singillatim | You can run for the skyline

Entry tags:

You can run for the skyline

Who: James, and others
What: Catch-all for December-ish
When: Through the month of December
Where: Milton and Lakeside

Content Warnings: Will be added as needed!

[Plotting post here; feel free to plot something or message me directly if you want a closed prompt!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Foraging is not exactly a skill or activity James had ever put much thought into before arriving here, as it had never been a particular need or priority. But here it's not only necessary in a practical sense, but an excellent way of staving off boredom, learning the land, and rebuilding some of his stamina and strength. The polar night hadn't stopped him from continuing these excursions, and on this particular day--or whatever time it is--he's been out for an hour or so looking for a new patch of rose bushes, when he hears something.

Animals are, of course, not uncommon in the area, but some are a reason for concern, and others still are a hunting opportunity. So although he doesn't know what exactly had made the sound, his reaction is the same, and he slides his rifle off his shoulder and into his hands.

His vision is almost back to normal in daylight, but not so much yet in the dark, and polar night is dark enough that it wouldn't have really mattered much if it had been. The sight he catches of movement is nothing more than a dark blur, but it's large, though not large enough to be a deer; alarmed, James raises the rife, but doesn't immediately fire. It's a wolf, it must be, but even so James has no desire to shoot the creature unless he absolutely has to, especially when he does distinctly remember that not all wolves here are exactly as they seem.]

( It's been a while since Edward let himself become the beast, as his mind insists on calling it. He's still ashamed of this form, as much as he accepts that it's a punishment for him, not a gift, the way others might perceive it.

The past months have been spent lying low, recovering, but as the days turn darker and darker, he begins to shift into this other form, no matter if it makes him uneasy. He can hunt for the household like this, and keep an eye on things — cover more ground. And as he moves through the darkness, he does begin to feel more of a freedom, his wolf's brain not as concerned with complicated emotions the way his human one is. The wolf wants to indulge in that freedom, to run and play and sense the world around it. Some lingering anxiety keeps him more careful (even as a wolf, Little is nervous...) but this is probably the most free he's ever felt in his life.

He's tracking the scent of something when another cuts through — a familiar one. He comes to a quick halt, head turned to face the man. The wolf is large and black, fur thick, even around his face — giving him a distinctly fluffy appearance. His ears lift towards James in recognition and his tail perks; there's almost something familiar and friendly about his behaviour, like a dog coming across someone it knows.

Then his human brain kicks in and he realises the weapon aimed at him. Edward quickly lowers his head, ears and tail following suit, and gives a low (and rather pathetic-sounding) whine, immediately going completely docile, even submissive. )

[He can't see in enough detail to truly recognize the initial body language of lifted ears and tail, but the whine and immediate lowering of posture are far more clear. He mirrors the motions, in a way, lowering his rifle and ducking his head slightly, as if doing so and squinting will actually help. It doesn't, but that's fine.]

Are you not wild?

[He ventures the question as if he expects the wolf to answer him, and to be fair, it could possibly. But in addition to being potentially a person, it could well be someone's pet, or simply a particularly tame wolf; that it has neither attacked nor simply run away makes him think it can't be wild, at least.]

( It takes him a moment to realise that the other man's struggling to make sense of him, to even see him. Seeing in this darkness is so effortless to him in this form, and it's a strange realisation to return to: a human man wouldn't be able to. And he's a human man too, up under this. It's always jarring for Edward to realise he's slipped more into animal's mindset.

When Fitzjames lowers the rifle and speaks to him, Edward gives another whine-sound and creeps forwards a little, slowly, hoping to convey that he isn't wild, that he means no harm. Of course, there's something that feels like shame starting to come creeping into him too, an unpleasant shock to have come across Fitzjames out here, of all people. To be seen like this....!

