A helping hand - Finn/Jay
Some time after his discussion with Maggie, Jay headed out of the map room. As much as he hated to admit it, Maggie's words had really stung. What right had she to remarks upon his hand anyway? What did she know?
Foul mooded and distraught, he went down to the mess area to get something to eat and hopefully put the conversation out of his mind. That didn't stop him from sitting there with his knife repeatedly trying to flex his stiff fingers around the handle. The effort brought a sweat up on his brow. Once he'd finally succeeded at it he held the knife up only to have it slip loose and clatter to the floor.
"Bilge that" he cursed and kicked the knife across the floor angrily.
Finn entered the mess just as the knife skittered across the floor, raising an eyebrow at the fleeing cutlery. He waited until it stopped and then bent, picking it up. "Think you dropped something, lad," he said, depositing the knife hilt-first on the table. "Don't know how it ended up all the way across the room..."
"I must've dropped it." Jay responded. "How careless." By now his right hand was shaking from the amount of use he'd put it through. He curled the worthless appendage against his chest and leaned his head against the palm of his good hand.
"Ah." The Quartermaster nodded, ambling across the room to pull out a stale heel of bread and a pot of jam. He brought them back to the table and sat down across from Jay. "Care for a bite? Bread's as moldy as hell, but I figure the jam might cover up the worst of it."
"Maybe." Jay answered. "Nothing like a little mold and jam to settle the stomach."
Finn chuckled and set to work slathering jam on the bread. This process was hindered a bit by the awkard way he held the knife and the difficulty of holding the bread still, but he managed well enough. It seemed he had lived long enough with his infirmities that he barely gave them a second thought, using the back of his hand to pin the crusty bread to the table as he manuevered the knife with his left hand. "Here we go," he said, ripping it in half and passing it to Jay.
Jay had been trying to ignore the Quartermaster's efforts, without really thinking about why he was ignoring it. Mostly he'd just accepted Finn's way about things. But then he did pause and watched how the man worked around his missing fingers.
Jay took a moment to scrape some fuzz off the edge of his bread before taking a bite. "I've had much worse." He commented. "This one crew I was in got severe food poisoning once. Four men died. The rest of us were bent double into the sea for most of the night and wished we were dead."
"Aye... I think I'd rather fight the entire Navy one-handed than go through another bout of food poisoning," Finn agreed, taking a bite of the bread. "Nothing makes you feel lower than being unable to keep a drop of water in your stomach or look at a crust of bread."
Jay took several bites of his bread, chewed and swallowed. "So, Finn," Jay started again, then gestured toward the other man's hand. "If you don't kill me for asking, did you do that all at once or a little chunk at a time?"
"Oh, this?" he asked, raising his right hand momentarily. His ring and pinkie finger were completely gone, lopped off at the knuckle. "Came off all at once. This," he said, raising his other hand to display the stumpy remains of his middle finger, "was later."
"In a fight I would guess." Jay remarked. He could already envision Finn storming the decks of a prize ship and doing battle with some wild-eyed captain.
"Aye, but probably not the kind you're thinking." Finn shook his head, taking another bite of the bread.
Jay was a little disappointed that the quartermaster was keeping the tale to himself, but he didn't want to dig too deeply where he might not be welcome. He set his right hand down flat on the table. "What's worse, to lose all of part of a hand or part of all of a hand?"
"Worse?" The Irishman raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Wouldn't think it makes much difference one way or another, myself. What's gone is gone. No use dwelling on something that won't change."
The corners of Jay's mouth tightened momentarily. Whether it was a childish hope he'd clung to, or maybe just part of his sometimes overblown sense of optimism, but he still held to the notion that his hand would get better. Maybe it was easier for Finn to feel that way since his fingers were gone. Jay's fingers, all five, were still there. They just didn't work right.
"I don't really believe that it won't change." Jay said in a low voice.
"Aye, well, maybe it will," Finn said with a shrug. "I've heard of men getting feeling back, things like that. Guess it's not a hope I harbor," he added with a thin smile.
Jay blew air into his cheeks for a moment, then said. "It's not a big deal anyway, right? I could have lost my whole hand. The surgeon said that to me too. Said if I hadn't had treatment right away they probably would have lopped it right off." Jay gestured across the wrist with his other hand. "I hadn't even really thought about for a long while until that witch hadn't opened her big mouth." He thudded his hand on the table with aggravation then scowled bitterly.
"Witch?" Finn said. "Wasn't aware we were carrying any witches on board."
"How would you know anyway?" Jay asked. "They may as well all be witches. They aren't normal women, that's certain."
