Chapter Text
Contempt of Court: The offense of being disobedient to or disrespectful toward a court of law and its officers.
The Royal Academy is, in a word, boring.
The recommendation from Amelia was a godsend, and Jim doesn’t regret the time he’s spent here. That kind of experience would’ve been near impossible to get in the same timeframe on a regular ship, and he’s not sure he could stand an apprenticeship. His superiors are infuriating enough as it is. Jim long ago lost count of how many times he’s had to bite his tongue to keep a sharp reply from taking form.
He can’t do the kind of flying he wants here, or the kind of fighting he’s used to. All of his scraps before had been schoolyard brawls or the most literal fights for his life. Sparring with a partner feels incredibly restrictive, after that. Everything that used to give him freedom is bogged down with rules and restrictions. No flying after dark, he has to announce where he’s going and what path he’s taking, landing is controlled and he can’t go above a certain speed without incurring the wrath of his superior officers.
The good news is he’s in great shape now. All the stretches and exercises they had him doing first year stuck and now he can sprint across the training field in ten seconds flat before sliding to his belly to aim the rifle slung over his back.
The bad news is, every time somebody gives him bedroom eyes, he feels a pang in his gut and wishes he was halfway across the galaxy somewhere, meeting Silver’s eyes over a crowded hall and knowing without a doubt they’re gonna meet in his cabin later.
That’s the worst part about living in a dorm with a half dozen other people. Every time somebody in the two adjoining rooms takes another cadet to bed Jim can hear every detail. The paper thin walls were probably supposed to dissuade cadets banging each other, but it just means everyone in the vicinity can listen in and cheer on the one who got some tail.
Or, in Jim’s case, lay miserable in bed thinking about the next time he gets to see the one person he hasn’t been able to take his mind off for the past four years. He can’t even rub one out without getting shit from the other cadets for the next month and a half.
The official story is this: Jim had noticed Silver was missing when the crew of the Legacy were celebrating their survival of the planet’s explosion. He’d gone down to the bay to investigate and found Silver preparing to flee the scene. Everyone else was up on deck trying to get the Legacy to port, which was why nobody bothered to look for them or investigate the commotion down in the hold.
Jim told the officials who came to collect his statement that a scuffle had taken place and he’d been overpowered. Once Jim was on the floor Silver had presented him with the business end of a pistol and held him there until the longboat was out of sight. The tracker in the ship had been damaged in the explosions, and nobody questioned the very precise place the debris had fallen onto the console to damage the tracker but nothing else of value. The pocket full of treasure, Jim explained, had been snatched ages ago back before the planet started exploding, and the bruise on his upper arm shaped like a massive hand print was the only remaining mark of the fight he lost. The investigating council took the story at face value. A pirate threatening a civilian wasn’t unreasonable, as explanations went, and they dismissed Jim without a second thought.
Jim’s mother and Amelia (and, by extension, Dr. Doppler) were the only ones he told the truth to. The closest approximation of the truth, at least. He told them about following Silver down to find him readying a skiff for takeoff. He told them about the teary goodbyes and the hug, and how Silver had finally gripped him hard by his upper arms and pushed him away even though he could see how much it hurt the man to do so.
He suspects his mother knows this isn’t entirely the truth, but she’s never pressed him on the matter and he’s not inclined to give up the whole story without good reason. It was hard enough having Amelia spill the messy truth of it to her before Jim had a chance to explain, he doesn’t want to push his luck.
Sometimes at night, when he’s alone in his room at the rebuilt Benbow, he talks aloud in the emptiness about those last few minutes. The only one there to hear him is Morph, who had seen the whole thing anyway and hadn’t been phased by it, if he noticed at all.
His mother wants him to find someone else. That unspoken truth between them is the one thing that’s changed, but Jim can’t resent her for it. She’s never unkind or forceful. She’s set him up on the occasional meeting with a handsome guy from town, but she always seems quietly resigned when he comes home alone. He knows she’d rather he settle down with someone his own age, but she doesn’t press him on the matter and he’s grateful.
