Crozier moves on to the mud marring Raju's handsome face, tucking his thumb and forefinger under his chin and tilting his gaze up towards his own. He studies him.
Beautiful things.
"I thought I'd overwhelmed you," he says quietly. He leaves him just like that, cleaning the flannel in the warm water before he even considers touching it to his face. "I maybe said too much, or didn't sound sincere."
And the last thing he'd wanted was to sound insincere. It was never his intent to placate or dismiss, or try and smooth over difficult feelings when Raju had every right in the world to feel them. He'd just needed to say something - anything, and god, it'd been so difficult to find the words. Raju's past is unthinkable, which makes him all the more remarkable.
"Or perhaps you needed time to consider everything."
Crozier drags the flannel underneath Raju's eye, careful with the delicate skin there, and down over the elegant line of his nose. He inhales softly. "God. I never knew, Raju. I feel like a fool. I'm not sure...were I in your shoes, I wouldn't know how to keep going. I don't mean to sound flippant - I just wouldn't..."
He trails off, frowning softly to himself as he flicks a droplet of water off his cheek. "It's all of you, Raju. It's all the pieces of yourself trying to reconcile a terrible burden and a tremendous loss. It's all you, and you've never had your humanity taken from you."
It's Francis' fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. He can feel them there. He holds his chin up that way, the way Francis wants it, and breathes out very slowly, and as Raju watches the flannel dipping into the water the line of his shoulders and the tension in the rest of him drains out a little more. The flannel moves under Raju's eye and seems very close to him, close in a way the careful cleaning of his hand couldn't quite be, and his alert expression begins to relax in another slow breath out of him and half-lidded eyes. His fingers start to curl over his legs. But then—
It's all of you. It's all you. Him. Raju's eyes are still relaxed but his eyebrows pull in toward each other, frown faint but troubled. Only him, who did those terrible things. Not only his body but his mind, his self, who's capable of all of that. Those safer, better parts of him the monster, too. His chest moves fast with his breath for one breath, two, his heart beating faster, and his eyes slide off of Francis' face. He lets his heart beat too fast, lets his breaths come a little fast, while he stops thinking about the cause of it, his mind sliding onto safer paths and trying to leave that one behind. Francis had said other things too, things Raju had wanted to answer properly. His hands are frozen on his legs, half-curled. He makes his fingers stretch flat again. He feels his trousers against the skin of his palms, tries to track where Francis' hand is now. He breathes slowly in, and out again. He thinks back over the other things Francis had to say, his beautiful things. Things that had mattered, that Raju had wanted to feel. He can feel, can't he, now.
"You were sincere. I never thought you weren't." He realises he's looking up at the ceiling somewhere behind Francis, and moves his gaze back to the blue of his friend's eyes. He can't think why he'd want to look anywhere else. "You're a good man too, you know. Your morals, your decency, your kindness. Remember when you made those mittens for me? I didn't tell you how much it hurt, the cold. It was still new, then. I couldn't stand it, having to lose my mind on my own inside or go out into the damn cold so long that it hurt, and it always hurt. But you sewed them, for a man you barely even knew. With one hand. I almost wept right there when you gave them to me, you must have noticed. And you're always that way. Your morals, your decency. I've always admired it, even when we were... arguing. That's why I was, I was..."
He tries to figure out what he'd been, what he'd been thinking during that strange interval between coming home and going back out of it again, and snorts softly, giving up on figuring it out. "...so angry. The way you were talking about the children and the people who didn't agree with you were so different."
He had to learn how to be decent. It’s not something he wants to bring up now - Raju would take it the wrong way, assume that he needs to be taught how to be decent, when that wouldn’t be his point at all. The point would be - it’s not innate for him. It was work. Something he had to figure out, and he failed, time and time again.
Raju’s met him at a very strange time in his life, when all of that pride and envy had been sapped out of him entirely. What would he have thought if he’d met him when he was younger? How would it have been only a few years ago?
He frowns a little. He couldn’t remember his tone, but he doesn’t doubt he’d sounded harsh. It had riled him unlike anything else thus far, which is…strange. Very strange.