"Ah. Aye, 'tis probably the truth. Which one was it?"
"The newest one. That Maggie. She reveled in smelling like rum. Best keep an eye on her. She's mad." Jay insisted.
"Maggie? That lass? What'd she do to you?" Finn had to repress a smirk.
Jay hesitated, then said. "She kicked me for telling her she smelled like rum. It was the truth."
"Aye, I don't doubt that. But what does kicking you have to do with your hand?"
"Nothing." Jay said soberly and probably a little too abruptly. Even as foolish as Jay could be sometimes, he knew that talking about how Maggie had insulted him by mentioning his hand would probably earn him the pleasure of being laughed at by the quartermaster.
Finn eyed the navigator for a moment, saying nothing. He finished off the last of his bread and picked up the knife, clutching it in his remaining fingers. "Listen, lad... Jay. I'm not pretending to know what it feels like for you - don't think I could. I know it isn't easy, though, living with something that makes your job, not to mention your very life more difficult. But you're doing fine, well even. Not a man on board can say you don't pull your weight. You should be proud of that fact."
Jay nodded somberly. "I had a lot of trouble when I went looking for work on land you know. Those merchants put a lot of stock in booklearning. Half of them seemed to think I was out to get them killed drifting out in the Pacific somewhere. The other half wanted references. I had to tell them my last Captain was floating face down somewhere in the orient--not my doing."
"A difficult situation," Finn allowed. He pursed his lips, resting the tip of the knife on the table and rotating it slowly. "I remember back when I was looking for work... ages ago, of course. I didn't have the best reputation, not to mention references. Truth doesn't get you far when it's covered with blood."
"I have no reputation." Jay said with a sigh. "I suppose that might be worse. Even the bloodiest navigator could find work so long as he could get from point A to point B." Jay smirked. "And when I worked on a merchant ship that didn't happen. I can't even use him as a reference."
"Well, if you get us to Cape Town you'll have the beginnings of a reputation, a good enough start. Get us back and you'll be set."
Jay shook his head. "Yes, and no. It's not like the mates are going to be advertising our being there or Jay Scarborough, their extraordinary navigator. This should be heartening to you and the Captain since I'm not likely to make a run for it anytime soon."
"Aye, well, you're welcome as long as you like here. You do a fine job, and no handicap is going to change that."
Jay broke a smile and looked down at his hands, finally seeming to let the encouraging words settle on his shoulders.
"Now, I didn't see what she did to you, but I'm of a mind to punish Maggie. There'll be no fighting among the crew," Finn said, frowning.
Jay looked up, startled and promptly shook his head. "Oh no, it wasn't a big deal. It was probably as much my fault as hers. Just let her be. I'm sure if there's still trouble between us it'll sort itself out. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. She kicked me barefoot, probably more in play than in fighting." Heaven knew she'd hate him more if she found out he was telling the Quartermaster what she was up to.
Finn scowled, narrowing his eyes at Jay. "Deciding that is my task, not yours. I'll have a talk with her, at least. You said she smelled like rum? Maybe 'tis time we start cutting back her rations."
Jay turned ghostly pale wondering why he'd stupidly blurted anything at all to Finn. He sank his head into his hands with embarrassment. "A woman's got a right to kick a man for talking about her smell anyway, right? Maybe I should be punished instead."
At that Finn cracked a rare smile and chuckled a bit. "I'd say you just were. Don't worry, lad, I won't say anything. I will be keeping a close eye on her, though. And you ought to watch yourself around her as well. You don't have to be friends but I'll have no squabbling interrupting the order."
"Aye sir." Jay said thinly. He wasn't sure if he trusted Finn not to say anything now. He was likely to be walking on eggshells around both Finn and Maggie in the near future.
If Maggie would kick him for saying she smelled like rum, she'd have an even worse fit if he got her rum ration cut. Rum didn't even smell all that bad.
"You worry too much, lad," the quartermaster stated, pushing back his chair and standing up. "You'd do best to leave that to us old saps who have nothing better to do."
"Maybe I'll just have some more mold and jam." Jay replied forcing his voice to be lighter. "Nothing like it to settle the stomach." He then allowed a more natural grin to find its way onto his face. "I'll be fine."
"I'll hold you to that," Finn said sternly. His expression softened as he stepped closer to where the young man sat at the table. "And lad, if you need to talk, for God's sake do it." He raised a hand and wiggled his remaining fingers. "About this or anything else. You know where to find me. And don't eat too much more of that bread - you'll make yourself sick." With this fatherly advice he turned and left the mess, his knife still on the table. The handle looked a bit odd - someone had carved it to fit more comfortable in the quartermaster's three-fingered grasp. The blade, however, was as sharp and deadly as any other.