But it's just as important that he make sure the commander knows he's not a threat, to reply to that question with the right answer — no, he's not wild, he's safe — and so he keeps moving closer to him, stopping only a few safe feet away, not wanting to risk frightening him. Hopefully it might make him more visible in this darkness, a pair of golden-brown eyes peering up at the tall figure, ears kept pressed down and tail hanging, hesitant, cautious. ....Whining again. )

[The cautious little creep, the whining, the lack of both aggression and the sort of fear one would expect from a wild wolf do indeed effectively convince James that this wolf is either tame, or a person.

The latter possibility should be one that concerns him. James is more than smart enough to learn from his mistakes, and after the... incident... during the meeting of those from the Expedition, he should be cautious about the very real potential of this actually being a human. But it could also just be a wolf, and James is very much one of those people whose sense is immediately discarded when faced with a potentially friendly animal, even one that could turn dangerous at any time.

Not that he's particularly concerned about the latter possibility, though; it's pretty clear, at this point, that the creature--whether human or truly a wolf--doesn't mean any harm. So James' previous alarm and nerves are fading quickly, particularly now that he can see the wolf's face and eyes, and he suddenly realized he might be frightening it as much as it had frightened him.

So he crouches down, the motion still a little stiffer than it should be but not tentative, and he sets the rifle in the snow before slowly extending a cautious hand toward the wolf.]

I have nothing to offer you.

[In terms of food or anything of the sort, he means, though really he's talking just to talk, the words mostly unimportant and simply an attempt to reassure both the wolf and himself.]

( The wolf stays cautious, whether because it's nervous or to try and quell any nerves the man might have — it could be either way (and, considering it's Little... is probably both). But as James moves downwards, slowly reaching out a hand, the wolf lifts his head higher, nose quivering in the chilled, dark air, sniffing.

(Later, he'll feel embarrassed about this.)

But as it is now, Edward's human and wolf brain keep slipping into one another, not so much battling as they are simply co-existing. He knows Fitzjames, and wants to be friendly towards him. ...This translates, in wolf-thought, as giving the man's hand a soft, gentle lick.

When that's done, he's peering up at him almost worriedly, fixing the man with a pointed - and mournful - stare. Why is Commander Fitzjames out here alone...? Certainly, he's a capable man, one of the most capable, in Little's opinion, but this place is dark and dangerous. He's finding himself glad that he came across him, and filled with the need to stay with him, protect him. ...Of course, at some point he'll have to reveal who he is, which should probably happen sooner rather than later.

It's a good thing he's taken a page out of some of the others' books, and started keeping his clothing stored safely nearby whenever he turns. )

[James had been expecting the wolf to maybe move a little closer toward him at the outstretched hand, with the intention being both to make friends and to get a change to pet those super fluffy-looking ears, so the lick is a small--but not bad--surprise. He blinks, then gives a small laugh followed by a slightly stronger one at that look he's been fixed with.]

I'm sorry. Perhaps next time I'll bring with me something suitable for any friendly wolves I may encounter.

[He's of course reading the look as dismay at no treats, even though if this really is a wolf it's not like it could actually understand him. He picks up his rifle slowly, so as not to scare the wolf, and slings it back over his shoulder before rising to his feet and then realizing something.]

Are you alone?

[It's an unknowing echo of Edward's own thoughts, and James glances briefly around; shouldn't a wolf be with a pack? Why is it all alone? Is it alone?]

( Hearing Fitzjames laugh — a growing thing from slight to a little more robust — at something Edward's done stirs an immediate and particular warmth in him, and after a moment his ears do perk up again.

The gesture's brief but there, almost involuntary. It's some flicker of something that almost feels like pride in himself, even if these days Edward's only really capable of the shadow of that feeling. Still... it emboldens him, a little. He lifts his head more now, not so weighty and mournful, and then—

—he nods it in response to that question. It's a purposeful gesture down and then back up. Communicating is strange like this, but he's found ways, even if he knows they'll immediately peg him as something that isn't quite a true wolf. And while he certainly doesn't go out of his way to inform people about his.... beastly condition, now that Firzjames has seen it directly, Little won't hide it from him. Like Crozier, the man still demands a certain respect from Little, who continues to hold onto that concept, of respect and hierarchy, he can't let it go — and lying to the commander is unthinkable.

