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

[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.