First Lieutenant Bracegirdle stood to lean against the railings of the gun deck, pausing in his stroll along its length to peer over the sides of the Indy as its bow cut deeply through the swelling gray waters. Salty spray from the churning waves rose up to dampen his cold-nipped cheeks as though to confirm the suspicions his aching bones brought; a hearty gust of bitingly cold wind whipping the cloak he had donned only moments before around his heels. Squinting up at the gray clouds roiling above him, the man gave the tiniest hint of a shiver. Damn his never-failing intuition!

The last thing this ship and its crew needed now was a storm to weather...

It was with a cautious glance to his left that he caught sight of the Captain, the deteriorating conditions of the weather entirely lost on the man as he continued pacing the quarterdeck. As Bracegirdle took in the unusual sight, he was struck with the realization that he must include his commanding officer among those discomposed by the unfortunate circumstances they faced. Head bent low and arms clasped behind his back, face a stormy mask that matched the increasingly roiling clouds above their heads and the dark angry swells of the sea beneath them, the unflappable Captain Pellew looked as though he faced the most trying moment of his command; the tapping rhythm being marched upon the uppermost deck by her commander - which was driving his First to consider confiscating someone's grog ration in order to stand it - had begun the moment the ship's surgeon had lost all patience and respectfully threw the man out of the sick bay.

Glancing around the gun deck of the ship, Bracegirdle was suddenly struck with the realization that the Captain was not the only one who wandered about with an air of dark gloom about them, for the entire crew milled about their work with thoughts of the Acting-Lieutenant's fate preying on their minds. Bracegirdle could not help but be warmed by the loyalty with which the men of the Indefatigable regarded their newest Lieutenant, to all be so equally disheartened at his misfortunes. The boy's fate had surely brightened since his time on Justinian, Bracegirdle mused to himself with satisfaction. Yet was it Fate alone or the Captain of the Indefatigable who was responsible for the lad's glowing improvements? Watching said Captain's eyes close briefly every time the pained cries had floated from the sick berth onto the main deck, it was not difficult to deduce the answer.

Lieutenant Bracegirdle was no one's fool; Sir Edward was no stranger to the hardships a Naval officer often faced, much less the grief caused by the loss of good men. But never, in all the time that his First had served under his command, had Pellew reacted so deeply to the injures of an officer, no matter how grave.

Nor had he vehemently refused to leave an officer in the capable care of their ship's surgeon; or been kicked out of the sick bay by said surgeon when his stubbornness and ham-handedness in such medical matters became too much to bear.

As Bracegirdle looked out over the white-capped swells bobbing on the horizon - his keen hearing still aware of the staccato rhythm of the Captain's boot heels wearing a groove in the wood - he knew what the man needed most was a steadying presence at his side. Surely the current silence from the sick bay was driving the man mad, as it was for all other men aboard the Indy - including his own self.

So, it was that Bracegirdle mounted the steep stairs to the quarterdeck, intent on distracting his commanding officer from his maddening pacing – for the sake of the First's own sanity if not that of the crew. Deciding on a more invasive approach, the man settled his wide girth directly in the Captain's path, forcing the man to either halt his manic steps for a blessed moment or create a new path around him. Pellew, upon noting his ascent and subsequent settling at his side, decided that it would require too much of his efforts to start anew and turned on heel to stand next to his First, their eyes both surveying the decks and the men below them. Hands still tightly clasped behind his back, so tightly in fact that Bracegirdle noticed with alarm that the knuckles were paling considerably, Pellew bounced ever-so-slightly on his heels with quick sniff then titled his head to lay a dark gaze upon the man next to him.

"Report, if you please, Mr. Bracegirdle."

"Wind remains strong from the Northeast, Sir. No sign of any French ships," the First Lieutenant replied crisply, finding his back straightening subconsciously at the scrutiny.

"Though I don't much like the look of these skies. A storm's brewing, for certain," he added, almost as though he were thinking aloud.

Pellew's dark eyes narrowed at his addendum, and as if to give authority to Bracegirdle's prophecies, the bitter wind chose that very moment to leap suddenly unto the upper deck to unsettle the Captain's cloak. As it whipped their outer garments into a frenzy, Bracegirdle caught sight of the substantial stain that remained upon the man's shirt, its bright red appearance having been dulled to a deep auburn color. Surely a mark on the Captain's conscience, no doubt, Bracegirdle mused sympathetically. Should the lad happen to perish from his wounds… He dared not think of the consequences such a terrible fate would have on his captain.

Unable to decide where he might begin to attempt an easing of the Captain's anxieties, a harried young voice shouting over the din of the wind whipping upon the rigging and the sound of leaping surf saved the First Lieutenant from franticly searching for acceptable platitudes. Pellew immediately started at the sound, hands shooting forward to grasp the carved railings of the quarterdeck as though more to steady himself than lean forward to catch the lad's next words.

A surgeon's attendant sprinted to them now, white apron donned over his clothes dirty with the stains of old blood - whose Bracegirdle did not dare to guess. The lad gasped for breath as though he had galloped the entire length of the ship to reach them, causing his anxiously impatient Captain to bark harshly at him when the man was not more speedily forthcoming.

"What is it, man? Speak up, dammit!"

"Doctor Hepplewhite wishes to see you, sir," the lad strained out between greedy gulps of air.

Barely had the words passed his lips before the Captain galloped down the steep stairs of the quarterdeck, entirely surprising the messenger at the sudden expediency of his movements. Striding past him with nary a word of acknowledgement, the Captain left the young man to trot obediently to his side, confused into a similar silence by the Captain's strange urgency.