In fact, he then paws lightly at the ground near Fitzjames's boots, backs up slightly, then repeats the gesture. He even turns his head to glance back at the woods, as though trying to tell him to come with him, to follow. )

[...Did the wolf just nod at him?

Of course it did, because it's not a wolf, and despite knowing this was a possibility he can't help but be both a little disappointed on top of nervous. Someday he'll get to meet a friendly, actual wolf. Live out his horse-girl dreams, but with wolves.

But today is not that day, and he needs to figure out what to do about whoever this is.

It's not Hickey, obviously, but he's not sure of anyone else who has this ability, so it could be literally anyone. And it's clear enough the wolf--person--wants him to follow them, but to where? Somewhere even more remote than they already are, out in the middle of the woods? For what reason? How foolish would it be to follow them?

James doesn't really have any enemies here--other than Hickey, anyway, though enemies might still be too strong of a word there--and he does know several somewhat bizarre people, so this sort of weirdness is probably not anything to really be too worried about. Besides, they're far enough out that there's no need to lure him somewhere else if this person means any harm, so perhaps there's some other reason they want him to follow them and curiosity is quickly outweighing his trepidation.

So, after a brief moment of contemplation--]

You wish for me to follow you? Lead on, then.

( When his efforts are rewarded with trust enough to follow him, Little's only further emboldened — and whether that comes from being a man or a wolf, it could go either way. (Perhaps both sides of him just long to be considered A Good Boy....)

There's no time to waste, even if some part of him is still nervous about telling Fitzjames the truth. What if he thinks poorly of him...? But it's a risk he has to take. He starts moving through the woods, slowly so that the man can keep up, taking care to pause every so often, head turned back to make sure James is still doing all right. And as he moves, he feels his defensiveness towards the world around them sharpen, senses on even higher alert to make sure nothing will pose a threat to the commander.

(At once point, some semi-large woodland animal moves with the snap of twigs in the distance, and Edward's head snaps that way, eyes bright, mouth peeled back with a low growl... He tenses, staring, nostrils quivering as he sniffs the air.... then, when he thinks there's no real threat, continues on his way.)

He doesn't lead James too far; it's just a spot closer to town, though still in the woods. Here, there's a large tree with a hollow in it. And in that hollow are Edward's clothes... He trots purposefully over to it and gently starts dragging out his greatcoat, mindful not to tear it with his teeth... Then he takes a moment to look up at James, almost as if to show him the clothing. He's trying to prepare him first, before he goes and changes back...

Granted, it's almost impossible to decipher whose uniform is whose, so James might not actually know who this is yet, but Edward just doesn't want to take him too off-guard. )

[James follows after the wolf and realizes quickly that they're heading back toward town, not deeper into the woods, and feels even more ridiculous about his moment of nerves. He keeps up pretty well, navigating the terrain well enough and slowed more by the darkness than his health, but he's also not a wolf and so the pauses for him to catch up are helpful, though once he realizes that's what's going on he tries--with only minimal success--to move quickly enough that they aren't necessary.

Whatever it is that moves in the forest is briefly alarming, but it's reassuring to have a wolf--person--both clearly ready to deal with whatever it might be, and able to decide when it's not a threat. So by the time they reach the hollow tree, James is mostly at ease, and the sight of a greatcoat only reassures him further.

It isn't Hickey, he imagines Billy would've simply never approached him, and he's pretty certain Francis doesn't have this power. That leaves Goodsir and the Lieutenants as likely possibilities, and whichever of them it might be, of all the people in this place James might've run into as a wolf in the forest, they're the best options.

Of course, he also realizes why there's a coat--and likely other clothes as well--here in the first place, considering the incident with Hickey at the meeting. He'd managed, through sheer luck, to avoid getting a direct view, but it had been very apparent that clothing was a not a part of whatever process allows people here to turn from human to wolf and back again.]

Ah. Understood.

[James says it to the wolf with a hint of amusement, and takes a few steps back to give whoever it is space before turning away. He'll keep guard, and also allow whoever it might be the opportunity to turn back without being watched.]

