Chapter Text
May, 1846
Harry Goodsir examined the bandages on George Chambers's head and decided that it was adequate enough. The poor boy went down to the hold to fetch the ship's cat and tripped over some misplaced coiled ropes and hit his head on the edge of a crate, hard. He also spilled the bowl of tinned food that he brought as a bribe all over himself.
"And the critter who always avoided me finally came up, just to use me as its mess table." Chambers said, frowning at the empty space behind Goodsir in annoyance.
Goodsir said: "You might feel disoriented for a few days. I will let the captain know, in case you find it difficult to speak up about reducing your duties."
Chambers beamed at Goodsir: "Thank you, doctor! I'm glad I found you instead of doctor Stanley in the sickbay tonight, I'd rather bleed meself to death otherwise."
"Come now, you are in no danger of that." Goodsir gave Chambers a light pat on the side of his arm, "The doctor doesn't bite."
Chambers complained: "You don't know if you are freezing to death in a snow squall or being treated by a doctor, really. You care about the crew, Doctor Stanley doesn't even pretend to. Small wonder that he's got no love from us."
Before Goodsir could think of a reply, the boy's face tensed and the frown was wiped off completely. Chambers's expression assumed one of deliberate nonchalance. He stood up and bit his lower lip: "Thank you, doctor."
With that, the boy slinked away. Goodsir turned to follow him and found Stanley looming by the doorway like a malevolent spirit, who moved aside slightly to let Chambers pass. Chambers lowered his head and mumbled "Doctor Stanley" as he did so. Stanley hummed in acknowledgement, there was no discernable expression on his face. He took a chair, sat down at the operation table and started to read.
Goodsir washed his hands. Before going back to his cabin, however, he dallied by the doorway and looked back. He backtracked and took a seat opposite to Stanley. He put his clasped hands on the table and leant forward.
"I'm sure he will revise his opinion if only he gets to know you better." Goodsir said.
Stanley turned a page and dismissed it: "What a ship's boy thinks is of no significance."
"I don't agree with him, if you care." Goodsir said.
Stanley looked up, his pale eyes betrayed nothing, he regarded Goodsir for a few seconds and then returned to his book. Goodsir could tell that his eyes weren't moving however, but seemed to have fixated on a point, Goodsir did not believe that he was actually reading.
"And.. forgive me for being presumptuous, doctor, but I don't think it's love that you might require." Goodsir suggested softly, tentatively, "If you are ever tired of writing in your journal or feel that you wish for company other than books, I'm always here."
"Journals have the admirable quality of being silent, mister Goodsir." Stanley said, "And books don't try to be on a first name basis when you read it."
"I can be silent." Goodsir said, and then, "Nothing needs to change."
Stanley let the book splay out on the table and held it down with his crossed arms, he was reading again. Goodsir waited for a moment, watching. When Stanley read, he was rather like a graveyard statue with marble for flesh, the softness of curves that were integral to the human form deceiving; he was utterly still, other than his saccading eyes, unless he was turning over a page, which he also effected with the slightest possible manipulation of his index finger. Goodsir sighed and decided to find some employment before turning in. It was a good time to familiarise himself with Doctor McDonald's notes on the Esquimaux customs. He had read them already but his notes required organising.
An hour or so passed, Stanley got up and put back the chair. He lingered by the table opposite Goodsir. He stood there for so long without any movement, Goodsir was compelled to look up at him, meeting the doctor's eyes. His face was about the same height as the lamp and was very close. As a consequence, it appeared to be unusually bright, as if his skin glowed and his hair was aflame, so accustomed to the dimness, Goodsir had to wince. Stanley's half of the sickbay was plunged into the dark by the shadow he casted. It was so enormous it had no discernable edges, it filled the entire space.
"Your offer is appreciated." Stanley said, quietly, then he blinked and looked away, as if a curious thought just occurred to him, "Goodnight, mister Goodsir."
"Goodnight." Goodsir nodded.
He watched Stanley's tall form retreating from the lamplight, melting into the dimness, and then it disappeared from view. Down the darkened hallway, his footsteps gradually diminished.