FIC: The Green Jacket [2/5]

[splix]

Title: The Green Jacket
Author: Alex
Fandom: Crossover: Sharpe/To the Ends of the Earth
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Richard Sharpe and Edmund Talbot belong to Bernard Cornwell and William Golding, respectively. No money made, no harm intended.
Summary: Young Edmund Talbot makes the crossing to Australia in the occasional company of Captain Richard Sharpe.
Warnings: First section only: attempted sexual assault, nothing overtly graphic.
Notes: While watching To the Ends of the Earth, I was delighted to see Riflemen aboard the ship that carried the young and luscious Edmund Talbot [Benedict Cumberbatch] to his destination. Naturally, I thought of the most famous Rifleman....

Part One: A Daring Rescue








2. Mal de Mer.


*



Alas, I have not written in this journal nor the one intended for my godfather in several days; I have been dreadfully indisposed, falling victim to the infamous mal de mer, that most enfeebling of oceanic ailments. If I may be permitted a certain absence of decorum in this, my private diary, I must own that I have spent perhaps the greater part of a week surrendering the contents of my belly to a slop bucket, and at times, regrettably, to the floor beneath my bunk. The seawater that sluices the deck-boards of this rotting cheese of a ship has washed away the worst of the foulness on the floor, a minor cause for gratitude, but also, of course, the cause of my misery.

I have been quite unable to keep the smallest morsels down, and on what I believe what was the second day of our voyage, I found myself stumbling back from what the sailors call the head only half-sensible, in full view of the seamen who watched my halting progress with what I fear was the veriest amusement. I sank down upon my bunk, my belly heaved once more, and I groped for the bucket and retched again. So unmanned was I by this wretched sensation and the abject humiliation of being reduced to a figure of fun that I wept, my cheeks hot with shame and illness, and regretted leaving England’s green hills, its blessedly solid ground, and my life of cleanliness and comfort.

It was then I heard a knock upon my door.

“Leave me be!” I shouted. I had attempted a forbidding, stentorian bellow, but what emerged was a froggy croak utterly lacking in authority or volume, with a small, piteous sob tacked on at the end for good measure. I pressed my hands to my face and waited for the supplicant, most likely Wheeler, the larboard servant, to leave. Instead, the door opened, and in peered none other than my erstwhile rescuer, Captain Richard Sharpe.

“You all right, lad?”

The sheer effrontery of his unsolicited entrance combined with my churning insides whittled my tongue to a knife’s edge, I fear, and I quite forgot – or more accurately, ignored – my obligation to him, and ignored the obvious concern in his voice as well. “What do you want?”

“You look a bit green.”

“How remarkably observant of you.” Acid-tongued and ungrateful in the bargain; I blush even as I record this. He was, in fact, being quite charitable in his assessment. I was bathed in sweat, smelled abominable, and was no doubt as pale as milk.

Captain Sharpe folded his arms and leaned against the doorway of the heaving ship, clearly unperturbed by my incivility. “Aye. Saw you walk past just now, and I weren’t sure you’d make it to your cabin without falling.”

“You saw me,” I muttered. “Capital. I should assemble the entire crew to watch as I stagger back and forth to the head.” Another wave of nausea struck me, and though I tried to breathe deeply, I could not prevent myself from retching. Thank God the bucket was there. I seized it and vomited, then lay back to recover, too steeped in distress to notice that Captain Sharpe still stood in the doorway. More tears formed in my eyes and spilled, and I sniffled like a helpless child.

“Here, lad.” Captain Sharpe bent over me, holding a clean, folded handkerchief. “Mop yourself up.”

In answer, I turned away, willing him to leave. Fascination or no, the impulse to be alone whilst ill, to curl up like a wounded dog, is a sound one, and at sea, the only proper one for a man. There are no nurses upon the bounding main. My wish was not to be granted, though. I felt myself turned over, with the gentlest of hands, and the kerchief smoothed over my brow and cheeks and lips and below my eyes.

“It’s all right, lad. Just a little more salt water, that’s all.”

This small kindness threatened to undo me altogether, but I managed to still the trembling of my mouth. “Thank you.”

“Where’s that bloody servant? Wheeler? Shouldn’t he be looking after you?”