( Grateful for the man's reaction, the wolf waits patiently as he's given some privacy, though he makes sure to drag his clothes behind the tree a bit more to make certain he's concealing himself adequately... This is all such uncomfortable business... Then, as quickly as he absolutely can, Edward turns back, and the difference is instantly jarring — he's freezing, shuddering against the sharp cold as he hurries into his clothing, his jumper and pants, pulling his coat on over it, then his socks and shoes. He also feels blinded in a weird way, going from a pair of eyes that can see so clearly in the darkness to a human pair that can barely make sense of the world around them.

But he manages, and once it's done, he steps out from the tree, looking a little ruffled — a couple of smaller twigs poking from the tangled waves of his hair, and struggling to focus his vision. )

Commander Fitzjames— ( he manages against the sharp sting of cold in his lungs. This environment is so much easier when one has layers of thick fur... )

It's Edward, sir.

( He dips his head almost apologetically, and gives a soft wince. )

I apologise for this... bizarre intrusion. But when I saw you out here in the woods alone, I was worried for your safety.

[He waits patiently, not envying the idea of turning into a human and being undressed in this weather, and for the first time the whole wolf thing sounds a little less appealing. But only a little.

He can hear shuffling, and then finally a voice, and turns back around to see a slightly disheveled first lieutenant. Of course it's Edward; he should have guessed both from the way the wolf acted and just its general appearance and countenance, though James does think that Edward might've been actually more bold as a wolf than as a human.]

I wasn't aware you had this ability.

[James says it lightly, conversationally, curious but not annoyed by the omission of this information; it seems several people here keep their powers somewhat secret for various reasons, and he wonders if Edward might be one of them or if this topic simply never came up.

And as for the explanation about why he'd approached James to begin with, it's both kind and, at the same time, prompts a bit of defensiveness. Although he appreciates that Edward cares enough to be concerned, he's none too enthused at any reminder that it's still apparent that the concern is warranted; he's more than ready to be rid of any outward trace of illness and injury, but isn't quite there yet.

He manages to keep any sharpness out of his tone when he responds, though it's certainly a bit more clipped than his previous comment.]

I had things to accomplish. You were out in the forest alone as well.

[And being a wolf isn't an excuse!]

( He's still coming down from the difference his wolf's brain offers — and this environment, dark and unforgiving, makes things more difficult. But if there's anything that will anchor Little to himself again it's shame, and now that he's back to having a fully human mind, that emotion is pouring in... )

Ah— yes, I have tried not to... advertise it too much, sir. I'm aware it can be a startling knowledge.

( There's so much more to it than that, though. He hates this "power". Never mind that it offers him some ounce of freedom the way his human self has never allowed himself to indulge in. It's ghastly, being Touched by the supernatural. He's so deeply ashamed of it.

And though Fitzjames isn't harsh with him, that slight shift to his tone has the other man's heart giving a panicked little jolt. He looks back up, eyes wide and earnest. Admittedly, part of his own worry is that Fitzjames might think he was up to No Good.... (Edward, that's not the problem, here.) )

I realise it must seem suspicious, but I assure you, I have full control when I am the... the beast. I would never harm one of our community. ( He nods quickly, head dipped down low, trying not to be swept completely sideways by the whispered reminder in his own head that when he had killed a member of this community, it was as a man, not a wolf. )

I was only out trying to find food — animals. Hunting is much easier in that form.

[If it weren't Edward doing it, the assurance that he wouldn't harm anyone would be so incredibly suspicious, especially since that thought hadn't even crossed James' mind. But it hadn't crossed his mind because he knows Edward, and it's for that exact reason that it isn't suspicious, just... Perhaps a little depressing, that he'd immediately feel the need to justify himself to that extent.

Of course, it probably hadn't helped that James had let some terseness through in his response, so he takes a deep breath and is careful to lighten his tone again as he responds.]

'Suspicious' is not the word I would have chosen, and I assure you, I was under no belief that you were dangerous.

