(Untitled)

[stoicsidekick]

Clear winter days always felt more frigid to Bush than cloudy ones. Perhaps it was the contrast of the sharp light against the ice, perhaps it was that one always expected more warmth from the sun, even with snow on the ground. But the sailor barely noticed the cold, not even the winds whipping around him as he stood so close to the ocean. His

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[cryptogam]

The two Navy lieutenants - for he did not know Lt. Hornblower well - were one of Stephen's few tangible connections to home, and he was very fond of both men, though it came to mind that he had not seen Lt. Kennedy in quite some time. He had come to the beach to see if any seals or penguins might be seen, but when he spotted Lt. Bush on the shore, clearly upset, and overheard the all-too-familiar words of the burial sermon, he knew the worst must have happened.

"Lieutenant," he said quietly, his cold hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, "I am sorry, heartily sorry for your loss."

[stoicsidekick]

"Doctor." Bush turned to Stephen and nodded in thanks, for behind the stoic set of his shoulders he was thankful for the condolences. He looked down at the hat in his hands, aware that he had been caught in the private - and slightly absurd, he knew - funeral prayer, but looked up again after a beat. "I appreciate your words."

[cryptogam]

Stephen nodded, shivering a little, and wrapping his new red scarf more firmly around his neck. There was naught else he could say; having suffered a similar loss himself, he knew that the usual cant about possible return to the island or seeing them again someday would fall on deaf ears. And Lt. Kennedy was dead, back in their own world, so there was no chance Bush would see him again in any case.

"You would do well to get out of the cold, sir; I would not wish for you to catch chill. Perhaps we might return to the kitchen, and I shall brew some coffee. I do believe it would do you good." Creature comforts could do wonders for a mind stricken by grief, he had found.

[stoicsidekick]

Bush almost protested, annoyance that the doctor insisting on meddling rising sharply, but the bile was gone as soon as it had appeared. Maturin was right, and anyway, the thought of a mug of coffee was now endlessly assuring.

He nodded in acquiescence. "Thank you, sir."

[cryptogam]

Stephen would have made a sharp response indeed had Bush protested, but fortunately the man seemed acquiescent. "I have found that coffee invariably revives the animal spirits; it is the finest of physics for cold weather," he said as he set out for the Compound, pretending that his offer pertained solely to Bush's physical health.

[stoicsidekick]

Bush knew exactly what the doctor was doing, but he let him without comment. His discomfort was more than physical, his grief could not be cured by warmth alone, but it was a relief to his pride and his heart to imagine for the time being that coffee was all it would take.

"Indeed," he agreed quietly. He replaced his hat on his head and clasped his hands behind his back, head slightly bowed as he followed.

[cryptogam]

Stephen perceived that Bush was similar to himself when it came to dealing with grief; he would not express it openly, but rather mourn in private. Nevertheless, Stephen had found Bush's company to be valuable when Death had vanished; their expedition had taken place shortly thereafter, though Bush had not known of his loss, of course. Returning the inadvertent favor would only be fair, and might conceivably do some good.

"It is a pity that it is too cold for sailing," he commented, recalling the expedition with fondness. They had spoken of Lt. Kennedy then, as he recalled, and he had learned the man's sad story. "I have sailed in such weather before, in the South Seas, but I would not do so by choice."

[stoicsidekick]

Bush let the needless talk of boats and work soothe and distract him. It was a simple enough thing, but like the offer of coffee, endlessly appreciated. He glanced skyward, instinctively gauging the weather. "True enough. The ice can be troublesome, though the wind is remarkably good today. A few degrees warmer and it might become possible, all the same."

[cryptogam]

"Our ship struck an iceberg, in similar weather, while we were being pursued by a Dutch vessel; it was very nearly the end of us. I shall tell you the whole tale some time, if you wish it." He knew that now would not be a good time, as the tale was very long, and Stephen doubted Bush was in the mood to hear about all the remarkable mosses and birds he had discovered while they were marooned on Desolation Island.

[stoicsidekick]

The sailor grimaced in sympathy for both ship and crew that had troubles so distant from his own, and yet more concrete, more understandable than island madness. "It does sound like quite the tale. With any luck it will not be cold for long enough for such icebergs to form."

[cryptogam]

"I should hope not." Stephen thrust his cold hands deeper into his pockets, and looked sidelong at Bush. "The island is a fickle creature," he said, meaning more than just the weather. "It giveth and it taketh away, it can be cruel or kind, and there is no rhyme or reason to it."

[stoicsidekick]

Bush ducked his head, hands clenching behind him as the words struck home. "Indeed that is so," he agreed quietly. "Though perhaps not so much more than the world we left behind."

[cryptogam]

"True enough," Stephen replied. "But back home, one expected to lose compatriots to battle or illness or ill-fortune; here, there is no warning, no pattern to these damnable disappearances."

He well remembered the coldness that gripped his heart when he came to Death's room and found her gone, and all her things gone with her, except for the iron ring which he now wore upon his finger. At least when Mona had died, he had been somewhat prepared for it.

[stoicsidekick]

"A new set of rules," he agreed quietly. "If one could even call them that." As much as he tried to deny it, the abstractness angered and frustrated Bush. The doctor was right once again, for at least deaths at home were understandable, even when they were not predictable.

He glanced at Maturin, wondering briefly if he had lost someone on the island at one time or another. It wasn't the sort of thing the two men discussed, and the thought had never occurred to him before. "Everyone here seems to have such a story here," he commented quietly.

[cryptogam]

"That is true; I have scarcely met anyone who does not." There was Death, of course, though he would not speak of her; there was also Sergeant Perks, whom he missed very much, and Lt. Kennedy himself, though naturally Stephen had not been attached to the fellow in the same way that Bush was. And there was also the knowledge that he might lose someone else at any time - dear Jane, or Lennox or Dr. Wilson or anyone at all.

"I suppose that all we can do is take comfort in each other, those of us who remain," he added thoughtfully.

[stoicsidekick]

That much, at least, was not so different from loss felt at home, William mused to himself. He looked down and nodded slightly. "Indeed," he returned. "That is so." The pain passed you by, and then you celebrated with those who were left.

But that simple truth that he knew so well was more difficult to take in now than it had been in the past.