singillatim | (closed)

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.”

"Or it might not have been rigged correctly to begin with," he tells him, because who the hell knows with these modern machines? He hauls himself up and gingerly steps around the hole in the ice.

He doesn't hesitate, until he realizes he doesn't know which pocket he means and that very well could mean rooting around awkwardly for a while. "Which pocket? This one?"

"Ah—" He stops trying to pick at the line long enough to glance over. "Lower. It's the one that's harder to see, near my hip. Maybe we'll go looking for a proper fishing pole next time, see if we can't find one in one of these huts some place. Is there one of these you go into whenever you come down here to fish, or are they all the same?"

With direction he can scrounge around for the knife with minimal accidental fumbling or groping. “I typically pick the ones on the outer edge of the lake. Better chances that way of a good haul.”

Where the hell is this thing - ah, got it. Crozier pulls the knife free and flicks it open, wedging it as instructed.

Francis' hand is in the pocket of the blanket at his hip and it's an odd sensation: when you're reaching into your own pocket somehow it's easier not to feel the fingers against the body beneath, but he notices them now. But soon Francis has his knife and he's got it where it needs to be. Raju rolls his lips in against his teeth, focusing on the line, wiggling the reel as Francis holds the jammed part, and—

"Ha," Raju says, victorious, and straightens up again, reaching for the pole so he can attach the reel again and test it. "That's got it. Why the outer edge? Are there more fish there?"

“Less people,” he laughs, closing the knife back up with a flick against his leg. “And yes, more fish. Usually. Did you really get the line straightened out?”

He leans in close, over Raju’s shoulder, to inspect for him, humming in approval when he sees the slackened line. “Ah, good work, good work.”

Francis is leaning close enough that Raju’s cheek nearly brushes his when he turns to smile, pleased with the compliment. Pleased even though it wasn’t much, and he’d probably caused it in the first place anyway.

“I must have turned it too quickly,” he says, looking down again to run his fingers over the spool. It looks neat enough that the problem might not have been the spool itself. Maybe the line is more temperamental than he’d expected it to be. “But it should be alright now. We must be close enough to the edge here too, I was expecting catching one to take longer.”

Crozier doesn’t immediately pull back, perfectly fine with the proximity for the moment. It’s cold and dark and he had his hand rooting around in his pocket just a few moments ago.

“Told you so,” he laughs softly. “I expect we’ll leave here with at least five fish. Perhaps more, since you’re such a quick study.”

He gives him a few friendly pats on the shoulder before finally stepping away to check on their first catch.

"I only put bait on it and dropped it in a hole," he says, leaning forward and watching Francis check on the fish for a moment before moving to find the hook and the bait again. "Anyone could do that. I'm sure there's more to it."

Five fish seems a little ambitious, considering they didn't start out here early, and so can't spend all day on it. But Francis knows the ice best and the fishing, and Raju's never minded ambition. Aside from that, it says something that catching them goes quite this fast here, but Francis said he has to spend all day on it — whether that something is how much the missing hand slows him down or how much he'd wanted to avoid the rest of the people living here, Raju can't say, and probably isn't going to ask. It's going well, that's the important thing.

Five fish is absolutely ambitious, but Crozier doesn’t mind a little optimism now and again.

“Hardly,” he replies, producing his own knife from the kit he’d hauled onto the ice. It’s different from his snow knife - this one is actually made of metal and not bone, and so it’s easier to do things like gut a fish or skin a rabbit. “It takes patience. Not everyone has much to spare for something like this.”

“Mm.” Raju sounds distracted as he acknowledges it, leaning forward to better watch Francis gut the fish and then deciding that isn’t close enough to study detailed work and putting the pole aside to stand and move closer.

“But what else is there to do?” he finally replies, leaning over Francis this time to watch. “Walk an hour to find two roots and an armful of wet sticks? May as well wait here with the fire and get dinner at the end of it. You’re about to gut it, aren’t you? I never learned to do that.”

When he senses that Raju might be interested in observing he stays his knife until he's close enough to look. The fish is placed directly on the ice, his non-hand stabilizing the body so his actual hand can do the slicing.

"Typically with a fish this size I'd hold it in one hand and cut with the other, but for practical purposes setting it on a flat surface works just as well. The knife tip goes in by the tail, like this, and slides up towards the head. Cut needs to be shallow lest you pierce one of the organs. Then you just..." He lays the knife down, grabs the organs, and pulls out whole lot in one swift tug.

The organs are discarded right down the ice hole and Crozier sets the filet back down to wash his hands in some of the water from his canteen. It's awkward, a bit of a dance with the canteen held in the crook of one arm, but he eventually gets it done. "I'll scrape the inside with a knife, then the outside to rid the skin of the scales, then it'll get rinsed with water."

Raju starts to watch Francis' efforts to rinse the only hand he has to grasp with, then he moves his gaze to the fish. A man has to do some things for himself, doesn't he? Raju might want to help, but there's a line somewhere. Raju isn't sure where that line is yet.

"You don't eat the organs?" he asks, still looking at the way Francis had cut, tucking his bare hand absently underneath the folds of his blanket again and rubbing his thumbs over his fingers to warm them up a little. "Or use them as bait?"

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cw descriptions of animal butchery

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