5 Times Jeremy's Friends Called Him Out - Chapter 3

Three
The medical practices were never something that Jeremy was overly interested in learning - he knew enough to keep someone from immediately bleeding out from most gunshot wounds, and he figured that he had medics on hand to take care of the rest. Watching Isaac methodically unpack, clean, organize, and repack his ever present medical kit only convinced him further that he had been correct in remaining ignorant of medicine’s more technical components.
Isaac paused his methodical movements, holding a slim, curved needle up into the candlelight. It glinted in a sinister fashion and Jeremy, shirtless and feeling vulnerable from his perch on top of the medicinist’s table, couldn’t hold himself back from shuddering slightly. Observant as ever, Isaac tucked the needle strategically out of sight and turned towards Jeremy.
“You know, Captain,” he began in his customary calm tone, “we wouldn’t have to be here if you had just come to me for treatment as soon as you knew you were injured.” He looked back towards his tools and decisively snapped the bag closed, reaching instead towards a small tabletop chest shoved to the back corner of his desk. Jeremy closed his eyes and sighed - Isaac wouldn’t press him for a response, but Jeremy knew that he deserved one.
“I apologize Isaac. I hope you don’t take this as an insult to your abilities as a medicinist, I have total confidence that you can heal any ailment or injury I might sustain. It was foolish of-”
“Stop.”
Jeremy’s very eloquent apology was brought up short by a rather undignified croak. Not only was he unused to being ordered around by his subordinates (though it frustratingly seemed to happen with increasing frequency), he had never heard such a cutting tone of voice from Isaac of all people. He shook off his shock and attempted to rally.
“I… beg your pardon, Mister Rose?”
“I said none of that. Cut it out.” Isaac’s grip on his tool chest had gone white, and Jeremy noticed with some alarm that he was staring nearly motionless at the burning sconce mounted on the bulkhead. After a moment of considering his situation to the best of his tactical ability, Jeremy opted to remain silent and allow Isaac to take the next step in the conversation.
After a tense few seconds, Isaac blew out a sigh and hung his head between his shoulders. “You worry so much over the wellbeing of the crew, Captain, I see it every day. I think it’s one of the things that we have most in common, or wouldn’t you say?” Isaac didn’t look up, but Jeremy judged it was safe to respond.
“I suppose I would.”
“Then suppose yourself in my position. I’m no commanding officer, I can’t keep the crew in line or out of trouble. Whatever slips through your fingers up there,” he gestured vaguely above him, probably meaning the deck above their heads,“comes down here, and then my job is to fix it. I don’t resent that, you understand, but it’s frustrating when the man who’s supposed to set an example for the crew also happens to be my most difficult patient.”
Jeremy huffs, indignant. “Most difficult…! Surely- hah!” He cuts off in a sharp gasp, as one of Isaac’s perpetually icy hands prods close to the dark bruise spanning the right side of his ribcage. Isaac lessens the pressure before speaking up in a clinical but calm tone.
“This bruise is at least two days along, and the ribs under it are sensitive - one or more is likely cracked or bruised, and only worsened by you putting it under strain and not resting. I could have helped with this days ago, all it would have taken was a quickice compress and minimized physical labor. But you let it be, and didn’t tell me, and now you’re suffering.”
Jeremy tried to shrug, but winced when the movement pulled on the flesh under Isaac’s hand. He understood Isaac’s point, he truly did, but he still couldn’t accept it. As the Hopewell's captain, his job wasn’t just to set an example for his crew, but to provide stability. He had to be an immovable constant for them to rely on, his own health came second to that when at all possible. He couldn’t let a relatively minor injury turn into a weakness that his crew saw. He had to be better than that.
A sharp sigh stalled his thoughts. Isaac met his gaze, all of his clinical concern wiped away and replaced with compassion. “Well now, I’ve known you too long to be properly upset with you, Captain,” Isaac said, “but I really wish you’d follow the same rules as you set for the crew. It’d make me feel a lot better, at least, knowing that you aren’t out trying to weather a storm with your hull caving in.” He tapped Jeremy’s injured side again, but far enough from the bruising that it didn’t hurt. Jeremy, for his part, only grinned ruefully.
“You make it too easy to forget that you’re kind. Catches me off guard every time,” he said. Isaac met his grimace with a more genuine smile as he snatched a well-worn leather folio from within the tool chest. Jeremy knew that it was just one of the several books the medicinist had filled with a lifetime of notes, observations, and medical records. Isaac licked his forefinger and began to leaf through the aging pages, speaking absently.
“I used to work with a bastard of a medicinist before I enlisted, you know. Real temper on him, constantly barking at his apprentices and his patients alike. And you know what? I almost never saw the same patient in there twice. Folks would get fed up with facing his attitude and they would leave, find someone else to help them. Even I left eventually, when his attitude got to be too much. Taught me quick that if you actually want to solve people’s problems, you ought to be kind enough for them to want to bring the problem to you in the first place. Of course,” he looked up at Jeremy as he snapped the folio shut, “you of all people don’t need me to lecture you on that.”
