When Jack woke the next morning, the leylines were the farthest thing from his mind. In fact, the only thing on his mind was the debilitating pain that suffused and stiffened every muscle in his body. He was so sore he could barely move. Through force of will he clawed his way out of bed, struggled into his clothes, and prepared to start the day.
'One step at a time,' he thought to himself as he hobbled out of his quarters.
"Looks like you owe me five coppers," Kairn said when Jack limped up to join the sea dogs in their morning practice session.
"Shit," Grelik cursed.
"What's so funny?" Jack asked, overhearing Kairn's laughter at Grelik's distress.
"Oh, Grelik here wagered five coppers that you wouldn't even get out of bed this morning," Kairn explained, still smiling.
"Well, he came pretty damn close to winning that bet. I'm sore as hell," Jack said as he slowly flexed his shoulders, wincing.
"Are you going to make it?" Kairn asked, with amused concern.
"I'll do the best I can, no promises," Jack answered.
"That's all I can ask of any man," Kairn said in mock seriousness.
Jack took Kairn's good-natured banter for what it was and smiled. "Very funny," he said.
"Are you ready to begin?" Kairn asked.
Jack nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."
It was a disaster. The blisters on his hands burst almost immediately. He struggled to keep his wooden sword up while his shoulders and forearms screamed in protest. Each new position set fire to his thighs and calves. Jack struggled with grim determination, gritting his teeth as he tried to force his tortured muscles through the sword forms.
The sparring portion of the training was an even bigger travesty. On the few times he managed to block one of Kairn's strikes, his blistered hands, already stinging from sweat, could not retain their grip on the practice sword.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Kairn said as Jack cursed, picking his sword up for the third time in as many minutes.
"This is fucking ridiculous," Jack cursed. "I can't even hold on to my God-damned sword. Fuck."
"Calm yourself, Outlander."
Everything Jack had endured over the last eight days suddenly boiled over. Barbara's betrayal, his feelings of helplessness, the dangers he had faced, and his worries about the uncertain future that lay ahead could no longer be contained. All his pent-up emotions exploded out of him in a tempest of anger. "Son of a fucking bitch! My fucking name is Jack. Jack, God damn it," he yelled.
Sudden quiet descended all over the deck of the ship. The clacking of wooden swords halted as the sea dogs gaped at Jack's profanity. The crew paused in their duties at Jack's outburst and watched intently.
"Outlander, Outlander, Outlander," Jack parroted at them. "I don't even know what the fuck that means!" Jack flung his wooden sword away and it clattered across the deck. He stood there fuming, fists clenched, sucking in ragged breaths as though he had just ran a great distance.
"Jack," Kairn said carefully. "To lose one's temper when facing an opponent is to admit defeat."
"Who the fuck are you? Confucius?" Jack demanded. "Do you know this one? Confucius say wise man never play leapfrog with unicorn."
Kairn stared at Jack, dumbstruck.
"Don't know that one?" Jack asked. His eyes were wide and had a glint of hysteria in them. Deep inside he knew he was being irrational but his anger had taken complete control.
"Jack, calm down," Kairn said, lowering his wooden sword and spreading his arms in a soothing manner.
"I am calm," Jack screamed, and even he knew how ludicrous that sounded. "Fuck this." He turned and tried to stomp away, but the best he could manage was a pain-filled shuffle. He slammed the hatchway door that led below deck.
Kairn stared helplessly at the door the Outlander had disappeared through.
Grelik moved up beside him. "Who's Confucius?"
****
Jack flung his cabin door shut so hard that it rattled on its hinges. He limped over to the chair and sat down only to get up again. He was so furious that he had to keep moving. He hobbled back and forth across the narrow room, the soreness in his legs only making him angrier.
Images flashed in his mind, escalating his rage: the Kraken pursuing them, the gaping maws of the maelstroms, Monch victorious, Barbara's lips dotted with Roger Chapman's cum. His fury boiled over, spilling out of him uncontrollably. An incoherent roar burst out of him like the eruption of a volcano, and he slammed his fist into the wall as hard as he could.