He tries to pretend like he’s thinking about his career path after the quickly approaching graduation, but honestly he already knows what he’s going to do. He’s been composing a suitable note in the back of his mind for a year, and every time he wants to write it he has to stop himself, because he can’t leave yet. He’s told himself that when he graduates he’ll make an excuse to his mom and run away for a month, find Silver, wherever he is, and make whatever plans he needs to stay there forever.
Because just seeing the man once isn’t going to be enough. Silver could be doing the most dangerous or menial work in the galaxy and Jim would gladly give up his life of adventure to join him.
He doubts that’s the case though.
Every now and again he passes through Maycors hall, a white marble and ivory lined building where the aspiring officers train and take their courses. The cadets in the officers corps are training to hunt down pirates, primarily, and while Jim had considered it as a path he’d ultimately decided against it. On top of adding an extra year to his studies, all the students in that avenue harbor a deep distaste for anyone who breaks the law, no matter how justified. It never sat right with Jim, and the officers corps students take themselves way too seriously. Every student he’s ever met from that sector has been an uptight, snooty, asshole, to the point where he sometimes wonders if it’s an entry requirement.
But he walks through the hall sometimes, and stands against one wall in the archive room and stares at the one across from him, lined with neat, orderly rows of wanted posters.
Some of them are old, faded and yellowed with age, and very rarely they’re replaced with newer papers, some listing new offences or higher bounties. Others are torn down altogether, and the next time Jim visits he sees a new name in it’s place. He goes partly out of fear, because every day he fears he’s going to witness the archivist come and tear down the poster he’s staring at, never to replace it. The other reason is simply because he misses getting to look at Silver.
It’s hard for him to forget Silver, the way he looked at Jim with such affection, the way he would ruffle the younger man’s hair or touch his shoulder when he’d done well, among other things. The poster is a poor replacement, but it makes it a little easier to remember the features he knew, and warms his heart with the knowledge that he got to see a side of the man that nobody else did.
The most up to date information places Silver in the Carinean nebula, an area run by a conglomerate of pirate crews calling themselves The Fleet. All the naval installments set up have been unable to locate the home base, despite information feeding in confirming that the pirates have a base of operations within travel distance of all their frequented locations.
Jim keeps an ear out for any information. The archivist, a stout, portly man with glasses and a bad smoking habit is more than happy to assist him in staying up to date. He occasionally pulls Jim aside and hands him a paper with the newest data, which the boy pours over gladly. The archivist is nice enough. He’s more than willing to let Jim satiate his curiosity, assuming like all the other higher ups who know the story that he’s in search of retribution against the man who’d betrayed him.
It couldn’t be further from the truth, but they don’t need to know that. The tiny tidbits he gets from the stories of those who encounter The Fleet barely give him anything to go off, and frequently the stories contradict one another, to the point where Jim wonders sometimes if the writer ran afoul of the pirates at all.
By most reports the crews aren’t cruel, not the way the men on the Legacy were, but they’re still primarily pirates, and Jim harbors no illusions about what he’ll be walking into. He knows pirate crews operate differently from naval installations. Much of the area is controlled by them rather than the navy, which speaks to a great degree of willpower by the people in charge. Thus far, the navy have been hard pressed to keep even the most well fortified port under their thumb.
It doesn’t matter. He has his path into the nebula charted, and he knows exactly where he’s going when the time comes. All he needs to do is get close enough for Morph to deliver his message, and he’ll trek through a warzone if he has to.
Graduation, like the rest of the Academy, is a drawn out boring affair. Jim wanted to skip it all together but his mother had made him promise to attend, and so he sucks it up and puts on his starched uniform and stands in the beating sun. He’s perfectly at attention like a good little soldier, but privately loathes the obsession the Academy seems to have with white . The uniforms, the marble pillars, the stones lining the pavilion itself, everything is white and Jim feels a little bit blind after staring around at the bleached world all day.
He spares a wry smile partway through, wondering what Silver would think of this. He’d probably find it endlessly amusing, he decides, because Silver was never above letting Jim suffer a little. He hopes there would be some pride there, too, despite the unfortunate implied career path, since it was really Silver who drilled some sense into his stubborn ass.