I managed the most timorous of smiles. “Alas, he’s not my servant alone – he attends to the entire larboard side on this deck. Doubtless one of the ladies is in more unpleasant circumstances than I.”

“Hard to believe,” Sharpe mumbled. He laid a hand on my brow. “You’re feverish, lad. You need medicine.”

“I need this confounded ship to cease its hither-and-thither motion, Captain Sharpe.” I struggled to sit up, and succeeded, with some effort. “Or at the very least, to gain my sea-legs, though I despair of that happy event ever taking place.”

“I’m certain you will in time, sir.”

“But what of yourself?” I inquired with some sourness. “You evidently have one of those iron constitutions untrammelled by even the vilest and most insalubrious weather, I take it.”

Sharpe shrugged. “Just lucky, I reckon.”

“I should think so.” The ship rolled sideways, and my stomach surged upward again. “Oh, God.” I leaned over and vomited into the bucket.

“It’s a right shock that you’ve anything left to puke,” Sharpe ventured.

“I think that might have been my liver,” I jested weakly, and wiped at my mouth with Sharpe’s handkerchief.

Sharpe grinned. “Good lad.”

“I dare say your visit has improved my spirits, Captain Sharpe.” Bedraggled and exhausted as I was, it was the truth, and I bestowed my most sociable smile upon him.

“Aye, well –“ Sharpe backed away and opened the door to my cabin. “I’d best be off, then, sir. Seeing as you’re feeling a bit better.”

Was it purest fancy on my part, or did I discern the faintest trace of a blush upon that masculine face? I had not supposed that a hardened Army captain was capable of blushing, and I found it most unexpectedly charming. Then again, it might have been the lack of light on the deck giving rise to an illusion, I cannot say for certain. Nevertheless, I was at that moment seized with an impulse to allay his discomfort. “Captain Sharpe, might I beg you to call upon me again – when I am feeling more the thing? I assure you that I am not as dull and inarticulate as I have appeared on the two occasions we have met.”

“I reckon I could. Good morning, sir.” With a whirling motion that set the scarlet tassels at his waist a-swinging, he was gone, and I was alone and in better spirits.

All of which evaporated into evanescence when the ship gave another great roll, and I was obliged to lift the bucket once more! I employed not a few choice oaths I had heard from some jolly tars whilst boarding, and collapsed back into my bunk and fell asleep.



*



Illness has forced me to lose count of the passing days, but I believe we are near to the third week of our journey. I am now in altogether fine fettle – not so, I exaggerate. The sad truth is that I am still somewhat weak and queasy. Wheeler tells me that the food on this voyage is excellent, but I have had little opportunity to discover that for myself, as I have been living on a diet of ship’s biscuit and the paregoric that Wheeler gives me, and which pushes me into a dreamless stupor free of sickness and vomiting.

But let me not spend the entire journey weeping in my cabin! As soon as my head and stomach settled to a degree, I arose, had Wheeler help me into the oilskins he had procured for me (I did not, it must be said, cut a dashing figure in the lamentably damp and heavy things), and tottered up to the surface decks – what in heaven’s name are they called? Clearly I must consult the maritime dictionary – and took in the weather. I have made the acquaintance of our grim and obdurate Captain Anderson as well as some of the officers and passengers on the ship, and will not document those meetings here, for all that takes place (save where matters of the heart are concerned) is fodder for the journal that will make its way to my godfather.

I have had the opportunity to observe Captain Sharpe at a distance, for he has kept his distance from me. Perhaps after that brief unbending, he recalled that which he believed to be a slight or insult on my part. Any attempt to explain myself would doubtless result in another thorny riposte, and so I have not approached him, but instead watched and, I think, learned. He seems a man of deep silences and solitudes; true, he speaks to his fellow-soldiers, and a rather crumpled, shabby lot they are, but in a scrap I am told they are a fearsome sight to behold, quick to the gun and hawk-eyed, spotting an enemy. He also keeps company with some of the ship’s officers, and they seem to have taken a liking to him. Even the dour Captain Anderson has smiled at him a time or two. And the ladies – well, the ladies of the ship always seem to have a kind word for him accompanied by tiny sighs and flutterings of fan and eyelash, and he is a bewildering admixture of gallant and shy in their presence. This compound is met with the most favorable of responses. One Zenobia Brocklebank, a young lady of exceeding, not to say unnatural florid complexion and red lips, seems to beckon him with her eyes upon every occasion they meet. I cannot say if Captain Sharpe has yet succumbed. I do not care for her forward conduct.

