-Takes place roughly two weeks after Silver's speech to Jim following Mr. Arrow's death-

"AaaCHOO!" Jim sneezed for the fourth time in ten minutes. He shivered, feeling the cold gusts of wind blow around him, snow sticking to his clothes as he continued sorting rope on the top deck. The R. L. S. Legacy had been sailing through the bitter cold of the southern regions in the Etherium, and the teenager only had his thin jacket to shelter himself. Morph had settled into one of his inside pockets and had been asleep there for a while, keeping himself comfortably warm while Jim went on with his chores. Two hours ago, he had been mopping and greasing the deck, but when the snow came, everything started freezing instead. So, he opted to move onto the rope project Silver assigned him earlier that morning.

Jim's fingers and nose were numb, and he could barely grasp the coils anymore. He wiped his nose and blew into his hands, trying to heat them. Morph began cooing and flew out of his pocket, finally awake. When he saw the outside weather conditions and how they had worsened since his nap, he tittered and flew down to the galley. 'Where's he off to?' Jim thought to himself. He inhaled sharply as a coughing fit seized him, and he shook, wheezing. He moaned a little, his throat now scratchy and a headache beginning to make his head throb. He wiped his nose again and continued sorting the rope.

Morph zoomed down to the galley where Silver had finished peeling tubers and was getting ready to start in on dinner. Because of the weather outside, the crew had holed up in their quarters and the ship was put on autopilot for the time being. Silver assumed Jim was down there with them. So, when he saw Morph fly in to meet him, he was surprised to not see the teenager following. "Heya Morphy. Whatcha doin' down here ya rascal?" Asked the cyborg, pausing his duties to pet the pink blob. Morph tittered and motioned outside, fluctuating in nervousness. Silver's eyes widened. "Whadya mean he's still out there?" He huffed and grabbed his coat, throwing it on as he clomped up the stairs. By the time he was halfway up to the top deck, he could see the lad shivering in the cold. 'Ta fool,' he thought, heading up the rest of the way to meet him.

Jim looked up to see the cyborg and Morph coming up the stairs in his direction. He promptly stood up-swaying a little as he did so, his vision darkening for a few seconds. "What are ye doin' out here ya picaroon!" Silver said loudly, coming over to the boy. "I was just..." said Jim, motioning to the piles of rope half sorted into their respective crates. "Out here? Ye could've brought em inside lad! How long 'ave ye been out in this?" Said Silver, throwing an arm out to the swirling snow. "I dunno. Since it started-" Jim began, interrupted by his own coughing. The cyborg looked him over. The teenager was shaking, not just from the cold, and his nose was running, and his nose and cheeks were red. "I t'ink yer sick lad," Silver said. "You should come in fer a little while."

Jim shook his head, getting ready to turn back to the ropes. "I have chores I need to do," he said, sniffling. Silver looked at Morph then back at Jim. He grabbed the abandoned mop and tossed it to him. Jim caught it, but in his weakened state, he half-fell, catching himself on one knee and his free hand. "Jimbo, yer not well," Silver spoke, a little softer than his previous tone. "Look at yerself. Come in lad." The cyborg bent and helped the boy stand, removing his own coat and putting it around the shivering teen's shoulders. He put one arm around Jim's arm, and they started heading to the stairs. Halfway down, the boy's legs gave out. Silver caught him easily. "Ye alright there Jimbo?" He asked. Jim didn't reply. Silver looked at him through the fast falling snow to discover that he had passed out. Silver shook his head and gently tossed him over his shoulder, cautiously taking him down to the medical quarters. 'Too stubborn for yer own good ye are,' he thought to himself, carefully laying Jim down in one of the few beds in the ward.

The cyborg tucked the blankets around the boy and laid his organic hand over Jim's forehead. It was burning alright. "Morphy, stay here with him. I need ta speak wid the cap'n," said Silver, standing up and turning to the door. Morph saluted his master and sat on the free space of Jim's pillow, purring.