[Aside from the initial surprise, anyway, it had been very obvious that if this was a person, they were indeed in control of their actions and not a threat. Provided they weren't pulling some sort of con, at least.

And with Edward dipping his head like that, James suddenly notices the twigs sticking out of his hair, and steps forward to begin untangling one of them without a second thought.]

Is this the only...

[How should he put it?]

The only new talent you've found yourself with here? I've heard talk of several others.

[ There's not an ounce of Edward that wouldn't believe the other man's sincerity, so when he assures him that he didn't harbour such a belief, he is assured. Even if he knows he would fully deserve such suspicion, given the nature of this.... condition.

He blinks with a little startle as Fitzjames moves closer to reach and fiddle with his hair — though soon enough realises, and gives an almost embarrassed exhale, flushing as the other man cleans him up a bit. He really must seem so beastly.... running through the wilderness.... becoming tangled up in twigs and smelling of earth... It's not what civilised men do. (Not what decent men do, and even now, Little holds onto that concept, even if his vision about it all has been slightly altered.) ]

It is, [ he nods again, glad to be able to report that he was only Touched once by that supernatural force. He knows some others were unfortunate enough to experience it more than once, now... It's truly a horrible thought.

(Except there's people like Gibson, who seem to think of these 'gifts' as...well, exactly that. Gifts. Edward still can't understand that.) ]

It was not a thing that was.... sought after. [ His mouth twitches towards another frown, something tightening up under his sternum. He didn't want this, but he has no real right to complain when it's exactly what he deserves. ]

I usually strive to keep myself hidden, when in that form. It's a hideous sight to come across. I apologise, sir, that you had to see me in that way.

[The most obvious of the offending twigs are located and removed easily enough, though there may be more that James can't quite see in the dark; still, there's some semblance of order restored. For two people who are so different in many ways, that desire to present a particular, controlled image is something they share, and it's a little bit of normalcy to cling to in the midst of both everything they've faced and the strangeness of their current situation.

Not that being able to turn into a wolf is a bad thing, even if it seems like Edward might consider it to be, considering how he's wording it and that look on his face. James steps back again, not quite a full arm's length, but enough to at least not be crowding Edward so much anymore.]

I've seen far worse.

[He makes the comment so lightly that it's hopefully clear he isn't saying it in terms of having simply seen so many terrible things that this hardly matters, but that he doesn't consider it to be in that category at all. Being able to turn into a wolf is strange, certainly, but not particularly grotesque. In fact, as far as the list of powers he's heard goes, it might be one of the best ones.]

Regardless, as I've heard it, choosing whether or not one is given one of these abilities is far easier said than done, if not entirely impossible. How long have you been capable of it?

[ There's a quick nod of gratitude as the other man finishes cleaning him up a bit, an attentiveness and care befitting of the commander, in Little's opinion. Even now, after everything he's lost, he's truly an admirable man.

And he's one of the last men that Edward would have wanted to discover this thing about him, but... Fitzjames really doesn't seem that bothered by it. He looks up at him, at the curiosity in place of aversion, and nods quickly again, feeling a sweep of relief that emboldens him, if only for a moment. ]

For several months, sir. ....Nearly half a year now. [ God, has it really been so long? But he knows how strange and swift time is. He's felt... timeless, in a way, since arriving here. Like a ghost just existing. Is he aging? He must be, but he's long-ago lost track of his age. Regardless, it's sobering now, putting a clear amount of time to this "gift" of his. It forces Edward to face it much more directly... look at it more deeply, as opposed to his usual method, which is to try not to think too much about it, even when he lets himself utilise it to his advantage from time to time. ]

You are correct that it seems something we are not necessarily able to choose. [ He remembers dreams before, fueled by Enola, but this one had been... different. Edward steels himself, and then has to tell him the truth. There are worse truths behind it, things Fitzjames doesn't know about what has been done in this place. What Little has done. Even after his failures during the Expedition, he's only continued to fail the people here.

He doesn't want to admit this to this man, in particular, but... he owes it to him. ]

....I believe it is likely a form of punishment.

