A Good Bit of Scrubbin'

"That was real brave of you, lad," Thompson said, patting Fingers' bare shoulder encouragingly. "You took that very well."

He could only offer a stiff, short nod. The water was cold on his back and his head felt uncomfortably weightless. He barely noticed the scrape of the brush over his face.

"Good lad," Mister Evans told him quietly, after gently turning him so the soap could be rinsed from his cheeks. "Cob's got your clothes there - "

"No, not those," the surgeon interrupted. "Those are entirely unsuitable for wearing. I'd imagine his bedding is in no better state. The purser shall have to issue new - "

The pump stopped working and suddenly the splash of cold water was gone. Fingers, still clutching his brush, found himself hefted up by a pair of white-sleeved arms. "Here," Corporal Johnson rumbled, carrying the boy to the closest patch of dry deck. "Get yourself below, lad, and find somethin' dry."

Something heavy and woollen was dropped over his thin shoulders. Without entirely understanding what was happening, but reacting instinctively to the scratchy warmth he'd just been given, Fingers dropped the brush. His little fingers curled protectively around the jacket front and, heedless of the long trailing jacket-tails, he ran unashamedly for the aft ladder.


He runs here.

Terry watched Fingers head below, and gulped. He didn't want to have to go through this at all. He bit his lip. He was hardly going to have to suffer what poor Fingers had just gone through, though. He hoped.

"I'll go up next," Thomas said, after exchanging glances with his brother. Andrew had been scrubbed clean already and he was free to leave as he pleased. They each had formed a plan, discussed it, and agreed upon it with a single glance and now Andrew was heading off for the aft ladder. He'd see Fingers sorted.

Drawing in a breath to steady himself for what was about to come, Thomas stripped off his trousers. Please make it quick...

Thompson found himself staring at Corporal Johnson with awe. He never knew the man had it in him to treat anyone so tenderly, even if it was on the rough side. He blinked and shook himself out of his reverie before the Corporal caught him staring.

"Right, Shepherd. You can manage to do yourself, can't you?" he said, looking at the second twin as he pulled his shirt and trousers off.

Thomas nodded jerkily. "Aye. Nothin' to it." He grimaced when the blast of water hit him, but took the soapy brush from Mister Evans and set to scrubbing himself down with a will.

"Good lad," Thompson said, and glanced over to the forlorn heap of Fingers' discarded clothing. It wasn't fair to make him get fresh from the purser... he'd have to pay, and the boys got paid less than even the landsmen did. He wondered if there was any way around it.

Somehow, Tide thought absurdly, Corporal Johnson looked even more imposing without his jacket. Maybe it was the oddity of seeing him in only braces and shirtsleeves?

"What're you two plottin', Shepherd?" He asked the drummer, taking note of the absence of the other twin.

The Shepherd - whichever one it was! - simply grinned at him and scrubbed the brush carefully over his vitals.

Whatever it was, Thompson was sure it was something to help Fingers - and he was also sure that when the other boys heard what the plan was, they'd want to be part of it.

He didn't think anyone could have failed to have been touched by the sight of the pathetic little waif being shorn of his hair like that. And when he'd protested, it had been in the smallest voice possible.

His jacket. Corporal Johnson had given Fingers his own jacket. Oxley's opinion of the NCO shot up when he saw the way Johnson had taken his jacket off and put it over Fingers' thin shoulders. He wondered if there was anything he could do for the lad - though by the look of it, the Shepherds were ahead of him there.

Fingers' quiet submission more than made up for de Guarde's childish struggling earlier, in Oxley's opinion. It was almost a shame the former midshipman hadn't been up here to see it.

With no further purpose at the moment, Chase retreated to the thinning crowd of onlookers. Most of the excitement seemed to be over, so men were drifting away, either back to work or to their own amusements.

Chase himself had retrieved Fingers' clothes, thinking to try giving them a good washing. They could be saved. Maybe.

An idea came to Branning and he nudged Button. "If you was to go next," he said quietly, "you'd be done quick. Might go after them Shepherds..."

Dammit. Terry was caught in an agony of indecision. Did he really want to see Fingers badly enough that he could willingly put himself through the same torment?

Well, maybe not the same... He hastily reached a hand up to his head. No; he couldn't see why the surgeon would want to cut his hair off, too. Although you couldn't tell with them - easiest to steer clear of them. Though, it wasn't going to be possible to steer clear of him when he was standing here supervising things.