At the end of it, when he’s finally allowed to go find his mother, she’s smiling at him so proudly he can’t help but think it was all worth it. He’s not the same rebellious kid that ran off on a whirlwind adventure four years ago, this has proven that a hundred times over.
Mom hugs him and cries, and Jim lets her. Morph has been left at the inn, and Jim misses the little shapeshifter sorely but he knows this kind of thing would only have bored the little fella to death. When the Dopplers sidle up Jim smiles at them, and his mom turns to them and gushes about how good he looks in his pressed clothes. Delbert agrees, as does Amelia, but the feline captain gives him an analyzing look that he knows means bad news. She elects to withhold her judgement for the time being, and Jim nervously awaits it equally as much as he’s glad to be putting it off. It’s childish, he knows, but there’s always been a little bit of a strain between them since the end of the treasure planet voyage.
It’s no secret what it is, but he ignores it. She’s not going to change her mind after all this time, and he’s not going to change his.
Jim gathers up his bags from the dorms and follows his mom to the planetary shuttle. One of the few perks about being an Academy student, Jim finds, is that all his clothes and things he needs can fit in two duffles and sit nice and tidy at his back. He gets a few stares courtesy of his pressed clothes in the mass of spacers and deckhands, but nobody bothers them and they make it home without incident.
The ride up to the inn is one Jim never gets tired of. It’s been in it’s fully rebuilt state for a couple of years now, but still it’s jarring to see so much more of it than he’s used to. When the two of them arrive Jim drags his bags up to his room. Morph greets him enthusiastically, and Jim grins and pets his companion.
His mom planned a party to celebrate, because she’s wonderful and incredible and isn’t satisfied unless she’s working herself into a mess.
He lingers in his room, closing the door and pulling out the paper and pen he’s been saving for this exact occasion. He’s had the words written in his mind for more than a year now, but he hasn’t dared put them down on paper for fear that the removal of the final obstacle would be enough to send him haring off after Silver in the middle of the semester, never to return. Now that he can write it without fear of being overwhelmed by the desire to fly out after him, the words come as easily as though they’ve been waiting at his fingertips the whole time.
He pauses at the window, tracing a finger over the wooden sill. It’s smooth, sanded to a silky finish and in excellent condition after so little use these past few years.
Jim smiles to himself. The spot where he’d picked away at the wood with his fingernails is gone now. The place where’d he would sit and stare out at the docks, waiting anxiously for his fathers return. The little notch in the sill where he’d driven his pocketknife after Leland had left is gone now, not even a scar to remind him of it’s existence.
The room looks the same, almost exactly, but it’s better, stronger than before.
Jim really doesn’t want to go downstairs. His clothes are uncomfortable and he wants nothing more than to crawl out onto the roof and stare up at the sky until the stars are visible and calling to him again.
But he’s not the sullen kid he used to be, and so he grins and bears it and goes downstairs to please his mother.
Jim doesn’t have to try hard to enjoy himself. He catches himself grinning and laughing along easily most of the time, without having to pretend. Seeing his mom so happy, seeing Amelia and Delbert and their kits. It’s joyful and rowdy and he finds time to dance with his mother, to sit with the Doppler’s kids and to watch the kittens chase playfully after Morph while the youngest pup struggles to keep up with his older sisters.
He’s reminded of another, similar night, three years ago now. The night the Benbow reopened, the night Jim was officially accepted into the Academy. It was a bittersweet occasion. Getting to see mom happy, to see Amelia and Doppler and their newborns.
There was only one person missing then, and his smile falls a little at the thought.
He schools his face back into something joyous. If mom caught him brooding she’d want to know what’s wrong, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Not tonight. Later is for future Jim to deal with, for now he can pretend he’s whole and happy.
It’s a goodbye, though Jim is the only one who knows it. It’s not for forever, or even a particularly long time, but he knows that after tonight things will be different, and he wants to make the most of this peace.
