John Price & Reader (Platonic) - Reader is about 13-14
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In which a retired military captain finds a scrappy stowaway tucked into his retirement boat.
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Price couldn't say he was hating retirement when his old teammates phoned. Couldn't say he was enjoying it either. How could he? After a lifetime of action, violence and constantly being alert, it was stupidly hard to just relax. Sitting back on his old porch with a crisp beer was only so fun for the first few months. It got old. Quickly. And John quickly found something utterly surprising: he was lonely of all things. Lonely, old and bored.
It was on one of those late evenings that he scrolled past an advertisement for someone selling their massive boat. And John found himself lingering on it. He had been sitting on stacks of cash, thanks to his ridiculously dangerous career and high status in said career. He didn't have a wife, or kids- or any commitments really (he ignored the twinge of sadness at that). It wouldn't make a dent in his savings. And John liked the sea. He liked fishing, liked most things water-related. Maybe he'd be better suited out on the water - he could go on long trips and explore; the boat was certainly large enough to house even a few people. The freedom would be refreshing, and the salty air of the ocean would be calming.
And that was how a few months later, John ended up on his new boat. He had a few things he wanted to repair and change but- it was his new project. Something to finally occupy him and put all of his excess energy into.
He was preparing for his first longer sailing journey - about 6 days; he had plenty of food and beer and he had his own electrical grid set up on the boat and water pump. It was his pride and joy really. And so his journey began, winds whipping at his peppered hair and eyes finally warm for once aa he departed at 4pm. The boat had a cabin on top of the deck, a canopy, railings, smaller platforms and rooms underneath the deck. He’d strung up heavy-duty lights along the railings and had repaired and replaced the cushions and seating on the deck.
It was honestly a very spacious boat, perhaps able to host a family of 5 comfortably and store food for them for a good 4 days once at sea. There were therefore a few bedrooms as well. John only realised quite how spacious the boat really was, however, when he figured something was on board with him. Perhaps a dog? There were a lot of strays by the deck when he was preparing to go.
Johns theory was quickly disproven though the first morning at sea upon finding an opened can of tuna caught in the netting of his boat from where someone had tried to discard the empty tin overboard. Well, he was no zoologist but he was pretty certain dogs didnt have opposable thumbs. It was on the first official day out on the water at about lunchtime when he realised that it was likely a human.
John wasnt pleased. He’d find the person and god, was he tempted to haul them off the boat to drown when he found them-
But after checking the little laundry cupboard on the boat, John was taken aback. Well, fuck him - was that an 8 year old? Nestled among the towels, a sad, anxious face peeked out at him. Johns face was slack with shock and he spent a few minutes processing the child. Well. This changed things.
The child’s lip quivered and Price swallowed thickly. “You.” He still continued firmly, retaining an annoyed expression and fixing it back in place. “You arent meant to be here.”
The child weakly shook its head, looking a bit in shock. Price sighed at the scrawny mess of limbs. All bones and wide eyes. “Out. Come on.” He muttered, tugging the child out. Despite this, his hands were patient and careful handling the kid.
The child finally spoke in a wobbly voice: “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to stay with my foster family. I’m so sick of being moved back and forth.” And the kid burst into tears. Price sighed, tugging the child fully out before gathering them in his arms to stop them scrambling away. He’d handled kids before: from what he remembered, they were emotional and unpredictable. This one appeared to be no different.
“Not angry.” Price sighed, bringing the child above deck and interrupting their terrified rambling. “How old are you?” He was guessing maybe 9 at the latest-
“13.” A sniffle greeted the reply, before the kid added meekly, “And 4 months.”
Jesus. Price squinted. Surely they were a little underweight and small to be 13? But he also doubted they were lying; the kid didn’t seem to be an inherently immoral person at all - just nervous and frightened. Their eyes were startlingly honest and betrayed a captivating vulnerability. He had heard such awful things about the foster system too.
He tuned back in from his thoughts to the kids nervous little pleas, “Don’t send me back, I promise I can help but they were so mean and I just don’t want to be there anymore.” The child begged, hiccuping. “They won’t even notice I’m gone.”
John sighed. He knew he should go back to shore and hand the kid in- but maybe a few days at sea wouldnt hurt and then he could claim he found the kid wandering about a few miles away. He’d deny that he had kept them for a bit and even if the child tried to tell someone, it was unlikely they’d be believed. He could then return them or at least suggest to their social worker that they ought to be moved. The poor thing seemed rather distraught. “Okay. Okay.” John murmured, patting the kids back. The child had been clutching onto his shirt, staining it with tears and mucus. John didnt mind; he’d seen the incomprehensible horrors of war so this was quite literally nothing.
After a long pause, he fixed the kid with a pointed stare and shifted them back so John could make eye contact with them. “You can stay with me for the few days I’m out at sea, and then I’m returning you. Okay? You have to be on your best behaviour and I’d like a little help with some chores.”