“I understand now,” he says quietly. “You held that act of kindness in such high regard, my decency. And considering me that decent soul, to hear me openly berate…you, without knowing, it must have felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.”
He exhales softly, a little huff of annoyance at himself for being so blind to it. He gives Raju’s cheek one more gentle swipe with the cloth and sits back. He holds out his palm in a somewhat frustrated shrug.
“That isn’t…my views on the subject aren’t so typically black and white. And I dug in my heels, even when I saw you were distressed. We’ve disagreed before, haven’t we? It’s never gotten this bad.”
Raju's gaze moves to the flannel as Francis. He lets out a slow breath, noticing himself relaxing, missing the hand against his face already. His thumbs move against his fingers and the material of the trousers under his hands, some feeling to focus on now that his face is clean and the gentle care against it is done. But Francis' words make it into Raju's mind a moment later and he moves his gaze back to look at him, frowning as he tries to think. It's possible to do that now, even if he feels oddly balanced somewhere inside him, and slow.
"You just cared, I thought." He's feeling out the words as he says them, trying to make his way through it to wherever Francis is going. "About peace. You're a peaceful man. But... Maybe we haven't. Not like that. And it's come up plenty of times before. When we noticed them in Lakeside, everyone was arguing about what to do then, and your position was... the same, mostly. I never minded it before."
He frowns, going on in the tone of someone who's remembering something surprising. "It seemed like you knew the right way to handle it better than I did." He pulls at his fingers in the habitual gesture to warm them up, trying to use the gesture to focus, and noticing only once he does it that his fingers aren't cold anymore. "It must be all this dark. I've been trying to sleep at the... the 'night', when I should, but it's hard. Maybe it's getting to me more than I thought."
Typically he is a man that cares about peace, but more importantly, he believes in second chances. That's why he'd been so quick to bite back at Raju; it almost seemed like a silly little dream, giving people an opportunity to do better, that he was living in some fantasy world instead of a practical one. He used to be that man, the stubbornly practical, but it hurts him now to think of all the damage he did by being inflexible.
He thinks about that earlier anger, and how it had only subsided once he saw his friend literally on fire. The shock had been enough to shake him free from that hold the argument seemed to have on him. It's not a great sign, if someone has to endanger themselves in order to prevent further escalation.
"In our trips into town...have you noticed other people have been quick to snap at each other? Everyone's in a terrible mood. I thought it was the lack of sunlight as well, the scarcity of game perhaps, lingering illnesses, but that fog's stayed. That green haze."
The Darkwalker's breath, as he likes to think of it. The thought had occurred to him before, but it makes all the more sense to him now.
He looks out through the curtained window and licks his lips in thought. It hasn't been the same since the Darkwalker took Hilbert. That fog's never left them like it usually does. It's as though the Darkwalker's still hovering over them. "It's getting to all of us," he decides. Not just him, not just Raju, all of them.
Raju sighs. Francis is watching the window, and Raju is watching Francis. He doesn’t quite trust his own mind yet, and he isn’t comfortable enough with the impossibilities of this place to make many assumptions about it and be sure. But he trusts Francis’ judgement, and it does make sense.
“It wouldn’t be the first time odd fog was a sign of something terrible.”
There’s nothing he can do about the fog, or his own mind. But he can start a fire in the fireplace and warm up, now that he’s starting to care about the cold again. He stands with another sigh, quieter, and walking around Francis to get to where he’d put Raju’s blanket gives him the excuse to trail his hand over Francis’ shoulders as he passes behind. It won’t be enough when he’s feeling like this, but it’s something.
“But those other times only lasted so long,” he points out, digging in the pocket where he keeps stone and steel and tinder and pulling it out. “How long did they, would you say? And how long has it been? It’s hard to keep track of the time like this.”
He pulls his gaze away from the window at the touch, silently willing Raju to step back and brush his hand along his shoulders again. He fixes his face before Raju’s able to see the blatant look of longing there, focusing on the question at hand.
“Weeks, some,” he says, running his fingers through his beard as he mulls. “The fog that burned lingered for weeks, then the plague from the miasma, now this. I’d say another week or so until it dissipates or is replaced by something else, but Christ knows.”