The Shepherd twins looked as though they had some sort of plan in mind, and if it was to help Fingers, Terry dearly wanted to be part of it. But that meant stripping off and being subjected to a brisk scrub-down. Although, men were moving away now, perhaps feeling that there was nothing of any interest here any more.

But could he...?

And then Branning nudged him forwards and he found himself biting his lip and slowly pulling his shirt off. He didn't want to do this, really he didn't...

It looked like Button was volunteering to face the hose next. Good lad. Tide nodded slightly at Branning. At this rate, they'd have all the boys scrubbed and rinsed before the end of the watch.

The Shepherd finished his bath with a quick, spirited jig, then held the brush out to Button with a broad grin. He obviously didn't care a whit that he had yet to dress again. Daft lads, the lot of them.

Terry took the offered brush with a wan smile, wondering how quickly he could get this over with. He didn't want to be here, and he was already shivering slightly in anticipation of the cold water from the pump.

"Shepherd," Chase said, catching the drummer before he could scarper below. "There's some old canvas in me sea-chest..."

The drummer smirked at him. "Perfect! No way we're drawin' anythin' off the pusser. Them worth anythin'?"

"Dunno. Gonna wash 'em an' see." They'd have to knock together some new bedding too. Mister Farley would see to it Fingers' old bedding got destroyed. He seemed completely oblivious to how life ran aboard ship.

"Right - comin' down to find the poor fella with me?"

Chase shook his head. "Waitin' for a bucket and brush. He'll have a free tot on me, though!"

Shepherd grinned again, hastily tucked his shirttails in, then grabbed his shoes and dashed for the aft ladder.

They were good sorts, them twins... even if they were Marines... Terry's thoughts were cut short by the icy blast of water as the two seamen on the pump began working it. It was every bit as bad as Terry had dreaded and his teeth began chattering. He had to clench his jaw to stop them, and it was a moment before he could collect himself to start scrubbing half-heartedly at his body.

At least Button was moving the brush, so it looked like he was trying to wash. Branning hid a knowing smile. It wouldn't take Button long to decide he was done. The steady flow of water over him would help carry away a lot of dirt too.

The other Shepherd was gone now and Branning noticed Chase making his way for the buckets by Mister Evans' feet. He had Fingers' old clothes bundled under one arm. Ah. Few could accuse Branning of being smart, but he knew a scheme when he saw one. And this was definitely a good scheme.

"Good lad," the big Marine said to Button, who was hurrying to finish up now.

Dammit, the quicker he did this, the quicker he could get away. He glanced at the surgeon, but he didn't seem to notice anything was out of the ordinary. He moved the brush a bit faster, wincing a little at the roughness of it, turning in the water - it was so cold! - and hastily giving his hair a quick stroke or two.

Hopefully he wouldn't get called back and made to stand there while someone else scrubbed him down properly. He sent a sideways glance at Mister Evans and dropped the brush, moving away from the stream of water coming from the hose.

That was it. Mister Evans nodded at Button and made no move to restrain the boy.

"C'mon," Branning said. That was it, then. He was curious to find out what the Shepherds were up to. "Better find poor Fingers 'fore he takes to likin' the corp'ral's jacket too much."

"I think I know where he'll be," Terry said, wriggling back into his clothes, even wet as he was. He looked shyly up at the big Marine. "You... you don't hafta, bein' a M'rine, like, Mister," he said, though it was really nice of the man to offer. Fingers wouldn't believe what was going on up here now, really he wouldn't.

That was a fair point.

"Better friendly faces," Branning reasoned, "than somebody wantin' to drag him off to duty or somethin'."

"You... you don't mind, do you, Mister?" He scrubbed at his hair with his hat before pulling it back on, which made him feel warmer right away. "I mean, well, you ain't 'zackly an unfriendly face..."

And the Shepherds would probably tell him what had happened, and what their idea was, afterwards, even if he didn't get to take part.

"Nope," Branning answered cheerfully. "We ain't got drill this afternoon, 'less Sarn't Quinn gets bored."

Besides, he reckoned the boys would have need of a sewing kit, if nothing else. Branning was a poor tailor but even rough skill at stitches was better than nothing.

"Have a word with Cob - or your other M'rine frien', what's-his-face-" he pointed at Thompson. "I'm goin' to see if Shepherd needs any help... if you's sure you don't mind."

He had to go and see how Fingers was. Poor lad had taken off like a scalded cat, and Terry couldn't blame him.