Jeremy startled at the statement. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been accused of being kind; as a matter of fact, he heard often that his reputation amongst the Defense Fleet brass was that of a results-oriented hardass who didn’t stand for any frivolity or nonsense. He supposed some of it was true, and he didn’t waste time dwelling on whatever wasn’t. Kindness, he believed, was something people like him could not always afford -- it was more important for him to keep people alive and capable for duty. Of course, Jeremy realized then, Isaac himself faced much the same responsibility, and often in more dire circumstances. Yet, Isaac carried a reputation amongst the crew of the Hopewell (and even among other Fleet officers) of a kind, hardworking man who always dedicated his utmost to those who needed it. Jeremy couldn’t think of a time when someone under his command had complained about Isaac or tried to kick him from his position.
“Connecting the dots, are we Captain?” Isaac spoke up, one step ahead like usual. He began to pull small pouches and bottles out of his case as he spoke. “You know, I think I hear more grievances from the crew than just about anyone else - I sometimes I think I should get double pay as ship’s confessional, haha. But, Captain, in the years I’ve served with you I never hear substantial complaints about you. Oh, sure, I hear plenty of ‘Captain Wilson expects too much, I can’t meet his standards,’ and ‘How can Captain Wilson just mouth off to the Admiralty like that?’ Small things, but compared to what I heard in other assignments, it’s practically a glowing review.” He upended a sachet of sweet smelling leaves into a bowl and set about pounding them to dust.
Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on keeping his breathing even. “They don’t need me to be kind, Isaac. You’re kind, Sessley is kind, Firad is kind. I’m there to keep their hearts beating and their minds focused. I don’t have the time to try and be kind, it isn’t what they need of me.”
“You don’t have to try, though,” Isaac spoke offhand as he carefully poured liquid from a small glass bottle into the mixing bowl, “I think being kind is something you can’t help, Captain.”
“Don’t take offense if I doubt your claim a touch, Rose.”
“Of course not,” Isaac’s eyes crinkled in a small grin, “but just be glad it’s me you’re trying to argue instead of Sess. She’d be crooning over how soft you are on the new crewmembers, and trust you me she’d take no quarter.”
“Soft? Well I never…!”
“‘So sweet on them, he is,’” Isaac spoke in a passable imitation of Sessley’s voice, “‘Hardly never yells at them, I think I saw him teaching one of the young midshipmen how to sew a patch on her jacket,’ and suchlike. Might all be nonsense for all I know, of course.”
Jeremy flushed -- he had indeed taught a new midshipman how to repair her jacket just last week. But it had been a simple exercise, taken hardly fifteen minutes before she figured it out and they both went on with their duties. He didn’t see it as a kindness so much as a practicality, and he said as much to Isaac. Jeremy was surprised when his defense was met with a wheezing laugh.
“You’re so bizarre, Jeremy. One man’s kindness is another man’s ‘practicality’ eh?” Isaac didn’t give him a chance to respond as he began to apply the viscous concoction he had made to Jeremy’s bruised side. It was cold, and tingled unpleasantly; Jeremy found himself hard pressed to hold back a shiver.
“This is only something to reduce the bruising on the skin,” Isaac explained, mercifully changing the subject, “Your ribs will be sore for another few weeks. I insist that you take it easy until they no longer hurt when you breathe deeply. Get Quinn and Margot to figure out how to pick up your physical labor duties, focus on paperwork and administrative tasks, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said. Isaac wound a roll of bandages around Jeremy’s chest before helping him off of the desk and back onto his feet. Jeremy attempted to pull his shirt back over his arms, but with a pointed look from Isaac, graciously accepted the man’s help with the sleeves. As he worked on his buttons (something he was more than capable of even with a few bruised ribs, thank you Mister Rose), Isaac slid the rest of the balm into a rosy glass jar. A memory pinged in the back of Jeremy’s mind at the sight of the container.
“Wasn’t that bottle a gift from Sessley?” He inquired, “Part of a set that she got you about a year ago -- birthday, or was it anniversary? It’s quite lovely.” A gentle smile crossed Isaac’s features, and Jeremy assumed he had been correct. Isaac held the jar up to the light, though its beauty was dulled by the opaque grey-tinged balm within it.
“It was indeed,” Isaac said, “A present to celebrate the anniversary of my Academy graduation. It was very thoughtful of her to give it to me.” He handed the bottle over to Jeremy. “And rather thoughtful of an ‘unkind’ man to remember that.”
“Well,” Jeremy said slowly, “No point in fighting against what we can’t help, as you say.”
“Indeed not,” Isaac grinned. “Now get out of my cabin, I rather prefer not having you in it, if you get my meaning.”
“Yes Master Rose, of course.” Jeremy said lightly, “I’ll get this bottle back to you post-haste.”
“It best be empty when it finds its way back to me. And no hard labor for two weeks, mind! I’m telling the other officers to keep their eyes on you. Sessley, too. A gruesome fate, I know, but it’s only because I care, Captain.”
“Indeed you do, Isaac,” Jeremy smiled. Maybe, he thought to himself, he really ought to consider getting Isaac on payroll doubled as both medicinist and counselor.