singillatim | Either way, we're not alone

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Either way, we're not alone

Who: James Fitzjames, OTA
What: Exploring, and also finding some friends (early Sept catchall)
When: First few days after arriving
Where: Around Milton!

Content Warnings: The Terror-typical themes of death, illness, and general Bad Times, but anything specific will be added as it comes up!

For the first two days or so, James doesn't really leave the house he's taken up (temporary?) shelter in. Instead, he spends most of the time sleeping, occasionally waking up to make some rosehip tea and wage the mental battle necessary to drink it, then falling back asleep and repeating the cycle.

But although any sort of true recovery will take far longer than a few days, by the third day of being in this new place he feels much better than he had when he'd arrived, and even if that was an incredibly low bar to clear it's still more than enough to be encouraging. This isn't some sort of strange dream or dying hallucination. He's really here, somehow, and--for once in so many months now--he's getting better, not worse.

He might actually live. But this time, unlike his many other close brushes with death, he finds he isn't entirely sure what to do with the knowledge of that possibility.

He also has zero desire to contemplate that fact or any of its implications, but unfortunately, the downside of feeling better is that he's now capable of overthinking things again. And the only way to avoid doing that is through distraction, so it's only reasonable that he decides to go exploring.

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Thomas had just thought of leaving Milton, despite the appearance of the Aurora and the new batch of lost wanderers. It never strikes him as a good time. It's never fun. It's never anything more than the realization of imprisonment and sadness and longing that washes over them. He doesn't like to see it in their face.

He nearly walks past Fitzjames before he realizes his mistake.

"Captain?"

He nearly stumbles over his feet in shock.

James has been filled in on who else from the expedition are present here, so it isn't a complete shock to hear the familiar voice and term of address, but it's still a bit of a surprise. A good surprise.

"Lieutenant." He greets in response, turning away from the board to more fully face Jopson and offering a small but genuine smile. "I'd been told you were somewhere around here."

He doesn't admonish him as he does Little or Irving for using the title he had shucked off so easily after they arrive. He doesn't say a damn thing about it. Seeing him here, hale and healthy, that smile on his face and those clothes on him - Jopson has to suppress any number of emotions.

"I - have taken residence on the other side. In Lakeside. But I came here for the arrival. For the Aurora."

It's strange, this. There are very few social situations that James is at a complete loss for how to navigate--or even simply how to feel about--but this is certainly one of them.

Still, he's glad to see Jopson, and that's really what matters with now.

"Is there always a correlation? An Aurora with arrivals?" Focusing on practical things seems easy enough for the moment, something that feels almost normal. And he didn't miss that Jopson said he lives in Lakeside; that's good to know, though he also wonders why he's chosen to be so far out.

"Not completely," he admits. "The Aurora comes without arrivals, but arrivals never come without an Aurora."

He lets out a breath, wondering for a moment where to even start this conversation.

"What - what was happening before you came here?"

Well, he'd hoped to evade this conversation slightly longer, but it would have to happen sometime so might as well be now. James casts a quick glance around them, making sure no one is within earshot, but then makes eye contact with Jopson and tips his head toward the door all the same. They should talk outside, and if the brief walk to the door gives him a moment to stall and figure out how to answer, then all the better.

But once they're out in the snow, too far from the door for any eavesdropping and satisfied no one else is nearby, he stops and faces Jopson again. Even with the extra time, however, a distinct few seconds pass before he's able to find the right words.

"I'm aware that being here should be an impossibility." It isn't exactly an answer to the question he'd been asked, but he presumes its an answer to the implied one, and it's one that's vague enough and distant enough that he can say it without his voice wavering. "And that such a situation isn't entirely unusual."

Francis had given him an entire list of names from their expedition alone, but he hadn't exactly said who actually knows what, so James isn't entirely sure what Jopson's aware of in return, except that he should be further along in time than James is. Was. However this utterly surreal nonsense works.

He follows him outside, not affected at all by the snow and the cold. It's as if they are moving from one room to another inside of a well-warmed house. His desire for an answer is more important than explaining away small details. James has his rapt attention, fully aware of what's happening, and, when they stop, he tucks his forelock behind his ear.

His face falls slightly. He had hoped for some ignorance on the Captain's part.

"It is not. But - Captain Crozier has shared with me several details of what happens. What happened, at least."

For James, it's somewhat the opposite; rather than being unaffected, it's simply that he's always cold, now. The only exception for months now had been when he'd been stricken with intermittent fevers toward the end, and the cold had been--and is--much preferred.

