New Fic: No Kind of Sea
Title: No Kind of Sea
Author: simonesimone
Pairing: Aubrey/Maturin (eventually, though not in this part)
Word count: 1800
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Major ones for the book, Far Side of the World
Warnings: This is incomplete, part one of several, but I am posting it here to give myself incentive to finish it in a timely manner, rather than languishing on my hard drive as most of them do. ALSO, much of of it is lifted directly from the book (sorry, P.O., but I needed the set-up!), so I can take very little credit for it. But, I promise the coming parts will be more original (and full of A/M slashiness, which is woefully scarce!).
The set-up is that the Surprise is sailing off the coast of South America, as in the movie, but they are pursuing an American ship rather than a French one. The Norfolk is an American ship whose mission is to hassle British whalers, and as in the movie Aubrey and co., are there to capture or destroy her. They have just picked up a little band of whalers whose ship was captured, and they tell Jack which way the Norfolk went; Jack promptly pursues them, disappointing Stephen of his chance to explore the Galapagos. They fight (though not as badly as in the movie) and by this time Stephen is mostly recovered, though still perhaps a little sulky. He is in Jack's cabin, leaning out the window to collect specimens with a net, and yes I suppose you can guess what happens next.
Jack found the long-handled net quite soon, but when he came to pass it there was no Stephen in the stern-window, only a strangled voice from the wake: ‘A rope, a rope.’
‘Clap on to the cutter,’ cried Jack, and he dived straight in. No cutter, upon coming to the surface, and no Stephen, either; but at that moment he saw and heard a gasping boil that rose and sank in the troubled, phosphorescent water. He dived again, swimming deeper and deeper until he saw his friend against the luminous surface. Stephen had become strangely entangled in his own net, his head and one elbow tight in its meshes, its handle down the back of his shirt. Jack got him out; but breaking the stout handle, ripping off the shirt, and at the same time holding Stephen so that his head was above water took some while, and when at last he drew breath and shouted, ‘Surprise, ahoy!’ coming at the full pitch of his powerful voice, the hail coincided with a roaring chorus, now taken up by the whole ship’s company. He had set Stephen to float on his back, which he could do tolerably well when the sea was calm; but an unfortunate ripple, washing over his face as he drew breath, sank him and again; again he had to be brought up, and now Jack’s ‘Surprise, ahoy!’ coming at the full pitch of his powerful voice, had an edge of anxiety to it, for although she was not sailing fast, every minute she moved more than a hundred yards, and already her lights were dimming in the mist.
Hail after hail after hail, enough to startle the dead: but when she was no more than the blur of the planet earlier in the night he fell silent, and Stephen said in a low voice, ‘I am extremely concerned, Jack, that my awkwardness should have brought you into such very grave danger.’
Stephen rarely issued apologies; he could be tactful and discreet when the mood struck him, but for the most part he was prideful, quarrelsome, and unrepentant. He had always been vulnerable to these faults, but the Navy, with it strong sense of discipline and order, had cemented them. In another vessel these tendencies might have been checked, but there was no one aboard who would have dared to cross the Captain’s particular friend, especially when Jack viewed his outbursts and blatant insolence in such a tolerant light. The ship’s crew would have endured Stephen for Jack’s sake alone--those few occasions when Stephen had been misplaced over the years were recalled with something very like horror by those that had had the ill-fortune to live through them--but this was not necessary; they loved him for his own sake.
The reasons for this were as many and varied as their reasons for loving Jack; first, they could take pride in having a true physician sailing as their surgeon, a very learned man. He had saved a great many of them--wounds that in less capable hands would have proved deadly were, for some of them, no hardship at all. They greatly enjoyed the capers--the animals he brought aboard, the strange operations he carried out--and also he had no sense at all of propriety; he could and would ask Jack questions, in earshot of all, that the rest of the ship might long to ask, but never would, even his most trusted and senior officers. It was a mark of his skill and value that the more disagreeable aspects of his character were wholly overlooked, and he was much-beloved in spite of them.
Now Jack regarded him with affection--he still did not believe the situation hopeless. ‘Bless you,’ he said without hesitation, ‘it ain’t so very grave as all that. Killick is bound to come into the cabin in half an hour or so, and Mowett will put the ship about directly.’
‘But do you think they will ever see us, with this fog, and no moon, no moon at all?’
