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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The lingering attempts at formality and the polite address come as no surprise, entirely expected despite James caring very little about such things at this point, especially from Edward. Even if James had been the type to maintain strict separation due to rank--which he is not, at least when it comes to his subordinates--it feels a little ridiculous after everything that has happened; Edward has seen him at his worst, over and over and in various senses of the word. What illusion is there to maintain? What difference is there between them, other than a title?

But he does see that look in Edward's eyes, the blinking, the tone in his voice that holds more than simple distant respect. And he knows full well that Edward is reserved, deferential, and so James makes the move first; he reaches out to grip Edward's shoulder, giving him a gentle, affectionate shake. It's as much for himself as it is for the other man, a reassurance to both of them that this is real, and he holds contact for just a few seconds longer before letting his hand drop back to his side. It's enough for now.

"I have heard there's little point in attempting to make sense of the timing, yes." He's somewhere between the light, conversational tone and his more genuine one, leaning toward the latter as he continues. "But it also seems the least of the impossibilities about this place."

So he'll just take it in stride as much as possible. There are ultimately far more pressing, and also far more existential, things to worry about.

And speaking of, he should probably just address this before Edward has to ask, for both their sake. It'll hopefully save Edward some anxiety, and it'll let James control the conversation, but a part of that is that he doesn't really want to have the topic come up here in the Community Hall. So he glances around briefly, then looks back at Edward, nodding his head slightly toward the door.

"Were you leaving? We can walk as we speak."

Even having been here for a year, Little still does hold fast to a certain propriety that others from their Expedition have eased up on, in ways. Some of them have adapted clothing and mannerisms of this world and time — yet he remains in his greatcoat, uniform, and cap, never to be seen outside of such clothing, keeping it washed regularly and patched up when it needs to be. One day the threads may unravel to a point he can no longer cling onto, but for now... he keeps clinging.

But it's been strange to know where he stands with the others, what they expect or don't expect of him. A man might embrace a companion he hasn't seen in over a year, a companion he saw die — and something in his heart longed to when he'd seen Irving, but even then, to a fellow lieutenant, Little had refrained. It's— difficult, but then Captain Fitzjames makes it easy, a hand to his shoulder, an affectionate squeeze, the soft shake: familiar gestures from him, even after all this time.

Little immediately relaxes almost visibly, something in that full-bodied tension seeming to settle a little. He's the same old Little, at the core: unable to relax until he's been given some sort of permission.

"The information you've been given is true, I'm sorry to admit." He grimaces a little; it isn't the best news to confirm — that the timing discrepancies are the least of this place's impossibilities. He nods at the question, stiffening back to dutiful attention as he moves with the other man towards the door.

"Yes Sir — I came here just briefly, to check on the status of things." He'll move to get the front door for him, palm pressing the heavy wood to swing outwards, lifting his head to breathe in the crisp air beyond it.

"Are you in need of anything? There is food, and tea, at the cabin I occupy. Or if you'd like a rest, you're welcomed." Edward turns his head to look at him as he moves, unable to hold back a certain concern, eyes roaming the other man's face as though to check him for signs of... of any of it.

James has always found it a little challenging to figure out how to put Edward at ease; he thinks that's probably more to do with how stressed Edward is at a given time than whatever James' attempt might be, but has never been quite sure. So it's nice to see him indeed relax a bit this time, and James offers another small smile before following him toward the door.

It's strange, how the cold of the outdoors is now more familiar than the relative warmth of being inside by a fire. He wonders if it's the same for the others, and if the cold is just a part of them now, or if it will fade in time.

He catches Edward studying him, that searching look, and restrains the immediate defensive feeling that comes from it. If their positions were reversed, he'd be doing the same. So instead, he takes a careful, steadying breath to be sure his voice is even and reassuring when he responds to the unspoken question.

"I'm improving." As far as he can tell, anyway; he feels better than he did the first day, and upon waking up here he'd already been far better than he had when Edward would've last seen him. However, he knows he still looks terrible, pale and malnourished and his hair an absolute disaster that he's mostly hiding under his hat, but at least his eye isn't bloody anymore, and the various small marks on his face can be easily mistaken for simple scrapes and cuts. But the exhaustion is still there, and so are the bullet holes, though those are at least easier to hide under his coat.

