singillatim | (closed)

Raju takes it with a pleased noise, happy to show off skills that, before he’d started living in this place and living out of cans, had been relatively new. They still feel new. Tip of the knife resting on the counter, handle moving, Raju starts making precise, neat work of the rest of the cutting.

“So we might find some the next time we’re out,” Raju says, planning already on trailing along more often as he spends more of the days here. That would be convenient; maybe he’d learn how to spot them without letting on that he needs to know. Then, first round of cutting done, he looks over at Francis, looking proud of himself. “What size do you like them? Smaller?”

Those are very nice knife cuts indeed, and he smiles in approval. "That's fine. They'll cook evenly now." Half-cooked arrowroot is less delicious than fully-cooked.

Crozier pulls a pot off a crooked shelf and rinses it in some of the meltwater. "You can help me on my trips out," he adds lightly. "If you can spare a little time for me that is, I know you keep busy. I like to leave things for the others at the Community Center, but my capacity is limited."

“Mhm,” Raju agrees in a pleased sort of way, watching. “I might owe you the help, I’m sure I’ve eaten your work enough times when I still slept there. So I suppose I can make time.”

He gives Francis a smile that’s half-trying to spread over his face and half-trying to hold itself back. See the mighty sacrifice Raju will be making, how terrible it will be?

“How much do you find? How often? I thought there was hardly anything growing in this place, nothing but rosehip and the damned trees.”

“You suppose,” he repeats, definitely not grinning in a teasing sort of way. He holds out his hand for the chopped up vegetables so he can get them to a boil.

“I find a fair amount growing on my walks. I forage a little here and there, mark down what I find and where in my notebook. You just need to know where to look.”

Raju grunts in surprise, hurrying to rinse his hands in the meltwater Francis had used on the pot before he touches the root directly.

"Mm, thorough." He finishes rinsing, then scoots all the chopped pieces off the edge of the counter and onto his other hand and pours the little pile onto Francis' palm carefully. "How do you remember where if you find it in the woods? Everything there all looks the same, doesn't it? A rock, a bush. What kind of landmarks do you use?"

Crozier tosses the roots into the pot and then follows it up with some fresher meat from one of his traps. "Cardinal directions, paces from well-worn roads and paths, buildings. I'd like to chart coordinates but I don't have the tools for it.

"How's your memory? Any good?"

"Mm?" Raju looks up from the pot where his gaze was lingering on the meat, then smiles. "Good. I've only gotten lost in the forest here... oh, a handful of times. But it's been a while since I've spent so much time outside a city. And I'm getting better at it. Between the direction of the sun and my own memory I can make my way around. I'll make a good assistant for you, don't worry."

"I will absolutely leave you behind if you can't keep up," he says with his usual sort of dry wit. A man with one hand and mending ribs isn't likely to be the one out in front of things.

"What else do you want to learn? Ice fishing? I've been meaning to head back out onto the fish when I start feeling better."

"Mm. What is that like?" Raju thinks back. He hasn't done any fishing himself; his work was always focused on other things. He knows... something about it though, surely. "You'd need a way to cut through the ice first. And then do it again if you've picked out the wrong spot. You catch enough to make it worth all that?"

“There are hand-cranks in some of the ice fishing huts, so drilling the holes isn’t a problem.” And compared to drilling into pack ice it cuts like a dream.

“It’s worth it. The fish have less to eat in the winter; makes them more eager to bite.”

Raju nods, smile spreading over his face. "I'd like that."

He settles, now that it's looking like he won't be asked to do much more with the cooking, leaning his back against the counter. "My aunts and uncles used to go fishing for us all the time, but I never thought about joining them," he says, pulling absently at his fingers, then focusing on Francis again. "It's quite a walk that way though, if I know the place you're thinking. It might be a while before you're able to have fish again."

“That may be the case,” he acknowledges. “But it’s always worth the hike out that way to search for small game.”

Once the fire’s roaring and the stew is bubbling along, Crozier sits at a long, wooden bench that besides the equally-rough table is the only piece of furniture in the room. “Were you ever expected to join them, or were you just never asked?”

"I had other work to do," he shrugs, sitting beside Francis and leaning his elbow against the table, and his jaw against his hand. "But I tried to help with some of the chores, when I was very young. I remember the goats. And... maybe some other things, I'm not sure. What about you? Did you always know how to fish and forage and cook all of it afterward? Or is all this new?"

"Christ, no," he snorts softly. "I could take magnetic measurements or sail, but these are all new skills. As lowly as an Irishman in my position was, I was still an officer. Pampered, a steward of my own to shave my face, bring me my meals, mend my clothes. I knew the basics of survival but nothing as practical as all this."

It isn't that Raju wasn't interested before, but when Francis mentions his service Raju seems a lot more alert about it. He straightens a little, eyes focused suddenly—

But it's turned into a good day, better than he's expected for what feels like a long time, and what he decides to do is tease.

"You don't even shave yourselves?" The alert interest on Raju's face is creasing up into amusement. "There's not someone to dress command up in their uniforms for them too, is there?"