But when he is not in conversation with his ‘chosen men’ as I have heard them called, or the predatory females upon this ship, he prefers to be alone. He does not read, nor smoke, nor drink to excess as some men have done, but merely walks the ship, or stands at its rails and looks distantly out upon the sea.

One day I took it upon myself to speak to his men. They were surprisingly engaging and congenial, and it took no difficulty to persuade them to wax nearly poetic regarding their enigmatic captain. It seems he is a hero, having saved the estimable Lord Wellington’s life in a pitched battle at Assaye. Furthermore, he has captured a French eagle touched by the hand of Napoleon himself and has led a forlorn hope to storm the walls in – oh, heavens, I forget. Truly, he is a half-mythical figure, and yet who else but a Hero in the Greek tradition would step into a darkened and filthy alley-way to fend off three dangerous ruffians in defense of a man he had never met? And with such nonchalance besides. In any case, they were garrulous, and armed with this new information, I took it upon myself to speak to him, approaching him as he stood watching the great foaming waters in our wake.

“A very fine evening.”

He turned toward me. “Hello, Mr. Talbot. You’re looking better.”

“Au contraire, I look ridiculous, but I thank you for the compliment all the same. I hope I do not disturb your peace.”

I had the fleeting notion that he was about to say that I was indeed disturbing him, but he only hesitated, then offered me a smile. “Not at all, sir. Did you need something, sir?”

“Only to speak with you. I have been hearing the happiest of reports from your compatriots. They tell me you are a veritable Perseus, slaying Gorgons and defeating dragons single-handed.”

Sharpe snorted and turned back to the rail. “Don’t believe all that you hear, sir.”

“Surely they’re telling the truth.”

A mottled blush pinked Captain Sharpe’s neck, cheeks, and ears, and I suspected the blush I had witnessed days before was indeed the product of the man’s discomfort. “Maybe some of it,” he mumbled. “You’re feeling better, then, sir?”

“Observe, Captain,” I replied merrily, planting my feet and allowing my knees to flex in the absurd and yet wholly practical method I had learnt from Wheeler, “I am learning to ride the ship. I am a good deal more experienced now, though admittedly I am only just catching up with veterans like yourself. Have you been on many ships?”

“A few.”

“I trust you have had many thrilling experiences. Perhaps you can tell me about them – this evening, possibly? I am not otherwise engaged.”

“Not much of a storyteller, sir.”

“Stuff and nonsense! Everyone has a story to tell.”

Sharpe shrugged. “There’s them what talk and them what do. I’m not keen to waste my time talking.”

The first stirrings of vexation twinged in my belly. “I imagine you must be otherwise engaged – with Miss Brocklebank, perchance. I have seen her vapid twitterings out and about.”

“That’s my business. Maybe you should mind your own.” His voice was soft, but there was neither a jot nor a tittle of mirth in it. He sounded dangerous, and despite myself I shivered.

I did not possess the wit to back away, however. “She wears a great deal of rouge, sir. You would do well to lay in a supply of mercury before allowing her to approach you again.”

Sharpe glared at me. “You want me to talk, then? Right, I’ll talk. You fell for an old trick in yon tavern, lad. Those scum who attacked you had you right where they wanted.”

I drew myself to my full (and not unimpressive) height. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“I mean they took your bloody watch and then pretended to find it.”

“How do you –“

“I bleeding saw them do it, that’s how. Brushed by you while you walked out of the place with your nose in the air. I were in the same place and watched you looking at everyone like they was the dirt under your feet. I were tempted to let them take what coin you had, but when you yelled out I reckoned –“ Sharpe stopped speaking; a peculiar expression settled over his countenance, as if he had bitten into a piece of rotten fruit. He bit his lip, then laid a hand on my arm. “Look here, lad –“

I was too shocked to reply, but Nature provided the means to avoid conversation. A great wave struck the ship, and it lurched raggedly to starboard. My recently acquired knowledge fled, and I staggered for balance, then found myself plowing headlong into Captain Sharpe. He took hold of one of the lines and grasped me about the waist, steadying me. The graceless manner of our collision ended with me clutching him quite desperately, and knocking the breath out of myself because of it.

