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Nighttime ficlet for insidian; mowett/pullings, the fair copy of the log.

Note: I’m not sure this was what you were looking for, dearling … but it did give me this idea. So *not* canon.


“Tom.” The whisper was low, and dark, but not threatening, not in the least. “Tom, you must wake up.”

Someone was beside him, shaking his shoulder, and Tom forced his eyes open only long enough to assure himself that it was Mowett, and not someone else who might report this small infraction. Mowett would never tell, though he might one day have reason to do so, and so Tom fell gratefully against him when Mowett pulled him to his feet and walked him away from the writing table.

“You risk much, Tom,” Mowett sighed. “And the Captain is asking after you.”

“And what have you said?”

“Nothing, of course.” Mowett’s face turned pink with suppressed irritation. “Your business is your own. But the Captain knows you have been at your desk less often than in the company of the Doctor.”

Tom laughed, a short, barking sound Mowett had never heard before. “And does the Captain know that if I were not so often with the Doctor I would never be at my desk at all?”

“I shall pretend not to follow you, Tom,” Mowett said softly, pressing Tom down to his bed. “And you should consider what you say, even to me.”

“Even to you, our bard. You will make my story ring true when I am gone, will you not?”

“Tom,” Mowett hissed. “You would damn yourself, saying such things. And the Doctor will not give you what you need in any case.”

“The Doctor is not in a position to disagree,” Tom smiled, his eyes closing again. “He is no better than I.”

“You need rest, Tom.”

“Aye, I do.”

Mowett sat on the corner of Tom’s bed, reaching gently to smoothe back Tom’s hair from his forehead. “I will not watch you kill yourself, Tom. You have a wife and a family to begin—“

“A wife I pray never to see again.”

“You should perhaps pray instead to break this—“ Mowett searched for the words, the redness returning to his cheeks. “This foul addiction. The Captain cannot hide or justify your actions as he does the Doctor’s.”

“There is much the Captain cannot do,” Tom snapped, pushing Mowett’s hand away. “Leave me, William. And do not take the log to the Captain until morning. It is not a fair copy—“

“No, Tom, and it has not been for weeks. Do you not understand—“

“Then you must do it for me,” Tom sighed. “I owe my place here to you—“

“Tom, I will not hear of it—“

“And I will not speak of it, then. But do this for me, William, and I will try—“

“You must try, Tom.”

“And I will try.”

“I will pray for you,” Mowett whispered, and Tom nodded.

“Do, and may your God someday be mine as well.”


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