10 June; Mess Duties

Was there no satisfying the man? He'd done nothing wrong this time, but it appeared he did. He was told to stay away, and when promising so, he was thought as doing something wrong.

He'd explained where he was supposed to be and suddenly it appeared as if he had not planned to go there and needed to be told. Evans accused him of doing wrong when he had gone and ate!

He nodded stiffly. "...dismissed?" Fine. He'd stay on his own, even if that went against the idea of 'being demoted to mingle with the opressed'. He'd just stay in the sick bay and refrain from taking free time and he'd figure out a way to get his meals there too. He knew it would not satisfy anyone, but then.. nothing he did, did.

"Aye. I'm done wastin' me time." Tide shook his head again and turned away to head aft. He'd not seen the boatswain below during that little disturbance, which meant finding him to make him aware. Then of course a report needed to be made to the officer of the watch.

It would have been too much to expect those damned Marines to keep out of it, wouldn't it?

Mathew stared at Evans. Then slowly he nodded and turned on his heel. He left, without a word said , descending not back to the mess. Somebody else would have by now taken the kid and washed it anyway, but rather he went for the sick berth.

He fought back tears. When he caught a glimpse of Cattling, he quickened his pace, till he found himself running all the way back. He ducked inside.

Yanking the cloth off its post, he began to clean the desk. Then the small bottles, then it was time for the tools to be cleansed. His shoulders shook. A small clear wet drop fell on the counter and he wiped it away then rubbed at his cheek. Everything hurt, but not just physically. He couldn't.. he just couldn't do anything right no matter what he did. He would not ever become a midshipman, not ever a marine, he would die here if not in battle, then because someone would deal him a blow or because he would have dealt one to himself.

Again he had to wipe the wood, as his tear fell onto it, moistening it. He chewed on his lip till it was red and abused. It was no use. it never had been. He'd only been blinded by foolish hope, and stupid words.

Thompson wasn't entirely convinced he had done the best thing, but he'd done the right thing. If there was a fight, it was his duty to stop it. He wished he hadn't had to clap the two opponents in irons, but there it was. They weren't going to stop otherwise, after all. And what on earth had the problem been with de Guarde? He'd headed back towards sickbay looking as depressed as Thompson had ever seen him, and that just wasn't right.

Thompson was off duty for a bit now, and he headed to sickbay himself. He really needed to see de Guarde.

He entered the space and was saddened, though somehow not surprised, to see the boy crying.

"Oh, Mathew," he said. "C'm'ere." He held his arms out to the lad.

The voice startled him, so that the knife he had just been cleaning clattered to the ground, barely missing his foot. It was Thompson. He recognised the voice before he could see the face. Fervently he rubbed at either cheek and tried to put up a convincing smile as he turned to face the man.

"..ah..." He hesitated and cleared his throat. "Do... do you want anything? I mean.. are you hurt?" He observed the outstretched arms, and it was clear that all he wanted to do was to run up and hug the marine until he could no longer stand. Still, he stood in place, trying to perfect the little smiling mask and the image of a lad on duty. "I.. I didn't hear you come." He spoke and knelt down to pick the knife. This he observed for a few moments before, almost hesitantly he placed it back on the desk.

"Should I.. get the surgeon?" He asked then, thinking that perhaps the corporal had come in need of someone to check the injuries of the two that fought.

"No." Thompson watched the boy for a moment before stepping forward and putting his arms around the lad. "Here, it's all right. You don't have to... to make believe everythin's fine when it ain't."

De Guarde sniffed and shook his head. "Why do y' think.. summat's wrong?" He asked, though moments later he was hugging the corporal tight, battling tears as well as attempting to regain some semblance of control.

"..Eve... everythin' is fine. I...i'm workin' 'ere.. jus' needin' ter clean stuff..an'..an'... see.. I.. .I did it all.. t' strips are folded right an'.. an' t' surgeon's tools are clean an'...I wash'd t' buckets an'...." He was trying to make it clear how much he had tried even if Thompson really was not there to judge him. But what he did was nothing anyway.

"You have your cry, an' then tell me what's upset you." He smiled sadly, stroking the lad's hair. "You've done a real good job in here, I don't think it's ever looked so clean."

De Guarde shook his head, shook it again and then the only indication that he might have actually been crying or perhaps sobbing more than that, was the tremor of his shoulders, and the sharp intakes of breath. He did not make an actual audible sound, not one that would carry his voice.

He couldn't tell Thompson about Cattling. Could he tell him how all those nice words were a lie? That it did not matter what he did, it would not change anything? He could certainly not tell him that he was afraid and that he was hurting because he was bruised. The hand on his head made his thin, frail mask shatter and he hated himself for it. He ought to have known to keep himself without tears, but the marine just manged to prevent that.

"..I...I..." It was so nice to hear just a little praise even if it was probably not true. The place probably did not look any cleaner even if it was. "...I can't." He sniffed looking up. "you.. .you'um come here for.. to get summat. I.. I shouldn't keep you. I really shouldn't. You.. you have your duties an'....an'..." He rubbed at his eyes again and sniffed, though he probably would have done well to have a handkerchief as his nose was now, quite full.