[Nearly half a year is a long time, and yet no time at all. The Expedition had dragged and dragged in some months and yet flown by in others, but when James thinks back it's difficult to sort out which moments were which. Being here is no different, the months he's been in this place feeling like they've passed so quickly and yet agonizingly slowly.

But he doesn't want to contemplate that, and fortunately focusing on the conversation is a great excuse to put the thought entirely out of mind. Even more so when Edward adds that last part, causing James' eyebrows to furrow in concern; it isn't entirely shocking that Edward might be thinking he's done something worth punishment, and James even has a suspicion of what some of those things might be, but just because it's understandable doesn't mean it's warranted.]

What do you mean?

[He asks it softly, seriously, taking the admission with the weight it feels it's been made with; it would've been incredibly easy to avoid saying anything about the subject at all, so that Edward did so likely means it's something that's been on his mind. If it's something he needs to speak about, whether to confide in someone or just to put it into words, it's the least James can do to give him the opportunity.]

[ Even though he'd opened the lid, Edward finds himself hesitating, nervous and horrified by the thought of revealing more to the other man. A shudder ripples down his spine — though it has nothing to do with the frigid cold around them. It's so dark out, yet he feels that pressing need to hide, keeps his eyes downcast, as though trying to conceal them from the other's gaze. ]

.....Some time ago... before your arrival to this place, people in the town became.... influenced, by something dark. [ He doesn't know how much Fitzjames might know about the Darkwalker, and in truth still understands so little about it himself; now isn't the time to dive so deeply into exploring that monstrous thing, but rather... what happened as a result of it. ]

It led some to... become aggressive. Hostile. To lash out. [ Edward stares at the snowy ground, eyes hazy as he reflects on it. ] ....Several people were killed during the incident.

[ In his mind, he still sees Kate Marsh on her back and struggling, the larger body pushing her down, Mikel's hands wrapped around her slender throat. ]

One of those victims attacked Miss Marsh. He— I believe he would have killed her. So I— [ And here he looks back up to James, miserable and ashamed, still horrified by the incident. He'd never killed anyone before. ] —I killed him. I shot him, Sir. And he— died, very quickly—

[ Such a close range hit from a shotgun.. it wasn't a clean thing. But fortunately, it was quick. He didn't suffer. ]

But I didn't.... I should have tried something else, I could have struck him, or— or talked him down. I should have done something more.

[Ah. This. He'd had a suspicion this particular incident--which James had been told about in his very first conversation with Kate, and which he'd meant to find a way to discuss with Edward ever since--might be the issue, or at least one of them. It's the simplest one, too, at least as far as James is concerned, and so it comes with some relief both that it's the one brought up and that he finally has a good opportunity to attempt addressing it.

So he's quiet while Edward explains, giving him time for any pauses he needs to work through his thoughts and put things into words, careful to keep both his posture and expression as even and calm as possible so Edward hopefully won't sense any tension and take it as judgement.

The explanation has more detail than James had gotten before--or he thinks it does, anyway; he remembers the conversation mostly well enough, but the vast majority of that first day is very hazy to him--and, most importantly, it's from Edward and with his own experience of the events. His own interpretation, and guilt, and reflection on what could have been done instead.

Looking back and learning from one's mistakes is a good thing. It's a vital thing, if one cares to improve in any aspect, from their job to who they are as a person. But it's also a dangerous one, if the tendency to see what could have been becomes overwhelming. If the guilt hangs too heavy.

James knows that feeling well enough. All of them do, and they likely always will, for however long they remain here in whatever this situation they find themselves in really is. But the last thing any of them need to be carrying anything more, especially when it's so unnecessary.]

Perhaps, ideally, you could have.

[The cold and the darkness make their surroundings feel so still that his voice sounds strange to him, as though it's too loud, even though it isn't.]

But you know well that we're rarely so fortunate as to be presented with ideal options.

[He reaches out again, this time to place a hand on Edward's shoulder, meeting Edward's gaze when given the opportunity and trying to impart upon him the certainty that he feels about what he's saying when he continues.]

