After the refit

M'clure bit down a grumble and tried to force himself taller.

"Yer'll be atakin whatever I tell yer too, and thats all yer be takin. Now quick march."

It could hardly have been called either quick or a march, at the staggering speed they set, and the grumbles built up inside him at the general idea of trying to get this sorted out and get back to his lists- Crozier wouldn't be happy to find he'd had to leave something behind, despite understanding the excuse.

Branning would never quite be sure how they managed it, but they made it to the sick berth. At last.

"Long's it's a dose'a China-tea," the big Marine teased as he helped Thompson up onto the unlikely table comprised of seachests pushed together.

Hop, hop, hop. "Feel like a one-legged damn rabbit," Thompson said. He tried to put his foot down to speed things up a bit, but that just hurt too much.

There was the ladder. The only way he could do it was for Branning to take his weight while he hopped from one step to the next. Why companionway ladders were so steep, he had no idea, but at least it wasn't anything like as bad as a ladder on land.

Finally they were there and he could sit down and put his foot up.

"Now don't yer go a kicking me, but i'm gonna take off all that paraphanalia on yer ankle, see what damage yer've really done ter it."

M'clure set the bag down, crouching down and standing up again to set the light exactly how he liked it.

"I'll try not to, but if you let me do it then I won't go kickin' you, will I, Mister M'Clure."

M'Clure raised his hands. "Well, of yer go then. But no dallying, mind."

He rested back on his heels, eyes fixed on the ankle in front of him, noticing where Thompson put his hands, taking note of where it must hurt most.

Thompson carefully unbuttoned his gaiter and pulled it off, then pulled off his shoe, revealing a much-darned stocking.

The swelling was very evident now, right round the ankle-bone.

Philip watched carefully, entranced, as ever, with the revealing of a wound, the compelte difference between a normal ankle and this swollen area, whcih he would help back to normality.

this, these moments, were why he did what he did, grumbling all the while.

The grumbling didn't reassure Thompson at all, and he watched the man nervously, wondering exactly what was wrong, and whether it could be put right.

Philip eased the sock off too, eyeing the swelling with interest.

"How much can ye move it? show me?"
He already knew that no weight could be put on it, and didn't beleive in asking extranious questions.

There was a bit of movement, but not much, though he could wiggle his toes.

"Can't stand on it, though. Hurts too much."

He bit his lip, looking worried.

Philip shrugged. He'd expected as much, and hoped for better. Such was the way of things, though.

"Id' noticed that." he commented, picking up the bandage again. "I'll strap her, splint her, and see what yer think. Here."

He came back up into an easy crouch, gently begining the bandaging. "And try not ter kick me, a curse or two will suffice." he added, knowing this would touch a few tender places.

"Please be careful," Thompson said, thinking he would likely kick, though doing that would probably hurt him more. "I'll try not to kick. Can't promise, though." Any kick would likely be more in the way of flinching away from the pain, anyway.

He was sitting on the table, legs out in front of him, supporting himself on his arms. He grasped the edge of the table, bracing himself for what the man was going to do, and hoping (probably foolishly) that it wouldn't hurt too much.

Philip grumbled, "I'm always carefull", but it was more out of habit than with any more meaning.
Frimly, he wound the bandage once around the hell of the foot, then completed two figures of eight. He was tempted to repeat a bad joke he'd heard mroe than once about figures of eight compared to peices of eight, but instead placed a splint on the inside of the ankle and held it in position as he bandaged it in, slipping another into the outside.

Of course, this touched the most bruised part of the ankle, and he kept himself ready to dodge any kicking that might be about to occur.

He jerked his foot away reflexively as M'Clure placed a splint on the outside of his ankle, right over the worst of the bruising.

"I...I'm sorry," he said biting his lip, and bracing himself to move his foot back so the surgeon's mate could finish his bandaging. He sat up and leaned forwards, holding his own leg still. "Won't happen again, sir."

M'Clure just waited till the foot was still again. "if it does, then I'll get someone ter hold it still, yer can be sure of that."

