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“What the fuck is that?” Flint demanded.
“What the fuck,” the bird on Silver’s shoulder, well, parroted back at him.
His quartermaster had just returned from a shore trip. A shore trip that, while it held no danger and had been for simple resupply purposes, had definitely not including the acquisition of any tropical birds.
Silver looked offended, bringing a hand up to smooth the bird’s ruffled feathers. “She is a green macaw. I got a very good deal on her, thanks to a debt someone wanted settled. Don't you like her?”
Flint eyed the bird dubiously as she bobbed her head and clicked her beak, making unintelligible chattering noises. She was a warm green color, with red feathers around her beak and tail, and teal-colored feathers at her wing tips. “She has handsome enough coloring, I suppose, but what purpose could a parrot possibly serve aboard ship?” Or anywhere, he didn't add.
“Purpose? See here, Flint, you don't have to listen to this.”
It took Flint a moment to realize Silver had been speaking to the bird, and once he did his irritation increased tenfold. “You named it after me?”
“Her, Captain, and yes, I did.”
“Might I ask what the fuck would possess you to do that?”
“What the fuck,” the parrot echoed.
Silver smirked, his mustache twisting up. “Well, as you've no doubt noticed, she has a bit of a language problem. Which you're just encouraging, by the way. When I saw her the first thing she did was insult me. What can I say, I'm sentimental.”
Flint stood there, sputtering, torn between the idea that Silver would find his insults sentimental, and that it had driven Silver to name a bird after him. There was something in Silver’s features, however, that gave him pause, and after a moment he sighed.
“You'll see to it she doesn't shit in my cabin,” Flint said.
Silver grinned. “Certainly, Captain.”
“How did the bird insult you?” Flint asked, curious as to what could have prompted the choice of his name in particular. After all, prior to his becoming quartermaster, Silver had been the subject of many of the crew’s taunts.
Silver ducked his head, and Flint could see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s just say I knew immediately she was your kindred spirit in animal form.”
“You shit,” the bird squawked.
—————
Sentimentality. Foolishness, more like, allowing a tropical bird to remain on this ship. It would irritate the cats they kept on board to deal with the rat problem, and it would distract the men as they went about their tasks. Yet Flint had allowed it, her, to remain.
It was for Silver’s benefit, to be sure. Flint had not seen such simple pleasure on the man’s face in months, not since the loss of his leg. Standing there, with that ridiculous bird on his shoulder, Flint had seen worry and tension eased from Silver’s features, an almost carefree delight at the prospect. So of course Flint had allowed the bird to remain. In spite of how the name rankled him.
Try as he might, he could not determine if Silver meant the name as mockery or fondness. From the chortles of some of the men, he was inclined to think the former, and it was almost enough to make Flint demand Silver get rid of the bird. But then Silver would bark an order for the men to stow their gossip, and Flint was less certain.
The bird, for her part, had become a near-constant companion at Silver’s side, chattering nonsensically half the time. True to being on a ship amongst foul-mouthed pirates, the bird had picked up profanity the quickest, though Silver still claimed Flint was to blame for that particular habit. He could hardly deny it, when he would curse under his breath every time the bird declared herself “Captain Flint” before the crew.
Other times, the bird would alight on the ship’s rigging. Silver would look up at the bright spot of green against the ship’s sails, a wistful expression on his face. Watching him, it made something within Flint twist uncomfortably. He knew Silver had never wanted a life at sea, before this, and in the weeks Silver had been part of the crew before what had happened to his leg, he’d barely gone into the rigging. Now, while not impossible, it was far more difficult. Watching as Silver observed the bird, Flint had to wonder if it represented some opportunity lost. She would return to his side before long, outstretched wings beating excitedly from the exercise.
(Sometimes she swung close enough that the end of her wing clipped Flint, but he didn't think this was intentional)
But then there were moments, quiet evenings where Flint would duck belowdecks to take stock of their supplies, and he would find Silver speaking to the bird in quiet tones. He hung back, not wanting to intrude or eavesdrop. The bird bobbed on her perch, bowing her head, and Silver smiled, reaching forward to scratch her neck.
