'Time Heals All Wounds' Is A Lie

My Little Runnaway

Jack ran and ran, far further than any human could at one time. He could thank the super soldier blood for that, at least. Maybe that only. At night he stopped to take care of his wounds the best he could and to sleep a bit before dawn. At dawn, he started running again.  Days blended with nights, and he wasn't sure how long it had been. Months, days, weeks. Who knew. The grief made him numb emotionally and the meager pain killers he had in his system made his body numb as well. 

He kept to the countryside, trying his best to stay to himself. He used the best broken Italian he knew. Jack soon found himself in Milan. From there he could catch a taxi all the way to Genoa. Once there, he walked until he could see the sparkling water on the coastline. The Mediterranean Sea.  A little later, he was at the port. He wandered around, carefully looking over ships and lists of their destinations. He finally found a ship he could pay for passage. 

He payed the captain of a ship called the S. S. Maria for passage from Italy to Mexico. Only once in a small cabin below deck was he able to relax. He slipped his visor into the briefcase, still not ready to start sifting through its contents. He draped his jacket over a chair in his room, then took off the rest of his clothing and dropped them to the floor. Jack laid on his back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Processing the events that had happened back in  He sighed, turned to his side, and cried until he fell asleep.

When he woke up, his eyes were crusty and daylight flickered through his cabin window. Jack swallowed, realizing just how much he needed food and water, the fatigue grinding through his middle.  He would stove off his emotions until after he took a little better care of himself. Jack got up, going into the small bathroom in his cabin.  He carefully looked at and cleaned the cuts on his face, back, and sides. He sighed, knowing he would need to go to the infirmary sometime. He desperately needed to change bandages. At least to find some supplies. Jack started the water for the shower and was delighted to find it actually hot. Once out, he put on his black undershirt and the pair of spare jeans from his case before he made his way to the mess hall.

It was empty save one or two people in corner booths and the cook. The cook was a little old man, about five foot or so.  The hair on his head was grey and balding, that on his face was a neatly trimmed and taken care of mustache and goatee combo. He also wore glasses that were thick and vintage, but looked quite natural on him. If he had a top hat and monocle, he would be like the real life Monopoly man. He held an air of charisma around himself, something almost cartoony and gleeful. 

The cook took one look at him and shook his head lightly. "You, sir, are either suffering from a bad case of sea sickness, or a helluva heart break." British and perceptive. Just like Lena. The nostalgia and guilt washed over him like a cruel wave. Jack chuckled bitterly to himself and nodded a bit. He wasn't about to ramble on how his soulmate just died a few days ago. How long has it really been? Days? Weeks? It couldn't possibly have been months. Or the fact he was gay, that little fact could get one killed. 

"I have just the thing. Usually the provisions are a bit low and it's required that two of the three meals a day are to consist of hardtack. But I'll give you regular meals till you're on your feet again. Truly, you look beyond sickly, lad." Jack gave a small smile. "Thank you, but I doubt I'll be on my feet again any time soon." The short man nodded, understandingly. His facial hair twitched. "Ahhh, so it's the later. Well." He paused for a moment to think, taking a deep breath. "I'll give you two  good ones a day and one hardtack till you leave then. How's that sound?"

"That's awful kind of you...?" Jack faltered, at a loss for a name. 

"Sir George Penderwich. You can call me Georgie." The small man smiled.

"Johnathan. Call me Johnny." It made him cringe a little, but would be better than Jack. 'Jack Morrison' would be all over the news.

Georgie extended a slender hand and Jack took it. Quite a firm and strong handshake, surprising for someone who looked like a great grandfather. He was starting to particularly like the small British man. In a new world where he wouldn't and didn't have any friends, maybe one temporary one wouldn't be too bad. "I'm actually on my way to retirement. I'm going to be in St. John in the Caribbean! How exciting. The ocean, sand, a margarita, and me!" Jack gave another small smile, trying to act happy for him. 

"I'm going to meet an old friend out there but...I mean, I guess it may get a little lonely there. What say you, Ol' chap? You're clearly on a one way trip, so why not live a little. Why don't you join me. I could use the company and I think you could too." Jack blinked for a moment, processing what he said and mulling it over. "I don't see why not, I've got nowhere to go and nowhere to be." Georgie smiled, his teeth were perfect; white and straight. His eyes grinned along with the grin, a twinkle and crows feet around his eyes apparent. "Perfect! Stellar! We will talk more, my new friend!" He paused for a moment. "You don't look like quite the fellow for nurses to swoon over, come back here after you're done with your food and I'll  a patch you up. As for now, here's your food. The lunch rush should be coming in five minutes or soon, so you should probably eat in your cabin unless you want these wankers 'all up in your grill'. "

Georgie handed him a tray, a crispy chicken sandwich and fries. Still hot too. A large bottle of cold soda was balanced on one side. There were small packs of mustard, ketchup, tartar sauce, relish, and mayonnaise in small cartons beside Jack. He grabbed some ketchup and mustard and headed to his room quickly, giving a quick wave of thanks to Georgie. 

He was baffled, hoping he stumbled more into good luck than bad. Maybe there was hope yet. First thing he planned on doing was to make a memorial for his late husband. He took a deep breath as he balanced his food and opened his door. Everything was untouched and he left out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. What was he expecting? An ambush? He frowned and sat his food on the small desk. 

Memorial sounded weird, but it was a family tradition. When someone or something died that was cared about/for, the person would make it or them a small memorial. Something private or public, could be something large or pocket-sized. When their family dog died, his father made little wooden carvings for each of the people that cared about him to carry around. When his father died, there was something like an alter created in the house. His mother was never the same. 

And so he decided to carry on the tradition. He wasn't quite sure how he would, but Jack was determined to. His heart ached at the thoughts and he pushed it away to try and eat at peace. Jack knew he needed the food, he would choke it down if it came to that. However, the food was good and he cleared his mind long enough to start to eat in peace. Or whatever peace he could find in this time. He looked out his portal window to the churning dark waves that threatened  to drag the ship down with him inside.