Bracegirdle, left alone to command the quarterdeck once more, let a deep sigh heave from his chest and mingle with the gradually increasing howls of the wind. Whatever the Doctor wanted, the man prayed to a deity within hearing distance that the medical man had only good things to tell his Captain; he dared not think of the consequences should the man have different news.

It was then, in the distance, that the first rumbles of thunder reached his ears.

"I have performed the procedure and successfully removed the bullet. He is resting now."

It was plain by the immediate sagging of the Captain's shoulders, despite being hidden as they were in his cloak, that Doctor Hepplewhite's news was indeed a relief to the man. Yet Pellew still eyed the Doctor skeptically when the man added no further comment and subsequently found the lamp swinging with the rolling waves of the growing storm captivating; such obvious omissions in the Doctor's report were caught instantly by the Captain's quick ear.

"Can nothing else be done for him," the Captain asked as he cast a concerned eye in the lad's direction, the deepened lines of worry creasing his brow not lost on the surgeon's keen discernment.

Hepplewhite swallowed thickly, knowing that despite the obvious rapport that hung tangibly between the man standing before him and the lad lying pale and still on the bunk, Pellew was still Captain of the Indefatigable; he would never wish for the blows of truth to be softened, no matter the circumstances or how painful such truth might be. He cleared his throat, bringing his arms to be clasped behind him as he cast a sympathetic gaze toward Hornblower's prone form.

"If fever does not take him during the coming nights, I suspect he should recover."

There, it had been said.

Turning back to his commanding officer with a last saddened gaze towards his patient, the Doctor was surprised by the pallor of Sir Edward's face at the gravity of his words, unaware that such news would upset him so. Yet upon seeing his grief had been discovered by the Doctor's penetrating gaze, Pellew straightened to his full height with a composing sniff, his next words spoken with more similar a tone to that of a ship's captain than that of a worried father. A helpless gesture to compose himself, the surgeon knew, but paid it no mind for the sake of the man's pride; a captain had an image to maintain, after all.

"I take it he will require constant care these next few hours?"

"Indeed, perhaps even longer than that," the Doctor agreed, his mind steering back to times where such wounded men had flung themselves violently about their bunks as the fevers claimed their senses. For the young man's sake and the sake of his Captain, he hoped that Hornblower would be spared such tortures. "I must attend to the other men, but I will be back to check on him shortly."

"Then I will stay with him in your absence, Doctor."

Having turned to pass through the threshold of the suite and onward to his patients waiting in the sick bay, Sir Edward's uncharacteristic suggestion caused the surgeon to pivot on heel and fix his commanding officer with an incredulously surprised expression. What a marvelous suggestion! Never had the surgeon in all his years at sea witnessed a commanding officer, a captain, play nursemaid to his juniors. The thing just was simply not done. Most commanding officers' pride would be too great to allow stooping to undertake such a menial task. Yet the dark eyes boring into his own - daring him to question the motivations of such an offer - immediately sobered the man. Pellew owed the young man a debt – a great one. Would he not wish to do the same for a man who saved his life? Hepplewhite's gaze softened then.

An appraising glance at the Captain's appearance - his eyes roving to the unchanged shirt which remained stained with another's blood, the bicorn hat listing slightly over disheveled dark hair, and the air of weary resignation about him - told Hepplewhite that the man, in all good sense, should be taking his leave for some warm food and his bunk instead of sitting up to nurse a dying crewman. Perhaps it was the growing lateness of the hour, or the increased rolling of the ship as it encountered the first towering swells of the storm that gave the surgeon the resolve to challenge the Captain's offer.

"That won't be necessary, sir. One of the attendants can see to his needs."

A diplomatic approach always worked well with Pellew. If the lad were to die, there would be no sense in his Captain following behind him purely out of self-deprecation.

Sir Edward's frown lines deepened at having his decisions waved away in such a manner - for he never gave them in flippancy - setting a livid glare upon the Doctor as he barked crisply, "That's an order, Doctor! See to my men. I will stay."

Not willing to hesitate at an order from his commander, seeing perhaps too well the man's obvious need to be present with the lad that meant so much to him, Hepplewhite merely inclined his head in acquiescence and left the man to his vigil without another word. As he left, the desire overcame to look back and see what the Captain was doing bustling around the surgery suite, but he stopped himself; to intrude on his Captain's privacy – something the man cherished dearly – would be unfair, if not unkind. Perhaps the man only wished to be alone with his officer for a few moments, especially with the lad's mortality hanging so delicately in the balance.

Pellew hid his fondness for the lad so badly; both common seaman and officer alike knew how he cared for the lad as though the boy were his own. Should the coming fevers claim the young man, at least the Sir Edward would have been given the opportunity to wish Hornblower a farewell.

But had he acted upon those curious impulses, the Doctor would have witnessed the Captain bend over Hornblower's still form in the dim light of the swinging lamp, cloak removed from around his shoulders and draped with impossible gentleness over the shivering lad. With a slight scraping sound, Hepplewhite would have seen Pellew pull one of his rickety wooden chairs close to the boy's bedside and settle into it with an audibly heavy sigh betraying his fatigue. And as the shadows from the lamp played a dramatic contrast against the far wall, an arm would have been seen reaching out to pat the lad's covered one comfortingly though Hornblower could not sense the gesture.

The soothing murmurs never reached the Doctor's ears as he made his way to the other patients, the winds from the storm above them drowning out such soft sounds. But Hepplewhite did not need such confirmations to have complete faith in his captain's watchful eye.

The boy was in the best of care.