"I came here to see you," Thompson said firmly, and pulled a rag out of his pocket, pressing it into the lad's hand.

"Seems like you could do with some fresh air. Come you with me."

"No." He took the rag and blew his nose into it. The sole action took him a while, and once he was done he sniffed again, holding the rag in his hand. "No... i don't want to go up.." Then he stiffened, realising that he could not say no to a corporal. Not exactly.

With a heavy sigh he whispered. "Sorry corp'ral...I... I will go, if you want me." Spoken in haste, because he did not want another meeting with the gunner's daughter for disobeying, or a bad opinion of his character, for that same thing.

de Guarde's abrupt refusal took Thompson by surprise. "All right, then. I just want to have a bit of a chat with you, like we've done afore, all right? If you don't want to up on deck, where else can we sit an' talk for a bit?"

"..Where ye'll say, .." De Guarde murmured looking quite apologetic. "I didn' mean..I don't want ter... you'm t' corpral an'..you oughta say.." He wanted of course that they would talk anywhere where they were alone, away from the others and their gazes, away from the officers and he was quite fine to sit in the dark in the hold, with rats crawling all over, if that would mean he was out of everybody's way.

"I.. I'm sorry, I said no. I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have said it. I'm really sorry."

Something had obviously gone wrong, very wrong. "You ain't yourself, that's for sure, Mathew," Thompson said, and held the lad a little closer to himself. "You sure you don't want to go on deck an' find somewhere quiet up there in the sunshine?"

"..we'll go, if you want to go." He lowered his gaze again, and just hugged the other man tightly, burrying his face against his belly.

"...do you want to go there?" What if Cattling thought that he was ratting him out. De Guarde sighed. It could go in several ways, and none of them appeared pleasant.

"I'd rather be up there than down in the dark, I must admit," Thompson said. "C'mon, what's got you all worked up like this? 'Cause it ain't right, it really ain't."

"..Then... then we go up." He said dejectedly. He slowly released Thompson and took a step back. He could not and would not say no, he reminded himself. "...I'm really fine I....I mus' be missin' me parents." He whispered, a blatant lie but it could so well have been true. It was a good lie, he thought, rather believable for any young boy. Though, considering how rarely he wrote them, he hoped that Thompson did not know.

"..is all. Silly.. silly.. homesickness.. haven't seen them a while... real long while.. years.. an'.. an' any boy would miss 'em, wouldn't he...wouldn't I?" He did not want to lie but what else could he do?

Thompson didn't answer this, simply leading the lad to the companionway up to the foc'sle. "Right then," he said, pausing by one of the carronades there. "You want to tell me what's really been goin' on? Has it got summat to do with that lad, what's his name, Button?"

"No. I...promise ter leave 'im alone." De Guarde said defensively. "..Nothin' he'd done.. nothin' I was to. I swear." He would avoid Button from now on, well avoid anyone, but him even more than the rest. He was ordered it.

He glanced past Thompson then looked at him. "I didn' mean to cause no trouble ever.. corp'ral. ..none. I swear." He sighed. What if even George could not believe him and thought him a waste of time? But here was here, was he not? Wasting his free time on him. He was careful not to bump against a carronade, making sure his tender sides remained in the process of healing, rather than disturbance.

"You ain't making any sense at all that I can make out," Thompson said, looking at the lad. "Now. Start from the beginnin' an' talk to me, tell me what's gone wrong."

"..I've gone wrong. Ever since I come 'board. I never shoul'da." The boy answered stiffly, keeping his gaze low. "Everyone would'a been the better fer it if you hadn't seen me float by t' ship too." He added haughtily, his hands curled into palms.

"Everythin' 'round here woulda been feelin' better if I'd drowned." He was certain nobody would have been flogged for it, but it would not be now anyway. Certainly not if he could help it and he had to.

"You ain't, then," Thompson replied shortly, sitting down by the carronade. "Here, you sit next to me - that ain't goin' to be so bad on you, is it? - an' tell me who's upset you an' how. I can't promise I'll be able to sort it, but you'll feel better for tellin' me, that's for sure."

"Nobody. Noone." He shook his head sharply, though he did sit down, tenderly tugging at the waistband of his trousers.

"..nobody. " he said again. Wen he looked past Thompson again, and he saw the slinking, familiar figure he stood and looked nervous as he said. "Mebbe...mebbe there is someone in need of me servies back b'low. ...George...Corporal..." But he could not say it so he just dropped his gaze. "I wos' not made fer t' service....I think, I jus' was not."

"Sit down." Thompson looked up, and frowned. "If it's one of the Marines or anyone..." He sighed. "Let's talk about summat else, then. Why don't you show me some more writin'?"

De Guarde sat again, fidgeting. "...i don' have paper with me, just now. We.. I need ter go fetch it firs' if you want me ter teach yer more writin'." Of course Thompson would need to know even more, now that he was a corporal.

"Permission ter go fetch 'em?" He asked his hand reaching for Thompson's sleeve. It remained just above the fabric then jerked away, knowing that he just should not.

"Though... we'd need ter go have summat hard ter write on..so's easier for you?" He was obviously grasping for that little piece of rope of a changed subject, thrown at him.