Jack reassured him at length, a well-reasoned and rational response designed to put the doctor at ease and settle his nerves. He arranged Stephen so that he might float on his back more comfortably, and thus settled he began hailing the ship at steady intervals, ‘to help them in the search.’ They drifted westward, and perhaps a little north, and Jack reflected upon their course and that of the ship, the difficulty of judging either without any fixed point. He wondered how Mowett would set about the rescue; if the logs had been accurately kept, it would simply be a matter of running back close-hauled, or even with the wind one point free, always supposing that the breeze remained steady at sou’east by south, and that his current estimate was correct…distantly, in the midst of these calculations, he became aware that Stephen, lying as stiff as a board, was becoming distressed. ‘Stephen,’ he said, pushing him, for Stephen’s head was thrown back so far that he could not easily hear, ‘Stephen, dear, turn over, put your arms round my neck, and we will swim for a little.’ Then as he felt Stephen’s feet on the back of his legs, ‘You have not kicked off your shoes. Do not you know you must kick off your shoes? What a fellow you are, Stephen.’
Well-acquainted as the doctor was with drowning (Jack judged this must be at least the tenth or fifteenth time he had been saved, by a conservative estimate) Jack would have thought him more familiar with the particulars. Stephen passionately hated any kind of condescension, but Jack was intimately familiar with this and his efforts to make his friend comfortable and easy were lighthearted and calm. Stephen was badly frightened, and guilty, too, in spite of Jack’s reassurances, and Jack sorely wished he could do more for him.
He did not blame Stephen for their predicament in the slightest, but could see no way of conveying this without making Stephen feel worse, so on they went, sometimes swimming gently, sometimes floating in the luke-warm sea. They did not talk much, though Stephen did observe that it was all very much easier, now that he was allowed to change position from time to time; even the act of floating came more naturally with use-- ‘I believe I may set up as a Triton.’ And on another occasion he said, ‘I am very deeply indebted to you, Jack, for supporting me in this way.’
Jack would have liked to have said something--something that conveyed his very real affection, greater than any he had ever known, except for Sophie--that reassured Stephen that no thanks were necessary, that he would have done a great deal more for his friend than this. He was not very good at expressing himself in this way, however, and so could think of nothing to respond with beyond a murmur.
His affection for Stephen was rather different from his love for Sophie, he reflected, for although he and his wife were deeply attached to one another, he suspected, very privately, that their happiness owed a great deal to his frequent and lengthy absences. It was true that he seemed to wear at her nerves when he was in the house too long (the way most naval husbands did, truth be told, getting in the way of the pots and pans), and for his own part he found domestic life--though much longed-for, when he was at sea-- strangely confining when he was not. At sea there was precious little that he could not master, but at home he was as awkward as a bull in a china cupboard.
He could not imagine his relationship with Sophie being like that with Stephen--frequent quarrels, full evidence of each other’s faults on constant display, very few diversions apart from each other’s company--no, he quite shuddered to think upon it. He did not see how anyone could stay married under such conditions; how landsmen did it he would never know. Stephen’s grip was slackening, Jack realized suddenly; he stopped and let him float for a while.
Stephen, for his part, was perhaps more guilty and slightly less frightened than Jack imagined. His assurances had been successful, in that he too still had hope that they would be rescued, but he felt very low about pulling Jack into danger once again, particularly when Jack was being so good to him, and when he had wished Jack’s soul to the devil at any time these past few weeks.
He had been extremely cross and resentful at being denied his treat, having greatly looked forward to exploring the island, and he had abused Jack’s character since then as much as his worst enemy could have wished. That the abuse had been spoken to himself only did not comfort him; at the moment, he regretted his choleric and revengeful nature very much. He was rather misanthropic, more inclined to find fault and failure than optimism and pleasure, and even at his best he did not have occasion to praise Jack overmuch, despite his great affection for him and their long friendship.
But now he paused to reflect on this, wondering if it was his own prejudices at the root of this, if it was because Jack’s example of benign, even loving authority flew in the face of all his own notions of leadership and power. It was true that Jack’s ships were as a rule happier than any he had ever seen, that the young men whose characters he had formed were a credit to him; just, bold, courageous officers, free from the hypocrisy and tyranny one so often saw…
And here was Jack now, having pursued him into the ocean once again, with no thought or care for his own safety, as Stephen had seen him do many, many times. No, he is a splendid creature, Stephen said to himself. I am too harsh a judge. There is no man or woman without fault; we are all sinners. And truly I have never known a better man.
With that thought Stephen stopped floating to swim closer to him, rousing Jack who appeared to have been in a kind of light slumber. ‘Here, Stephen,’ he said, showing no surprise at their surroundings, ‘you are cold?’
‘Yes,’ Stephen said--to his surprise, he found he was shivering convulsively, as was Jack. It had happened so gradually he had not noticed. ‘The water does not seem so warm now,’ he said.
‘Well, it will be dawn soon,’ Jack said, drawing Stephen towards him. ‘See how the sky lightens? The sun will bear us up admirably.’
Stephen did not ask what would happen then, or the likelihood of the ship’s finding them, he only pressed close, to share what heat and comfort he could.