“Careful,” he murmured. His lips grazed my ear, and I felt the warmth of his breath.

Dignity having deserted me for the moment, I struggled to right myself. “Devil take it – let me go.” So hurt and confused was I by his admission that I did not wait for a reply, but wrenched myself free and staggered across the deck to the ladder. I found my way back to my bunk, shed the loathsome oilskins, and slumped down, my cheeks burning.

This is the second time Captain Richard Sharpe has given me a tongue-lashing. I should be in a fearful wax, but instead I find myself quite prostrate with shame and bewilderment. What have I done to offend him so? And why, when I think of his arm around my waist and his lips against my ear, does my body choose to remember the occasion with an altogether sensual reply?

There was a time once – a young man named Arthur, at university. We were particular friends, and I am reminded…but that is over. It is a common enough occurrence in young men’s lives, and after an interval, his thoughts most naturally turn to the fairer sex.

Most naturally. And yet it is Captain Sharpe who persists in invading my thoughts, and whose name I whispered as I made entirely different use of my slop bucket last night.


*


To be continued in Part Three: War’s End

Comments

[mooms.livejournal.com]

Woohoo! This was very nice to get up to today and a great start to the week. Poor, wretched Edmund! I have never suffered from sea-sickness, but it must be dreadful. So sweet that he is jealous of the over-rouged lady and just realizing how very much Sharpe attracts him. Looking forward to more. (No pressure.) :D

Yes, thank you. We had a lovely weekend which went by all too quickly. It seems very quiet here now, much to the relief of the cats. :D

[splix.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm having a ball writing it. I've been on all different sorts of boats too, and I've never been seasick, but I've seen some other poor souls suffering from it and it looks *awful*. I would be jealous if I saw someone flirting with Sharpe too. :D Thanks for the lovely comments! I'm so glad you had a good weekend. :D

[govi20.livejournal.com]

Oh poor Edmund! I have been sea-sick myself once and it is horrible. First you're afraid you will die and then you are afraid you won't. I love his fascination for Sharpe, so much that he even approaches the Chosen Men.

“It’s all right, lad. Just a little more salt water, that’s all.” That's really sweet!

And the ladies – well, the ladies of the ship always seem to have a kind word for him accompanied by tiny sighs and flutterings of fan and eyelash, and he is a bewildering admixture of gallant and shy in their presence. This compound is met with the most favorable of responses. One Zenobia Brocklebank, a young lady of exceeding, not to say unnatural florid complexion and red lips, seems to beckon him with her eyes upon every occasion they meet. Who could blame them? I do not care for her forward conduct. Hehe...

“Careful,” he murmured. His lips grazed my ear, and I felt the warmth of his breath. Oh, yes...

It's another great chapter. I like your Talbot and of course the strong, confident, but blushing Sharpe. Can't wait for more!

[peersrogue.livejournal.com]

Fascinating and something really different. Love the dashing but blushing portrayel of our beloved Sharpe - nicely captured.

[splix.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! I'm having a swell time writing it. Hope you enjoy the rest! :D

[splix.livejournal.com]

Poor woobie! *pets you* I've never been seasick myself! I suppose it's just arbitrary - either you're prone to it or not? I've been on some pretty crazy waves in all sorts of boats, and I've never had trouble. I feel bad for folks who get ill. :(

Who could blame them? Heehee. :D

I was inspired to write Sharpe blushing after seeing him turning a bit pink on the Jonathan Ross show. Delightful! I'm glad you like Edmund too - he's fun to write, and I've never written Sharpe when I haven't been in his POV, so that's proving an interesting challenge as he's not the most talkative sort. Thank you so much, dear!

[j-flattermann.livejournal.com]

This is a great chapter and I like the fact that they are getting on - not so well - for the truth of it is that they are very different character’s with a huge gap in stance and knowledge. But also I love the fact how Sharpe cares when wee Ed feels unwell and how he resents his shrewed behaviour of looking down on others without knowing them.
I admit that I hear Bean’s voice when I read his lines - this is amazing.

I never in my life suffered from seasickness but I have seen others suffer and I was trying to provide the same service as our Richard. But it is hard for there is not so much you can do. Strangely enough people tend to go below deck, which makes the suffering worse. Instead of just sitting down on deck and take their heads between their knees which helps against the churning of the stomach.