He added, as he tightened the bandage. "Try keep it still now, I'm going ter be pulling a bit tighter." He suited actions to words, then set back down to figures of eight.

He gripped his leg with both hands. He didn't need anyone else to hold him down for a stupid sprain.

He tried not to moan as the bandage pulled tight, forcing the splint firmer against the tender flesh of his bruised joint. He was going to be off duty for ages, and Corporal Johnson was going to be furious.

He stole away from where he was called to work, hoping that none would have noticed his absence. The injury of the marine was still on his mind and he'd nearly dropped a heavy cask on his foot, so distracted he was with the thought. So, when he was to bring another, size fitted to his own strength, he's taken a different turn, leaving his load further away from his original path.

He scampered as fast as his feet could take him , towards where he supposed the marine would be. And then carefully he peered through the door, looking towards the marine and Mc'Lure. Where was Dr. Crozier? Must've still been on land. He took a step closer to better see. Ah, it was the ankle. The injured ankle by what the conversation was saying.

"How... how long's it goin' to be afore it's better, sir?" Thompson asked, hesitantly, looking up at the man tending to him.

M'Clure tucked the bandage ends in, standing up to face thompson.

"Pleased ter see yer kept yer word." he grunted. he saw a small head poking through the door, and added, quietly, "Is that one of your mates, then?"

Carefully he walked towards the only small pile of bottles he had access to, sorting through them for something strong-tasting and of some use as a pain releif.

He answered the question over his shoulder, popping open a bottle as he did so. "How long? well, depends on what work yer'll have ter be doing on it..." He didn't add, and what Dr Crozier could give him, "...but I shouldn't think more'n a coupla days afore yer put ter work again."

He glanced towards the door and grinned. "Aye, think so."

What work would he be doing?

"We do mostly standin', sir. Some walkin', if they want me on the bell. And... does that mean I won't be doin' drill?"

He certainly wouldn't be allowed ashore now, there was no chance of that. Not if he couldn't walk on it.

He took a small step forward. He wanted to step back and run, since he had been discovered but it mattered more to know how Thompson was feeling. Could he walk again? How awful was his injury? Was anything broken?

He came into light and shuffling his feet he mumbled:"....is he goin' ter be alright?" He kept his eyes downcast, but it was evident he was worried even if he wanted to look as if he was there against his own free will.

M'Clure added some herbs ter the mug and thrust it at Thompson. "Drink up, there, and i'll tell him yer not goin'ter die termorrer."

He blinked when faced with de Guarde, recognising him but letting it slide. Often was the time he'd been told to tend patients and naught else.

"He'll be fine, given a bit of rest- though yer won't be takin him off ter shore terday, 'm'fraid."

He suddenly added, "I'll get t'Dr ter talk bout whether yer shoudl be doin any drill or anythin', but reckon yer'll be off that unless yer absoluitely have ter be there."

He took the mug, sniffed at it and pulled a face, though he steeled himself to down its contents.

That was strong-tasting and nasty, but whatever it was it would probably do the trick. He tried not to choke at the taste. Finally the mug was empty and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sprained me ankle like a damn lubber, lad, that's all."

So, no drill, and no run ashore - and of course there was precious little chance of being anywhere they could have a run ashore again any time soon.

He knew he wasn't permitted to go on land with or without the marine, but the doctor needn't know that. He was considering asking again. The lieutenant, a midshipman to relax his question? He's been postponing that, for the obvious reasons. But this, was good news. Thompson might not be able to go, but he was going to be alright. Sprained his ankle on the ship. Nothing more. He wasn't able to mask the look of relief as he nodded.

".. thought ye weren't a landlubber no more." He murmured and glancing at Mc'CLure, but less for permission and more for just telling him he was coming in no matter, he stepped closer to the marine. " You's not hit anything else ,either , aye? " He looked to the man's head as if expecting a bruise to rise from there. Then he looked at the leg. Though it might've not been as bad, being all slung and tied, it looked a good deal worse than it was. "He'll rest here?" He asked and turned to Mc'CLure