Author: simonesimone
Pairing: Aubrey/Maturin (eventually, though not in this part)
Word count: 1800
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Major ones for the book, Far Side of the World
Warnings: This is incomplete, part one of several, but I am posting it here to give myself incentive to finish it in a timely manner, rather than languishing on my hard drive as most of them do. ALSO, much of of it is lifted directly from the book (sorry, P.O., but I needed the set-up!), so I can take very little credit for it. But, I promise the coming parts will be more original (and full of A/M slashiness, which is woefully scarce!).
The set-up is that the Surprise is sailing off the coast of South America, as in the movie, but they are pursuing an American ship rather than a French one. The Norfolk is an American ship whose mission is to hassle British whalers, and as in the movie Aubrey and co., are there to capture or destroy her. They have just picked up a little band of whalers whose ship was captured, and they tell Jack which way the Norfolk went; Jack promptly pursues them, disappointing Stephen of his chance to explore the Galapagos. They fight (though not as badly as in the movie) and by this time Stephen is mostly recovered, though still perhaps a little sulky. He is in Jack's cabin, leaning out the window to collect specimens with a net, and yes I suppose you can guess what happens next.
Jack found the long-handled net quite soon, but when he came to pass it there was no Stephen in the stern-window, only a strangled voice from the wake: ‘A rope, a rope.’
‘Clap on to the cutter,’ cried Jack, and he dived straight in. No cutter, upon coming to the surface, and no Stephen, either; but at that moment he saw and heard a gasping boil that rose and sank in the troubled, phosphorescent water. He dived again, swimming deeper and deeper until he saw his friend against the luminous surface. Stephen had become strangely entangled in his own net, his head and one elbow tight in its meshes, its handle down the back of his shirt. Jack got him out; but breaking the stout handle, ripping off the shirt, and at the same time holding Stephen so that his head was above water took some while, and when at last he drew breath and shouted, ‘Surprise, ahoy!’ coming at the full pitch of his powerful voice, the hail coincided with a roaring chorus, now taken up by the whole ship’s company. He had set Stephen to float on his back, which he could do tolerably well when the sea was calm; but an unfortunate ripple, washing over his face as he drew breath, sank him and again; again he had to be brought up, and now Jack’s ‘Surprise, ahoy!’ coming at the full pitch of his powerful voice, had an edge of anxiety to it, for although she was not sailing fast, every minute she moved more than a hundred yards, and already her lights were dimming in the mist.
Hail after hail after hail, enough to startle the dead: but when she was no more than the blur of the planet earlier in the night he fell silent, and Stephen said in a low voice, ‘I am extremely concerned, Jack, that my awkwardness should have brought you into such very grave danger.’
Stephen rarely issued apologies; he could be tactful and discreet when the mood struck him, but for the most part he was prideful, quarrelsome, and unrepentant. He had always been vulnerable to these faults, but the Navy, with it strong sense of discipline and order, had cemented them. In another vessel these tendencies might have been checked, but there was no one aboard who would have dared to cross the Captain’s particular friend, especially when Jack viewed his outbursts and blatant insolence in such a tolerant light. The ship’s crew would have endured Stephen for Jack’s sake alone--those few occasions when Stephen had been misplaced over the years were recalled with something very like horror by those that had had the ill-fortune to live through them--but this was not necessary; they loved him for his own sake.
The reasons for this were as many and varied as their reasons for loving Jack; first, they could take pride in having a true physician sailing as their surgeon, a very learned man. He had saved a great many of them--wounds that in less capable hands would have proved deadly were, for some of them, no hardship at all. They greatly enjoyed the capers--the animals he brought aboard, the strange operations he carried out--and also he had no sense at all of propriety; he could and would ask Jack questions, in earshot of all, that the rest of the ship might long to ask, but never would, even his most trusted and senior officers. It was a mark of his skill and value that the more disagreeable aspects of his character were wholly overlooked, and he was much-beloved in spite of them.
Now Jack regarded him with affection--he still did not believe the situation hopeless. ‘Bless you,’ he said without hesitation, ‘it ain’t so very grave as all that. Killick is bound to come into the cabin in half an hour or so, and Mowett will put the ship about directly.’
‘But do you think they will ever see us, with this fog, and no moon, no moon at all?’
