Safe Ashore (1/1)
Title: Safe Ashore
Fandom: Master and Commander (movie-verse)
Pairing: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin (just deep friendship or very mild slash, however you want to see it)
Rating: PG, for some mildly graphic imagery
Spoilers: Um, general for the movie, just to be safe
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This is what I get for watching my favorite movies and forgetting to take off my slash goggles. -facepalm- I have no excuse. The entire J/S slash business in my brain was kickstarted by the look on Stephen's face when he joins in with the singing at the second captain's table scene. Again, I have no excuse.
Summary: Takes place during the movie, just after Stephen's "operation". Jack finds himself a little more disturbed by recent events than he thinks he should be.
It was a singularly upsetting thing, to watch the single person in the entire world one cared most not to lose, pulling a bullet out of his own side. It was doubly upsetting for one who was accustomed to being in control of every situation to feel completely powerless and out of his depth while watching this singularly upsetting thing.
Volunteering oneself to assist in the operation (vis-a-vis wiping away the blood) for the purpose of combating this feeling of uselessness, it turns out, does absolutely nothing for its intended purpose, and serves only to compound aforementioned feelings of powerlessness and ignorance, as well as add an unhealthy dose of nausea.
Jack Aubrey, therefore, as he tried to sleep after assisting in Stephen's little self-operation, was understandably...upset.
He'd been around wounds all his life. He'd told Stephen so himself, a few hours ago. He'd been wounded himself countless times (enough of his blood in the woodwork for Surprise to almost be a relation). On one memorable occasion (which Pullings still gets a bit green to recall), he'd even set his own broken leg. He'd become necessarily inured to the sometimes horrendous wounds his comrades and seamen incurred in the King's service.
No, he was quite careless about the injuries of others or his own person, however grotesque, painful, and/or horrifying.
But Stephen, damn him, was being quite persistent in not leaving Jack's thoughts. Stephen and that absolutely hideous-looking bullet wound in his side. (Admittedly it hadn't been quite so hideous-looking before Stephen had gone at it like a damned butcher, with Jack having a delightfully close-up view of the entire affair.)
Naval discipline, Aubrey, naval discipline, Jack ordered himself rather harshly, and put the entire business out of his head, rolling over on the makeshift bed frame and set about falling asleep with the single-minded determination he brought into all his endeavors.
It was difficult to sleep on land after so many months at sea, and Jack was sorely missing Surprise's gentle rock before he finally fell into fitful sleep.
- - -
They were shouting at each other again, Jack realized with a horribly guilty feeling. They hadn't fought so much in years, but it was this damned venture that was doing it, that damned phantom and those damned islands with their damned birds and his damned superstitious men. He needed Stephen on his side or what was it all for, for God's sake?
Stephen was looking at him with that blank look of stunned hurt, that I-can't-quite-believe-you-just-said-that-Jack look that hurt Jack to the quick, made him feel low and miserable and angry at himself for being so quick to temper and Stephen for being so quick to take offense and at whatever the hell it was that was making them argue this time.
And he tried to open his mouth to apologize, but he couldn't speak, no words came out. His throat burned with rising panic, and Stephen was falling away from him--he reached out, but his hands were clumsy, he missed, and Stephen was still looking at Jack with that blank look, the pain becoming more pronounced as his skin paled with agony then reddened with the blood spilling from his side--
Jack couldn't scream for him, couldn't apologize, couldn't do anything, anything at all--
But Stephen was fine, he was fine, wake UP, Jack, wake UP--
Jack's eyes snapped open as he forced himself awake, heart pounding triple-time and limbs cold with sweat. He stared at the ceiling of his tent for a long few moments, willing his heart and breathing to slow and forcing himself to lie calm, to not get up, to restrain the childish and silly urge twitching in his muscles...
Oh, hell. There was nothing for it.
Cursing, Jack swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up, looking for his boots.
There were few enough men standing watch for Jack to move mostly unnoticed through the camp--the few men who did notice him touched their hats silently, and if he was too preoccupied to give much more than a nod, it was to be forgiven.
Higgins dozed outside of Stephen's tent, presumably to be immediately available should the doctor need anything. He started awake at the sound of Jack's boots on the rocks, struggling to stand to attention.
