J/S drabble
Title: M&C drabble
Author: Ima Pseudonym
Genre: Master and Commander (my first!)
Pairing: Mention of JA/SM
Rating: PG13, for implications of naughtiness
Summary: Mr. Higgins, surgeon's mate, thinks about things he's learned. Or, something like that.
Disclaimer: Belongs to Patrick O'Brian.
Notes: Requested by meletor_et_al 576 words.
Thomas Higgins had much to learn in the ways of medicine. Much, that is, aside from needing to conquer his unfortunate squeamishness at the sight of blood. Stephen Maturin was a good teacher. Kind, patient.. and above all, he knew what he was doing. Tom reflected that he could have been far less fortuitous. But all the patience in the world, on Stephen’s behalf, couldn’t lesson Tom’s nausea when it came to amputations.
A jack tar had once referred to him, with no disrespect, as a sawbone, and he’d promptly lost his midday meal over the side. Stephen had merely told him to have a sip of tea, grudgingly prepared by Killick, and a lie down, to settle his nerves. Of course, the man had been correct, and he was right as rain within an hour.
Broken bones was another problem, Tom faced. More and more, lately, Stephen had been gently encouraging him to set them, while he watched on. The unhappy sailor would rather, of course, he didn’t but they trusted Maturin whole-heartedly. And if he trusted Higgins... that would have to be good enough, and to hell with any man who said differently.
All other ailments, and there were many, were treated with odd medicines, copious amounts of rum, or (in a few cases) bleeding. Higgins hated the leeches, kept in a clay jar, that he tried to avoid like the plague. Stephen, however, loved them. It was only Captain Jack’s stern reminder that they were needed for medical purposes, that saved them from all being dissected and studied by the naturalist.
Tom considered it a great misfortune the night Mr. Larson came down complaining of sharp abdominal pains. It was a misfortune, because the man was carrying on pitifully, and Stephen was sharing a nightcap with the captain. So he’d flipped through every book he could find, until Larson let out such a great bout of flatulence that the laughter could be heard a deck above. The man left, relieved, and Tom followed, not wishing to be trapped in a small area with the gases of a man whose diet consisted of naval issued food.
After a moments thought, breathing in deep, unsullied, sea air, Tom decided to beg Dr. Maturin’s opinion on the whole matter. If Larson had been suffering from more than just noxious fumes, he didn’t want the men to say he hadn’t tried. Killick was outside the cabin, snoring in a manner to wake the dead, and Tom decided to simply let himself in, rather than knock and risk waking the cranky steward.
Before Tom had let himself into the room, entirely, he froze. Stephen’s cello lay, abandoned, on the ground, with Captain Jack’s violin, resting next to it. The necks of the instruments crossed. Pressed against the window, in naught but his shirt, Stephen gasped with his eyes shut tight, as Jack moved against him, in a similar state of undress. Tom couldn’t make out but half of his captains face, but the look, even at half of it’s impression, was one of such intense feeling, that it almost made his heart ache to watch. It was the expression of one who had found paradise.. An oasis in the desert, and it reminded him of his own thirst. Shutting the door with a soft click, he turned and made his way blindly, back to the deck, just as the watch was changed.
Yes.. he had much to learn.