Silver walked out and headed up to the Captain's stateroom, knocking on the door with a little more force than he meant to. The feline opened it seconds later, a look of tiredness drawn all over her. The cyborg felt a twinge of guilt after internally connecting it to the recent events of Mr. Arrow's death. "Yes, Mr. Silver?" She asked sharply. "I was meanin' ta inform ye of somet'n that's a-happened to me cabin boy Miss," he said, tipping his hat. She looked at him expectantly. "I'm afraid he's taken sick from bein' out in this flurry-" he started before being interrupted. "Where is he now?" She asked. "I put him in da medical ward fer now, but I'll be needin' access to medicines and such," he replied. She nodded, promptly handing him a key. "I'll have Mr. Arrow-" she began before stopping herself. She cleared her throat, eyes narrowing a little. "I'll have one of your crew-mates attend to meal-prep until Mr. Hawkins is well. You are to take care of him until then, is that clear?" Silver tipped his hat again. "Clear as a lookin' glass Cap'n," he said, turning back to leave.

Before going back to Jim, Silver stopped by the medical closet to grab some things. Fever-reducing toxin, a cooling towel, forehead-thermometer, and a tissue box were retrieved, and the cyborg carefully carried the items down to the ward. From the door Jim was visibly shaking, still asleep. Silver lit the lanterns around them before drawing up a chair next to the boy's bed. Setting the other things on the nightstand, the cyborg ran the thermometer over the lad's head a few times, generally getting a 101.3 or higher. He sighed and shook his head, reaching for the medicine bottle and pouring out an appropriate amount.

It was thick and golden with an unsettling fishy smell to it. Silver wrinkled his nose and set it back down, turning to sit Jim up against the headboard. Still asleep, he stirred, sighing a little and relaxing. With his organic hand, Silver gently shook Jim by his shoulder. His eyes opened a bit, seeming to acknowledge the cyborg's presence. "Ye have ta take this lad," he said, holding up a small cup containing the medicine. Jim scowled at its aroma and opened his mouth as if to make some snark comment about it before violently coughing, leaning over, and clutching his chest. Silver patted the boy's back until the fit stopped before holding the medicine up again.

"Where am I?" He asked, ignoring the smelly fluid. "Medical ward," the cyborg replied. "Ye passed out on the way down here. But ya got ta take this," he said, holding it closer still to Jim's face. The teenager huffed and glared the other direction for a moment, then grabbed the cup. He looked down into it for a few seconds, making a face of disgust before throwing it into his mouth, chugging it as quickly as possible, grimacing the whole time. "Now t'at wasn't too hard, was it?" Asked Silver, smiling mischievously. Jim glowered at him. The cyborg dropped the grin and made an uncomfortable face, clearing his throat and turning to the nightstand to grab the cooling towel and dipping it in a water bucket at his feet. He wrung it out, letting most of the water fall from it before easing Jim back down into the covers. He laid the rag over the boy's forehead, at which the teen sighed in relief.

As Jim looked as if he were about to go back to sleep, Silver retrieved his coat, getting ready to drift off to a nap himself before Jim suddenly started to sit up again, a worried look on his face. "What is it, lad?" Silver asked, concerned. "I haven't finished my chores, I've gotta-" The teen started, removing the towel, and pulling off his blankets before the cyborg placed a firm hand on his chest, gently pushing him back to the bed. "I don't t'ink so Jimbo. Yer in no such condition," he said, pulling the covers back onto him and returning the rag to Jim's head. "But I-" the boy began. "No excuses," Silver interrupted keeping his hand on the teen's shoulder. "Captain's orders. I'm ta stay wid ye while ye recover, and while I am, yer not goin' anywhere." The teen huffed in annoyance, then groaned a little as his headache returned, his face heating up again. 'And that's why,' the cyborg thought to himself, watching the boy raise a hand up to his head.

Morph chattered and flew over to Jim's head, resting on it while bubbling. This was apparently soothing to him as the boy took his hand away from his head and exhaled softly. "Ugh. Why..." he mumbled, shutting his eyes tightly. "Wasn't smart a ye to be workin' in that storm for so long lad," said Silver, passing the tissue box to Jim. He blew his nose with a muffled comment about "needing to go through with his own duties," and sneezing afterwards. "T'ere be a fine line between carryin' yer load and takin' care of yer safety Jimbo, and ye crossed it today," Silver retorted, holding up a garbage bin for Jim to dispose the used tissues into. He huffed again in defeat, looking the other way while the cook put the bin down next to the nightstand.

"I hope ye've learned yer lesson lad," the cyborg said, dimming the close-by lanterns. Jim slowly nodded his head, already drifting back to sleep as the room gently darkened to a soft glow. Silver sighed smiling, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. He dipped his hat over his eyes. "Rascal."

To be continued!