Allhands and bodies too, aft - 1st June

He came into the sickbay, pulling his woollen forage hat off. "Will he be all right, sir?" he asked, though he didn't see any reason the lad wouldn't be. "I wish... I wish I knew the right things to tell him, so he wouldn't go actin' like he done," he added, feeling that he'd somehow let the lad down, that if he'd said the right words, the boy wouldn't have thrown such a childish tantrum.

The boy shifted a little till his arm slipped over the side of the table on which he was lying, and hung there, fingers bent in a relaxed state. He was breathing calm and even, perhaps oblivious to the fact that Thompson was even in the room. Laudanum was making him feel fuzzily at peace.

Farley's thin shoulders twitched in a shrug. "He behaved as indisciplined boys will," the surgeon opined. "Perhaps he will learn from this. He will recover nicely however. Never you fear."

Thompson moved over to the lad and patted his shoulder, feeling awkward.

Discipline... It was a concept he was used to, as a Marine. But somehow, he'd never thought that de Guarde might be lacking in discipline. He'd just thought the boy was spoiled. Instilling a sense of discipline would mean a change of tack.

But that would have to wait till later. There were other things to think of first. The boy's recovery, for one. "How long's he goin' to be in here, sir?" he asked, looking up at the surgeon.

The boy did not wake, but seemed bothered by the angle at which his arm lay. He did feel the tap, or perhaps sensed there to be warmth closer to him than it had been before. His hand moved upwards sloppily and then came to hold onto the sleeve of Thompson's drill jacket. This he pulled closer and claimed it similarly to a boy claiming the possession of his toy. Even then he did not wake nor give any indication of awareness, but was more relaxed, just as before his arm had come to hang low.

"Just for tonight. Tomorrow he may return to his mess. He shall be on light duties, however. Likely for a week."

Thompson nodded. Light duties... Well, it wasn't as though he'd be capable of much more than that. "Um, sir... D'you think it'd be possible to teach someone how to be a bit more disciplined? I mean, without drills an' inspections an' stuff?" After all, he'd learned self-discipline from the Marines, and de Guarde wasn't a Marine yet. And might not ever be one, if Mister Cartwright decided he'd rather not have the boy join Terpsy's Marines after all.

Hmm. Farley thought for a moment. "Anything's possible, my boy. The trick is how you go about it."

Thompson sighed. "He ain't had such a good life as you'd think. No friends till he came here, not at home, not in his last ship. I've bin talkin' to him, tryin' to get him to understand things here, but... I hadn't realised it was as bad as it is. Though... I can't tell him he ain't got the discipline." He sighed. "You seen the scars, sir. That's all from his last ship. His captain was... was... He changed like a woman's temper. One minute the middies had to run, couldn't waste a second, next minute they weren't allowed to run, it ain't gentlemanly."

He looked down at the boy, surprised at himself for saying all that. "He won't be happy I've told you, but I couldn't not say it. Someone needed to know, sir. I jus' want to help, the best way I can, sir."

Indeed.

"Boys are impressionable," Farley allowed, "and men in charge of boys often fail to appreciate the danger of their position of authority. It is little wonder he has turned out so, considering."

The surgeon glanced at the quietly sleeping boy. "I don't doubt there is hope to change him for the better, all the same."

"He... We talk, sir. He listens to me. Least, I think he does - an' he has tried to do better." He couldn't help contrasting de Guarde's furious struggle with Fingers' mute, miserable submission again. "I just wish I knew what to do to help prop'ly, that's all, sir."

The lad tightened his hold on the sleeve and the arm that his own held to then relaxed it again. It was no indication that he might have agreed wit what had been said though it may have felt just so. It may have felt, as it would have at any other time with the person in question being awake, as if a squeeze of reassurance that all would be well.

There was a very soft sigh, that escaped the boy, a soundly inhale of breath and then a slightly faster paced exhale. The pain was still held at bay, so sleep could offer a very pleasant retreat.

"And has talking helped, that you are aware?"

Thompson glanced down to where the lad was cuddling his arm. He smiled ruefully. "I think so, sir. I..." He drew a breath. "He wrote home for me, sir, an' he'd never've done that if I hadn't talked. And, he don't keep himself so... so stiff an' apart from folks as he used to do. He allus used to think the worst of folks. I don't say he thinks the best of 'em now, sir, but he ain't so quick to think folks did summat a-purpose. Like... oh, even bumpin' into him, he used to say was a-purpose, even with the sea a-runnin' a bit, makin' folks unsteady on their pins."

The white-haired surgeon nodded slowly. "It is certainly a start. I don't suppose any others on board have tried similarly?"

"Not the same way, I don't think. Though I know folks've tried. Cob Chase has bin tryin' to teach him about the stuff he needs to know as a sailor, an' I think young Oxley's gettin' to be friends with him. But... He wants to be a Marine now, sir, an' I dunno whether that'd be a good thing or not. I think it might be 'cause I'm a lobster that he wants to be the same, sir. An', well, I don't want him to throw away what chance he's got of becomin' a middy again an' betterin' himself, sir." If he had any chance at all now, after that display earlier.

"I see." Farley considered this. "Well. Without a doubt his prospects are better if he regains his lost rank. Perhaps an expression of acceptance, broadly offered, may help him."

"How d'you mean, sir?" Thompson asked, curious. He looked down at the lad fondly and stroked his hair.

"From the crew," he replied. "Piecemeal friendship is well and good, but I doubt it would be enough to adequately better him."

That was true. "I can have a word with folks, sir... but it'll take time. seamen don't like changin' their minds, an' the lad didn't do hisself any favours his first day or so aboard, neither, sir."

He hoped the others would come to accept him, but the surgeon was right. De Guarde had been trying, but it did need some give from the other side, too.

Undoubtedly.

"I was not present when he joined the ship, so I cannot speak to those events. However, I did see his behaviour today. Not unlike a boy who feels without recourse, I shouldn't wonder. Adrift, even."

Thompson nodded. He'd been fighting like a cornered animal, and the Marine suddenly wondered if that was how de Guarde felt, whether even his offered friendship could really pierce that shell and help the lad at all.

"I jus' want to help him, sir. It... it ain't right for a lad to feel like that, not to have anyone he can talk to. To trust."

"Takes time," was Farley's remark. "How long has he been on board?"

"Um. Two, three weeks, I think, sir." Was it really only a matter of weeks? It had seemed like much longer.

When the slight stroking to his hair commenced the boy, perhaps subconsciously, tilted his head a bit. He bodily shifted closer to the touch, yet so subtly it appeared that he was in one spot before, but at another glimpse he was at another without really seeing how this so happened. The distance wasn't all that great as he had already been close. There was a faint smile played on his lips. It showed how oblivious he was that the two men talked.

A leg, bent at the knee, lifted a bit but when it found resistance with the fabric and his own skin's injury, it inched lower again. He seemed to accept that he would fully lie on his belly.