He just wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a correlation at this point; this place doesn’t seem big on coincidences. But the intensity of things has been increasing, getting worse and worse. Who can say for certain when the green fog will lift?
Raju’s busy keeping busy with the fire, but Crozier’s not quite ready to be done caring for him. He frowns softly. “I thought you needed your hair washed.”
Raju looks up from the tinder and the fireplace, looking surprised. “I… thought you were done,” he says and smiles, making a sheepish, amused noise at himself, looking relieved. Francis had seen Raju was doing well enough now to get by without it, and so he would get by without it until enough time passed that he felt well again, and that was that, he’d thought. And he doesn’t need it now, exactly. He wants it, it would feel better, would help, but want isn’t need and it’d been easy to assume Francis had been thinking the same way.
“I feel… alright,” he tries to explain, focusing on striking a spark again. He’s very good at it by now. It won’t take long. “So I thought you didn’t…”
The spark catches then, conveniently, and he leans down to blow into it for a moment before straightening again and looking at what Francis still has set up to do it, and then at Francis. His relieved, pleased smile spreads a little more widely than he’d meant it to. “Well. It would be a shame to waste any of that though, wouldn’t it? You’ll have to put it away afterward either way.”
He hadn't been done, and he doesn't think he'd ever be done fussing over him, being able to touch him without provoking uncomfortable questions. He mirrors Raju's smile and shakes his head, holding his hand back out to the empty space in front of him
"Stop trying to justify it," he laughs, "just sit. There's nothing wrong with being pampered now and again."
And frankly, even if Raju was beginning to feel better, he still isn't completely himself. This method is tried and true - distract him with a little self-care, until whatever's plaguing him has been left behind completely.
"And I want to." It's important to include that. He's doing this for him because he wants to. It's an apology for his boorish behavior earlier, for making Raju feel as though he's less than, a monster beyond saving. His actual opinion of Raju couldn't be more different from what came out of that fight.
Raju huffs out a breath and ducks his head, caught out, over his sheepish smile. Justifying it. But the urge to argue with Francis about that isn't too strong, not now; Francis has seen parts of him now that no one else has, anyway. So maybe it was more than a joke, maybe he was trying to find a way to justify it.
But Francis wants to, anyway, he thinks, watching the fire. It's growing on its own now, and it'll continue to even if Raju stops tending it. It'll start the long process of warming the place up soon. But Francis wants to, so it's alright. Raju wonders at himself, just asking for his hair washed like he had, but since he did it's already on offer. So Raju stands and moves to settle himself in front of Francis, glancing up at him once and then back down at the floor, still smiling faintly. He crosses his legs, forearms resting over his knees. "You want me to, ah, lean back?"
"Mhm, just like this." Crozier lays a towel over his legs and eases Raju's head back into his lap. It's not just an excuse to cradle his face or gaze at him adoringly, but he certainly doesn't mind the added benefits of proximity.
The water's still warm as Crozier wets his hand and pushes it through Raju's thick head of hair. It'll take more time this way, but there’s less of a risk of freezing him out entirely. He doesn't mind taking his time with the process, and he doesn't think Raju'll complain either way.
"All right?" His fingers find their way down of his scalp and move in gentle, little circles. Even if his words didn’t quite accomplish what he’d intended, he hopes Raju will see the sincerity in him and his actions. Raju bared himself entirely, and he accepts - more than accepts, but loves as any lifelong friend might.
Francis eases his head back and for a moment his hands are on Raju's head, his legs are behind Raju's shoulders. All around him. Raju's eyes are wider. He hadn't realised...
He takes a hard, slow breath in through his nose, the sensations sinking into him like rain into dry, cracked ground. He would have been able to do without but now that he feels it, feels the need, the difference that it makes—
Francis' fingers move through Raju's hair. He can feel them on his scalp. Any other thoughts dissolve away. His lips part and a breath makes its unsteady way out through them, only to be sucked shakily back in again when Francis' fingers start moving in circles. Raju would be embarrassed, he knows it dimly, at not keeping his reactions to himself, if he hadn't felt so off in the first place. Francis has asked a question, and Raju opens his mouth a little wider to answer it. He draws in a sharp breath instead, trying to find his way around the enormity of the sensation to answer it. He focuses on what he sees, moves his gaze over to Francis' face, and it helps. His fingers curl against the floor.
