Chapter Text
“Captain, the new crewmen have arrived.”
Flint barely resisted slamming his head on the desk in front of him, lest Billy do something ridiculous like ask him if he was okay.
He had specifically asked the captains during their last meeting not to send him any more new recruits (especially after that particular disaster involving an ex-ensign with a smoking habit, a large amount of fuel, and a cat that tended to trip up young recruits). But Vane was still bitter about the Guthrie situation, Flint recalled, and was probably taking out his anger on Flint in the form of the torture of training new crew.
Taking his silence in stride, Billy lightly cleared his throat. “I told DeGroot to send them back to the orbit station to await the Ranger, but he said that word on the planet is that the Fleet’s sending ships due any day now to arrest would-be recruits.”
Flint briefly considered sending a large fuck-you to Vane and letting the recruits be arrested by the Earth Fleet, but the Walrus’s crew had been running short-handed as of late, and they did need more recruits, even if they were incompetent ones.
The captain exhaled, picked up his pen again, and glanced down at the galaxy map in front of him. “Keep them on board, but make sure they don’t even take a breath above the second deck. I don’t need any fucking novices starting any more fires. Dismissed.”
Much to Flint’s displeasure, the quartermaster paused, not leaving the room. “Captain? There’s something else.”
Flint ground his teeth together. “What is it, Billy?”
“Silver’s back.”
Startled, Flint jerked his head up to meet Billy’s look of- what the fuck? “You didn't think to fucking start with that?”
Billy swallowed, a rare nervous gesture, suitable for Flint’s sudden wave of anger and surprise. “He must have boarded with the recruits. He’s in the mess hall now, sir.”
Flint swore again, pushing the chair back with a heavy sound. Wisely, Billy stepped to the side as Flint marched out of his office, heading to the nearest lift.
When Flint strode into the mess hall, he could hear Silver’s voice before seeing him. Even though he was prepared, it was still a shock to see the dark-haired man from behind, sitting on the table and evidently telling a story to a crowd of men gathered around him.
The crew that had been laughing just a moment ago suddenly fell silent at the approach of their captain. Flint could see one of the men pale, reaching out to push Silver’s shoulder so that the man too began to turn around.
Even though it had been five years since Flint had last seen John Silver, it felt like yesterday as the man turned around, fixed startlingly blue eyes on the captain’s face, and gave a smirk.
“Captain Flint,” Silver drawled, “you’re looking well.”