bad luck, old sport

[goingtobeunwell]

Who: Francis Crozier and OTA
What: Uh oh, more bad luck for Milton's other resident old man!
When: Throughout February
Where: Crozier's igloo, the town and the outskirts, the basin

Content Warnings: The Terror AMC™'s specific flavor of horror -- possible mentions of cannibalism, starvation, illness, murder, gore, addiction, Victorians

Comments

[goingtobeunwell]

He waits a beat or two, wondering still why on earth anyone would care, and how someone can still feign to sit with him and offer comfort knowing the truth. Raju just might be a different sort of person.

No. Not might. He is a different sort of person.

“Do you often have accusations of stubbornness or hard-headedness thrown at you?”

He attempts the smallest of smiles. The exhaustion’s beginning to win out, beginning to drag him into something between sleeping and losing consciousness.

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju lets out a soft breath, surprised amusement. Odd, to feel his eyes stinging and his throat hurting and his lips still moving into a smile and to feel what's behind all of it genuinely, and all at once. "I've heard it once or twice."

Not from Seetha, unless she was in a mood to throw the same words at Raju that he could throw right back. She always could be just as stubborn as Raju, in her way. But for Uncle, and for Akhtar, and even for some of his commanding officers, and for various people at various times in his life, there have been plenty of opportunities. Raju's heard it many times. Some smilingly, and some with rage. Some with hurt. Various kinds of accusations. And Francis is nearly smiling now, and he had thanked Raju. But still, Raju had pushed, and still, it had hurt Francis, unearthing it.

"Do you mind it?" Raju finds himself asking, sounding a little more honest than he would have expected to, if he'd been expecting to hear it at all. It isn't a useful question to ask. Actions are actions, and a good portion of the time the answer doesn't matter anyway. Raju keeps looking down at the pale and tired face, and doesn't take the question back.

[goingtobeunwell]

Hurting Francis Crozier for his own good happens to be the best way to get through to Francis Crozier, unfortunately. He recognizes that now, and he's laugh if it wasn't so damned hard to take a breath.

"No," he answers, looking back up like it's the silliest question he's ever been asked. "Not at all. Every man I've ever called a friend has been as stubborn as a bloody mule."

Being with the likes of James Clark Ross and James Fitzjames is a tiring affairs! But he's also been a stubborn, inflexible mess at times, and it hasn't always been to his complete detriment.

"No," he says again, shaking his head oh-so-gently, whiskers inadvertently brushing across Raju's hand. "Ah. I hope you're in control of that fire, old boy, because I'm losing the fight to stay awake."

[load_aim_shoot]

The smile that had spread over Raju's face at the first part of Francis' answer, relieved and deeper, more pleased, than Raju really has an explanation for, only fades a little at the second. He looks over at the fire as Francis mentions it, uncertain, remembering the blade of his knife, and the small black marks on the Community Hall's floor. But Francis needs it.

"I can be." At one point Raju had been too concerned to let Francis sleep. But now he's warm and next to a fire, and the confusion after his collapse has changed into as much coherence as it's possible to get in this place, and he's as safe as he's going to be. Everything else that needs to be done — wrapping those ribs up with something, inspecting the rest of this cabin, maybe finding something inside of it to eat — is something that Francis can do later, or that Raju can handle first.

"And we'll see about the rest in the morning." Raju looks away from the fire and at the man beneath him again, the hand over Francis' heart smoothing the fabric there. "I'll take care of it. Rest, Francis."

[goingtobeunwell]

It’s far easier to rest by a fire and in good company than by oneself in an ice hut, but more than that, the kindness and physical touch to a man that’s starved in more ways than one fulfills a need Crozier hadn’t realized he’s been missing. He nods gently and positions himself with back against the floor, the warmth of the fire serving as a blanket.

There’s a beat, Crozier’s eyes closed and his breath beginning to even out - though with some struggling at the exhales - before he grunts, “I need to find a new bloody house.”

Almost said with a smile. Almost, except he falls asleep promptly after.

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju blows out a soft, amused breath. It speaks to how exhausted Francis must be, even after a story like that and all that it took to speak it out loud, that he can fall asleep this way, between his ribs and the lack of blankets and the cold floor. Raju can hear the injury in his breathing. But here he is, sleeping already anyway.

It's as close to alone as Raju wants to be, and as close as he's going to get tonight. He finally lets the stinging at the corners of his eyes turn into a blur. His next breath in is slow, and it shakes. He clenches his teeth. The fingers next to Francis' face uncurl carefully and he rubs his thumb back against the doomed, damned man's hair, side of his hand pressing carefully against Francis' cheekbone and his jaw. He remembers the feeling of a hand against the side of his face, a thumb moving over his hair. Raju had been young then and Francis now is old, older than Raju can imagine living to. Too much older to comfort this way while he's awake. It won't take the nightmares away anyway. But when Francis wakes from them he'll find whatever blankets or clothes or towels Raju manages to scavenge thrown over the lower parts of him that Raju's blanket-turned-coat don't cover, and he'll find the fire larger and warmer, and maybe Raju will have found something old but well-preserved enough to eat. Maybe the cabin's rooms will be neater than they probably are right now. There are things for Raju to do, things that he can do. But maybe he'll sit here for a while first, trying to think of nothing but the crackling of the fire and the sound of sleeping breaths that struggle at the exhales.

He settles his shoulder more firmly against the side of the fireplace, settling against it for a long and quiet night, dark in front of him and warmth under his hands. Guard duty, for a while. That's something, too, that he can do.