"...All right," he murmurs on his next breath, then clears his throat, blinking quickly as his eyes move away from Francis again. "Sorry, I ah..."
Raju’s pupils are wide, his breathing a little shaky and intense. Crozier pauses almost imperceptibly as he appraises his expression, looking for discomfort or any sign that he should stop and finding none. The exact opposite, in fact, every little twitch of his lips, flair of his nostrils, and quick exhale tells him to keep going.
He smiles softly, left wrist coming to rest in the nape of his neck. He’d hold him just there if he could. “All right,” he repeats again, a little disappointed that he’s turned away. He likes looking into his eyes, those pretty honey-brown eyes, the way they lift and crinkle when he’s smiling and how they glitter when he’s cooking up some plan.
He could wax poetic for hours, but should probably do so while he’s actually washing his hair. His hand pulls away just long enough to pick up the soap and lather up his hair, pushing his fingers back into his hair to massage it through. He works methodically, humming an Irish drinking song to himself while he gets every inch of his hair - and pauses to wipe some of the suds away from his forehead.
Any shadow of embarrassment drains away as Francis’ fingers keep moving and, as he forgets why he was avoiding Francis’ eyes, Raju’s gaze moves back toward them, drawn back and held there, fascinated, moving his head to get a better view. The feeling of Francis’ wrist against his neck shifts a little as his neck moves and it’s a particular feeling, the skin at the end of the stump resting against him there. It occurs to him that no one else could touch him quite this way. It occurs to him that this is Francis’ way of holding him there, the way his arm is under Raju’s neck instead of just against it, and something unfurls, soft and very warm inside his chest.
“You always sing while you do this,” he says, his words a little slower than usual, barely saving themselves from mumbling. He can feel his heart beating and his breaths are openmouthed and deep, a little louder and sharper whenever Francis moves his hand more quickly. One of Raju’s hands wanders up to brush its fingers down the arm Francis has under his neck, and then settles to rest lightly just below the elbow there. “Or hum. But it’s something different this time.”
Different? It probably is a lot different than the last time he’d sat Raju down and washed his hair. The purpose is the same, he wants to help his friend forget his burdens for a while, but the process feels a lot more intimate this time.
Because it is. This is intimate. Crozier is holding and caressing this man lying in his lap, looking into eyes and idly appreciating the curve of his lips, and he’s humming because he’s giddy like some boy with a schoolyard crush -
Ah. He wishes Raju hadn’t noticed.
He laughs gently, playing it off as he tips Raju’s head forward to rinse the soap from his hair. “It’s been a strange day,” he says simply. “And…oh, I don’t know. I somehow feel lighter in spite of it all.”
Raju’s whole face creases up in a smile. “Me too,” he says. He might not have enough tension in his whole body right now to really tighten his grip on Francis arm but he grips it anyway, happily. It’s impossible to think back before this moment, or ahead after it. He knows that he felt… worse, not long ago at all. But Francis is here, helping, gentle and looking down at him. There’s light spreading someplace inside Raju from the pads of Francis’ fingers downward. Or there might as well be.
“I can feel now,” he notes, tilting his head against Francis’ hand just to feel it move over his scalp again. “And I can feel you. I feel better.”
He lets out a slow, relieved breath. After a moment, he focuses on Francis again, free hand moving slowly, idly against the floor, feeling the texture of it beneath him. Sensation. Most of it’s coming from Francis now, but all of it helps. “What were you humming? I don’t know it.”
“I’m not surprised you don’t. Upstanding English patriots wouldn’t be caught dead singing an Irish drinking song. Barbaric.” He’s only somewhat facetious; it honestly wouldn’t surprise him if his fellow officers didn’t know any Irish songs, or if they did they saved them for more of their bawdy rounds of drinking.
“Wild Rover. That’s the name of the song. I don’t know why I’m humming it - I haven’t thought about it in years.”
His father would sing it after too much gin, and some of the lads when he was still a Midshipman would sneak a little too much rum and sing it loudly in the Orlop.
He shakes his head a little and inspects Raju’s hair for remaining soap. He combs his fingers through his hair, glancing back down into his face briefly and smiling once again. He’ll be sorry when he’s through here.