Near the end of the night Jim is sitting by the big bay window, slowly nursing a cup of watered down rum, which he’s recently acquired a taste for. There’s abundant light and laughter inside, but instead Jim chooses to gaze out over the path up to the inn, dark and empty. The sky is dark and scattered with stars and again that urge to fly out and weave through them surfaces. He tamps down on it, comforted that he’ll be in his natural habitat soon enough.
He barely notices when Amelia sits across from him, back straight and proper as ever even as she’s smiling at her husband. Her face schools into a serious expression as he turns to her, and Jim knows he’s about to get that lecture her gaze promised earlier.
“Congratulations, Jim.” She says.
“Thanks.” He mumbles. After all this time he’s still shit at taking genuine compliments.
“I did hope to catch you to discuss a potential job opportunity I have, should you be interested in travelling the far reaches still.” Her hands are folded on the table primly and her eyes are sharp where they gaze through him.
Jim swallows the mouthful of grog he’d taken, giving himself time to think. He’d expected something like this, but he’d hoped to have an idea of what to say before it came up.
“I appreciate the offer, really Captain, but I kinda have something lined up already.” She’s a family friend as much as Delbert is now, but Jim still falls back into the old formalities on occasions like this. But then, she still calls him ‘James’ when she’s in a serious mood, so he figures they’re even.
Her ears twitch minutely, but Jim has gotten good at reading her body language these past years, and he knows that means she’s thinking.
“I wasn’t aware you had any offers pending.”
He shrugs.
“Met a recruiter by chance, said he was looking for a navigation guy. I happened to be a good fit.” It’s not his best lie, not by a long shot, and from her expression Amelia likely knows he’s not telling the whole truth.
Still she dips her head and cedes, and her face takes on a distinctly warmer tone after that. She reaches out and touches her fingertips to Jim’s forearm, surprising him. Amelia has never been especially tactile, or very interested in giving comfort, but she’s clearly making an effort here.
“Should you need anything, James. Anything at all, I would like you to consider my assistance at your disposal.”
It’s meaningful, and there’s an earnestness in her eyes that speaks of things neither of them are saying. Jim gives a sober nod back at her.
And then the room gets several degrees warmer as Amelia stands and moves away from him, walking towards her husband and their children and ending the unofficial interrogation.
Jim lets out a breath of relief.
The rest of the night passes in a breeze. Despite the uncomfortable clothing and brief uncomfortable conversation, Jim still finds himself wishing it would last a little longer. Not badly enough to stay another night, he’s leaving if he has to sneak out his window to do it, but the desire to enjoy a little more time is something he doesn’t feel guilty about.
Near the end of the evening, when most everyone else has gone home and it’s just the Hawkins’ and the Dopplers, Jim sees Amelia speaking to his mother with her serious face on. He’s just come out of the kitchen from some light cleanup, a futile attempt to give his mom some help before he leaves tonight. Sarah looks serious, and that is what draws his attention. She’s been nothing but joyful this entire evening, but now she’s in the corner table with Amelia across from her, and they both look concerned. He turns away, still watching with half his vision but not obviously eavesdropping.
The two women look over at him and Jim pretends not to notice. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Amelia gesturing to him with one hand, but neither seems keen to bring it up and the Dopplers head off home without much fanfare soon after.
Morph has been in rare form all day, but as soon as the inn is empty he’s curling up to sleep in Jim’s breast pocket, and Jim can’t find the heart to disturb him. They’ve got a long journey ahead of them, in the next few days, and so he takes the jacket up to his room and settles it on the nightstand, letting Morph sleep for now.
He goes back down, peering into all the unoccupied rooms along the way. He knows he’s coming back, but it still feels like he has to memorize everything.
Sarah is cleaning up, because of course she is. The tables and chairs that had been moved are almost all back in place, and Jim helps with the last few and lets her sit down across from him to hold his hand and tell him once again how proud she is.
He fetches a couple warm drinks from the kitchen and sits with his mother. She sips hers gratefully and they relax in the amicable silence as Jim looks around at the old turned new.