He sees that shift in Jopson's expression, but is unsure if it's about his own answer or what Jopson says next. Perhaps both.

"Regarding?" There are many things that happened and that will happen, some of which James knows and some he can only guess at, all of them likely somewhat delicate subjects.

Thomas looks at him for a long moment, debating on what he wants to say. But Fitzjames isn't an enemy to him. He remembers that moment, in the tent, when he handed Thomas the letter.

Look at your face, he had said as a very shocked Thomas had tried to reconcile what he meant. That's the man that Thomas knows. That's the man he remembers. Not the shell of a creature that he knows had begged for death in the end.

His heart hurts.

"I know what happened after I died," he says plainly, not wanting to hold back any longer.

Jopson had been the first person Francis mentioned when he'd spoken of the others from the expedition who are present in this place, but he had also been the first in drawing a parallel to James' situation. Of being taken from their last moments.

But that's all that James knows of what happened to Jopson, nothing more, and while already knowing that he hadn't survived dampens some of the shock of Jopson's words, it doesn't make them any easier. It doesn't make it any less of a tragedy.

His thoughts turn to the same meeting, to listening to Francis talk about a surprise promotion, to seeing the name written on the paper. How James hadn't needed to think it over before he'd signed his agreement, because steadfast, loyal, capable Jopson had more than deserved the formal acknowledgment of the trust he'd earned.

He'd deserved to live, too. But ultimately, none of this had ever been about what any of them deserved.

James' voice is softer when he speaks again.

"I haven't been told." Any details, he means, about either Jopson's death itself or what happens afterward. And because he doesn't know, Jopson doesn't have to tell him; if there are secrets he wishes to keep, he has the opportunity to do so.

But if he wants to talk, James will listen.

Thomas nods. "It is not a fact many know, but - " He wants Fitzjames to know. He wants him to understand. "Little knows."

Little knows because he left him. Little knows because he abandoned Thomas in his moment of despair and weakness. Little knows because he left Thomas to die.

He does not want to dredge that up.

"Anything after that moment is Captain Crozier's story to tell."

He wants to ask what happened. Not about after Jopson's death--he'll accept that to be for Francis to share, though he does briefly wonder why Francis specifically and not Edward--but what happened to him; had it been illness, or the creature, or something else? How much longer had it been after what James last remembers?

But he also knows he wouldn't want to answer any of those details himself, that it had been hard enough to say what little he had in response to Jopson's question earlier, and there's no reason James needs to know. Not unless Jopson volunteers the information, at least.

James is far too exhausted to even try hiding the sorrow he feels.

"I'm sorry." The words are condolences and an apology all at once. He's sorry Jopson had to go through whatever had ultimately happened to him. That he has to deal with knowing it happened. That he'd ended up in that situation at all, and for James' part in it, from the mistakes he'd made as a part of leadership to being unable to see those under his command through to the end. He's sorry for failing him.

And although he can't be completely sure of how Jopson feels about finding himself alive in this place, or how that might compare to James' own complicated and unexamined emotions, he can at least understand what it's like to know time is running out. That the end is near, hope has run out, and all that can be done is to either accept it or keep fighting until the last possible moment. That no matter what choice is made, it will ultimately end the same.

He shakes his head almost immediately and then instantly reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear. "It is - not altogether a tragedy for me now. I was ill there, towards the end, as we all were. The boats went on without me and - that was it."

He doesn't hide the hurt from his voice. Fitzjames had the people around him who loved him the most.

Thomas had the rocks cutting his belly and the ache of grit in bloody fingernails.

"Here, I am upright. I am strong enough to chop wood and fish. I am able to aid myself and others. This place, terrifying and strange that it is, is still my second chance at a life."

It's good to hear that it's not all bad. That Jopson has found--or perhaps created is a better word--some sort of life here, in this strange situation. It might even have been reassuring to hear, if it hadn't been for that part about the boats going on without him.

I finally begged Ross to drop the boats all together, but he replied he'd rather leave our sick to die. This, from his position riding atop one of the sledges.

There were many parts of Blanky's story that had haunted James, but those two sentences in particular had come to mind over and over in the months leading up to the walkout. He had remembered them every day of pulling the sledges, and they had shifted from a sense of motivation and determination not to make Ross' mistakes into dread and guilt the day he'd finally collapsed.

No matter how pragmatic he can be--which is far more so than many people ever expect from him--James had never wanted to be the kind of leader that would leave his men the moment they were no longer useful, even if it might improve the chances of others. He'd been sure Francis was in agreement on that fact, which had only been confirmed when James had awoken to find himself settled in one of the boats, so why had this been different?