Raju smiles back at him, and the smile stays. He isn't thinking of the fact that soon Francis will be done; he's thinking of the fingers through his hair, the soft solidity of the legs under his shoulders, the wet feeling of the water on his skin, wet and clean on skin that's humming with the touch of a strong, kind man who cares for him. He feels better. More than that, he feels good. Cleaning his hand and cleaning his face and then this, there's something very... Relaxing isn't the word. Reassuring isn't either, but it's closer. There's something about it. Something happened earlier and it'd been terrible, but Francis is here, he hadn't left, and Raju hadn't had to leave. All those things Francis had said about Raju being a good man — he can believe, in this moment, that Francis believes it, even knowing the things that he does. Raju doesn't understand that, but with Francis making his regard so obvious and inescapable, maybe it's alright if Raju doesn't understand just now.
"Sing it for me," he smiles, still watching Francis' blue eyes. His other hand wants to be touching, too, so he moves it to curl around to Francis' leg, grip loose and fond. "I want to hear how it goes."
“Oh, you don’t want that,” he laughs, ruffling Raju’s wet hair a little. It sticks out of place for a second, making him think of when Raju first wakes in the morning, woke up this very morning that way in fact, in his arms tucked in close to him-
A song actually seems very appropriate right now. “When you’re covering your ears and asking for mercy remember that you wanted this.”
He doesn’t have the worst singing voice, but it certainly didn’t get him invited to sing in any choirs. It’s passable. Humming is far a more appropriate musical venture. “I’ve been a wild rover for many's the year and I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer…”
The chorus, of course, is always the most diverting part of any song, especially a drinking song meant to be sung at the top of one’s lungs in a pub. “And it’s no, nay, never - no nay never no more will I play the wild rover, no nay never no more!”
He pauses the tune briefly to chuckle under his breath. “You need to sign that part with me next time, Raju.”
He takes a breath and continues. It’s difficult not to feel a certain amount of homesickness for a place that was never his own when singing one of its songs. “I went to an alehouse I used to frequent
I told the landlady my money was spent. I ask her for credit, she answered me nay, such a custom as yours I can have any day…” And then pauses to nod at him. “And it’s no nay never…”
There'd been a time in Raju's life when he'd had to actively discourage people from ruffling up his hair like that. Stronger pomade had helped. When had he forgotten that it felt good?
The thought is brief, and not nearly as important as the way Francis looks while he does it, when he laughs, and the way that he sounds when he sings. It's a simple tune — a drinking song, he'd said, so that makes sense — and the simplicity suits Francis' voice well. Raju stares up at him, fascinated, smile openmouthed but faint like he's forgotten about it and then spreading wide and delighted when Francis invites him to join in.
"No nay never, no more," he starts, quiet and flattening out the notes a little to make sure he doesn't sound too terrible over the unfamiliar tune. His voice hasn't ever seemed too bad, steady and clear enough, but he hasn't done much singing at all, and isn't sure how he might sound. At the same time, though, it's impossible to worry about it at all; Francis is singing, the first time Raju's really heard his voice this way, and looking down at him, and he thinks he could do anything wrong right now and Francis wouldn't mind it at all. When he goes onto the rest his voice is just a little less cautious, a little bit louder.
"Will I play the wild rover, no nay never no more," he finishes, smiling, The hand on Francis' leg rubs at it appreciatively, excited to sing together with Francis for a moment, and his hand on Francis' other arm squeezes.
He can’t remember the last time he’s sung with somebody else. Christmas with the Rosses before the trip to Antarctica? He always hated parlor games, so he can’t imagine he indulged that way.
He used to listen to the men singing in their bunks at the end of the day, or whilst on deck or hanging in the rigging. They’d sing with the officers during Sunday services, Sir John leading with a big, booming baritone. He’d listen, but never join. He’d never wanted to before now. Before this very moment he didn’t, couldn’t understand what could possibly be so diverting about singing with somebody else.
