Once Morse was sure that no one had heard him, he turned his attention to what had irritated the captain so much.
And then swore himself.
The room was an absolute disaster.
Slowly stepping forward, Morse stared at the heaps of maps on the desk in the centre of the room, the clearly abused equipment scattered all over the floor, and the rows upon rows of books and papers haphazardly shoved into whatever space they could fit in the bookshelves.
No wonder Jakes was annoyed.
He racked his brain for any mention of a navigator, for this was clearly their room, but the only thing he could remember was an offhand comment DeBryn made about needing to find a port to dock at anyway because they were down one man. It wasn't too much of a stretch to realize that the man they were short, was the one in charge of mapmaking.
He glanced back at the closed door, and then at the messy unorganized room once more.
His main area of study had been the Greats when he was up, but he'd also dabbled in cyphers and cartography, liking how similar the numbers could be to poetry. He'd always dreamed of getting away, and even though escaping to Oxford had all but killed him, he always promised himself that he'd put even more distance between himself and his parents after he got his degree.
Morse gave a wry smirk.
He hadn't quite expected it to be like this, however.
Either way, it meant that the maps and charts on the table weren't as foreign to him as it seemed they were to Jakes, and any semblance of organization at all would help the captain tremendously.
And besides, it wasn't as if he was getting any more sleep tonight.
So, taking a deep breath, he rolled up his shirt sleeves, careful not to catch on any bandage, and then tried to figure out where to start.
It was time to prove just how well he could fit in.
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 organizing the navigation room had taken most of the night, but even as exhausting as it was, his curiosity had 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 realize 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 the 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 feel 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 against 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.
He 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?!"
Morse let out a heavy breath and reluctantly sat up, 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 stand 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 got both arms through before there was a vice-like grip around his wrist and he was yanked forward.
"Hey!"
"Sarge-"
"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 staggered 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 redwood.
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 as well, pulling up short at the sight of the weapon, and from the helm, Strange took a quick 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 what? ... 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 gave 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, death threats be damned, "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 still 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 catch sight of land in the distance but knew it was futile. His navigation 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 fucking 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, eyes closed and a smirk on his lips, "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 with an almost contemplative tilt of his head, the rest of the crew behind him frozen in fear.
"… What do you know about the Navy?"
"More 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 port" Morse reluctantly explained, "I know pirates don't have a lot to live for, but I didn't think you were that suicidal. Given that I can only assume you told Strange to ignore my note, you'll likely reach them within a fortnight".
"… What was on the note?"
"The correct course. Obviously".
"Leading to?"
"Tortuga" he 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. Now".
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 bluntly, "But I dabbled in cartography, and... well, it doesn't take a genius to read a map".
Jakes bristled at the pointed remark but still remained surprisingly calm about the whole thing.
"So, when you said that you moved around the charts-"
"Ordered the charts".
"-and plotted a new course-"
"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.
"Alright then". He straightened up and tipped his hat. "You want to make yourself useful, fine. How does Sailing Master sound?"
Morse blinked in shock. "What?!"
"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 easily 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 as he forced himself to release the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding because-
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 out before looking up once more. The sail had been re-tied, 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 he immediately wanted to throw up.
"What the fuck just happened?!"
Strange sighed before his usual grin tugged at his mouth.
"What happened, Morse, is that 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".
"Is that supposed to make murder sound 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 mouthful. 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 snarled, "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 feel like years ago to you, but I still remember the angry drunk seventeen-year-old that Fred 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 and-"
"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 seventeen 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 you had the chance just to spite you".
He snorted.
"No truer words, doc".