singillatim | (closed)

Raju sets a forearm on his thigh and leans over it toward Francis, Francis' expression warming Raju's grin into a smile. The pole is an afterthought again, sitting idly in his other hand. "Well, I can't ask about all of it at once. People at home didn't believe that you'd done all those things, at first? Did they think you were lying about parts of it, or just exaggerating?"

“Oh,” he laughs, “they believed it plenty! I had a man like Ross telling the stories, and he’s the darling of the Admiralty. No, there were diaries, letters, sketches, specimens. All the things to back up some of the more unbelievable pieces of the expedition.”

And he never bragged, of course, not once. It used to drive Ross mad, his reasons being if Crozier talked himself up more he’d win his bride and command and accolades.

He finds himself smiling across the ice at Raju, feeling just a little bashful and hot around the ears. He still doesn’t like to boast, but the way his friend is staring makes him want to tell him all about the marvelous sights he’s been fortunate to see.

“And all that went into… Hm. The more sensational stories would have gone into the newspapers, wouldn’t they? And the discoveries would have gone into papers? Research papers somewhere?”

Half of him’s still thinking about that set of rooms that, for a while, he’d been foolish enough to think of as his. How he might collect it if he was there or once he goes back, evidence, something he can read and hold in his hands. The rest of him is wondering at the idea that service to the crown could ever look that way, discovery and adventure and celebration over all you’ve accomplished once you make it back.

It’s a strange thought, the side of that service Raju was never going to see. But Francis looks so pleased and the tips of his ears are red, and it’s charming and impossible to mind.

“I’m not surprised they were impressed.” Raju watches him, looking a little pleased himself, and means it, wanting to see Francis excited about those past journeys again.

"Memoirs. I'd been trying to get Ross to write them for years, but he'd married and started having children -- it's distracting business, or so I've been told."

Once upon a time he'd been so eager to meet those children. Uncle Frank. He would have loved to have been Uncle Frank to James Clark Ross' myriad of children, but it's best not to think about it for too long. He can't break his own heart if he chose not to go back with Ross when he'd finally come for them all.

"Scientific publications before that," he adds, deciding to keep going. Raju seems interested, so he's happy enough to keep talking about it all. "Plenty of news in the papers about our discoveries. It was difficult avoid us for a number of years after we'd returned."

"Were you there on shore for all those years? I've never thought about it before, how often does a navy man go out to sea? Strange to think you might be let to sit all that time without your duties."

He shoves the pole underneath his thigh absently, reaching into his pocket for the mittens. Much as the fire helps in the small space it's still cold, and being without them is starting to hurt his fingers. He watches Francis as he talks, thinking out loud and trying to rub his fingers against his palms inside the mittens for a little friction. "It must be a while, or Ross wouldn't have had time to marry. But it can't be years."

“I never went too long between commissions,” he explains, holding his hand out for the fishing pole. Raju’s hands are clearly needing a break. “But Ross retired when we returned from Antarctica, so he had plenty of time to marry and father some children.”

Time in between expeditions always passed achingly slow. He’s a typical sailor, always longing for the sea and looking towards the horizon. Yes, he’d missed land when he was away, but he knew where he belonged.

“I had a few years between that expedition and the last one.”

Raju raises his eyebrows at the gesture, for a moment not following what it means and for a moment more obviously debating whether he wants to insist that he can keep doing it himself. But it’s probably less a statement about whether Raju can with his fingers less used to the cold than Francis’ and more an offer to share the work, which is the entire reason that they’re both here in the first place.

“Not too long usually,” he starts, pulling the pole out from under him and handing it over, “but a few years that time? Were you thinking about retiring too?”

He means to just do his share, and holds the pole with it slightly propped up against his side.

“No,” he answers, but that isn’t necessarily true. If Sophia had agreed to his proposal sooner he might have left the sea for the altar, but he hadn’t been good enough for her then. Or ever. “No, I was waiting. Expeditions of that magnitude take some years to put together. I traveled to the continent in the meantime, tried to rest my weary bones some.”

He frowns softly. “Do you have a sweetheart at home, Raju?”

Raju's thinking about travelled to the continent said so casually, about asking after it, and isn't expecting the question. For a moment he only looks surprised. Then his lips twitch into a faint, perfunctory smile and he looks down at his arm laid out over his thigh.

