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cmk418I watch "Jaws" at least once a year- on the 4th of July because it seems appropriate. Watching it, I've always wondered about the chemistry between Hooper & Quint. So this plays along those lines a bit.
Title: Navigating the Waters
Rated: Teen
Word Count: 1608
Summary: Matt's met Quint before
Written for the July 2019 Pool Party Challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1_million_words
Once Matt has regained his feeling of safety, he realizes that the Orca has only one occupant.
“Quint,” he asks, although he already knows the answer.
Fifteen years earlier…
The old man sat away from the crowd in the bar that night. Alone was what Matt needed, easier to talk and state his purpose than attempting to pull someone out of their group. If nothing else, this would give him an idea how to talk to these men.
Matt had been on the water every summer for his entire life, but sailing and observing were one thing, asking to be on a crew with a stranger was another. He had never actually asked before, just allowed his father and his connections to do the talking for him. Once he was on board, he would reveal himself to be a competent sailor. Right now, he just needed enough experience to take him to the next level.
He took a seat in the booth across from the man, motioned the waitress over and ordered a round of drinks for the table, whiskey for himself and a glass of apricot brandy for his table mate.
“You lost, sonny?” was the first thing the old man said to him, Irish brogue coming through as he spoke.
“I hope not,” he replied.
“Remains to be seen.” The man reached across the table and grabbed both of Matt’s hands pulling them toward him. Matt could hear the others, chatting and laughing, throughout the room. No one was taking notice of this strange interaction. “Soft hands, like a woman’s.”
The roughness of the old sailor’s fingers rubbing over his palms distracted Matt so much that it took him a moment before he pulled his hands away. At that point, the waitress walked up to the table and set down their drinks. Matt picked his up and took a healthy swig.
“It’d take a lot for you to impress me, boy, so you might as well drink what you like,” the other man said, sipping from the glass of brandy. “I don’t make apologies to anyone for what I drink. I prove myself out there on the water, where it counts, don’t need no one’s approval for anything.”
Matt nodded. He knew this was one of those moments where if he said anything at all, he’d have stuck his foot in it.
“So, sonny, what need do you have of an old sea dog like me?” He mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Matt like “maybe a baser need. You looking for a daddy figure?”
“I’m looking for a job.”
“Then you might want to ask one of the other fine laddies in this bar. I hunt the seas alone.”
“Hunt what?”
“Town’s got shark trouble. They call me for the solution. They know my reputation. Caught a thirty-footer two weeks ago, and I didn’t need any assistance.”
“What if I could offer you something else?”
“Money? Brandy? I don’t have any trouble finding whores.”
Matt felt the blood rush to his face. “I can pay you. Like an internship. The Oceanographic Institute requires a certain amount of time on the water before they would even consider me. You’d be helping me out.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because one day, I might be in a position to help you out. You said it yourself, you have quite a reputation, Mister Quint.”
“I don’t recall introducing myself to you.”
“You didn’t. I asked around. Someone told me to look for the meanest looking bastard in the place and gave me your name. Now I think he might have been having a bit of fun at my expense.”
Quint motioned the waitress over. “Another for me, and… another…”
“I’ll have a Manhattan.”
“Put it on his tab,” Quint said. The old man grinned, the gap in his teeth somewhat attractive in its imperfection. “Now we can drink like men.”
“I was…”
“You were playing a game of pretend. Don’t bother to deny it, Mister…”
“Hooper. Matt Hooper. I suppose I should have said that before.”
“Why didn’t you do an internship before now, Mister Hooper?”
“I tried. I wanted to do this on my own, without my father’s connections. It’s not as easy as you think, finding work.”
“You have connections, use them. That’s just common sense. You’ve spent too much time in books that you’ve forgotten the basics. Sharks don’t operate the way they do in books. You think you know them, but they’ll tear you apart. Sharks aren’t there to be studied, aren’t there to be looked over. They act and react. Stand in one place too long watching them, and you’ll soon find yourself clinging to driftwood.”