The main room looks almost the same. Some of the knots in the wooden boards are gone from where he’s used to, and new ones have taken their place. The place doesn’t have the smell edging into musty territory anymore, replaced with fresh spices and the warmth from the stove.
He knows he should probably have some complicated feelings regarding the inn having to be rebuilt, but it isn’t trauma that dogs him, it’s relief. The place had felt different, after his father left. Haunted, almost. There was always something hanging over the place. The Benbow inn hadn’t felt like home for a long time before Bones showed up. He’s kind of glad the place was destroyed, that he and mom had the chance to start again, on their terms.
“Thank you.” Sarah breaks the silence, touching Jim’s hand where it clasps his mug. He looks back to her and smiles, tired but happy.
“Yeah, of course.” He mumbles.
She just stares at him, like she can’t quite believe her eyes. Jim quirks an eyebrow at her and she smiles back, beaming and proud and so earnest it makes him feel like she can see the guilty wince he expertly holds back.
“Sometimes I wonder where that little troublemaker went, y’know?” She says, her smile turning dry.
Jim laughs.
“Yeah, well. I had a lot of growing up to do.”
It was the wrong thing to say, he realizes too late. The Legacy is a fond memory for Jim, but he knows not everybody believes his side of the story.
He grasps her hand and lets his face turn serious.
“Mom.” He says, when she doesn’t look away from the window. “I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
And oh shit , she’s crying now.
“Are you really okay, Jim? Because if you aren’t-” She bites her lip, sighs, and tries again. “It’s okay, if you aren’t. There’s nothing wrong with you if-”
She presses her hand to her mouth, the knuckles of her other going white around his hand.
“Mom.” He draws her eyes back to him, squeezing her hand back.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
She sighs at him.
“I just don’t want you hurting.” She cries.
He holds her hand tighter. Shit, he’s crying now too.
“I’m not.” He says, and he means it.
Sarah gives one last hitching gasp and then she’s smiling. Jim might be a good liar to anyone else, but there’s exactly two people who have always seen right through him, and for a long time mom was the only one.
She wipes away the tears and clasps his hand, smiling at her boy like she’s scared if she looks away he’ll vanish into the wind.
“I think it’s time for bed.” She announces with a wet, self deprecating laugh.
Jim’s face falls a little. It’s past midnight but he’s still loathe to end the night.
“Yeah.” He agrees anyway, giving his mom’s hand one last squeeze before he lets her go.
Sarah stands and collects their mugs, despite her son’s protests.
“Let me mother you for a little while longer, okay?” She sighs.
Jim backs off with his hands up, heading towards the stairs. He stops halfway, drinking in the sights and smells of the inn with every fiber of his being.
“Goodnight mom.” He calls.
“Goodnight.” Sarah echoes from around the corner.
Jim smiles and slips up to his room, to the sleeping Morph and the packed bag and the change of clothes tucked in a bundle under his bed. He douses the light and crawls into bed, waiting patiently for the silence of night to slip away.
Jim waits several hours before he even dares to light the lantern on his desk again.
The electric flame flicker to life and he waits, poised to snuff it out again at the sounds of his mother stirring. The inn remains silent around him, and he takes his time to be quiet as he slips on his plain clothes.
He switches his uniform whites for the thick brown coat he’s had for years and a plain shirt and pants. He’ll look like just another spacer wearing these, but that’s the point. Standing out as an Academy cadet in a pirate controlled port could get him killed, and he wants to at least make it far enough to see Silver before he starts trouble.
He grabs the bag of clothes and essentials that don’t contain his uniform, already having packed it to go. He’s been waiting for this for months now, and he’s more than prepared.
Jim tugs on his boots and grabs two pieces of paper, scribbling a note on the empty one. The first is folded twice and neatly labeled for his mother. The other he tucks into his breast pocket, next to his heart as he prepares to leave. He places the first note on his bed, clearly visible among the neat sheets. Mom will be mad, she’ll probably have a lot of choice words for him when he inevitably returns, but he really doesn’t want to risk leading an armed naval brigade right to Silver’s door, wherever that may be.