He smiles again and smooths Raju’s hair back into the neat swoop that he typically prefers. He wants to focus on just how much he liked singing with him, not on the fact that Raju’s staring at him like he’s some kind of marvel. He’d never - he isn’t, but Raju thinks… His attention meanders to his lips and he wonders briefly what they’d feel like on his, if they’d be soft and pliant or chapped and a little rough -
And then jump quickly back to his hair innocently, as though he hadn’t just tempted himself like that. God. If Raju knew.
“You’re a natural,” he says, quiet huff of a laugh through his nose. “Irish in your heart.”
Raju lets out a pleased little huff, looking flattered. Irish in your heart wouldn't have meant too much to him before meeting Francis, but something about hearing him say it is a thrill now.
"You weren't honest with me though, Francis," he grins. "You told me I was going to hear you singing and beg for mercy, but I didn't want to beg you even once. You have a fine voice for singing. In fact I wouldn't mind hearing it more often. Not what I was promised at all."
“I guess I’m not a man of my word anymore,” he sighs, very clearly (and playfully) exasperated.
He folds the towel around Raju’s head and starts drying out the strands with little squeezes to his hair. The rest he’ll let Raju handle, though he’ll be sad to part from him.
“There. Now you can slick it with that pomade or perfume or whatever the hell it was.”
This part feels wonderful, too, so Raju doesn't mind too much when his hand has to slide off Francis' arm so he can start moving the towel around. "I'm saving the pomade," Raju says, not much caring about it or about making his hair look like anything at this particular moment, happy only to still be here in this house, to feel Francis' legs under him and the heat of his body just there, to be talking to him about anything. Once Francis finishes it isn't going to occur to him to sit up, handling the rest or not; there's no tension in his body at all, only relief and that glowing, humming feeling, and he's happy here. "I just have to shape my hair before it dries. It could look worse, I suppose. But I'd have run out of the product by now if I used it every day."
He hasn’t moved away. He hopes Raju doesn’t; it’s so nice to just have him there, to be able to look down at him as he teases him and keep touching his head.
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Crozier moves on to the mud marring Raju's handsome face, tucking his thumb and forefinger under his chin and tilting his gaze up towards his own. He studies him.
Beautiful things.
"I thought I'd overwhelmed you," he says quietly. He leaves him just like that, cleaning the flannel in the warm water before he even considers touching it to his face. "I maybe said too much, or didn't sound sincere."
And the last thing he'd wanted was to sound insincere. It was never his intent to placate or dismiss, or try and smooth over difficult feelings when Raju had every right in the world to feel them. He'd just needed to say something - anything, and god, it'd been so difficult to find the words. Raju's past is unthinkable, which makes him all the more remarkable.
"Or perhaps you needed time to consider everything."
Crozier drags the flannel underneath Raju's eye, careful with the delicate skin there, and down over the elegant line of his nose. He inhales softly. "God. I never knew, Raju. I feel like a fool. I'm not sure...were I in your shoes, I wouldn't know how to keep going. I don't mean to sound flippant - I just wouldn't..."
He trails off, frowning softly to himself as he flicks a droplet of water off his cheek. "It's all of you, Raju. It's all the pieces of yourself trying to reconcile a terrible burden and a tremendous loss. It's all you, and you've never had your humanity taken from you."
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It's all of you. It's all you. Him. Raju's eyes are still relaxed but his eyebrows pull in toward each other, frown faint but troubled. Only him, who did those terrible things. Not only his body but his mind, his self, who's capable of all of that. Those safer, better parts of him the monster, too. His chest moves fast with his breath for one breath, two, his heart beating faster, and his eyes slide off of Francis' face. He lets his heart beat too fast, lets his breaths come a little fast, while he stops thinking about the cause of it, his mind sliding onto safer paths and trying to leave that one behind. Francis had said other things too, things Raju had wanted to answer properly. His hands are frozen on his legs, half-curled. He makes his fingers stretch flat again. He feels his trousers against the skin of his palms, tries to track where Francis' hand is now. He breathes slowly in, and out again. He thinks back over the other things Francis had to say, his beautiful things. Things that had mattered, that Raju had wanted to feel. He can feel, can't he, now.