Foul mooded and distraught, he went down to the mess area to get something to eat and hopefully put the conversation out of his mind. That didn't stop him from sitting there with his knife repeatedly trying to flex his stiff fingers around the handle. The effort brought a sweat up on his brow. Once he'd finally succeeded at it he held the knife up only to have it slip loose and clatter to the floor.
"Bilge that" he cursed and kicked the knife across the floor angrily.
Finn entered the mess just as the knife skittered across the floor, raising an eyebrow at the fleeing cutlery. He waited until it stopped and then bent, picking it up. "Think you dropped something, lad," he said, depositing the knife hilt-first on the table. "Don't know how it ended up all the way across the room..."
"I must've dropped it." Jay responded. "How careless." By now his right hand was shaking from the amount of use he'd put it through. He curled the worthless appendage against his chest and leaned his head against the palm of his good hand.
"Ah." The Quartermaster nodded, ambling across the room to pull out a stale heel of bread and a pot of jam. He brought them back to the table and sat down across from Jay. "Care for a bite? Bread's as moldy as hell, but I figure the jam might cover up the worst of it."
"Maybe." Jay answered. "Nothing like a little mold and jam to settle the stomach."
Finn chuckled and set to work slathering jam on the bread. This process was hindered a bit by the awkard way he held the knife and the difficulty of holding the bread still, but he managed well enough. It seemed he had lived long enough with his infirmities that he barely gave them a second thought, using the back of his hand to pin the crusty bread to the table as he manuevered the knife with his left hand. "Here we go," he said, ripping it in half and passing it to Jay.
Jay had been trying to ignore the Quartermaster's efforts, without really thinking about why he was ignoring it. Mostly he'd just accepted Finn's way about things. But then he did pause and watched how the man worked around his missing fingers.
Jay took a moment to scrape some fuzz off the edge of his bread before taking a bite. "I've had much worse." He commented. "This one crew I was in got severe food poisoning once. Four men died. The rest of us were bent double into the sea for most of the night and wished we were dead."
"Aye... I think I'd rather fight the entire Navy one-handed than go through another bout of food poisoning," Finn agreed, taking a bite of the bread. "Nothing makes you feel lower than being unable to keep a drop of water in your stomach or look at a crust of bread."
Jay took several bites of his bread, chewed and swallowed. "So, Finn," Jay started again, then gestured toward the other man's hand. "If you don't kill me for asking, did you do that all at once or a little chunk at a time?"
"Oh, this?" he asked, raising his right hand momentarily. His ring and pinkie finger were completely gone, lopped off at the knuckle. "Came off all at once. This," he said, raising his other hand to display the stumpy remains of his middle finger, "was later."
"In a fight I would guess." Jay remarked. He could already envision Finn storming the decks of a prize ship and doing battle with some wild-eyed captain.
"Aye, but probably not the kind you're thinking." Finn shook his head, taking another bite of the bread.
Jay was a little disappointed that the quartermaster was keeping the tale to himself, but he didn't want to dig too deeply where he might not be welcome. He set his right hand down flat on the table. "What's worse, to lose all of part of a hand or part of all of a hand?"
"Worse?" The Irishman raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Wouldn't think it makes much difference one way or another, myself. What's gone is gone. No use dwelling on something that won't change."
The corners of Jay's mouth tightened momentarily. Whether it was a childish hope he'd clung to, or maybe just part of his sometimes overblown sense of optimism, but he still held to the notion that his hand would get better. Maybe it was easier for Finn to feel that way since his fingers were gone. Jay's fingers, all five, were still there. They just didn't work right.
"I don't really believe that it won't change." Jay said in a low voice.
"Aye, well, maybe it will," Finn said with a shrug. "I've heard of men getting feeling back, things like that. Guess it's not a hope I harbor," he added with a thin smile.
Jay blew air into his cheeks for a moment, then said. "It's not a big deal anyway, right? I could have lost my whole hand. The surgeon said that to me too. Said if I hadn't had treatment right away they probably would have lopped it right off." Jay gestured across the wrist with his other hand. "I hadn't even really thought about for a long while until that witch hadn't opened her big mouth." He thudded his hand on the table with aggravation then scowled bitterly.
"Witch?" Finn said. "Wasn't aware we were carrying any witches on board."
"How would you know anyway?" Jay asked. "They may as well all be witches. They aren't normal women, that's certain."
"Ah. Aye, 'tis probably the truth. Which one was it?"
