They break apart and look at each other, wide-eyed. West's hair is disheveled, and Pullings is pale under his dark tan. He moves his mouth, but no words come out.
He composes himself somewhat. "I hope to see you back on duty soon, Mr. West," he says quickly, and leaves.
"Thank you, sir," says West, the words hanging in the air with only himself to hear them.
The next day is Monday, and Pullings invites the officer of the watch to breakfast. The Surprise, as a letter of marque, carries no midshipmen, so the customary number that Captain Aubrey would invite is reduced by one. Mr. West, released from the sickbay, is the officer of the morning watch, and he presents himself punctually at the door to the dining cabin.
In most ships of the Royal Navy, an invitation from a superior officer amounts to an order. Pullings wishes it was not so: he really does want to talk to West, but the constraint placed on a lieutenant in the presence of his captain makes candid conversation impossible. Perhaps it is different in a privateer; a democratic privateer, of course, since the Surprise is run man-of-war fashion.
"Sit down, Mr. West." He is still not used to being the one saying this; until now, he has been on the receiving end of the phrase: "Sit down, Mr. Pullings." It is strange, having total authority. It is only until they meet Captain Aubrey again, though; after that, he will be plain First Lieutenant Pullings again, the commander without a ship.
He pours out a cup of coffee for himself, and after a moment's hesitation, one for West. He, like Captain Aubrey, cannot start the morning without coffee. It seems to him that all the lieutenants in the service share this addiction. It is only some of the captains that can get by on tea and chocolate.
"Mr. West, I was thinking that we might exercise the crew at shifting topmasts today."
"Very well, sir."
They are very quiet.
Pullings finishes his cup of coffee and reaches across the table for the pot, just as West decides that it really wouldn't strain courtesy to drink any more. Their fingers meet on the handle, and West pulls back quickly, but Pullings follows and pins his hand with his own. His eyes flit between the table and West's face.
He strokes the back of West's hand with his fingertips. The man reminds him of a horse that his father owned and that he helped to care for, before he went to sea. It was almost wild, and needed to be petted and spoken to soothingly before it would bear a rider. His eyes hold West's as his thumb brushes his fingers, and he leans over to whisper in his ear. West turns his head slightly to kiss Pullings on the cheek.
Perhaps they won't need to talk at all.
The horse ran away, in the end. Pullings thinks this may have been one of the factors that made him want to leave his father's farm, and become a sailor with the likes of Captain Aubrey.