"You were sincere. I never thought you weren't." He realises he's looking up at the ceiling somewhere behind Francis, and moves his gaze back to the blue of his friend's eyes. He can't think why he'd want to look anywhere else. "You're a good man too, you know. Your morals, your decency, your kindness. Remember when you made those mittens for me? I didn't tell you how much it hurt, the cold. It was still new, then. I couldn't stand it, having to lose my mind on my own inside or go out into the damn cold so long that it hurt, and it always hurt. But you sewed them, for a man you barely even knew. With one hand. I almost wept right there when you gave them to me, you must have noticed. And you're always that way. Your morals, your decency. I've always admired it, even when we were... arguing. That's why I was, I was..."
He tries to figure out what he'd been, what he'd been thinking during that strange interval between coming home and going back out of it again, and snorts softly, giving up on figuring it out. "...so angry. The way you were talking about the children and the people who didn't agree with you were so different."
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He had to learn how to be decent. It’s not something he wants to bring up now - Raju would take it the wrong way, assume that he needs to be taught how to be decent, when that wouldn’t be his point at all. The point would be - it’s not innate for him. It was work. Something he had to figure out, and he failed, time and time again.
Raju’s met him at a very strange time in his life, when all of that pride and envy had been sapped out of him entirely. What would he have thought if he’d met him when he was younger? How would it have been only a few years ago?
He frowns a little. He couldn’t remember his tone, but he doesn’t doubt he’d sounded harsh. It had riled him unlike anything else thus far, which is…strange. Very strange.
“I understand now,” he says quietly. “You held that act of kindness in such high regard, my decency. And considering me that decent soul, to hear me openly berate…you, without knowing, it must have felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.”
He exhales softly, a little huff of annoyance at himself for being so blind to it. He gives Raju’s cheek one more gentle swipe with the cloth and sits back. He holds out his palm in a somewhat frustrated shrug.
“That isn’t…my views on the subject aren’t so typically black and white. And I dug in my heels, even when I saw you were distressed. We’ve disagreed before, haven’t we? It’s never gotten this bad.”
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"You just cared, I thought." He's feeling out the words as he says them, trying to make his way through it to wherever Francis is going. "About peace. You're a peaceful man. But... Maybe we haven't. Not like that. And it's come up plenty of times before. When we noticed them in Lakeside, everyone was arguing about what to do then, and your position was... the same, mostly. I never minded it before."
He frowns, going on in the tone of someone who's remembering something surprising. "It seemed like you knew the right way to handle it better than I did." He pulls at his fingers in the habitual gesture to warm them up, trying to use the gesture to focus, and noticing only once he does it that his fingers aren't cold anymore. "It must be all this dark. I've been trying to sleep at the... the 'night', when I should, but it's hard. Maybe it's getting to me more than I thought."
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Typically he is a man that cares about peace, but more importantly, he believes in second chances. That's why he'd been so quick to bite back at Raju; it almost seemed like a silly little dream, giving people an opportunity to do better, that he was living in some fantasy world instead of a practical one. He used to be that man, the stubbornly practical, but it hurts him now to think of all the damage he did by being inflexible.
He thinks about that earlier anger, and how it had only subsided once he saw his friend literally on fire. The shock had been enough to shake him free from that hold the argument seemed to have on him. It's not a great sign, if someone has to endanger themselves in order to prevent further escalation.
"In our trips into town...have you noticed other people have been quick to snap at each other? Everyone's in a terrible mood. I thought it was the lack of sunlight as well, the scarcity of game perhaps, lingering illnesses, but that fog's stayed. That green haze."
The Darkwalker's breath, as he likes to think of it. The thought had occurred to him before, but it makes all the more sense to him now.
He looks out through the curtained window and licks his lips in thought. It hasn't been the same since the Darkwalker took Hilbert. That fog's never left them like it usually does. It's as though the Darkwalker's still hovering over them. "It's getting to all of us," he decides. Not just him, not just Raju, all of them.
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“It wouldn’t be the first time odd fog was a sign of something terrible.”
There’s nothing he can do about the fog, or his own mind. But he can start a fire in the fireplace and warm up, now that he’s starting to care about the cold again. He stands with another sigh, quieter, and walking around Francis to get to where he’d put Raju’s blanket gives him the excuse to trail his hand over Francis’ shoulders as he passes behind. It won’t be enough when he’s feeling like this, but it’s something.
