10 June; Mess Duties

"Well. He did not. I can't change what you think, but that's how it is." He wrote two more words, then paused. Although he liked being with Thompson, he was realising that it might be best if they did not meet as often or perhaps, any more.

This was for the sake of the corporal and his future success and promotion, also for the sake of his relations with the rest of the crew. He was more busy now, would remain so. He did not need to trouble himself by a former midshipman who might not live until his 15th birthday.

It was three days more. Well, perhaps he could survive this long if he did not anger Cattling or any of his buddies, but his 16th was certainly out of the question. The only reason he was still sitting here was, that he was useful to Thompson. He would teach him to write. When he had outlived his usefullness he could tell him,..that he was free of his company and needn't come again.

He bit his lip as he started to write the letters. Small letters first. a to z. Then the big ones. A to Z. He underlined the ones Thompson knew. For all of them, he had begun drawing cards. He worked in haste now. A.. had an apple. B..a bugle, C had Emily the cat, D a dog. E had an egg, F.. a frog.

He paused , looked at Thompson again, then continued. G.. He thought about it. Well G was the letter George already knew. He drew a tankard anyway. "Grog." He murmured. He moved to H and drew a horse.

He did not stop until he had reached the last letter. There, it was a way to teach the other, to have him learn on his own. He chewed on his lip fighting back tears. He knew he was distancing himself from Thompson, but it was for the best. He did not want to pull the man down with his own misfortune. It was better so. Thompson deserved better.

"This.." His voice broke briefly. "This is.. what you can learn from... every picture starts with the sound... the letter. So, just say them out loud and you'll know." He looked up at the man. "Combining these sounds is.. how you write words....You'll figure it out.."

Thompson glanced at de Guarde as the lad spoke. He sighed and then gently took the pen from his hand and laid it down. "Summat's wrong an' I ain't lettin' you do any more until you tell me what it is." He smiled, pulling the rag from his pocket again, and pressed it into the boy's hand. "You look like you need this. Now, you want to stay here, or come up on deck an' get a bit of air?"

"No. Not up." He shook his head sharply. "...Please, George. " He whispered, looking pleadingly at him. "You'll learn, I know you will. You are smart. You won't... don't need me." He bit his lip. "...it would be better for you if.. you were not seen with me. Especially by the officers and....and the crew." He lowered his gaze, tugging nervously at his sleeve.

"You need to be on good terms with them. I want you to be. You deserve it." He clutched at the rag, though he did not use it.

Thompson got to his feet. "Come on," he said, adopting a firm, no-nonsense tone of voice. "This ain't some'ers we can talk - an' we are goin' to talk. Whatever else you need or don't need, you need a friend. Up topside with you, c'mon."

He shook his head again. But Thompson was a corporal, and he a mere Tar. He stood obediently. He could not disobey, much as he wished to. It was what got him in trouble before, what got him disrated and also shamed.

"It will not do you any good,.. corp'ral." He whispered. "I should not..." He bit his lip. "I'm a burden to you. No friend's a burdn'.. You'd jus' get in disagreements with others n'....I don't want that...It was my fault Chase and Seward fought...it was my fault.." It was, though not directly. But still. "..They are innocent. I caused it. They are both innocent."

"They was fightin', an' that ain't allowed," Thompson replied, and shrugged. "I ain't int'rested in talkin' about them, though. It's you I'm worried about. An' you ain't no burden, so stop talkin' like that, all right?" He led the way up the ladder to the foc'sle and found a space between two of the carronades.

"Right. Sit you down, forget I'm a Corp'ral, an' talk to me like I'm a friend. Here, I'll help you." He unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off, folding it so that the corporal's stripes were hidden from view. "There. Now, young feller-me-lad. Talk."

De Guarde shook his head. It was sweet of the other man. Hiding his stripes so as to make him more comfortable. But he was still a corporal and he was still a man who would, upon learning things, take actions against them. And he did not want to die, he really did not. Although perhaps that was the only solution and then all would be well again.