Jack waved him away. "To your bunk, Mister Higgins," he ordered quietly, his voice hoarse, and Higgins, relieved, scurried away.
Jack ducked his head and lifted the canvas, slipping into the tent.
Stephen was very pale in the moonlight filtering through the tent, and for one fearful moment Jack wasn't sure his chest was rising and falling.
But--no--trick of the light, of course it was. Stephen was fine. Sleeping. He probably hadn't woken since Jack had left his bedside however many hours past.
There, now. Was he reassured, then?
Jack sighed heavily, leaning against the tent pole and studying Stephen's sleeping face. "Stephen," he sighed to himself in exasperated fondness. One of these days, they'd be the death of each other.
Stephen stirred, turning towards his voice. His eyes were bright and sleepy in the dark. "Jack?"
There was a confusion, edged with pain (his side hurt like the devil, no doubt) in his voice that was perfectly natural--but it reminded Jack too sharply of his dream, of the look he'd seen on Stephen's face. A wave of irrational fear hit him like the surge of a storm, knocked him overboard, adrift.
He swallowed, hard, and Stephen saw it, blinked, and sat up slightly. "Jack?" he asked again, worry replacing sleep in his voice.
Slowly, wordlessly Jack moved to sit beside him, offering a small and short smile of reassurance that barely reached his lips, let alone his eyes. Stephen gave him a strange look, shifting slightly to make room for his friend.
Jack didn't give himself over to displays of affection or weakness or anything but pure strength and confidence very often, but he'd been through a rather rough few weeks, days, hours...
Stephen's face, almost white in the fading light, then splashed red with blood from his side, and Jack couldn't say a word
With a very small noise, Jack leaned forward and rested his head against Stephen's shoulder.
Stephen's quiet exhalation was neither confused nor pained, and one hand came across to rest on Jack's back, comfortingly warm and alive.
"Stephen," Jack began after a moment, his voice rougher than he'd have liked, "I know we have not been...completely harmonious on this voyage, as a matter of fact--"
"Jack," Stephen began, but Jack shook his head ever so slightly and Stephen fell silent again.
Once he'd determined to say it, he was going to have the whole thing out, damn it. "There have been...things...said between us," Jack continued, cringing with shame at the vague word and his own inability to admit to anything more, "that I would give anything to not have said, in retrospect."
"Things we both said," Stephen interjected very quietly, his fingers flexing slightly against Jack's spine.
Jack swallowed. "Indeed." He hesitated a moment, trying to perfect the phrasing of what he was trying to say. "I don't believe I apologized for any of those things, Stephen," he said finally. Stephen snorted quietly against Jack's hair, and Jack almost smiled before going on. "I'd hate for any of that to be the last things I--"
No, that was a dream, that was just the dream!
Jack broke off abruptly, swallowed, and continued as though he hadn't said anything, "I shouldn't like any of those things to be between us, if anything were to..." His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. "Anything were to..."
Stephen laughed softly. "Jack..."
"Indulge a foolish man his sentiments, Stephen."
"Jack, those things have been long forgotten, do believe me."
"Really."
"Really, Jack," Stephen huffed, sounding both a little amused and a little annoyed. He paused. "What did you start to say?"
"Nothing."
"Jack."
"Nothing, Stephen."
Stephen made an unconvinced sound, but let it pass. His hand on Jack's back drifted up to tangle briefly in his mess of blond curls. "Well. It doesn't matter, I promise."
Jack closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'd thought so, I just... I don't know what. Bad dreams."
Stephen's hand in his hair felt good, comforting. Stephen sighed slightly, and Jack could sense his smile. After a moment, Stephen breathed quietly, sing-song, "Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack..."
Jack laughed against Stephen's shoulder, one hand slipping between them to squeeze Stephen's other hand for a brief moment. "Good," he said, half to himself. "Good, then."
"Can you sleep now?" Stephen asked, always the perceptive one.
Jack exhaled softly, and sat up, smiling down at his friend. "Yes, I think so."
"Well, there's a chair in the corner. Rest assured I'll wake you if I need anything."
