Our Treasure (Jim Hawkins x Female Reader) [COMPLETED]

Two

I wash and dry dishes all morning, and it's not until around lunch time when I get a break. I grab a purp from the barrel, ignoring John's protests and head up to the main deck. Jim is still mopping, mumbling to himself about something and looking mildly pissed-off, but that's not my problem.

As I watch, a Densadron – Hands, if I remember correctly – pushes past Jim, sending him flying into the railing.

"Watch it, twerp!" He rumbles, continuing as Jim rights himself, still holding the mop. He looks over to where three of the crew are whispering among themselves, casting looks at him. They stop as soon as they see him looking.

"What are you looking at weirdo?" one of them asks, folding its arms. Its head detaches itself and runs down its arm, settling on the barrel they were leaning on.

"Yeah," the 'body' adds, "weirdo!"

"Cabin boys should learn to mind their own business." Oh shit, it's Scroop.

"Why?" Jim challenges, "you got something to hide, bright eyes?"

Scroop hisses and draws back, then grabs Jim around the throat and lifts him off his feet. "Maybe your ears don't work so well..." he begins.

"Yeah," Jim mutters, "too bad my nose works just fine!"

Scroop slams him against the mast, and I decide that maybe it would be a good idea to interject here.

"Scroop!" I call, pushing through the crew towards him. "Let him go."

"Cabin girl, too!" he hisses, "you should be careful."

"Yeah?" I raise my eyebrows, placing my hands on my hips. "What are you gonna do?"

The Mantavor glares at me, and I grin.

"No really," I continue, "what's the plan? I wanna know."

Scroop hisses again, reaching out a pincer towards me. He's stopped half way, however, by John's cybernetic arm clamping around it.

"Mr Scroop," the cook says, taking a bite of his own purp. "You ever seen what happens to a fresh purp when you squeeze real hard?" He twists Scroops arm, clamping down on the hard shell of it. Scroop gasps, dropping Jim to the deck and wincing.

"What's all this then?" Mr Arrow descends from the deck above, glaring around at us. "You know the rules, there'll be no brawling on this ship! Any further offenders will be confined to the brig for the remainder of the voyage. Am I clear, Mr Scroop?"

"Transparently," the Mantavor says, drawing away from the First Officer.

"Well done Mr Arrow Sir!" John shouts as the crew disperses. "A tight ship's a happy ship! Jimbo," he turns to the cabin boy, holding up the dropped mop, "I gave you a job!"

"I was doing it until that bug thing—"

John cuts him off with a shout. "Now," he says more calmly, "I want this deck swabbed spotless and heaven help you if I come back and it's not done! Morph, keep an eye on this Pup. Let me know if there be any more distractions."

"What about—" Jim starts, glancing at me.

"I kinda saved your ass," I point out, "you should thank me."

"As I recall it was me who did the ass-saving," John calls over his shoulder. "(Y/N), you can help Jimbo."

"What? But I—"

"No buts!"

I stare after John as he heads belowdecks – presumably to talk to the crew.

"You better get yourself a mop," Jim says, completely deadpan. Too deadpan.

The rest of the day passes very uneventfully. Jim and I don't talk much, and I can hardly wait to go to bed by the time all the rest of the crew are gone and all the lights are dimmed.

"Fun day, huh?" I say eventually, only to break the eerie quiet.

"Yeah. Making new friends," Jim says, looking at Morph, "like that Spider-psycho."

The little blob swirls in the air, taking the shape of a miniature Scroop and repeating Jim's words. We both laugh at him.

"A little uglier," I advise, and Morph complies, exaggerating the "psycho" part of Jim's nickname for Scroop.

"Pretty close," he grins.

"Well, thank heavens for little miracles." John's voice sounds from the stairs to the galley and we both look around to see him carrying a pot of what looks like scraps. "Up 'ere for an hour and the deck's still in one piece."

"Look..." Jim starts, "I uh... what you did... I... thanks."

John sighs. "Didn't you're Pap ever teach you to pick your fights a bit more carefully?"

Jim doesn't say anything, just goes back to mopping the deck. I glance between him and John, then back at the boards beneath my feet.

"Your father not the teaching sort?" the cook asks.

"No," Jim says, "he was more the taking off and never coming back sort."

"Oh," John looks at me, then crosses the deck and leans on the railing. "Sorry lad."

"Hey, it's no big deal. I'm doing just fine."

"Is that so?" John rubs his face with a hand, then smiles. "Well," he says, "since the Captain has put you in my care, like it or not I'll be poundin' a few skills into that thick head o' yours to keep you outta trouble."

"What?"

"From now on I'm not letting you out of me sight!"

"You can't do that!"

"You won't so much as eat, sleep, or scratch your bum without my say so!"

"Don't do me any favours!"

"Oh, you can be sure of that, my lad, you can be sure of that."

I laugh at Jim's outraged expression as John retreats, taking his empty pot with him. 

"Hey," I say after he's gone, "welcome to the club."

"Club?"

"Yeah," I jump backwards onto the railing of the ship, taking a moment to get my balance, "fatherless cabin-kids under the care of John Silver."

"How many members?" he looks up at me, chin resting on the handle of his mop.

"Just two so far," I grin, "you and me."

He smiles then, and I catch myself thinking that he's actually kind of attractive. No, scratch that, he's very attractive. But no, I can't go there. It would only complicate things. 

He holds out his hand to me, and I grasp it firmly, shaking once.