"They left you?"

It isn't the part he should be focusing on. He should be taking the opportunity to ask about the rest of it, the entire prospect of a second chance at life.

But Jopson had brought it up when he easily could've avoided doing so, and the emotion in his tone had been impossible to miss. James has never known Jopson to speak without thinking, and so perhaps this is something he does want to talk about, but either way James wants to know. Needs to know.

Of course he noticed that. Of course the man found the one piece that Thomas had been so determined to say but not-say.

"Yes," he says with a nod. "Crozier had been taken. There was no one left to speak for the ill."

He doesn't mention anyone by name. He doesn't mention Little's involvement in it. If Fitzjames wants to figure that out on his own, then Jopson can say he had no part in it, even if he is tired of holding that information.

James knows that, when he'd died, the only lieutenants left had been Little, Dundy, and Jopson. He also knows Francis hadn't listed Little amongst those here who arrived here from their last moments, so presumably he'd survived for at least some time after James' death. He hadn't heard anything about Dundy, and has been trying to convince himself that's a good sign rather than a bad one.

But it's difficult to reconcile the idea that one or both of the pair of Dundy and Little would choose to leave the sick behind. Little is so soft-hearted, and Dundy is... Well, Dundy can be a little unpredictable, but considering the shenanigans he had gone along with while he and James were stationed on Clio it's not as though he has a reputation for being only ruthlessly practical. None of this fits together.

And that's even without touching on what Jopson had just said about Francis being 'taken', whatever that means, and he would ask but he presumes that's part of the story that's Francis' to tell. That's probably for the best, too, as James finds he's suddenly a little overwhelmed with the entirety of this. It's a lot to take in and try to reconcile on top of everything else, especially while still so unwell.

So he lets the silence rest between them a moment, the only words he can immediately think to offer other than questions being the apology he's already given, but finally he decides to double back on their conversation to something slightly lighter.

"How long have you been here?"

He's getting used to the whole thing about coming from different times and being here for longer than makes sense, at least on a surface level, and it sounds as though Jopson has settled into this place so James wonders if he might've been here awhile.

Thomas enjoys the silence, shifting his weight onto his other foot, shoving his hands into his pockets. He knows there are more questions there, right at the tip of his tongue, but he trusts the Captain to know what to say and when.

So when he doesn't ask about Crozier or the other small details, Thomas smiles. He understands.

"Nearly a year now," he answers.

"It's still somewhat difficult to believe that can be possible." It's honest, but said lightly, as James is trying to take this particular strangeness in stride. Of all the things about being here, this particular issue is just strange, not actually bad.

"You've made yourself a home here, then? In Lakeside?"

"I have," he assures him and turns to point at one of the larger homes, out by the edge of the lake. "Just there. It is a home I share with - someone else. A woman, though there is no impropriety here," he's quick to add, looking down as his cheeks flush slightly. It's odd to be worried about such things again when he and Wynonna have been so close for so long.

"It is not much, but it is comfortable and warm and my door is always open to you."

It's the blush more than what is actually said that prompts a faintly teasing grin to come to James' face, though he does take pity on Jopson enough to refrain from actually making any comment. He really doesn't actually care if there is impropriety, though he trusts Jopson's assurance that there isn't.

And although he certainly hadn't had any specific fear that Jopson wouldn't want him around, James also somehow isn't quite expecting how readily the offer is extended. For just a moment his eyes flicker, smile fading and a number of different emotions fighting for recognition before he's able to regain control of them.

"Thank you, lieutenant." He says it softly, and very much means it. "I would extend the same welcome, but I've yet to decide if I'll be remaining long-term in my current location." The choice of cabin had been more out of necessity than anything else, and he really doesn't know if he wants to stay there once he's recovered enough to have other options. But whenever he does choose a permanent place--and what a strange thought that idea is--it will always be open to Jopson as well.

But the talk of homes suddenly reminds him--

"And I realize I have kept you long enough, should you have somewhere you meant to be." Even if he hadn't been planning to go home, Jopson surely had been headed somewhere, and although James hopes that Jopson knows he can simply extricate himself from a conversation without needing to wait to be dismissed, he wants to give him the out just in case.

He smiles faintly, nodding once. "I understand, sir. I - simply wished to ensure that you were alright and that you knew what you needed. But if you have need to find your bearings here, I will take my leave."

He runs his fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and looks behind him.

"Do not stray far, sir. There is always safety in numbers here."

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Either way, we're not alone

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