"Oh, I'm sure you will."
Fandom: Master and Commander (movie-verse)
Pairing: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin (just deep friendship or very mild slash, however you want to see it)
Rating: PG, for some mildly graphic imagery
Spoilers: Um, general for the movie, just to be safe
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This is what I get for watching my favorite movies and forgetting to take off my slash goggles. -facepalm- I have no excuse. The entire J/S slash business in my brain was kickstarted by the look on Stephen's face when he joins in with the singing at the second captain's table scene. Again, I have no excuse.
Summary: Takes place during the movie, just after Stephen's "operation". Jack finds himself a little more disturbed by recent events than he thinks he should be.
It was a singularly upsetting thing, to watch the single person in the entire world one cared most not to lose, pulling a bullet out of his own side. It was doubly upsetting for one who was accustomed to being in control of every situation to feel completely powerless and out of his depth while watching this singularly upsetting thing.
Volunteering oneself to assist in the operation (vis-a-vis wiping away the blood) for the purpose of combating this feeling of uselessness, it turns out, does absolutely nothing for its intended purpose, and serves only to compound aforementioned feelings of powerlessness and ignorance, as well as add an unhealthy dose of nausea.
Jack Aubrey, therefore, as he tried to sleep after assisting in Stephen's little self-operation, was understandably...upset.
He'd been around wounds all his life. He'd told Stephen so himself, a few hours ago. He'd been wounded himself countless times (enough of his blood in the woodwork for Surprise to almost be a relation). On one memorable occasion (which Pullings still gets a bit green to recall), he'd even set his own broken leg. He'd become necessarily inured to the sometimes horrendous wounds his comrades and seamen incurred in the King's service.
No, he was quite careless about the injuries of others or his own person, however grotesque, painful, and/or horrifying.
But Stephen, damn him, was being quite persistent in not leaving Jack's thoughts. Stephen and that absolutely hideous-looking bullet wound in his side. (Admittedly it hadn't been quite so hideous-looking before Stephen had gone at it like a damned butcher, with Jack having a delightfully close-up view of the entire affair.)
Naval discipline, Aubrey, naval discipline, Jack ordered himself rather harshly, and put the entire business out of his head, rolling over on the makeshift bed frame and set about falling asleep with the single-minded determination he brought into all his endeavors.
It was difficult to sleep on land after so many months at sea, and Jack was sorely missing Surprise's gentle rock before he finally fell into fitful sleep.
- - -
They were shouting at each other again, Jack realized with a horribly guilty feeling. They hadn't fought so much in years, but it was this damned venture that was doing it, that damned phantom and those damned islands with their damned birds and his damned superstitious men. He needed Stephen on his side or what was it all for, for God's sake?
Stephen was looking at him with that blank look of stunned hurt, that I-can't-quite-believe-you-just-said-that-Jack look that hurt Jack to the quick, made him feel low and miserable and angry at himself for being so quick to temper and Stephen for being so quick to take offense and at whatever the hell it was that was making them argue this time.
And he tried to open his mouth to apologize, but he couldn't speak, no words came out. His throat burned with rising panic, and Stephen was falling away from him--he reached out, but his hands were clumsy, he missed, and Stephen was still looking at Jack with that blank look, the pain becoming more pronounced as his skin paled with agony then reddened with the blood spilling from his side--
Jack couldn't scream for him, couldn't apologize, couldn't do anything, anything at all--
But Stephen was fine, he was fine, wake UP, Jack, wake UP--
Jack's eyes snapped open as he forced himself awake, heart pounding triple-time and limbs cold with sweat. He stared at the ceiling of his tent for a long few moments, willing his heart and breathing to slow and forcing himself to lie calm, to not get up, to restrain the childish and silly urge twitching in his muscles...
Oh, hell. There was nothing for it.
Cursing, Jack swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up, looking for his boots.
There were few enough men standing watch for Jack to move mostly unnoticed through the camp--the few men who did notice him touched their hats silently, and if he was too preoccupied to give much more than a nod, it was to be forgiven.
Higgins dozed outside of Stephen's tent, presumably to be immediately available should the doctor need anything. He started awake at the sound of Jack's boots on the rocks, struggling to stand to attention.
