Hurt/Comfort Drabbles

Knocking. Echoing thunderously in James’s aching skull.

“Come.”

“Drink this, sir. T’will help.”

“It looks vile.”

“Tastes vile. Go on, then. You’ll be better for it.”

“You.”

“No need. T’wasn’t me singing pirate songs ‘til dawn.”

“I never.”

“You did. After the reception. At the tavern. With that ‘stranger’ who came to the wedding.” A tiny smirk. “Drink it.”

“If I drink, do you promise to go away and leave me alone?”

“Word of honour, sir.”

He downed the mixture in one go. “Out. Now. Dismissed.”

His tormentor sketched a salute, smiling; turned to leave.

“And Groves?”

“Sir?”

“Thank you.”
 

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Orlando laughed and rubbed his wrist. “It’s good as gold.”

Rehearsal went on.
~~~~~~~~~

Later that day, at dinner:

“How’s the wrist?”

“It’s fine, man, really.”

“Let me see.” Johnny reached across the table and pulled back Orlando’s sleeve to expose a bruised blotch across the bone. He rubbed it gently; watched the younger man wince. “Looks sore.”

Orlando gave in. “As fuck,” he admitted.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Orlando’s antennae twitched and his eyes went wide. “Um, yeah. I mean, Johnny you don’t have to …”

“Orlando.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”
 

Stormbound

Elizabeth could feel the storm brewing in her head. Pressure was building behind her eyes, and there was a steady ache in her face as if something were trying to pound its way out. Bright lights spangled across her vision, making it hard to read the logbook she was trying to update. Sighing, she blotted her work and then closed the book and put away her ink and quill.

In the distance, thunder boomed, and Elizabeth imagined she could feel the electricity of the storm prickling at her skin. She rubbed her eyes, but her sight stayed blurred and spotty.

The hatch opened and Will came in, looking harried. "The storm's blowing in faster than we expected. We'll be drenched by dinner time."

Elizabeth nodded distractedly. Something in her face must have shown her pain, because Will stopped and took her face in his hands.

"Again?"

She avoided his eyes. "Not too bad. It's just too much close work with the logbook -- it's hard on my eyes, especially in rough water."

"You should get some rest. You'll feel better when the storm breaks." With peremptory nudges, he urged her towards the hammock slung in the corner of the cabin.

Once she'd climbed into the swaying hammock, Will leaned over her and loosened the tie that bound her braid. He gently combed his fingers through her hair until it was unwoven from the tight queue and lay loose upon her shoulders. Deft fingers rubbed her scalp, releasing tension she hadn't even been aware of. His hands were cool and soothing, and she found herself relaxing into his touch. Pushing aside the mass of crimped hair, he whispered, "I love you," then brushed a soft kiss across her temple. Inhaling his reassuring scent, Elizabeth fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
 

Faux Pas

Will stared in amazement at the blood dripping down his leg. "They've both been so cantankerous the past few days. I don't know why she got so angry. I just asked if it was that time of the month. . ."

Jack dabbed at the thin cut with his scarf. "Never ask that, lad. That's the very worst thing you can say to a woman in that condition." He wrapped a bit of cloth around Will's thigh and tied it off in a ragged knot. "Still, you were lucky it was Elizabeth y'asked and not Anamaria. She wouldn't have missed."