Fervent nodding came from the kid. They tripped over their words to answer and could only shakily stammer out promises to be the best help they could. Price sighed, “And no raiding the cupboards without asking nicely for food. You can eat with me. Otherwise we will go back to shore.” He threatened idly. He didn’t want the child to eat all their food.
He set the kid down after establishing a few ground rules and showing them properly where everything was. Now. He wouldn’t let anyone under his roof (or canopy, he supposed) go without a bed. He imagined the child had been sleeping on the floor and he frowned at that.
John later managed to set up a camp bed and use some of the pillows from the outside seating to make and fix a sturdy little bed in his cabin. He had spare blankets (no ex-captain could be unprepared: the mere idea made John huff) and then went to go find what the child was up to.
They were out on deck, holding a broom and attempting to sweep, of all things. John squinted - the kid firstly didnt know how to hold the broom it seemed and secondly, John couldn’t see anything that needed to be swept. Still, he didn’t want to discourage the effort and so he coughed, “I made you a bed. ‘S not good for your back to sleep on the wooden floor.” He added wryly, “Trust me, kid. I’d know. Back aches everyday.” Price muttered.
The kid froze and blinked, looking uncertain. Price sighed and gently added, “You can sleep wherever you want though.”
The child mainly kept to themself. They seemed rather shy and timid, almost scared of Price. He was still strong and tall from the military and a lot of foster kids had bad experiences with men so he didn’t force any interactions; this could be like a holiday for the kid, maybe. They looked like they needed a break. He fried up a few sausages, eggs and beans and buttered some toast, leaving a portion for the child in the kitchen as he ate out under the setting sun. He’d internally nicknamed the child in his head: Shrimp or Starfish (because of the kids size). He’d actually left a pretty large portion for the kid - he didn’t like that sad little face and skittish behaviour. Hopefully some warm food would ease their anxieties and fatten the scrappy creature up.
He did some reading outside by the lights as the boat gently rocked - a battered novel with weathered pages. It was honestly rather enjoyable, he decided, even as someone who didn’t usually enjoy reading fiction. He went below deck to the kitchen area at about 10pm and the child was hunched over the plate, nibbling at the food possessively.
“I’m not going to take it away.” Price sighed, raising a brow. He received only a weary look and so he instead sat down on one of the seating areas with a throw and continued reading quietly. “You got a name, kid?” He finally asked once they had relaxed.
The child just blinked at him, before offering their name. Price hummed - suited them. Still… “Shrimp suits you too, mm? A nickname maybe.” He lightly teased. The kid offered him a bemused look.
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Night officially came and the bed Price set up for them remained unoccupied. He brushed his teeth and prepared for bed, falling asleep blissfully quickly. Hours passed. But of course, as a light sleeper, he heard shuffling and the faint creak of the door to his cabin. He feigned sleep, mimicking the inhales and exhales perfectly thanks to his training. But he heard sniffles.
He pretended to be woken up by a shift in the seas rocking with a faint sigh and he caught the child freeze - perhaps regretting coming into this room now. He yawned, exaggerating a supposed sluggishness (See, Shrimp? He was just a slow, old man - no danger here)
“You alright?” He asked quietly in the dimness of the small light he always left on. The child was sat by the light, tear tracks illuminated in the moonlight. He very slowly sat up.
The kid just hiccuped, the question prompting more tears. John couldnt help the strange urge to comfort them and he tentatively patted his bed, an offer with no force or malice behind it. His kind eyes were hard to be fully nervous around. He knew troubled kids craved attention, even when it clearly scared them.
As soon as John turned over to feign sleep again and offer the child some peace and time to be alone, he heard faint footsteps. Cold, skinny limbs dug into him as the kid crawled over him. John grunted and then hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Whats wrong?” He murmured, slightly startled still by the frantic little sobs.
The child just shook their head, voice shaking and lower lip trembling, “Don’t like the darkness when I have a nightmare.” The child whispered. Ah. That explained it - Johns room was the only room where he left a light on and he imagined the kid panicked too hard to find a light switch elsewhere. Probably just bolted to the light. He hushed the child and patted their back.
“I don’t mind if you stay, kid.” He murmured. Price was surprised to realise he also actually meant it. There was no reply, only a period of quiet, punctuated occasionally by the waves splashing gently against the underside of the boat. Their sobs also slowly tapered off into deep breathing - a relief.
They were asleep. Price drifted off too after adjusting the blankets around them. He doubted the child would be there next to him tomorrow morning but it was nice to be trusted. Oddly warming. Nice to have a companion, even. Price tried not to think about that too hard.
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Second work up!! Not sure how I feel about this one but thank you for the support on the last one - i really appreciate any comments 😋
I think I may make this into a small series, what do you guys think?
Hope you’re all having a lovely day/night :-]