This is a very interesting story and I can’t wait to see how it all will develop.

[splix.livejournal.com]

I'm pleased you're enjoying their conflict - they are indeed two very different people, entire worlds apart. But like two still ships in the doldrums, they're being inexorably drawn together. :) I'm delighted you can hear Bean's voice - that's a lovely compliment, thank you!

I've never been seasick either and feel really bad for people who are. At least they have Dramamine and stuff for sufferers now. :D Thanks so much for the wonderful compliments!

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

BC is perfect - It is SO HIM!!! Can see it/him, and hear him. I LOVE the affected way of talking, so precious and precocious, and there's the Sharpe growling and 'Aye Lad'-ding and 'I reckon it were..' They are ADORABLE together. Oh my goodness, young Bendydick is going to have fun when he gets to where he hasn't quite admitted to himself that he wants to go! Dammit, who wouldn't? I am really really tickled PINK with this. Bestest one ever. Bless you, and thanks for a gurgly happy read.

[splix.livejournal.com]

I'm so pleased you like it! I tried hard to get Edmund's voice right. He's quite hoity-toity, but not a bad guy, still a lot to learn. And of course Sharpe is always a treat to write. :D I hope you keep reading! Thanks for the lovely remarks, they're very kind of you! :)

[whisperingsft.livejournal.com]

I am in love with your Sharpe. He is as he should be - modest, forthright and impatient class conscious fools. Can't wait for the next chapter!

[splix.livejournal.com]

He definitely knows himself and what he's about. He'll just have to set Edmund right, that's all. :) Thank you so much for the comments! Really appreciate them. :)

[vjezkova.livejournal.com]

Great ! Um...this misery of being sea-sick is true...I can´t help remebering my being sick on the bus, in the car...and on a ferry over the Channel, yes,even there, and I agree, one feels like dying. And with Richard around...
I like that confusion Edmund experiences when Sharpe is around and I especially love our brave Rifleman blushing.
And slowly, tenderly, we are getting there...
A pleasure to read!

[splix.livejournal.com]

You know, I used to get carsick all the time, but that eventually passed, and I've never been seasick on any boat! It's odd. But I have tremendous sympathy for those who suffer from it. I hate being sick to my stomach. It would be even worse having to puke in front of Sharpe, eh? But yes, they are getting there, slowly. :) Thank you so much for reading and commenting - very kind of you!

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Young Talbot is beginning to come around, to have the edges knocked off him...and suffering somewhat in the process (seasickness is horrible), but if he will only listen to those voices, the soft, growling one that goes along with the strong arm about his waist and the small, insistent, one from his past... Much fun and I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

[splix.livejournal.com]

Thank you, Alex! Young people, yknow, they think they've got all the answers. :) But he is coming around gradually, isn't he? It certainly shouldn't take him too long to unbend in the presence of someone like Richard. Thank you very much indeed for your kind words!

[asatomuraki.livejournal.com]

I'm LOVING this! The callow youth, still too lacking in self-awareness to notice the classist stick up his arse, and the forthright, accomplished soldier who is motivated to be kind to the feckless innocent but still repelled by his unconscious entitlement. It's very, very promising!

Like you, I have never been seasick (though I have been known to get carsick in the past, but not severely), but I have witnessed it on enough occasions to know it must be wretched. I think you wrote that bit very believably. Poor woobie. And he IS a woobie, practically a child, for all he knows about life in the wide world.

Just lovely. :)

[splix.livejournal.com]

Why, thank you! It's such a dilly to write, I must say - Edmund is, as you say, practically still a child, and it's always difficult for young people who fancy themselves adults - there's generally such a rude awakening in store for them. And it's a treat to have him brush up against Sharpe, who has so much more life experience and street-smarts. Thank you VERY much indeed, I'm thrilled you're enjoying it! :)

[kimberlite.livejournal.com]

Love Sharpe's concern and gentle treatment of Edmund (and the blushes -- you keep making me swoon). Fun to see Edmund's perception of events (and his cluelessness of the bigger picture). Fabulous language and tone, as always. :)

[splix.livejournal.com]

Ehe, you're making me blush! :D It's so much fun to write Edmund - poor boy hasn't a clue. I'm so glad you like it! :D :D