That you chose to shoot, and that you wish you could have done otherwise, leaves me no doubt that you did only what was necessary to protect Miss Marsh. Because of your actions, she is still here, and you cannot say that would have been the outcome had you made a different choice.

[ Each person whom he holds dear in his heart is an unbearable ache, each pair of eyes gazing back at him as he voices what he'd done. He hasn't told many, but each one has been a particular horror.

This man is another. This man, someone Little does respect as a superior officer but also as a mark of greatness, of what it is to be a good man. He'll never forget the way Fitzjames remained such a good man, even to the end. Never unkind, never turning his back on the others, thinking of his men (and those who became his men, those from Terror, all of the ones who remained fusing into a singular entity instead of two separate ones. They had two captains, everything was strange and broken but for a time... for a brief time, the remaining men were unified under them both.)

Perhaps there's some part of him that almost feels childlike, and perhaps it is shameful, but he fears seeing disappointment or judgment in the other man's eyes, even while knowing he fully deserves to.

So when he looks up and doesn't see those things — and hears the words that he does — Little's met with a kneejerk sweep of surprised relief, and then shame for feeling such relief when he knows he deserves otherwise. His eyes swell, and the chill makes everything worse, stinging at the corners like tiny needles against his skin. He blinks rapidly, swallows hard. Suddenly— ]

I didn't, before. Once. I didn't— shoot someone. [ He knows that Fitzjames has no way of understanding what he means with such vague words, but how does he explain that encounter with Sergeant Tozer? The weight of what came after, the knowledge that if he had acted then, if he had chosen to shoot... what might have been prevented, after? How many lives might have been spared? Perhaps the mutiny itself might even have been avoided. How does he explain that both sides of this — the decision not to act, the decision to act — that both of them feel so unbearably wrong? That he feels at fault, that he can't escape feeling guilty? That no matter what choice he makes, he is to blame for the suffering of others? The men at the mutineers' hands, the young boy named Mikel bleeding out in the snow, Goodsir and Jopson— ]

If I had done it then, I might have saved— others. So many others. [ His voice is barely a whisper now. What he confesses next is one of his deepest, darkest shames. ] I might have prevented the mutiny itself, sir.

...But I couldn't. I couldn't, then. And— I thought of him when Miss Marsh was being attacked. I thought of the man I wasn't able to shoot. This time, I was. And yet— I cannot accept that what was done was right. I have known both sides, I have been both men — the one who is capable of doing what is necessary and the one who isn't, and I— I loathe them both.

[ He loathes himself. It isn't fair, or polite, or proper to flood someone with such emotions, such thoughts, and later he'll feel shame for that, too. But in the moment, Edward's heart does the speaking for him, bleeding itself to someone he needs to understand. Fitzjames deserves to see him for what he is. He cancels himself out. He's nothing. ]

[At first, James is indeed confused by this new admission, but he understands immediately that the details aren't truly what's important. What's important is the clear emotion in Edward's voice and on his face, that he's speaking of something he's been holding onto for some time, that this horrible guilt has been weighing on him. That he'd made one choice and found himself wishing he'd made the other, and when he'd been faced with a new situation in which he could learn from the past and choose differently, it had still somehow felt wrong.

James realizes, suddenly, that this isn't simply a matter of guilt or regret for the choices themselves; that may be a part of it, but it isn't the true core of it. The core of it is something far deeper, something that can't be soothed with the reassurances about the actions, because it isn't about making mistakes in specific situations and moments, but about feeling incapable of making any correct choice at all. That everything has gone so wrong, so deeply and so many times, that the only explanation is that there's something inherently flawed in Edward himself.

It's rare that James can't find words, but he doesn't have the slightest idea of what to say to fix this. He doesn't think there is anything he can say to fix this, to mend something so deeply broken in how Edward views himself.

But he can understand it. He can respond to Edward's confession with understanding, with a lack of judgement, with a memory of how it feels to put shame and self-hatred into words and have it be met with compassion. He can at least do that much.