"Oh, I probably shouldn't tell you," Crozier laughs, very happily willing to poke fun at himself and his fellow officers. "I was less dependent than most, but yes, our stewards helped us into our dress uniforms. I'd forget my coat and -"

It occurs to him that Raju might not realize his former steward is here

"Thomas Jopson was my steward in Antarctica, and then on that last expedition. He hated when I started shaving my own beard."

The thought of what Francis calls 'that last expedition' has an unsettling echo to it, impossible not to be aware that the man they're talking about is dead, and isn't. But it's only an echo, here and now, and Raju doesn't allow his thoughts to linger on it.

Raju shakes his head and runs his hand over his own beard instead, kept meticulously trimmed even now. The idea of anyone enjoying that job is an odd one. Not the shaving itself, but everything else about it. "He didn't help you dress every day? Your shirt, your socks, your drawers—"

Raju's smile grows, definitely laughing at Francis again. He'd known there'd been some kind of pampering expected in the higher ranks, but hadn't known the extent of it. It's probably similar enough between the navy and the old army officers, isn't it? It's that mental image he's laughing at more than the man in front of him, but Francis isn't going to get away without a little teasing about it, either.

“Lord, no!”

He laughs loudly, mirth mixing with relief. Now Raju knows his former steward is here, and he doesn’t seem to judge. “Lord, no, I dressed myself. Jopson brought my tea and told me the news aboard the ship I may have missed, and I dressed.”

Sure, Jopson shaved the pilling on his wool waistcoats or picked off stray threads, but he just didn’t want his captain looking like the drunken mess he actually was. Turmoil on the inside needn’t show on the out.

“I’ve known commanders who insist their stewards put on their socks and boots and comb their hair for them.”

"That does answer some questions," Raju says, amused. "I've had inspections from men who clearly had no idea what they were trying to tell us to fix. They should have had their stewards inspecting us instead. At least you knew how to put on your own shoes."

Raju's amusement is lingering but he looks Francis over now, the state of his hair and beard, looking thoughtful. "And to shave yourself. Did you ever want to start doing that here? Or trimming, at least, there's not enough soap around for much of anything. I can bring my comb and scissors next time I come by."

At the mention of his (admittedly) unruly hair, he pauses and brings his hands up to touch his beard. He can't remember the last time he's even thought about tidying his hair.

It was the fashion to be clean-shaved in England, and with the Netsilik the opposite was true. It's cold, the beard was warm, he just assumed --

"Do I really look so terrible?" he chuckles.

"For the middle of nowhere? No." Raju grins brightly for a moment, happy to fit a 'yes' into that no so he can keep teasing Francis. It's true of everyone in this place, and Raju as well — there's only so much that can be done without the right creams or soaps and clothes that have to be either overwashed or scavenged in whatever state their previous owner left them — but habits are habits, and Raju tries.

"You could use a trim, neaten the edges a little. But I don't think anyone's looking here the way they would have at home. Or on a ship, I suppose."

"And the only ladies to impress are far, far too young or..." What's the right word to describe some of the women here? "Frightening."

He prods at the stew and then the fire, still wearing a smile despite the self-deprecation. "If you feel like trimming my hair and beard I wouldn't say no. Just...don't tell Jopson."

'Frightening' is a good word for it, and it makes Raju laugh. "I wouldn't want to step on his toes," Raju says, looking over to watch whatever Francis is doing with the food. "But I don't mind sharing my tools with someone who knows how to use them."

Raju looks from the food to Francis' untrimmed beard, studies him and thinks about the implication that the man's former steward would want to take up those duties again, if Francis would let him. He thinks about what Francis said, what it is that he's afraid of, the reasons he'd been hiding away.

Raju isn't much good at holding back. Not when he doesn't have to be. But it's something he's been told he's terrible at, so sometimes he remembers to try it anyway. "If you'd like to have him by let me know," he says, casually with a small, warm smile. "Then I can leave them here."

“It’s a kind offer, but…”

Ah, it’s complicated. The social hierarchy they’d left behind, the stunted and rigid officer-commander relationships, the fact that Jopson had died thinking he’d abandoned him.

“I don’t want him to get in the habit of caring for me. He doesn’t need to.” He’s not Crozier’s steward, he’s a leader in his own right.

It’s another reason he’s hidden himself away in an ice house since arrival. His entire presence is emotional baggage for those men.

Raju nods, studying him. It's an odd thing to listen to. All the personal problems Raju's dealt with are something different: how to talk to the right person in the right place in the right way, requests from people like Akhtar — people who hadn't been worth one one-hundredth of Akhtar — to help them get the attention of this woman or that one. If it were himself saying these things about someone who cared for him, someone back home, he would know exactly why it had to be done, and it isn't something he'd hear from anyone else.

It isn't the first time that something Francis said has reminded him of himself. So maybe Raju should trust his judgement.

"You've certainly gotten better at it." Raju lets a little smile creep back onto his face, glancing pointedly at the top of Francis' head. "Except for that hair. But I guess no one's perfect."

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