As precious a gift as the mittens still are, he's never quite gotten used to not being able to use his hands. He's resisting the urge to try and touch it. But the cord sits against the mitten's edge, pendant sitting over the fur.

"A very patient one," he murmurs, watching it sitting there. Then he looks back up at Francis and tries to figure out where the seeming subject change came from. Marriage and retirement, marriage and time away from home. Maybe Francis is still thinking about Ross. "Did your friend want to retire because he planned to marry? Or did he want to marry only after he retired? A navy man's intended must wait for him a long time if he asks her and then goes to sea."

His mind also briefly thinks on the sight of Raju holding fast to a pendant, but he’d been so addled from the crush of his own ice hut that it might have a hallucination. There’s no telling, even though he’d felt so certain he’d asked after it.

A very patient one. Did he have a wife at home? Is it possible he’s married? When it comes down to he he knows so little about Raju, his secretive friend with an obvious past.

“The former,” he answers. “He proposed before leaving for the expedition. It was going to solidify his career - and it did. It’s no easy life for the family of a navy man. We’re gone for years at a time, and there are inherent dangers to exploration, even if most come back perfectly safe and sound. Anne was anxious for Ross to return, bless her. He put her through hell with all that waiting.”

Raju's gaze casts itself down again and he takes a bracing breath, lets it out in a slow, resigned sigh. He nods, accepting the fact of it. He hadn't thought about it that way at first. Only looking forward, until the weight of what was behind became heavy enough to start tugging at him anyway. He wonders if Francis' friend had felt that way.

Probably not. He knew what he was coming back to, didn't he?

"And you said he earned a knighthood, after? Is that always what he wanted when you were sailing together?"

He tries to read the other man’s expression, but it’s difficult to parse through the nature of the sigh and the look in his very deep brown eyes.

“He didn’t care about any of that,” he says quietly, looking down at the fishing hole and adjusting his grip. “He wanted the adventure above all else. ‘Frank, old boy, what’s the point of simply looking at an iceberg? Let’s climb the damned thing!’ And then off he’d cart me, hauling my sorry arse behind him to follow in whatever daring scheme he had in mind.”

God, did he ever love that man. He tries to keep the truer feelings of sentiment out of his voice; let it all be nostalgia and bemusement.

Of course it isn’t the answer that Raju was expecting. Of course there wasn’t any goal to push for, not need or even simple ambition, before he could go back home and live. There was only adventure laid in front of James Clark Ross, darling of the admiralty. There was only freedom. But it’s easy to smile anyway, hearing the nostalgia in Francis’ voice, even if his smile is a faint one.

Raju focuses on Francis, his nostalgia and happier memories. That’ll make it easier to shed the momentary mood, whatever it is that Francis’ innocent question had invited in. “And you sailed together before that expedition, too? I think you said you met when you were both young.“

His and Ross' lives had been quite different. Ross had every available opportunity, the family connections, the good education and upbringing, the right steps in his career, the handsome face. And Crozier had...enough to get by. But he could never be angry with Ross, his dearest and truest friend, so generous with everything in life.

"We sailed together constantly." They lived together. "I can say without zero hesitation that he was my better half, and I'm sure his wife would agree."

Crozier manages a chuckle, which is interrupted when there's a slight tug on the pole. He exclaims softly and then holds the pole out for Raju. "Here, here! Reel it in!"

Raju makes a surprised noise as he takes it, looking over the sight of it in his mittened hands for a moment before he decides he doesn't have time to take them off and reels the line in, the air of gentle urgency prompting him to reel it fast and impatience prompting him a little faster—

—and then the damn thing jams. Raju looks, disgusted, at the line all tangled inside the reel, then sets the pole aside altogether and starts pulling on the line itself. He has to hook the line around the mittens to make up for the lack of purchase on the fur, and the damn fish is probably going to get away at this rate. He never paid enough attention to the fishermen at home, did he? He doesn't remember how much of a hurry there ought to be.

He doesn’t expect the fish to give much of a fight, so at the first sign of struggle he looks surprised. It’s a technical issue though, figures, so Crozier leans forward and spins his hand to gesture for Raju to keep going - fish or no fish they need to get the line out of the hole anyway to try and reset the pole.

“Do you still feel something on the end of the line?”

Raju nods, not looking away from it, and keeps pulling— there. The end of the fishing line rises out from the ice with a fish attached and Raju smiles, proud instinctively even though the fish isn't large, then squints and turns his face away as its thrashing splatters water everywhere, swinging the line in his hand.