And it's the latter reasons, mainly, that he continues. "Still, if it's no inconvenience, I'll take you up on the offer." Both because he could very much use any one of the three--tea, food, or rest--and also it might make Edward fret less if he accepts. Besides, it'll be good to know where Edward lives, and the more serious conversation they should have would be better done there anyway.

Improving. It's an honest answer, one that sits with a certain weight within Edward's gut, but he'd prefer that to reassurances that the other man is well, when clearly he isn't. None of them were when they'd arrived; the Expedition rotted them all away, even if in various stages.

Still, he's eyeing him cautiously, though makes sure to maintain a respect, and lets his eyes fall away soon enough. Whatever Fitzjames' last memory may be.... Edward figures he might find out soon enough — either way, it's certainly nothing he'll inquire directly about, at least not when he's just bumped into the man. He deserves to sit down, to have something warm in his belly, to relax, before he's questioned about the nature of his circumstances, about what horrible things he might recall.

"It's no inconvenience at all, Sir. Seeing you again is only a brightness." Though shy with such words, he does mean them — eyes warming again as he tries to let himself enjoy the walk back, the company he has, another man he'd thought lost forever.

The cabin he'd recently relocated to is much larger than the one he'd previously occupied on the outskirts. It's a proper home, not a small, one-person shack of a thing. Soon enough they'll reach it, and Edward steps up to the porch to open the door for his companion, letting him in first. Inside is spacious and clean — John's been at work on it.

"I live here with Lieutenant Irving," Edward informs him, reaching up to remove his cap as he closes the door behind them and heads to get the fire going; there's plenty of firewood already chopped and ready to burn. "....And a young woman we've been caring for." That's.... not so typical, no matter what era a man might be from, but certainly in theirs... He seems almost sheepish, as he turns back.

"She is without her parents, and this place is.... exceedingly dangerous. I have tried to shelter her as best as I can."

The walk is companionable and familiar, almost as if this were a normal situation, or at least what had become normal for them, traveling between Terror and Erebus frozen in the pack ice. Except there are buildings here, and plants, and signs of life other than the ships and the men of the expedition, and those things are still taking some getting used to.

So he spends much of the walk taking in their surroundings, trying to place where things are and get a better sense of direction in the town, things he knows can wait but help him hold onto a sense of agency in finding himself here. The larger things are too much to handle just yet, but focusing on the smaller tasks is something useful that he can still manage.

James steps into the cabin first as indicated, but moves to the side only so much as not to block the door before looking curiously. It's clear someone has been very much taking care of the place, though James doesn't immediately guess who's responsible, unsure of which--if not all three of them--might be the type. But he does already know there are three people living here, and so Edward's awkward admittance of Kate's presence is not a surprise; were things actually more normal James might not have been able to pass up the opportunity to do at least a little teasing, but as it is, he decides to refrain.

"So I've heard." He says instead, taking off his own hat, even though his hair is still an absolute disaster and he's somewhat self-conscious about it. His tone is both more serious and warmer when he continues. "And I've also heard you've done well in your attempts."

Kate had made it very clear Edward had done a lot for her, and had told James about the events of June. Although he's not sure this is the right time to broach that topic, it does seem like a good opportunity to at least try and bolster Edward's confidence a little, especially as he hasn't forgotten the request Kate had made of him.

The response makes him pause. Any other man might feel warmth immediately at the thought of this sort of praise coming from whomever might have informed the commander of such a thing, but Edward is riddled with worries even on his best days, and there's a kneejerk flutter of discomfort. Maybe it's more his own sense of guilt. Of shame.

He doesn't think he's done well at all with it. He's... barely held on, weak and lacking with assisting the young woman who has been through... so many horrors of her own. And not long ago, he killed a man in front of Kate's eyes; Mikel haunts his dreams the same way Jopson still does sometimes, face bloodless, eyes dying, mouth giving a hoarse rasp of pain—

"You.... have, sir?"

He tries to make it sound casual, but "casual" is not Edward Little's forté, and maybe the widening of his eyes and the slightly-stricken look might betray that he's oddly jarred by the thought.

"Yes." James says it with certainty, wanting to leave no question there, though he keeps his voice soft. Not for the first time he wishes he had done a better job of bolstering Edward's confidence, so that his reaction to praise might not be so hesitant and uncertain, though James is also aware that in this particular instance it might have to do with the specific topic. So he doesn't press it directly, instead sidestepping the subject a little to instead approach from a different angle.

"Is it that difficult to believe?" He asks it lightly, almost teasingly, though of course that's affected; the answer is obvious enough, but the point is more how Edward answers.