“I know. A shark did that to a boat I was in when I was young. I’ve been fascinated by them ever since.”
Quint looked at him through narrowed eyes as the waitress brought a second round of drinks to the table. “You’re a little bit mad, aren’t you, Mister Hooper?”
Matt raised his glass. “Getting madder by the minute, Mister Quint.”
Quint touched his glass to Matt’s. “Call me Captain.”
The Manhattans soon gave way to rum. “Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest,” Matt sang. “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.” He slapped his hand against the table to punctuate the lyrics. “Drink and the Devil had-“ Matt stopped suddenly. “Hey. You’re sort of like him, you know.”
“Sort of like who?”
“Long John Silver.”
“My eyepatch and peg leg are back on the boat.”
“I’ve got a great idea. Let’s go to your boat,” Matt said, slurring every word.
Quint slid out of the booth, watching Matt as they left the bar. As they walked, Matt swayed a bit into Quint’s side. “Lost your sea legs already, Mister Hooper?” Quint asked.
“Thought we were on the boat already. It’ll be easier.”
“Won’t be easier if you keep crashing into me like a bull shark?”
Matt bumped him again, and then leaned in and nipped at the exposed skin of Quint’s neck. “You’ve found me out. I’m a shark in disguise.”
Quint gave him a bit of a shove. “Pity then, I may have to kill you. It’s to your benefit that I know you’re no more a shark than you are a whiskey drinker. Here we are.”
The Orca looked like any other old fishing boat in the harbor. Matt was a little surprised that she had been kept up so well. It was a testament to Quint. Nothing on the boat was state of the art, but everything on the boat served its purpose.
“Going to show me the Captain’s quarters?”
Quint gestured toward a hammock in the middle of the floor. “That’s where I sleep.” Matt took a step in that direction. Quint’s hand shot out and pulled him back. “That’s where I sleep,” Quint said again, emphasizing the “I”.
“What about…?”
“I travel alone. No crew, no interns, and no starry-eyed whores. Do I make myself clear?”
Matt blinked as Quint’s words sunk in, more sobering than a cup of the university coffee. “Crystal.”
It took a long time for Matt to realize that that night Quint had saved him from himself. He’d pushed the moment down into the place in his brain where he’d hidden his most embarrassing moments. It didn’t come rushing back to the surface until Brody was stepping on board a very familiar vessel.
“I don’t think…” Matt started.
“It’ll be fine,” Brody said. “Quint’s a bit of an acquired taste, but he’s the best there is and he’s what we’ve got. For what we’re paying him, if I tell him to take you aboard, he’ll take you aboard.”
Matt shook his head, wondering for the second time in his life if taking a position on the Orca was a good idea.
For the most part, the days passed as they would on any other seafaring vessel. Matt discovered that it was best when he left Quint alone. Occasionally, an order would be barked in his direction and Matt would have to snap to attention. He didn’t want to cause Brody any trouble. To be able to observe a great white in action was an opportunity Matt couldn’t pass up, no matter who was giving the orders.
“You don’t like taking orders from me, do you, Mister Hooper?” Quint asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t like taking orders from anyone. I do what I have to do.”
“As long as we’re clear that you have to do what I tell you to do. If you want to survive, that is.” Quint smiled at him. “Did you ever get your intership?”
“I did.”
“And was it everything you dreamed?”
“No.”
Quint shook his head. “Sharks are relentless. They never stop coming. If you want to be a shark, remember that. Otherwise, you’re just chum.”
“Right.”
“A true shark would have come back. The sharks will come, until they take me. Maybe not this shark, maybe the one after that, or the one after that.”
“Would you have…?” Matt started.
“Mister Hooper, you would have been the death of me. Maybe if you figure it out, you’ll find me in the next life.”
A few days later, Matt surfaced from the deep, grateful to be alive. He spied Brody clinging to the mast, one of the few parts of the Orca that wasn’t submerged. He had to ask, even though he already knew the answer. “Quint?”
“No.”