Jack waved him away. "To your bunk, Mister Higgins," he ordered quietly, his voice hoarse, and Higgins, relieved, scurried away.
Jack ducked his head and lifted the canvas, slipping into the tent.
Stephen was very pale in the moonlight filtering through the tent, and for one fearful moment Jack wasn't sure his chest was rising and falling.
But--no--trick of the light, of course it was. Stephen was fine. Sleeping. He probably hadn't woken since Jack had left his bedside however many hours past.
There, now. Was he reassured, then?
Jack sighed heavily, leaning against the tent pole and studying Stephen's sleeping face. "Stephen," he sighed to himself in exasperated fondness. One of these days, they'd be the death of each other.
Stephen stirred, turning towards his voice. His eyes were bright and sleepy in the dark. "Jack?"
There was a confusion, edged with pain (his side hurt like the devil, no doubt) in his voice that was perfectly natural--but it reminded Jack too sharply of his dream, of the look he'd seen on Stephen's face. A wave of irrational fear hit him like the surge of a storm, knocked him overboard, adrift.
He swallowed, hard, and Stephen saw it, blinked, and sat up slightly. "Jack?" he asked again, worry replacing sleep in his voice.
Slowly, wordlessly Jack moved to sit beside him, offering a small and short smile of reassurance that barely reached his lips, let alone his eyes. Stephen gave him a strange look, shifting slightly to make room for his friend.
Jack didn't give himself over to displays of affection or weakness or anything but pure strength and confidence very often, but he'd been through a rather rough few weeks, days, hours...
Stephen's face, almost white in the fading light, then splashed red with blood from his side, and Jack couldn't say a word
With a very small noise, Jack leaned forward and rested his head against Stephen's shoulder.
Stephen's quiet exhalation was neither confused nor pained, and one hand came across to rest on Jack's back, comfortingly warm and alive.
"Stephen," Jack began after a moment, his voice rougher than he'd have liked, "I know we have not been...completely harmonious on this voyage, as a matter of fact--"
"Jack," Stephen began, but Jack shook his head ever so slightly and Stephen fell silent again.
Once he'd determined to say it, he was going to have the whole thing out, damn it. "There have been...things...said between us," Jack continued, cringing with shame at the vague word and his own inability to admit to anything more, "that I would give anything to not have said, in retrospect."
"Things we both said," Stephen interjected very quietly, his fingers flexing slightly against Jack's spine.
Jack swallowed. "Indeed." He hesitated a moment, trying to perfect the phrasing of what he was trying to say. "I don't believe I apologized for any of those things, Stephen," he said finally. Stephen snorted quietly against Jack's hair, and Jack almost smiled before going on. "I'd hate for any of that to be the last things I--"
No, that was a dream, that was just the dream!
Jack broke off abruptly, swallowed, and continued as though he hadn't said anything, "I shouldn't like any of those things to be between us, if anything were to..." His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. "Anything were to..."
Stephen laughed softly. "Jack..."
"Indulge a foolish man his sentiments, Stephen."
"Jack, those things have been long forgotten, do believe me."
"Really."
"Really, Jack," Stephen huffed, sounding both a little amused and a little annoyed. He paused. "What did you start to say?"
"Nothing."
"Jack."
"Nothing, Stephen."
Stephen made an unconvinced sound, but let it pass. His hand on Jack's back drifted up to tangle briefly in his mess of blond curls. "Well. It doesn't matter, I promise."
Jack closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'd thought so, I just... I don't know what. Bad dreams."
Stephen's hand in his hair felt good, comforting. Stephen sighed slightly, and Jack could sense his smile. After a moment, Stephen breathed quietly, sing-song, "Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack..."
Jack laughed against Stephen's shoulder, one hand slipping between them to squeeze Stephen's other hand for a brief moment. "Good," he said, half to himself. "Good, then."
"Can you sleep now?" Stephen asked, always the perceptive one.
Jack exhaled softly, and sat up, smiling down at his friend. "Yes, I think so."
"Well, there's a chair in the corner. Rest assured I'll wake you if I need anything."
"Oh, I'm sure you will."