Little pauses, hesitating for a moment. It's likely only a matter of time before Fitzjames learns... what he's done (and there's so much; not only in this place, but during the Expedition before... things that the men still don't know about him. About what he'd done). It would be best to speak to him about it first, but he doesn't want to overwhelm the poor man, he's only just arrived here, and he's likely confused by so much — then, of course, is the matter of the commander's own death.

Still, he's inclined towards answering honestly, even if not so honest as to burden him too much right now.

"Admittedly," he starts there, and attempts a little smile of his own, to lighten his responses. He doesn't mean to make everything seem so heavy...

"It pains me to say, but I've not been the most... capable, in this place. I fear I've made some poor decisions, and— I suppose I never was the strongest man, was I?"

His smile becomes a bit of a wince, self-deprecation so natural to fall to, but it's true. Retrospect has been... eye-opening; he can see, looking back, all the ways in which he lacked. "I would not expect others to speak too favourably of my performance here, is all. There are others far more suited to such an environment, and they have done incredible things for this community."

James is definitely confused, and more than slightly overwhelmed by all of this, but he's handling that as he usually does: pretending he's neither of those things. That's made easier when he's with one of the others of the expedition, able to fall into familiar patterns, at least to some extent.

Discussing concerns with Edward is one of those familiar patterns--they'd conferred often enough while Francis had been deteriorating, and then even more so while he'd been drying out--but what's unfamiliar is that Edward is so forthcoming. Normally, at least from James' viewpoint, he feels he has to practically pry honest thoughts and feelings out of Edward, so it's a nice surprise to get an honest answer. Even if it's a less than positive one.

It takes James a moment to gather his thoughts, as although he's feeling quite a bit better than the day he arrived, he's still more than a little scattered and exhausted and he absolutely does not want to say the wrong thing and discourage Edward further here.

"Perhaps not everyone else is judging your decisions as harshly as you are." James finally responds, offering a small, hopefully encouraging smile. "Myself included, as I certainly wouldn't characterize you in the manner you describe yourself."

Despite everything that's tugging so heavily downwards within him, seeing that little smile from Fitzjames does, once more, help. That flicker of encouragement, a glowing thing that Edward might find himself so drawn to. For a moment, it's as if they're back before it all went... bad, back in the days when their uniforms were still polished and crisp, when they'd all gather for officer's meetings — a time to sit together and chat. The expedition was new, hopeful. Everything was.

Fitzjames was always a wonder to see, to listen to. Charismatic and charming and affable; any man could feel almost as though he were a better version of himself, simply to be in the commander's presence. Edward hasn't forgotten those days, even if it's been a very long time since he sat and chatted with him without the pressing weight of what so quickly went wrong.

But even now, being told from Fitzjames that he wouldn't describe him that way — as inept, lacking — means something to Little, specifically. He dips his head for a moment almost as though to hide it, that glimpse of warmth in him at the words, shy but pleased.

"You have always been kind to me, Sir. Kind to all of the men." He replies after a moment, finally looking back up. "Truly, I don't deserve that kindness, but— I wish to return it. Please, make yourself comfortable here. Shall I bring you that coffee now? Or tea?"

That's a little better; the bit of shyness, but in a positive way, is about the best he could've really asked for. And it's only at this moment, belatedly, that James realizes he's been mirroring the conversation--an incredibly important conversation--that he'd had with Francis on the way back from Victory Point. It isn't exactly the same, of course, but he distinctly remembers just how important it had been to him that Francis had refused to accept James' self-deprecation, arguing that he didn't see James the way James often saw himself. It's strange, but not necessarily in a bad way, to be on the other side, to see Edward being so hard on himself and to easily, truthfully, find it unwarranted.

And of course it's also a reassurance to James in return to hear the compliment; his leadership style had always been more mild than most of those he'd served under or alongside, as he vastly prefers to earn the loyalty of his crew by being respected and liked, rather than through intimidation and fear. But of course there's always a divide there, and it isn't always clear what the men actually think about their superior officers, so the affirmation is appreciated.

He lets Edward's comment about not deserving kindness pass without arguing, not because he agrees--far from it--but because he thinks the sentiment will come across in his response. "Well, I can't refuse, particularly if you have coffee." He hasn't had coffee in so long and hadn't even considered the possibility it might be available here, and it's funny how such a small thing can be such an uplifting thought.

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Either way, we're not alone

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