The shark had taken him. And then, soon after, the sea. Quint wouldn’t have gone any other way.
As for Matt, there was always the next life.
Title: Navigating the Waters
Rated: Teen
Word Count: 1608
Summary: Matt's met Quint before
Written for the July 2019 Pool Party Challenge at
1_million_wordsOnce Matt has regained his feeling of safety, he realizes that the Orca has only one occupant.
“Quint,” he asks, although he already knows the answer.
Fifteen years earlier…
The old man sat away from the crowd in the bar that night. Alone was what Matt needed, easier to talk and state his purpose than attempting to pull someone out of their group. If nothing else, this would give him an idea how to talk to these men.
Matt had been on the water every summer for his entire life, but sailing and observing were one thing, asking to be on a crew with a stranger was another. He had never actually asked before, just allowed his father and his connections to do the talking for him. Once he was on board, he would reveal himself to be a competent sailor. Right now, he just needed enough experience to take him to the next level.
He took a seat in the booth across from the man, motioned the waitress over and ordered a round of drinks for the table, whiskey for himself and a glass of apricot brandy for his table mate.
“You lost, sonny?” was the first thing the old man said to him, Irish brogue coming through as he spoke.
“I hope not,” he replied.
“Remains to be seen.” The man reached across the table and grabbed both of Matt’s hands pulling them toward him. Matt could hear the others, chatting and laughing, throughout the room. No one was taking notice of this strange interaction. “Soft hands, like a woman’s.”
The roughness of the old sailor’s fingers rubbing over his palms distracted Matt so much that it took him a moment before he pulled his hands away. At that point, the waitress walked up to the table and set down their drinks. Matt picked his up and took a healthy swig.
“It’d take a lot for you to impress me, boy, so you might as well drink what you like,” the other man said, sipping from the glass of brandy. “I don’t make apologies to anyone for what I drink. I prove myself out there on the water, where it counts, don’t need no one’s approval for anything.”
Matt nodded. He knew this was one of those moments where if he said anything at all, he’d have stuck his foot in it.
“So, sonny, what need do you have of an old sea dog like me?” He mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Matt like “maybe a baser need. You looking for a daddy figure?”
“I’m looking for a job.”
“Then you might want to ask one of the other fine laddies in this bar. I hunt the seas alone.”
“Hunt what?”
“Town’s got shark trouble. They call me for the solution. They know my reputation. Caught a thirty-footer two weeks ago, and I didn’t need any assistance.”
“What if I could offer you something else?”
“Money? Brandy? I don’t have any trouble finding whores.”
Matt felt the blood rush to his face. “I can pay you. Like an internship. The Oceanographic Institute requires a certain amount of time on the water before they would even consider me. You’d be helping me out.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because one day, I might be in a position to help you out. You said it yourself, you have quite a reputation, Mister Quint.”
“I don’t recall introducing myself to you.”
“You didn’t. I asked around. Someone told me to look for the meanest looking bastard in the place and gave me your name. Now I think he might have been having a bit of fun at my expense.”
Quint motioned the waitress over. “Another for me, and… another…”
“I’ll have a Manhattan.”
“Put it on his tab,” Quint said. The old man grinned, the gap in his teeth somewhat attractive in its imperfection. “Now we can drink like men.”
“I was…”
“You were playing a game of pretend. Don’t bother to deny it, Mister…”
“Hooper. Matt Hooper. I suppose I should have said that before.”
“Why didn’t you do an internship before now, Mister Hooper?”
“I tried. I wanted to do this on my own, without my father’s connections. It’s not as easy as you think, finding work.”
“You have connections, use them. That’s just common sense. You’ve spent too much time in books that you’ve forgotten the basics. Sharks don’t operate the way they do in books. You think you know them, but they’ll tear you apart. Sharks aren’t there to be studied, aren’t there to be looked over. They act and react. Stand in one place too long watching them, and you’ll soon find yourself clinging to driftwood.”
“I know. A shark did that to a boat I was in when I was young. I’ve been fascinated by them ever since.”