"Do I just..." He pulls the end of one mitten off with his teeth and raises his eyebrows at Francis, holding his bare hand out toward the fish but not touching it yet, not sure if there's a wrong way to pick it up off of the hook.

The fish may not be large, but it is a char, and therefore delicious, even if in this very ugly state.

“Pull it off the hook,” he nods, “and give it a bash on the ice to kill it. Quickly now. Don’t let it suffocate.”

The instruction gets Francis a surprised look, the idea of the fish's suffering not having occurred to Raju even for a moment before now, but Raju reacts instead of lingering on it. His movements are quick, efficient, and he lets the mitten fall out from his teeth onto his lap as he slams the fish's body onto the ice, hard and aiming for the head.

"Is that usual?" he asks, watching it to make sure it's gone still before holding it out to Francis. "Killing it that way? I think I have seen fishermen doing that before, but... I wasn't thinking about it."

It wasn’t how it was done in the navy when they did fish for their suppers. They let them drown in the air, gills flapping and mouth gasping for water. He couldn’t say if it was how the fishermen on the river or out by the sea did it; he’d never paid all that much attention to it.

He knows how the Netsilik did it.

“I’m not certain,” he says, blinking softly as Raju puts the poor thing out of its misery. Crozier silently admires his efficiency and sheer strength - and marvels in his trust in him. “It’s how I’ve done it.”

"Why?" It isn't as if he can't guess. But for all the other man's shared with him, Raju isn't really familiar with all the details of him yet and he wants to hear it out loud, see what Francis might say. He looks the fish over, takes a second to try and decide where to put it, then just leans over to set it on the ice against the foot of Francis' makeshift seat, and sets the hook and fishing line somewhere next to it between them.

His hand feels cold already, of course, but not quite in the way it had been before, and he doesn't really want the residue from the fish on his hand getting into the inside of the leather or on the fur of the mitten he's taken off. He curls his fingers against his palm instead and sets it on his lap, tucking it into the folds of the blanket wrapped around him. Taking the other mitten off to untangle the fishing line won't be that bad thanks to the fire, but for a moment it can wait. "Did you learn to do it that way?"

He nods softy. He doesn’t usually mind talking about the Netsilik and all they’ve taught him, but this gets uncomfortably close to their death rituals. The cycle of souls and living things, the respect one must give to every life, no matter how small.

“Can we save the line?”

Raju nods, studying him. Not something he’d expect to be a sensitive topic, but clearly it is; maybe someone in particular taught it to him, someone he doesn’t want to talk about now.

Raju doesn’t hide the attention and the curious look in his eyes, but after the one moment he drops it easily, reaching out with his mittened hand to pick the pole up and look more closely at its line. He’s already committed himself to going easy today, not pushing, and it feels good to do it. There probably would have been every reason to push back in Delhi, for any number of reasons. Being able to let any question go unanswered feels good, like he’s sparing Francis from something.

“Damn strange, this thing,” he mutters, turning his attention to the fishing pole. “I wish everything here wasn’t so damned strange.” Still, it’s easy to figure out how to get the reel off the line and open. A clip holding it on and screws over the place the rest of the line must be spooled, oddly easy to loosen by hand. He peers inside, trying to hand the pole itself off to Francis.

“Can you hold this? Make sure it isn’t tangled on the pole anywhere. Do you think I was doing something wrong? Or is the fault somewhere in this thing?”

He’s grateful, both for Raju’s sensitivity and the stupid modern fishing pole making it difficult for the both of them.

“Hell if I know,” he says, taking the pole from him to look at the rigging. It’s all made to be more efficient, but in its efficiency it’s become too complicated to understand, like most things in this place. “I think there’s a knot in the line somewhere jamming the spool.”

Raju hums in acknowledgment, poking at the thread and running his fingers over it, trying to feel any lump or knot. The thread is strange too, like a thin, flexible wire, and any similar lumps or misalignments are harder to spot by sight than he’s sure one of the fishing poles back home would have been.

“Then it must have been my fault. I was reeling it the wrong way some— Ah.” Raju finds what he’s looking for, but the line is too thin and his fingernails too short to pry underneath it. “Can you reach into my pocket just there for my knife, wedge the tip just where my finger is here? If you’re careful it should loosen the line and not cut it. I think.”

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