"The newest one. That Maggie. She reveled in smelling like rum. Best keep an eye on her. She's mad." Jay insisted.
"Maggie? That lass? What'd she do to you?" Finn had to repress a smirk.
Jay hesitated, then said. "She kicked me for telling her she smelled like rum. It was the truth."
"Aye, I don't doubt that. But what does kicking you have to do with your hand?"
"Nothing." Jay said soberly and probably a little too abruptly. Even as foolish as Jay could be sometimes, he knew that talking about how Maggie had insulted him by mentioning his hand would probably earn him the pleasure of being laughed at by the quartermaster.
Finn eyed the navigator for a moment, saying nothing. He finished off the last of his bread and picked up the knife, clutching it in his remaining fingers. "Listen, lad... Jay. I'm not pretending to know what it feels like for you - don't think I could. I know it isn't easy, though, living with something that makes your job, not to mention your very life more difficult. But you're doing fine, well even. Not a man on board can say you don't pull your weight. You should be proud of that fact."
Jay nodded somberly. "I had a lot of trouble when I went looking for work on land you know. Those merchants put a lot of stock in booklearning. Half of them seemed to think I was out to get them killed drifting out in the Pacific somewhere. The other half wanted references. I had to tell them my last Captain was floating face down somewhere in the orient--not my doing."
"A difficult situation," Finn allowed. He pursed his lips, resting the tip of the knife on the table and rotating it slowly. "I remember back when I was looking for work... ages ago, of course. I didn't have the best reputation, not to mention references. Truth doesn't get you far when it's covered with blood."
"I have no reputation." Jay said with a sigh. "I suppose that might be worse. Even the bloodiest navigator could find work so long as he could get from point A to point B." Jay smirked. "And when I worked on a merchant ship that didn't happen. I can't even use him as a reference."
"Well, if you get us to Cape Town you'll have the beginnings of a reputation, a good enough start. Get us back and you'll be set."
Jay shook his head. "Yes, and no. It's not like the mates are going to be advertising our being there or Jay Scarborough, their extraordinary navigator. This should be heartening to you and the Captain since I'm not likely to make a run for it anytime soon."
"Aye, well, you're welcome as long as you like here. You do a fine job, and no handicap is going to change that."
Jay broke a smile and looked down at his hands, finally seeming to let the encouraging words settle on his shoulders.
"Now, I didn't see what she did to you, but I'm of a mind to punish Maggie. There'll be no fighting among the crew," Finn said, frowning.
Jay looked up, startled and promptly shook his head. "Oh no, it wasn't a big deal. It was probably as much my fault as hers. Just let her be. I'm sure if there's still trouble between us it'll sort itself out. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. She kicked me barefoot, probably more in play than in fighting." Heaven knew she'd hate him more if she found out he was telling the Quartermaster what she was up to.
Finn scowled, narrowing his eyes at Jay. "Deciding that is my task, not yours. I'll have a talk with her, at least. You said she smelled like rum? Maybe 'tis time we start cutting back her rations."
Jay turned ghostly pale wondering why he'd stupidly blurted anything at all to Finn. He sank his head into his hands with embarrassment. "A woman's got a right to kick a man for talking about her smell anyway, right? Maybe I should be punished instead."
At that Finn cracked a rare smile and chuckled a bit. "I'd say you just were. Don't worry, lad, I won't say anything. I will be keeping a close eye on her, though. And you ought to watch yourself around her as well. You don't have to be friends but I'll have no squabbling interrupting the order."
"Aye sir." Jay said thinly. He wasn't sure if he trusted Finn not to say anything now. He was likely to be walking on eggshells around both Finn and Maggie in the near future.
If Maggie would kick him for saying she smelled like rum, she'd have an even worse fit if he got her rum ration cut. Rum didn't even smell all that bad.
"You worry too much, lad," the quartermaster stated, pushing back his chair and standing up. "You'd do best to leave that to us old saps who have nothing better to do."
"Maybe I'll just have some more mold and jam." Jay replied forcing his voice to be lighter. "Nothing like it to settle the stomach." He then allowed a more natural grin to find its way onto his face. "I'll be fine."
"I'll hold you to that," Finn said sternly. His expression softened as he stepped closer to where the young man sat at the table. "And lad, if you need to talk, for God's sake do it." He raised a hand and wiggled his remaining fingers. "About this or anything else. You know where to find me. And don't eat too much more of that bread - you'll make yourself sick." With this fatherly advice he turned and left the mess, his knife still on the table. The handle looked a bit odd - someone had carved it to fit more comfortable in the quartermaster's three-fingered grasp. The blade, however, was as sharp and deadly as any other.