Ficlet: Grasping
Title: Grasping
Pairing: Jack/Stephen friendship
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack has a goal. He's not about to let a little cold water keep him from reaching it.
Word count: 500
Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Patrick O'Brian. No harm is intended.
A/N: I suspect this might be something of a cliché, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Comments and criticism welcome.
The water is cold, so cold it sends spikes of pain through his body, as if the sea is full of the souls of midshipmen, prodding at him with their dirks. Yet he does not swim back for the ship, does not call out for a rope.
Mere seconds in the water and his limbs are already growing stiff, his muscles aching and tightening. Still, he plunges down into the icy water. His eyes are open, but it makes no difference: the water is dark and empty before him.
He kicks deeper, arms searching. They find nothing. A fire burns in his lungs but it does nothing to warm him.
As deep as he swims he finds only emptiness and soon he will need to go back up for air. He fears that if he does so, however, all will be lost. He tries to ignore his body's protests.
There. There! He is certain he felt something brush against his outstretched hand. It was just the briefest of touches, but he is sure he felt it. He will not accept any other possibility. He fights the urge to claw back to the surface and instead kicks deeper. Again he feels it, and this time is able to hold on.
With a tight grip on Stephen's ankle, Jack swims for the surface. It feels like it takes an eternity to get there, and Jack is reduced to gasping breaths as hands too numerous to count reach out to haul him and Stephen aboard.
The deck is crowded with concerned men, and Jack wants to scream at them to back off but his throat is sore - his whole body is sore - and the words will not come. Through the mess of sailors, he can see that Padeen and Bonden have Stephen bowed over a barrel, and though he has little confidence in the method, he does not know what else to try. He lets them work. A murmur of concern ripples through the assembly.
He barely registers when Killick throws his greatcoat over his shoulders, but seconds later he is shrugging it off, the coarse fabric torture to his overly sensitive skin. Killick is back in an instant with reproachful words, and the coat is drawn around him again, tighter this time.
A sputtering cough silences the men on deck. A second is followed by a collective sigh of relief.
Jack pushes aside his own discomfort, drops to his knee, and watches as Stephen’s world comes back into focus. "Did I catch it?"
Jack does not have the faintest idea what manner of sea creature Stephen had been after when he fell overboard. In truth, he does not care. "I'm afraid the only thing I caught was you," he says.
"Oh," Stephen replies, before they are both ushered into the cabin.
"Someday," Jack says, after Stephen is stripped of his wet clothes and tucked securely into his cot, "you will learn how to swim properly."
"Somewhere with a warmer climate, I hope."
-- end --
Pairing: Jack/Stephen friendship
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack has a goal. He's not about to let a little cold water keep him from reaching it.
Word count: 500
Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Patrick O'Brian. No harm is intended.
A/N: I suspect this might be something of a cliché, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Comments and criticism welcome.
The water is cold, so cold it sends spikes of pain through his body, as if the sea is full of the souls of midshipmen, prodding at him with their dirks. Yet he does not swim back for the ship, does not call out for a rope.
Mere seconds in the water and his limbs are already growing stiff, his muscles aching and tightening. Still, he plunges down into the icy water. His eyes are open, but it makes no difference: the water is dark and empty before him.
He kicks deeper, arms searching. They find nothing. A fire burns in his lungs but it does nothing to warm him.
As deep as he swims he finds only emptiness and soon he will need to go back up for air. He fears that if he does so, however, all will be lost. He tries to ignore his body's protests.
There. There! He is certain he felt something brush against his outstretched hand. It was just the briefest of touches, but he is sure he felt it. He will not accept any other possibility. He fights the urge to claw back to the surface and instead kicks deeper. Again he feels it, and this time is able to hold on.
With a tight grip on Stephen's ankle, Jack swims for the surface. It feels like it takes an eternity to get there, and Jack is reduced to gasping breaths as hands too numerous to count reach out to haul him and Stephen aboard.
The deck is crowded with concerned men, and Jack wants to scream at them to back off but his throat is sore - his whole body is sore - and the words will not come. Through the mess of sailors, he can see that Padeen and Bonden have Stephen bowed over a barrel, and though he has little confidence in the method, he does not know what else to try. He lets them work. A murmur of concern ripples through the assembly.
He barely registers when Killick throws his greatcoat over his shoulders, but seconds later he is shrugging it off, the coarse fabric torture to his overly sensitive skin. Killick is back in an instant with reproachful words, and the coat is drawn around him again, tighter this time.
A sputtering cough silences the men on deck. A second is followed by a collective sigh of relief.
Jack pushes aside his own discomfort, drops to his knee, and watches as Stephen’s world comes back into focus. "Did I catch it?"
Jack does not have the faintest idea what manner of sea creature Stephen had been after when he fell overboard. In truth, he does not care. "I'm afraid the only thing I caught was you," he says.
"Oh," Stephen replies, before they are both ushered into the cabin.
"Someday," Jack says, after Stephen is stripped of his wet clothes and tucked securely into his cot, "you will learn how to swim properly."
"Somewhere with a warmer climate, I hope."
-- end --