Quint looked at him through narrowed eyes as the waitress brought a second round of drinks to the table. “You’re a little bit mad, aren’t you, Mister Hooper?”
Matt raised his glass. “Getting madder by the minute, Mister Quint.”
Quint touched his glass to Matt’s. “Call me Captain.”
The Manhattans soon gave way to rum. “Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest,” Matt sang. “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.” He slapped his hand against the table to punctuate the lyrics. “Drink and the Devil had-“ Matt stopped suddenly. “Hey. You’re sort of like him, you know.”
“Sort of like who?”
“Long John Silver.”
“My eyepatch and peg leg are back on the boat.”
“I’ve got a great idea. Let’s go to your boat,” Matt said, slurring every word.
Quint slid out of the booth, watching Matt as they left the bar. As they walked, Matt swayed a bit into Quint’s side. “Lost your sea legs already, Mister Hooper?” Quint asked.
“Thought we were on the boat already. It’ll be easier.”
“Won’t be easier if you keep crashing into me like a bull shark?”
Matt bumped him again, and then leaned in and nipped at the exposed skin of Quint’s neck. “You’ve found me out. I’m a shark in disguise.”
Quint gave him a bit of a shove. “Pity then, I may have to kill you. It’s to your benefit that I know you’re no more a shark than you are a whiskey drinker. Here we are.”
The Orca looked like any other old fishing boat in the harbor. Matt was a little surprised that she had been kept up so well. It was a testament to Quint. Nothing on the boat was state of the art, but everything on the boat served its purpose.
“Going to show me the Captain’s quarters?”
Quint gestured toward a hammock in the middle of the floor. “That’s where I sleep.” Matt took a step in that direction. Quint’s hand shot out and pulled him back. “That’s where I sleep,” Quint said again, emphasizing the “I”.
“What about…?”
“I travel alone. No crew, no interns, and no starry-eyed whores. Do I make myself clear?”
Matt blinked as Quint’s words sunk in, more sobering than a cup of the university coffee. “Crystal.”
It took a long time for Matt to realize that that night Quint had saved him from himself. He’d pushed the moment down into the place in his brain where he’d hidden his most embarrassing moments. It didn’t come rushing back to the surface until Brody was stepping on board a very familiar vessel.
“I don’t think…” Matt started.
“It’ll be fine,” Brody said. “Quint’s a bit of an acquired taste, but he’s the best there is and he’s what we’ve got. For what we’re paying him, if I tell him to take you aboard, he’ll take you aboard.”
Matt shook his head, wondering for the second time in his life if taking a position on the Orca was a good idea.
For the most part, the days passed as they would on any other seafaring vessel. Matt discovered that it was best when he left Quint alone. Occasionally, an order would be barked in his direction and Matt would have to snap to attention. He didn’t want to cause Brody any trouble. To be able to observe a great white in action was an opportunity Matt couldn’t pass up, no matter who was giving the orders.
“You don’t like taking orders from me, do you, Mister Hooper?” Quint asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t like taking orders from anyone. I do what I have to do.”
“As long as we’re clear that you have to do what I tell you to do. If you want to survive, that is.” Quint smiled at him. “Did you ever get your intership?”
“I did.”
“And was it everything you dreamed?”
“No.”
Quint shook his head. “Sharks are relentless. They never stop coming. If you want to be a shark, remember that. Otherwise, you’re just chum.”
“Right.”
“A true shark would have come back. The sharks will come, until they take me. Maybe not this shark, maybe the one after that, or the one after that.”
“Would you have…?” Matt started.
“Mister Hooper, you would have been the death of me. Maybe if you figure it out, you’ll find me in the next life.”
A few days later, Matt surfaced from the deep, grateful to be alive. He spied Brody clinging to the mast, one of the few parts of the Orca that wasn’t submerged. He had to ask, even though he already knew the answer. “Quint?”
“No.”
The shark had taken him. And then, soon after, the sea. Quint wouldn’t have gone any other way.
As for Matt, there was always the next life.