He clutched the rag to his chest. "Maybe...it's better I give up." He murmured very quietly.

"Don't be silly," Thompson said. "Sit down, do." He would accept no argument from the lad and waited till he was seated. "We all have bad days, Mathew. But talkin' about it helps - you know that already. So. Tell me. I ain't goin' to do anythin' if you don't want, but I do want you to talk to me."

"You promise.. promise an' swear on yer life, that if I ask yer to not do anything, ter not tell anyone.. no matter wot'... that you won't do it? " The boy looked seriously at him. This was important to him. He wanted him to swear on his life, or on anything he held dear, that he would do so.

Secretly he hoped Thompson would say no, as then his resolve would not crack, as it was now, weakening bit by bit. Fear strengthened it, but Thompson's gaze, his words and concern made him wish that he, De Guarde, could just disappear.

Thompson looked down at the lad and sighed. "Mathew, lad, I promise I'll not do anythin' you don't want me to." He held his arm out, offering de Guarde a hug if he needed it.

De Guarde did, and without a word he buried his face against the marine's shirt, his hands tightening around his waist. He did not cry. He just held onto the man, because he was still afraid, still hurting, and this was a way to forget it all, if just for a few moments and if not to forget, atleast it was comforting and safe. "..Promise you won't say anything... unless I ask you to?" He whispered against the shirt.

"Oh, Mathew." Thompson stroked the lad's back comfortingly. "I already said so." He tightened the hug a little, reassuringly. "You bin through too much for me to want to hurt you, or to let anyone else hurt you. But I won't say anythin' if you don't want me to."

The boy winced when the hug tightened. This however did not make him let go. Rather, it seemed, only to have him shuffle closer. He remained quiet for a short while, and then whispered more timidly. "..Thank you...." Where could he start. With something easy, something that had nothing to do with Seward or Cattling. Something that was just making him feel so much lonelier, because he could not share the joy of it, with anyone.

Yes. It was a good way to start, and then progress to things he felt less at ease to speak of and maybe, just maybe avoid those, he feared more.

"I don't know, lad. Folks seem to want to prove me wrong." He kept rubbing de Guarde's back through the fabric of the boy's shirt. "You don't need to thank me. Friends do for friends... you'll learn that."

he hoped he would, anyway.

Every so often De Guarde tensed, winced and inched just a little away from the hand. The bruises under his shirt were disturbed and though he relished in the touch, the bruises hardly did.

"...George. I...I'll be 15 in three days." He bit his lip. It was not of course something that troubled him other than, reminding him it would not be a day celebrated as dearly as when any other had his, or infact, at all. "..Could I ask for a bit of grog. Just this once? And if you could come when you're of duty, ter t' sick bay." He could not say, to celebrate, but atleast it would perhaps feel as if somebody came, even if just for a visit.

"Your birthday? In three days?" Thompson smiled. "O' course I will." He chuckled. "Be nice to celebrate that. I dunno when mine is, even, me." He noticed that de Guarde was trying not to wince, and loosened his hold a little. "You could've said I was hurtin' you. Though I wasn't holdin' you that tight. He hurt you, didn't he? The bastard. Let me see."

"..Remember what you promised." The boy murmured defensively. He was a little more at ease at showing it to Thompson when he knew that the marine would do nothing and therefor neither endanger himself nor the boy.

He did still feel ashamed about it though so he tried to keep his mind on the little question of birthday.

"Aye...me birthday. a third un' on board a ship.. I think. *he murmured as he tugged at his shirt and then slowly lifted it so the first bruises could be seen. They were still dark and covered a great portion of his skin extending further under the shirt. Some were larger, and some smaller. "..I... fell down t' companion'way." He whispered automatically.