Jack reassured him at length, a well-reasoned and rational response designed to put the doctor at ease and settle his nerves. He arranged Stephen so that he might float on his back more comfortably, and thus settled he began hailing the ship at steady intervals, ‘to help them in the search.’ They drifted westward, and perhaps a little north, and Jack reflected upon their course and that of the ship, the difficulty of judging either without any fixed point. He wondered how Mowett would set about the rescue; if the logs had been accurately kept, it would simply be a matter of running back close-hauled, or even with the wind one point free, always supposing that the breeze remained steady at sou’east by south, and that his current estimate was correct…distantly, in the midst of these calculations, he became aware that Stephen, lying as stiff as a board, was becoming distressed. ‘Stephen,’ he said, pushing him, for Stephen’s head was thrown back so far that he could not easily hear, ‘Stephen, dear, turn over, put your arms round my neck, and we will swim for a little.’ Then as he felt Stephen’s feet on the back of his legs, ‘You have not kicked off your shoes. Do not you know you must kick off your shoes? What a fellow you are, Stephen.’
Well-acquainted as the doctor was with drowning (Jack judged this must be at least the tenth or fifteenth time he had been saved, by a conservative estimate) Jack would have thought him more familiar with the particulars. Stephen passionately hated any kind of condescension, but Jack was intimately familiar with this and his efforts to make his friend comfortable and easy were lighthearted and calm. Stephen was badly frightened, and guilty, too, in spite of Jack’s reassurances, and Jack sorely wished he could do more for him.
He did not blame Stephen for their predicament in the slightest, but could see no way of conveying this without making Stephen feel worse, so on they went, sometimes swimming gently, sometimes floating in the luke-warm sea. They did not talk much, though Stephen did observe that it was all very much easier, now that he was allowed to change position from time to time; even the act of floating came more naturally with use-- ‘I believe I may set up as a Triton.’ And on another occasion he said, ‘I am very deeply indebted to you, Jack, for supporting me in this way.’
Jack would have liked to have said something--something that conveyed his very real affection, greater than any he had ever known, except for Sophie--that reassured Stephen that no thanks were necessary, that he would have done a great deal more for his friend than this. He was not very good at expressing himself in this way, however, and so could think of nothing to respond with beyond a murmur.
His affection for Stephen was rather different from his love for Sophie, he reflected, for although he and his wife were deeply attached to one another, he suspected, very privately, that their happiness owed a great deal to his frequent and lengthy absences. It was true that he seemed to wear at her nerves when he was in the house too long (the way most naval husbands did, truth be told, getting in the way of the pots and pans), and for his own part he found domestic life--though much longed-for, when he was at sea-- strangely confining when he was not. At sea there was precious little that he could not master, but at home he was as awkward as a bull in a china cupboard.
He could not imagine his relationship with Sophie being like that with Stephen--frequent quarrels, full evidence of each other’s faults on constant display, very few diversions apart from each other’s company--no, he quite shuddered to think upon it. He did not see how anyone could stay married under such conditions; how landsmen did it he would never know. Stephen’s grip was slackening, Jack realized suddenly; he stopped and let him float for a while.
Stephen, for his part, was perhaps more guilty and slightly less frightened than Jack imagined. His assurances had been successful, in that he too still had hope that they would be rescued, but he felt very low about pulling Jack into danger once again, particularly when Jack was being so good to him, and when he had wished Jack’s soul to the devil at any time these past few weeks.
He had been extremely cross and resentful at being denied his treat, having greatly looked forward to exploring the island, and he had abused Jack’s character since then as much as his worst enemy could have wished. That the abuse had been spoken to himself only did not comfort him; at the moment, he regretted his choleric and revengeful nature very much. He was rather misanthropic, more inclined to find fault and failure than optimism and pleasure, and even at his best he did not have occasion to praise Jack overmuch, despite his great affection for him and their long friendship.
But now he paused to reflect on this, wondering if it was his own prejudices at the root of this, if it was because Jack’s example of benign, even loving authority flew in the face of all his own notions of leadership and power. It was true that Jack’s ships were as a rule happier than any he had ever seen, that the young men whose characters he had formed were a credit to him; just, bold, courageous officers, free from the hypocrisy and tyranny one so often saw…
And here was Jack now, having pursued him into the ocean once again, with no thought or care for his own safety, as Stephen had seen him do many, many times. No, he is a splendid creature, Stephen said to himself. I am too harsh a judge. There is no man or woman without fault; we are all sinners. And truly I have never known a better man.
With that thought Stephen stopped floating to swim closer to him, rousing Jack who appeared to have been in a kind of light slumber. ‘Here, Stephen,’ he said, showing no surprise at their surroundings, ‘you are cold?’
‘Yes,’ Stephen said--to his surprise, he found he was shivering convulsively, as was Jack. It had happened so gradually he had not noticed. ‘The water does not seem so warm now,’ he said.
‘Well, it will be dawn soon,’ Jack said, drawing Stephen towards him. ‘See how the sky lightens? The sun will bear us up admirably.’
Stephen did not ask what would happen then, or the likelihood of the ship’s finding them, he only pressed close, to share what heat and comfort he could.