The lantern goes out again and Jim waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he moves. Morph follows him just long enough to drop into his pocket for a nap.
He slips out into the hall, rearranging his bag to sit comfortably on his shoulder. The walk down the stairs isn’t filled with the familiar creaks it used to have, and Jim is reminded yet again of how much everything has changed.
The main room of the inn is dark, and Jim’s eyes still haven’t quite adjusted to the low lighting. All he can see is a strip of the floor where the moonlight slips in, but even that is indistinct and blurry.
He’s halfway across the room when the light flares to life. He freezes, heart thumping rabbit fast and turns to see his mother in her nightclothes, sitting at the table by the window with an air of resignation about her. She’s just to the left of the moonlight, hidden in the shadow, and Jim curses that he didn’t even think to check for her.
He drops his bag to the floor with a thump, aware that the element of surprise has been well and truly lost by now.
“Hey, mom.” He says, his voice unsteady. It’s a pathetic attempt at normalcy, and they both know it.
Jim sighs, suddenly feeling both a hundred years old and like a child about to be scolded. He trudges over to sit in the chair opposite her, easing down with the air of a man watching his gallows being constructed.
“Is Amelia on her way?” He asks quietly. He’s not stupid, he knows he can be put under house arrest without charges if he’s suspected of something illegal, and running to meet a known fugitive definitely qualifies.
His mother sends him an unreadable look, and Jim awaits his fate nervously.
“No.” She says.
Jim blinks, surprised. He’s waiting for the catch, the other shoe to drop.
“She said she thought you’d try something like this.” She looks at Jim with tired eyes. “And I know my son well enough to tell when she’s right.”
He fidgets. Sarah scrutinizes him, like she’s looking for something.
Something she apparently doesn’t find.
“I’m not going to try and stop you, Jim.” She sighs, like she honestly wants to, like she’s conflicted even now.
She smiles at him, teary eyed but not one of the fake smiles she wears when she’s trying to put on a brave face.
“I just wanted to tell my son goodbye to his face, instead of to a letter.” She jokes.
Jim doesn’t dare feel relief, not when there’s still a chance he won’t make it out the door before being set upon by armed guards, but a tentative bloom of hope blossoms in his chest.
“You… you’re okay with it?” He rasps.
The blossom grows a little more when his mother nods her head.
“I know where you’re going.” Sarah says, then amends quickly. “Or who you’re going to, anyway.” She quirks another weak smile at him and Jim can’t stop the hope from growing still.
“I won’t tell Amelia, just-” She looks out the window at the grey dawn starting to peek over the horizon.
Her hand comes down over Jim’s on the table, squeezing with all the not insignificant strength in her deceptively delicate looking fingers.
“Just promise me you’ll be safe.” She’s tearing up, crying, and Jim feels tears in his own eyes as well.
He gets up and walks around the table to hug his mother tightly, immeasurably thankful and suddenly glad she got wise to his plan.
“I promise.” He says. There’s no way for him to actually promise that, not when he could very well be walking into a lawless pirate haven, but Sarah likely knows that, and she doesn’t call him out.
She pulls away from him, holding his face and brushing his hair back the way only a loving mother can.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you look this excited since you were a little boy.” She laughs, voice still thick with tears.
Jim smiles sheepishly at her, blushing a little at the thought but unable to feel guilty about it.
“I’ll come back, mom. I promise.” He means it, and they both hear the thing he isn’t saying just as loudly as the one he is.
“I’m not leaving like dad did.”
A few more tearful hugs and he’s collecting his bag from the floor and sliding down the hill to the docks.
It’s a strange kind of symmetry, Jim thinks, to be the one leaving as the first daylight crests the horizon. As the thought crosses his mind he turns at the edge of the pier, waving to his mother who’s still standing at the open door to the inn.
She waves back, and then goes inside and closes the door behind her, and the feeling dissipates. It’s different now, he knows. For the first time since treasure planet the inarticulate thing Jim has been chasing is within his grasp. He isn’t running away from it, he’s running full tilt into it.