James steps forward again, closing the short distance still between them, and with his hand already on Edward's shoulder it's easy enough to simply pull the other man into a hug. It may not be proper, but propriety be damned; what rules even hold for two dead men who have been through such horrors together?

He speaks softly, proximity allowing the gentle tone, just as certain as it had been previously.]

Even if you cannot find it in yourself to trust your character, your nature, I do.

[James can't imagine that saying that Edward shouldn't feel the way he does would help; it'll likely feel like platitudes at best, dismissive and condescending at worst. But he can at least make sure he knows that view of himself--that self-loathing--is his alone. That James trusts in what kind of man Edward is without any doubt or hesitation.]

[ Facing it like this is strange. The awareness of just how far he's fallen — when once, Edward knew exactly who he was. He was once a confident man, once someone very different. He knew what was expected of him, knew what it took to do good, what it was to be a good man.

Now... Now, he can barely remember that person. There are glimpses of him, sometimes. But he never stays for long. He's faded away; Edward thinks he lost him back when they left behind the sick and dying, when they did the thing that his captain once forbade him to do. Or maybe he was already losing him before then, maybe he was fading away, piece by piece.

He tried. Tried to do what was right, tried to make the right decisions, tried, but it wasn't enough. Does any of it matter if it wasn't enough? If he continues to try and continues, again and again, to make decisions that don't feel right?

He doesn't know how the other man might react to all of this, and feels a surge of shame for burdening Fitzjames with such a flood of emotions and confessions now. He's revealed about his beastly form, and now all of this... (And still, most shamefully of all, is the fact that he dreads looking up and seeing disappointment in the other's face.)

What comes instead is... something very different. Before he realises what's happening, Fitzjames is stepping to close that small distance, pulling him inwards towards his body, into an embrace. Edward blinks widely, surprised, but there's nothing in him that's averse to the gesture. No, it feels... welcoming. It's something his body almost subconsciously wants to sink into, to feel closeness, safety, warmth — he remembers when Crozier had embraced him, how easy it was to close his eyes and let himself be held by his former captain.

Before he knows it, his eyes are fluttering closed now, mouth giving a shuddery exhale of pent-up tension. One hand lifts to find purchase against the other man's coat; he holds to him like that, head tipped slightly forwards.

'Even if you cannot find it in yourself to trust your character, your nature, I do.'

Something cracks open, from a space that's already raw within him. His eyes are hot and heavy, his throat is tight, lifting and falling with movement. He can't verbally respond, not just yet, but he nods, fingers tightening against the other's coat. Trust. Fitzjames trusts him even now — it's not forgiveness, not absolution of anything; those things are irrelevant to him now, Edward knows that. But it's— something else, something deeply important and precious, and he can only stand there like that for a long while.

Eventually he's giving a quiet, wet sound, and he pulls back again enough that he isn't clinging onto Fitzjames, that he can lift his head slightly and nod once more, trying to gather himself. There's wet upon his cheeks, but he can't feel too embarrassed by the vulnerability. They've transcended from some things. He's seen this man die, mourned him. He doesn't want to keep him at any distance. ]

Thank you, sir. I am deeply grateful, for you. For your wisdom, and...— and to have you here with me.

[Although James had been relatively certain Edward would be alright with the contact, he'd expected him to perhaps not know how to react, or to be somewhat frozen with indecision. That he isn't, that he reacts by leaning in, holding on James' coat, is a welcome surprise.

He feels the nod, the pressure of Edward gripping his coat more tightly, and James is content to give him as much time as he needs. If nothing else, at least he can do this much.

When Edward finally does pull away it's impossible to miss the tears on his face, but James doesn't make any comment on them. It's a sign of trust that Edward isn't hiding his emotions, and James is not about to make him regret extending it; instead, he manages a small but genuine smile at Edward's words, and gives his shoulder a firm pat.]

I will continue to be, if there is ever anything you need.

[They're in this together, just as they had been before.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You can run for the skyline

[Closed to Edward]

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