasonings over in his quest for food, as had already happened a couple of times. "Morph! Just wait a minute, alright, I'll get your snacks–"

Sure, it wasn't the adventure he'd counted on having when he boarded this ship. And if he was completely honest, his dignity was still more than a little wounded from having his one-way ticket to glory locked in a box in the captain's study while he was sent below to scrub pots and pans. But as Jim fed Morph dry crackers from the palm of his hand, he found himself reconsidering his situation and Silver's words. Settling for his current circumstances, accepting the future would bring change and growth… certainly not things Jim Hawkins was used to doing, but it wouldn't be the first new trick this pup picked up since deciding his fate now lay somewhere in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, on the fabled Treasure Planet.