#4kqa

     Patrick is dragged out by Pete, who barely gives him enough time to throw a robe over his underwear clad self. Andy steps out in his muscle tee and flannel pajama bottoms, and Pete and Joe are both wearing onesies, Pete’s being patterned with little sheep, and Joe’s with stars.

     Joe’s burning everything that can be burned, and thawing things that aren’t supposed to be thawed. Eggs turn warm on the countertop, basking in the little sunlight streaming through the window, and the smell of singed bread rises from the toaster, making Patrick’s stomach turn.

     Joe burns the bacon to a crisp, serving it along with burned toast, scrambled eggs (which may or may not give them salmonella poisoning), and some mushy oatmeal. Patrick, being Patrick, thanks him despite the poor quality of the mirror, choking it down with glass after glass of lukewarm orange juice. Andy thanks him as well, sneaking as much as he can onto Patrick’s plate when he’s not looking.

     Pete and Joe chow down, their eyes glued to the TV. They’re barely lucid; Patrick and Andy have tried to hold a conversation with them while they were watching before, to no avail. The best thing to do while they’re watching their shows is to keep quiet and monitor whether or not Joe’s food is making you physically ill.

     Patrick ends up falling asleep, while Andy busies himself with a loose string on his pants. The cartoon is over after a mere half hour, sending Joe into the kitchen to clean up everything (meaning to clean to the best of his ability, which leaves obvious traces of food and such) and Pete to the shower. Andy decides to go to the gym, and everyone decides to let Patrick sleep.

     When Patrick wakes up around noon, he sees that Andy is making lunch (he must have insisted that he do it rather than Joe, again), and that Pete and Joe are lying next to him. A bundle of blankets covers them, and Patrick feels Pete’s unicorn pillow pet stuffed under his head.

     Patrick from one roommate to the other, grinning. The apartment is a total mess, the paint is peeling off the walls, and Joe’s pet rats make every room smell faintly of feces.

He kicked the door open, sword high over his head. Seeing no immediate danger, he scanned the room, his eyes finally meeting a man rooting through their rations.

   “Hey!” Frank shouted.

The man jumped in surprise, facing him. He was thin, rail thin, in fact; his cheekbones jutting and skin pale. He had soot and grime smeared across his face and in his greasy hair, which hung in matted tangles to his shoulders. His beard was snarled and unclipped, his clothing torn and stained. He clasped his filthy hands together, pleading, “Please, do not make a fuss, sir.”

Frank jostled his sword handle, tightening his grip. “Why shouldn’t I? You come onto my ship, in the middle of the ocean. How exactly was that managed?”

“I climbed aboard in Mendoza. I’ve been in hiding there for two years, and when the chance to leave was granted by your crew’s raid, I had no choice. I had to leave. I snuck on and have been sneaking around for the past fortnight.”

“And you’ve been eating?” Frank asks.

The man hesitated, adding, “Well, yes, it was either that or you find my corpse, sir.”

“A stranger invading our ship and eating our food,” Frank declared. He raised his sword, bringing the stranger to his knees in fright. Frank took pity on the cowering man, instead plunging the sword into a nearby table. He offered the man his hand, helping him to his feet. “I may be a thief and a criminal, but I am not lacking of empathy.” Frank grabbed the man’s shoulder, greeting, “Welcome aboard. We’ll clean you up good and proper.”

Once some other pirates had awaken, Frank enlisted in them in the gruesome task of cleaning up the stranger. They draped a table cloth around him, setting him down in the washroom. Frank set his hands on the man’s shoulders, gazing at their reflections in the mirror. “I’ve never asked, what might your name be?”

“Gerard,” the man replied. “And yours is?”

“Captain,” Frank replied. With that, he started hacking away hunks of the man’s hair with his machete, ridding him of the clumped mats that had formed in sweat and grime. Next came his wiry beard, which could not be spared and, as a result, was shaved off totally.

They gave Gerard a set of new clothes, and it was Frank’s job to watch him change, assuring that he bore no concealed weapons.

Frank watched Gerard strip to his drawers, these ratty, faded underpants that were at least a size too large. Stepping into his new trousers and shrugging into his button up, he gazed over at Frank expectantly, who simply grinned, commenting, “You’re still rather skinny, but we’ll fatten you up. We’re only twelve miles east of Nigeria, so we’ll be eating good soon.” Frank tipped his hat, adding, “I’m afraid for the next few nights, we’ll have to get by on scraps.”

Gerard shrugged, responding, “I really do appreciate this so much, Captain. A new start. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t,” Frank replied, sighing. “Really, never thank a man who’s lived at the expense of others since boyhood.”

“What did you imagine I was arrested for, libel?” Gerard joked. “My mother died when I was fourteen, my sole provider. I was left to live in the streets, and I lived well too, that was, until two years later when I was caught stealing food from a local shop. Two years running, and now, here I am.”

“You were… fourteen? That makes you… eh…”

“Eighteen, sir,” Gerard responded.

Frank nodded wearily, confiding, “I’m not much older than you, son. Don’t let my crew find out, of course.”

“Of course, sir,” Gerard answered.

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Frank muttered, rooting through their beer supply. He offered one to Gerard, who declined, before taking a large swig. “I’m just a troubled man with leadership qualities.”

Gerard had nodded slowly, telling, “You know, you’re my role model.”

“You hardly know me,” Frank scoffed.

“I know you better than you’d suspect,” Gerard retorted. “Remember, I hid on this ship, and during that time, I was watching you. All of you. And it was almost immediately that I knew you were the sort of man I’d like to turn into.”

“You think I’m a real man, huh?” Frank asked, unable to hide his smile.

Gerard grinned back, answering, “Of course.”

“We’ll make a man out of you, my boy,” Frank assured. “And that’ll start over the next raids.”

   Frank stood, patting Gerard’s shoulder as he started for the door.

   “Um, captain?”

   Frank turned to face Gerard, who restated, “I really would like to thank you for everything. I appreciate it.”