Thompson sucked in a breath when he saw de Guarde's torso. He was going to kill Cattling if he could. He had a fleeting moment of regret for breaking up the fight with Chase and Seward. If they had been fighting because of this... If he'd known about it, he would have gladly waded in to help Chase out.

"Does the surgeon know about it?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away. He didn't think he had ever seen bruises as bad as those, not on a boy. "And don't lie, I know you never fell down no companionway steps."

"No. He doesn't." The boy answered truthfully. "They'll fade. There's nothing he could do anyway." If the boy had actually thought to show them to him, but he did not and he would not now. Bruises faded in time. All he needed to do was wait.

They stopped where they could be discovered. With his shirt down, they were well hidden. It was only once the shirt was up, that they could be revealed. Whoever had done it, knew very well how to make his work go unnoticed. "You promised not to tell anyone...not even the surgeon." He warned softly.

"True." Still... Thompson would like to catch him on a dark night, maybe down in the hold, and give him a thumping he'd remember for the rest of his born days. He briefly considered breaking his promise and reporting it to the Captain, but really, what could Captain Bolitho do? Anything he did do would likely only make it worse - and it wasn't as though Thompson had proof.

"What was Chase an' Seward fightin' over?" he said instead.

"...Could you excuse them both....?" He asked instead of answering that question. "...An'.. George. Promise me you won't do anythin'...after this. You'um your career ter worry 'bout... your station." He could imagine the other being upset. The look on his face earlier, when he first saw his bruises was telling enough.

He did not want the man to get in trouble for it. Chase had, and he had not even known. He just reacted to a provocation by Seward. "I don't want you to loose that." He lowered his shirt finally, tucking it back in.

"If you get disrated,...hurt.. or worse..." He shook his head. Not only would he have felt terrible about it, but when the likes of Seward and Cattling came to collect what was due, he would have nothing to prevent them from actually causing his death. This could well go for any one of their friends that he did not know.

"Not once they'm in irons... that's for the captain to do now," he said regretfully, and shrugged. "Don't remind me. I know. Though plenty of folks have screwed up real bad once they got the stripes. I wouldn't be the first."

Not that he was planning on screwing up, of course.

"It's a damn mess, is what it all is," he said. "Folks like them ought to be tipped inta the sea as soon as possible, rather'n be let to ruin things for decent, hard-working folks."

"Not even if...if somehow you let them out 'fore the captain learns of it?" He asked hopeful. In truth he did not want chase to suffer the punishment again, but if Seward was released perhaps his good mood at escaping the cat, would keep him at peace for a while.

After all, if he was punished again, he would be returned to the sick berth. There, it was de Guarde's job to take care of him. But in taking care of him they would remain alone for short periods of time and the boy dreaded something like that.

"I deserved it, George." The boy sounded sad, but honest, convinced. "... They just did what was ...right." He had a hard time saying it, but that's what it was. "... I'm jus....'fraid." He admitted. He knew that if he was asked to stand witness, he would point no fingers. He would insist on having fallen. Nobody could prove it to be anything else. Not even Thompson.

"Reckon the Captain can find somethin' that'll let 'em off," Thompson said,making up his mind that he would do his best to find something of the sort himself. "He don't like floggin', no more'n anyone else. Reckon he'm fair an' all."

"An' there ain't anyone who deserves that sort o' punishment. If it happened to young Button, would you say he'd deserved it?"

"That's different. Button.. he's never done anythin' wot' would get him ter be deservin'. He's friendly, and good, and he's got friends. He's servin' t' Lieutenant." He looked relieved. Maybe the men would be pardoned and maybe Seward would feel happier then, rather than pissed.

"I'd done enough fer a life time ter be stuck 'ere..and ter deserve it, an' you know it yourself. George. I even bit you, and hurt you. I might have been lucky you wasn't a corporal then.. but I still did it. "

He lowered his gaze. "If anythin' happens....I want yer to have ..wot' chocolate I got left..an' I want yer to have me quill, ink n' paper an..me books, so you can learn ter write."