A white light flashed behind his eyes as agony detonated in his hand. He jerked back and tripped over the chair. He flailed at the table with his uninjured hand but couldn't stop his fall. He hit the floor with a thud, rolled onto his back, and lay there cradling his hand until the pain subsided to a dull throb.
The entire morning had been one fiasco after another, and suddenly he was overcome with the hilarity of it all. Manic laughter bubbled out of him. Barbara's earrings had been knocked from the table when he had fallen and they now lay on the ground beside him, spilled out of their little box as though reminding him of the way Barbara had cast out his love and devotion like yesterday's garbage. It made him laugh even harder.
He laughed so hard that tears welled in his eyes, and then, just like that, the tears were real. He suddenly missed his old life so badly it felt like there was a hole inside him.
He missed the routine and security of getting up and going to work. Barbara's salary provided all they had needed or wanted, but he had continued working because he enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment he got after a day's honest work.
He missed the little unimportant things too, like Barbara nagging him to come to bed when he stayed up past bedtime to play war games on his computer or read his military history books on the American Civil War or Napoleon's campaigns. He had wanted to join the military after graduation but Barbara had tearfully begged him not to. To make her happy he had not enlisted, though he still regretted not serving. The games and books were his way of living a path not chosen.
He missed Barbara most of all; her smile, the scent of her hair, the feel of her body in his arms. It was all gone now, and he wept for what was forever lost.
When his grief had run its course he climbed gingerly to his feet, cradling his injured hand. It was swollen to twice its normal size. The skin stretched taut and turned purple around his knuckles. He sat at the table and stared at the wall, seeing nothing. He felt numb and drained, as though he had no feelings left.
Jack had no idea how long he sat there, lost in the fog of his personal misery. Someone knocked vigorously on his door, waking him from his stupor.
"Come in," he said, his voice wooden.
He didn't even glance up as the Captain entered.
"Are you alright?" Garek asked at the sight of Jack's swollen hand.
"I'm fine," Jack responded.
Garek knew better, but he let it pass. "I heard about what happened with Kairn, and thought we might talk."
"All right," Jack said noncommittally.
"Jack, I can't allow you to yell at one of my officers like that in front of the crew," Garek said.
Jack felt a flash of annoyance. Who was Garek to tell him what he could or could not do? "What're you gonna do about it?" he asked belligerently.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not a member of your crew or a prisoner. I am a guest, remember," Jack emphasized the word guest sardonically. "I don't take orders from you."
"You're on my ship," Garek said, a hard edge to his voice.
"I don't remember coming aboard of my own free will," Jack retorted, matching the harshness of the Captain's voice.
"I asked you --"
"You mean you tricked me," Jack interrupted.
"I did what needed to be done for your own good."
"For my own good? Or yours?" Jack surged to his feet, confronting Garek across the table, demanding an answer.
Garek stared at him.
"That's right," Jack continued. "Old Jack isn't quite as stupid as you think."
"Who's been talking to you?" Garek asked, furious that his orders hadn't been followed.
"No one's been talking to me. But I hear a word here, a whisper there. I pieced together that you need my help for something important, something dangerous. I haven't figured out what yet, but it's just a matter of time. Why don't you just tell me and get it over with."
"Why should I tell you anything after the way you've behaved?" Garek demanded. His own anger was close to the surface now.
"And why do you think I'd ever help you?" Jack shot back, ignoring Garek's question. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me." Jack's voice had risen to a shout.
"I know enough to know that this isn't like you. Why are you so angry?" Garek asked, striving to get his own rising temper under control.
"I've lost everything. Do you understand that?" Jack shouted, his voice tinged with hysteria. "No, you don't, because you don't know loss like I do."
The blood drained from Garek's face and his mouth worked silently as though searching for words. "You think I don't know loss?" he finally asked, the words coming out sharp and cold.
"My eldest son Kron died choking on his own blood on a battlefield far from home with an arrow through his throat. And you think I don't know loss? My middle son Piet is gone as well, only he died with a sword through his chest. And you believe I don't know loss? You've met my youngest boy, Aiden. He has the mind of a child after his skull was bashed in. And you dare to presume I don't know loss?" Garek's voice had grown progressively louder with each sentence.