He boards his little skiff and casts off, shooting into the distance. He’s not taking the beaten path, he doesn’t want to chance anyone following him, and taking the long way seems the better option.
Jim brought along enough rations to last for more than a week journeying, and stashed some hidden caches of money around both the boat and his person to pay for supplies should he need to restock along the way.
Thankfully it doesn’t come to that. Even with the Etherium winds working against him he’d be there in little over two days. With the solar winds calm and docile around his little vessel, it’s just a day and some change he spends on the winding, curving path he’s charted to the Carinean nebula.
The place is relatively newly discovered. Not within his lifetime, certainly, and probably not within Silver’s either. There’s a small cluster of moons surrounding the large planet, which vanish over the horizon as he nears landfall. The high mountains and towering trees that make up the planet’s surface are a pain in the ass to weave around, but the view is stunning as he approaches. Green and orange mixed into rocky outcroppings that dwarf even the largest ships passing by, nevermind his tiny skiff. There’s two suns, which he’d made a mental note of when he was planning for this, but seeing it is a very different experience. They’re both warm, one distinctly darker red than the other.
The port isn’t large, contrary to what he’d expected. It’s tucked into the lee of a great stone behemoth, the mountain rising like a tsunami wave and hanging over the docks as if in wait. It’s unnerving, but none of the hundred odd other ships seem concerned, so Jim tries not to pay it mind.
Finding a place to tie his little skiff is a gigantic pain in the ass. It’s maneuverable, yes, but this is a tremendously busy port and he’s far from the most important person here. He’d like to not be noted at all, which puts making a scene off the table, so he grits his teeth and finds a little used spot further away from the crowd.
Saying the port is bustling is probably an understatement. There’s all manner of officers corps graduates and dockworkers on hand, most of them species Jim couldn’t name if he tried. The planet is on the edge of the galaxy, and many of the residents are completely new to the grand interplanetary system. He can see a dozen completely unknown facial structures just while tying up his boat, all of them rough and harsh looking.
Jim doesn’t stare. He still remembers what happened that first day on the Legacy when the crew caught him looking at them, and without anyone around to save him it’s not an experience he’s keen to repeat.
For all the port is busy, the people look exhausted. Most of them are older, though a few are closer to his age and just as grim looking. Jim resolves to keep his wits about him, in this place. He looks scruffy from the journey, sure, but these people look desperate.
He backtracks down the docks towards the biggest crowd, searching for an inn for the night. He’d rather not spend it huddled up in the boat, if he can help it. The weather is nice now, but from the hints of a chill on the breeze Jim knows there’s a very real chance of frost when the sun goes down, not to mention the possibility of being mugged.
As he nears the center of the throng the people start to look a little less haggard, a little more put together. Similarly the navy presence increases, and soon Jim is ducking his head to hide behind his fringe as a troupe of guards pass. He’s far enough from the academy that none of them are people he recognizes. Even if he did spot someone he knows, he’s not sure they’d recognize him out of his uniform. The academy made them wear those stupid things everywhere, so he’s feeling oddly off kilter in his old getup.
That isn’t to say he looks the same as he did four years ago. Those last couple years of growing did him good. He’s taller, hair a little shorter and jaw squared with age. He’s kept himself clean shaven, but when he rubs a self conscious hand over his cheek the slight catch of stubble makes him smile privately.
Finally Jim spots an inn. The building is run down and more than a little aged, but it promises an open room and all he really needs is a secure door and a bed. The rest would be luxury.
The floorboards creak when he steps into the room he rented for the night. The space is small and dingy, but it has a bed and, more importantly, a locking door. He sets his bag down and sits on the flimsy mattress, digging carefully through his pockets.
He feels around until Morph’s barely there texture meets his fingers, petting the blob until Morph coos sleepily and wakes up with a dramatic yawn.
The poor little guy is exhausted, and Jim smiles sympathetically at him. He almost wants to let him rest more, but the suns are already dropping over the horizon, and he’s too eager to wait any longer.
“Sorry, Morph.” He says, patting the blob on the head. “But I’ve got a job I need you to do for me.”
