2. Bush

I never realised.

How could I realise? You don't expect to encounter a thing like in a man who has as much to gain from life as he does. I'd no idea.

But I know now.

He'd seemed so happy. Even when I met him in Portsmouth, down on his luck, he seemed cheerful. And friendly too, open and welcoming, to a man he'd hadn't known all that well. I was surprised, but then almost all I known of him had been on the Renown and nothing was normal there. I thought this must be the real man, this cheery, optimistic fellow, untroubled by the past. When we met Hammond again, I was expecting something then, something more than the mild caution that he showed. Some pain, some bitterness. But there was nothing. I looked into his eyes, and they weren't veiled. He wasn't hiding feeling: there was nothing there. I thought it an enviable ability, to forget so fast.

I'm still sure he was not acting. I remember on Renown, when he would try to hide his feelings, the real emotion was always very clear. But perhaps he wasn't fooling himself then. How he was in Portsmouth, perhaps that was showing the way he'd convinced himself things really were. Perhaps he seemed genuine because he believed it himself. But what showed wasn't the truth of things. I'm sure of that now.

After he got Hotspur he seemed on top of the world, but that was only to be expected. And if he seemed more glum after the marriage, well, even he must have known he'd made a bad mistake there. I still wonder if there should have been a way to stop him, but even with all his friendliness, we weren't on those sort of terms and I doubt we ever will be.

I didn't know. Not until he turned and shouted at me that it hadn't been brave of him to take the bomb in his hands and save us all, that it hadn't been brave because he was expecting to be blown to pieces.

It wasn't an admission of fear. I may not be skilled at reading others, but one thing I do know is that this man would never admit fear to a subordinate, least of all one he was angry with. No, he wasn't talking about fear.

He wants to die.

It wasn't brave, because he'd welcome death. That's what he said, and I wonder if even now, he realises how completely he exposed himself. If he even knows what it is he truly wants.

That was the real reason he had been angry with me for protecting his life. Not concern for the ship as he claimed, though that was a likely reason enough. He was angry because I'd snatched death away from him. And then, when I saved his life on deck a few days later, I saw, all too clearly, the disappointment in his face, before he cleared it away and said the things he ought to say.

He wanted death, and I couldn't bring myself to let him have it. Well, how can I? I'm an officer of the Navy and he is my captain. As he would say: Duty before personal feelings. It's my duty to protect my captain's life. Especially a captain as able as he is.

I wonder now, how far it goes back? Was he like this on Renown? How can I know? He might have been. I remember how angry he was, when we came back for him at the fort. But when I try to remember if the look on his face was the same one I saw on Hotspur, I find that I cannot. Too long ago.

I wonder what made him this way, but it's really none of my affair.

He won't die, of course. I've seen one or two men with a desire for death, though never with so little reason, and they never do find what they seek. He'll outlive us all, I'm sure.

And I'll stay. Not because of the opportunities serving with him will offer, although that was in my mind when I first took this post. No, I'll stay for the reason he'd like least.

Because I'm so damned sorry for him.