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 things that annoyed him, that razor-sharp wit and unforgiving tongue, were the exact same things 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… intriguing view in front of him.
Morse was facing away from him, white shirt pulled taut over a narrow back and surprisingly strong shoulders. He could make out every single ridge in his spine, as well as a few dark lines that 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 ankles were crossed beneath the table, and Jakes realized 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 the brat, especially after Jakes' own sword had drawn blood from the boy's throat. Unless, of course, Morse had hidden himself away in here since this morning. Just like he had done in his own room.
He had the strangest 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 older man couldn't blame him.
"… Captain".
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 as a result. He distantly wondered just how much damage he'd caused by trying to kill him, and more importantly, if he'd lost the man's trust altogether.
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 yesterday during his brief time in the navigation room.
After a few tense moments, Morse started to relax, and eventually, he picked back up his chair and returned to whatever it was that he was doing. Jakes waited another minute or two before speaking.
"So, long story short, 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, "Apologize".
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 apologize? To- To me?!"
"Well, I don't want to!" He scowled. "But I have it on very good authority that apologizing is what one does when they've acted like a…"
"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 in disbelief. "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.
"Yeah. 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 ex-husband".
He nodded once, approvingly, and Morse gave a small smile.
"He got sick. Influenza. My half-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 twelve-year-old again!"
Jakes slowly nodded, leaning back against the bookcase behind him.
"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 realized. 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 brushed the dust off the cover and headed for the door, Morse already absorbed in his own work once more. Or at least, pretending to be.
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. And if the boy had already secluded himself in the navigation room all day...
"Hey" he said, voice uncharacteristically soft, and Morse looked over his shoulder at him 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. After a moment of hesitation, he stood up, put out the lantern, and turned to Jakes with a small, genuine, smile.
"Sure".
To say the atmosphere was tense when they entered the galley together would be putting it mildly. The moment the door opened and Jakes strode in, the conversation hushed a little, and when Morse followed him, still alive and breathing, it only got even more quiet. His crew wasn't stupid enough to outright stop and stare, but it definitely came close. The sudden hush had him rolling his eyes and giving Strange a rather pointed look.
The quartermaster quickly straightened up and cleared his throat, starting a louder-than-necessary conversation with Trewlove about the state of the cannons. Slowly but surely the chatter picked back up again, but all eyes remained on them, subtly glancing over every few seconds as he and Morse headed for the kitchen down back.
When Cook saw him, he grinned, which Jakes immediately frowned at, before suddenly realizing that it wasn't actually him the man was smiling at.
"Morse!" he exclaimed, "I was wonderin' when you'd show up! Just can't resist my cookin', eh?"
"Can't resist your rum, more like" he replied easily, far more easily than he'd ever spoken to Jakes, and the captain felt himself bristle at what that could imply.
"I've been warned to ration you, m'afraid" Cook smirked, handing over two plates of biscuits and dried meat along with two tankards, "But it may or may not have slipped my mind just when I was gettin' your grub together... I'm sure the capt'in here won't mind, just this once?"
Jakes could feel those ocean blue eyes on the back of his neck and could all-too-easily imagine the wounded puppy-dog look on the man's face.
"It's fine" he replied gruffly, grabbing his food, and Cook grinned.
"Right you are, sir! Here you go, Morse. Enjoy!"
They turned away from the far-too-energetic man, and Jakes could see the sudden hesitation on the younger man's face as he glanced between Jakes, who had asked him to dinner, and Trewlove, Strange, and Fancy, who he usually had dinner with. The captain found himself strangely reluctant to give up the brat's attention now that he had it, and he distantly wondered if that made him selfish.
Fuck it. He was a pirate captain; he'd bloody well earned the right to be selfish.
"What was all that about?" he asked, heading for his usual small table in the corner. Decision made for him, Morse turned and followed, and something dark and satisfied curled in Jakes' chest as a result.
"What was what about?"
"Cook. He seemed rather… taken in by you" he replied, taking his usual seat and gesturing at the bench opposite for the boy to sit on despite the scowl on his face.
"Just because I don't act nice to you, doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing so!"
He sat down anyway.
Jakes raised a single eyebrow. "Oh really? So what nice things have you and Cook been getting up to?"
The boy flushed a rather enticing red at the not-so-subtle innuendo in those words but refused to back down.
"If you must know" he bit out, "I've been helping him clean up after dinner these last few days. Your crew leaves this place a bloody disaster after every meal!"
"It's called the mess for a reason, brat".
"Yeah, well, last I checked, everyone onboard was a fully functioning adult! There's no reason for them to act like- like- like-"
"Pirates?" he suggested blandly and Morse scowled at him, "Actually I was going to say savages, but apparently, they're the same thing these days!"
He was actually riled up about this, Jakes realised curiously, as red-hot anger flashed through ocean-blue eyes like a burning sunset in the Pacific. The state of the room genuinely upset him. Cook was an optimistic person by nature, so Jakes wasn't surprised that the man hadn't complained to him if things really were this bad. On the other hand, it was Jakes' duty as captain of this ship to ensure that all of his crew were happy with their jobs. Morse didn't seem opposed to the general day-to-day filth of pirate life, so for him to be serious about this meant… well.
It meant that Jakes hadn't been doing his job right.
"I'll talk to Cook" he heard himself replying, "See what can be done. If it really is a problem, then I'll talk to the crew".
Morse blinked, surprised, and the sunset dimmed, dipping beneath the waves.
"Oh… Right... Thanks".
"I care about my crew, brat, even though it might not seem like it. If there's a problem that affects their wellbeing, then I want to know".
Morse looked even more surprised at that, and Jakes reached for his mug of rum with a smug smirk.
They continued to eat in silence, but it was comfortable rather than awkward. A tentative truce, of sorts, seemed to have been agreed upon, and as the evening passed without any bloodshed between them, the rest of the crew started to relax as well. Tensions calmed, DeBryn was no longer on standby, and Jakes was... surprisingly content.
For the first time since he'd agreed to let the brat onboard The Cowley, he didn't regret that decision.
And not just because they needed a navigator, either.
Morse was an absolute brat, mouthy and sarcastic and a pain in the ass at the best of times, but he was also sharp. Clever. And Jakes had always liked clever. Even when it was insulting him directly to his face while standing onboard his ship, he couldn't help but like the resilience and determination that the boy showed. What he'd lived through, what he'd grown up with... it hadn't broken him. It hadn't beaten him. He had survived it all, and now... now, he was starting to thrive.
Jakes had let his own past make him bitter.
Morse seemed hell-bent on doing the exact opposite.
So who could blame him, really, for falling a little in love with that brilliance?