At that Morph perks up. That phrase has become an unintentional pavlovian response for the shapeshifter. Every time Jim says it and Morph performs, he gets a treat or luxurious foodstuff of his choosing, which is amusingly often something as simple as a piece of fruit.
Jim pulls the letter out of his breast pocket, unfolding it one more time to look, to check, to make sure.
“I’m at the docks. Come find me, I’ll be waiting.
- Jim”
He smiles. It seems stupid, that something so short and simple means so much. But he knows that Silver will understand.
And if he doesn’t, well.
Jim gnaws the inside of his cheek, berating himself for even thinking it. Of course he will.
He refolds the letter before he can overthink it, sealing it with wax from the candle on the window sill. He lets it dry and harden before he picks it up, and then he can’t help pressing his lips to the still warm wax.
‘Please.’ He begs the universe.
And then he hands the letter to Morph. Even folded into a square it’s almost as big as the shapeshifter himself, but Jim knows he can handle it. His record for mail couriering has been impeccable these past few years, the times he’d needed to communicate with his mom and hadn’t been able to wait for the regular mail service.
“Go find Silver.” He says, praying again that Morph does actually know how to find him.
The little blob’s face lights up and he trills, like he’s been waiting for this for ages. Jim opens the window and he’s off like a shot, zipping over the docks and between the gulls like he’s just another native animal.
Jim watches until he can’t see the pinprick of pink in the sea of browns and greys anymore. He folds his arms and rests them on the window, staring out into the port as the suns set slowly.
The waiting is going to kill him, and he’s not getting any good done sitting here. His stomach growls as if to further the point, and Jim stands up, closing the window with a sigh.
Some food will do him good, and getting a drink while he’s at it can’t be a bad idea.
Dinner helps, but the drink was, in fact, a very bad idea.
He’s not drunk, not completely at least. He’s sober enough to go upstairs and collapse onto his bed, locking the door after him and grimacing as the springs creak angrily.
He’s tired, and stressed. The journey was more than a day and he didn’t sleep a wink in all that time, too hyped up on adrenaline and excitement to stop for even a moment. Now that he just has to wait, it should be easy to sleep.
Except it’s Jim, so it isn’t easy. The only time he’s ever truly slept well was after getting his brains fucked out by Silver and then being huddled against him under the blankets.
The thought might have prompted a jerk off session at another time, but Jim is a somber drunk, and so it just makes him more upset. It’s not often he allows himself time to ponder on what Silver has done while they’ve been apart. Mostly he thinks he can guess, and mostly it falls under the category of mildly to severely illegal.
But when he’s like this, tired and lonely and bordering on drunk, it’s much harder to push his thoughts away from all the ways that the universe could fuck him over here, like it so often loves to do.
Maybe the letter was too vague. He’d put as few details in it as he could, in case someone managed to intercept it. Without the context of Silver’s name or even Jim’s full one, the letter would be innocuous to anyone who didn’t know the intended recipient, and useless even if they could guess.
But it’s a double edged blade, because that same plausible deniability could also make it impossible for Silver to find him.
And then Jim wonders what happens if Morph can’t find Silver at all. It was years ago that he made the offer for Jim to find him, it’s completely possible that whatever method they had will no longer work.
Jim feels tears prick in his eyes when he thinks of the worst possibility, of Morph coming back alone, without Silver and with a new missive saying all the wrong things. The thought that maybe he’s over Jim. They haven’t had so much as a single exchange in all four years since the Legacy. If Silver wanted to hear from him surely Jim would have got a letter, something?
His imagination is running wild, Jim knows, but he can’t stop himself. Something about being closer than he’s been in years and yet as far as ever is driving him into a tailspin.
Jim tangles a hand in his hair and pulls, berating himself to calm down. No, he knows Silver is here, he knows Morph can find him, he knows the older man will come find him. All of that is an absolute truth. He can feel it in his core, these are the rules his universe must abide by.
And so Jim sighs and forces himself to relax, pulling off his boots before crawling fully into the bed. It’s cold in the room, but he’s got blankets and the thought of Silver to keep him warm, and for now that's enough.