—————
It was an uncomfortable thing, to admit to himself the source of his annoyance was the thing making Silver happy. Even more difficult to admit that that irritation stemmed from finding himself competing with said source for Silver’s attention.
Now, when he called Silver into his cabin to talk, the bird was there on Silver’s shoulder. When he passed too close, the bird would ruffle her feathers in an agitated manner, stick out her tail and hiss at him.
“She hates me,” Flint said one day, when she had clacked her beak in warning at him.
“You haven’t tried to make her feel welcome,” Silver pointed out, reaching a hand up to smooth the bird’s feathers. Flint bit back the Of course I haven’t on the tip of his tongue; it would do no good for his case. “You also hunch your shoulders whenever you’re near her,” Silver continued. “It makes you appear larger. Don’t do that so much, and maybe she won’t feel threatened by you.”
Flint couldn’t help but feel that he was the one threatened by her, but he tried to follow Silver’s advice. He sat at his desk, pulling out navigational charts so they could continue plotting their course. For the most part, he did his best to ignore the bird.
The trouble was, once he acknowledged the feelings he’d been ignoring for far too long, it was difficult to see Silver and not hope for more. Even more vexing, seeing the affection and care Silver directed at the parrot that was his namesake.
Said parrot who perched contentedly on Silver’s shoulder, preening Silver’s hair with her beak. Flint felt his jaw clench, and he directed his gaze at the navigational charts. He wasn’t thinking about the softness of Silver’s hair or how much he had wanted to card his own fingers through it for ages. He was looking at navigational charts and plotting their course and not thinking about the damn bird. That became more difficult when she hopped down from Silver’s shoulder onto the desk, walking on ungainly talons so she could get a better look at the sextant.
Silver was intent as Flint described navigational matters, and for several minutes they made progress. Silver was a quick study once he set his mind to it, picking up equations with the ease of someone who had had some formal training before. Flint filed that away in his mind, the way he did with all insights into Silver’s clouded past.
The bird gave a two-tone whistle, one Flint had come to recognize as the noise she made when she wanted attention. Then, in a clear tone, she announced, “Give Flint a kiss.” Then, a warbled whistle, meant to mimic a kissing noise.
Flint went very still, feeling his face grow warm. Silver gave a soft chuckle.
“Sorry about that,” Silver said, then leaned over on the desk to place a kiss on the parrot’s beak.
Flint watched the exchange, still frozen where he sat. Momentary panic receded, to be replaced by the uncomfortable sensation of bitterness. This was foolish. He was being foolish. He looked down determinedly, trying to push his feelings where they wouldn’t distract him from the matter at hand.
“I knew it,” Silver said softly.
“Beg pardon?” Flint asked, his tone clipped.
“You’re jealous.” Strangely, there was no judgment in Silver’s tone, but a dawning awareness.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Silver asked. He moved, stepping around the desk until he stood before Flint.
Flint’s pulse beat erratically, his heart pounding as hope warred with disbelief. Silver leaned back, resting his weight on the desk as he looked at Flint, eyebrow arched expectantly.
“Give Silver a kiss,” the parrot squawked. A sound suggestion, and Flint stood so he was crowding into Silver’s space, though he hesitated a moment later.
“You orchestrated this,” Flint said, accusation in his tone.
“I did,” Silver admitted. “But can you blame me? You've been playing the spurned lover for weeks, and there's hardly an unsubtle way to tell someone they have no reason to be jealous of a bird.”
Flint shifted closer, bring their bodies flush against each other. “I was not jealous.”
The exasperation on Silver’s face was in conflict with the effect of their proximity, and he gave a long-suffering sigh before cupping Flint’s neck. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
“Give Silver a kiss,” the bird repeated.
This time, Flint didn't argue the matter.
—————
A few days later Silver found Flint cutting pieces of fresh mango. He would slice a piece for himself, then cut another into smaller sections, offering them to the feathered Captain Flint.
“Finally made your peace, have you?” Silver asked.
“I'll admit,” Flint said, “I may have developed a certain fondness for her. She certainly has good taste.”