He’d wanted to give Francis water before. He’d started to. It hadn’t mattered. What Francis had wanted was for Raju to sit with him while he died.
Francis wants water now, and a smile breaks over Raju’s face, and he lets something out in his slow breath. When he turns to pour the water, and when he turns back to cup the back of Francis’ head and lift the cup up to his lips, the view in front of his eyes is blurred.
“You’ll have one,” he rasps. “I’ll bring someone.”
Things are going to be alright. They are. Raju can tell that now.
The doctor comes, and then she goes again. Raju bathes. He sleeps more deeply than he has since he’s come to Milton, waking with difficulty only when Francis needs something. The fire dies down at some point before he wakes again, and he’s more exhausted somehow once it leaves. But he’s never minded exhaustion when it’s got a direction.
Fishing takes too long and hunting, if Raju was more practiced at it, takes too long. Raju’s got enough familiarity with Francis’ traps that he maintains them, trying to leave his distaste for hunting behind and succeeding best when he remembers who he’s doing it for. It’s not easy leaving it behind but not as hard as he’d expected here, needing to, and no longer building up a surfeit of suffering to make up for.
Odd jobs sewing here and there make it possible to barter for what he needs, though people aren’t always willing to part with their food after so many weeks where game was rare. Once Francis’ supply of dried food finishes dwindling and disappears Raju will have to figure out how to keep Francis safe long enough for Raju to risk being gone, but for now he stays, sews, washes blankets and clothes and dries them and gathers meltwater, and cooks as best he can figure out how to, and watches Francis whenever he can.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, looking down with a brief surprised grimace at the needle when he stabs his finger again. He’s never lost track of where his hands are this often before, no matter how often he was looking at something else. But things are different now. There are a dozen things all knotted together inside him fighting with each other whenever he looks at Francis now, and he hasn’t untangled enough of it yet. Maybe the part of him that’s supposed to be confident and sure about what his body’s doing and where his hands need to be have been recruited to attack that knot inside him, too.
Pricking his finger doesn’t matter. He looks back up anyway. Raju had washed him when he was dying and that might have been the closest to a thorough wash Francis has had since before he was hurt. When Raju is in the cabin with him — which is is as often as he can manage — Raju’s started to be able to tell it with his eyes closed. But when he imagines Francis whole and well, taking off his shirt, it’s compelling in that same way Raju is learning to recognize now. Raju still wants to do the same things. Maybe not exactly now.
He watches Francis and tries to remember if Seetha has gone this long without washing before. It’s always been a quick way to destroy the barest hint of interest Raju’d had in anyone else. “If you talk me through making something I’m sure it’ll turn out alright.”
no subject
Francis wants water now, and a smile breaks over Raju’s face, and he lets something out in his slow breath. When he turns to pour the water, and when he turns back to cup the back of Francis’ head and lift the cup up to his lips, the view in front of his eyes is blurred.
“You’ll have one,” he rasps. “I’ll bring someone.”
Things are going to be alright. They are. Raju can tell that now.
The doctor comes, and then she goes again. Raju bathes. He sleeps more deeply than he has since he’s come to Milton, waking with difficulty only when Francis needs something. The fire dies down at some point before he wakes again, and he’s more exhausted somehow once it leaves. But he’s never minded exhaustion when it’s got a direction.
Fishing takes too long and hunting, if Raju was more practiced at it, takes too long. Raju’s got enough familiarity with Francis’ traps that he maintains them, trying to leave his distaste for hunting behind and succeeding best when he remembers who he’s doing it for. It’s not easy leaving it behind but not as hard as he’d expected here, needing to, and no longer building up a surfeit of suffering to make up for.
Odd jobs sewing here and there make it possible to barter for what he needs, though people aren’t always willing to part with their food after so many weeks where game was rare. Once Francis’ supply of dried food finishes dwindling and disappears Raju will have to figure out how to keep Francis safe long enough for Raju to risk being gone, but for now he stays, sews, washes blankets and clothes and dries them and gathers meltwater, and cooks as best he can figure out how to, and watches Francis whenever he can.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, looking down with a brief surprised grimace at the needle when he stabs his finger again. He’s never lost track of where his hands are this often before, no matter how often he was looking at something else. But things are different now. There are a dozen things all knotted together inside him fighting with each other whenever he looks at Francis now, and he hasn’t untangled enough of it yet. Maybe the part of him that’s supposed to be confident and sure about what his body’s doing and where his hands need to be have been recruited to attack that knot inside him, too.
Pricking his finger doesn’t matter. He looks back up anyway. Raju had washed him when he was dying and that might have been the closest to a thorough wash Francis has had since before he was hurt. When Raju is in the cabin with him — which is is as often as he can manage — Raju’s started to be able to tell it with his eyes closed. But when he imagines Francis whole and well, taking off his shirt, it’s compelling in that same way Raju is learning to recognize now. Raju still wants to do the same things. Maybe not exactly now.
He watches Francis and tries to remember if Seetha has gone this long without washing before. It’s always been a quick way to destroy the barest hint of interest Raju’d had in anyone else. “If you talk me through making something I’m sure it’ll turn out alright.”