“But those other times only lasted so long,” he points out, digging in the pocket where he keeps stone and steel and tinder and pulling it out. “How long did they, would you say? And how long has it been? It’s hard to keep track of the time like this.”
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He pulls his gaze away from the window at the touch, silently willing Raju to step back and brush his hand along his shoulders again. He fixes his face before Raju’s able to see the blatant look of longing there, focusing on the question at hand.
“Weeks, some,” he says, running his fingers through his beard as he mulls. “The fog that burned lingered for weeks, then the plague from the miasma, now this. I’d say another week or so until it dissipates or is replaced by something else, but Christ knows.”
He just wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a correlation at this point; this place doesn’t seem big on coincidences. But the intensity of things has been increasing, getting worse and worse. Who can say for certain when the green fog will lift?
Raju’s busy keeping busy with the fire, but Crozier’s not quite ready to be done caring for him. He frowns softly. “I thought you needed your hair washed.”
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“I feel… alright,” he tries to explain, focusing on striking a spark again. He’s very good at it by now. It won’t take long. “So I thought you didn’t…”
The spark catches then, conveniently, and he leans down to blow into it for a moment before straightening again and looking at what Francis still has set up to do it, and then at Francis. His relieved, pleased smile spreads a little more widely than he’d meant it to. “Well. It would be a shame to waste any of that though, wouldn’t it? You’ll have to put it away afterward either way.”
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He hadn't been done, and he doesn't think he'd ever be done fussing over him, being able to touch him without provoking uncomfortable questions. He mirrors Raju's smile and shakes his head, holding his hand back out to the empty space in front of him
"Stop trying to justify it," he laughs, "just sit. There's nothing wrong with being pampered now and again."
And frankly, even if Raju was beginning to feel better, he still isn't completely himself. This method is tried and true - distract him with a little self-care, until whatever's plaguing him has been left behind completely.
"And I want to." It's important to include that. He's doing this for him because he wants to. It's an apology for his boorish behavior earlier, for making Raju feel as though he's less than, a monster beyond saving. His actual opinion of Raju couldn't be more different from what came out of that fight.
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But Francis wants to, anyway, he thinks, watching the fire. It's growing on its own now, and it'll continue to even if Raju stops tending it. It'll start the long process of warming the place up soon. But Francis wants to, so it's alright. Raju wonders at himself, just asking for his hair washed like he had, but since he did it's already on offer. So Raju stands and moves to settle himself in front of Francis, glancing up at him once and then back down at the floor, still smiling faintly. He crosses his legs, forearms resting over his knees. "You want me to, ah, lean back?"
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"Mhm, just like this." Crozier lays a towel over his legs and eases Raju's head back into his lap. It's not just an excuse to cradle his face or gaze at him adoringly, but he certainly doesn't mind the added benefits of proximity.
The water's still warm as Crozier wets his hand and pushes it through Raju's thick head of hair. It'll take more time this way, but there’s less of a risk of freezing him out entirely. He doesn't mind taking his time with the process, and he doesn't think Raju'll complain either way.
"All right?" His fingers find their way down of his scalp and move in gentle, little circles. Even if his words didn’t quite accomplish what he’d intended, he hopes Raju will see the sincerity in him and his actions. Raju bared himself entirely, and he accepts - more than accepts, but loves as any lifelong friend might.
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He takes a hard, slow breath in through his nose, the sensations sinking into him like rain into dry, cracked ground. He would have been able to do without but now that he feels it, feels the need, the difference that it makes—
Francis' fingers move through Raju's hair. He can feel them on his scalp. Any other thoughts dissolve away. His lips part and a breath makes its unsteady way out through them, only to be sucked shakily back in again when Francis' fingers start moving in circles. Raju would be embarrassed, he knows it dimly, at not keeping his reactions to himself, if he hadn't felt so off in the first place. Francis has asked a question, and Raju opens his mouth a little wider to answer it. He draws in a sharp breath instead, trying to find his way around the enormity of the sensation to answer it. He focuses on what he sees, moves his gaze over to Francis' face, and it helps. His fingers curl against the floor.
"...All right," he murmurs on his next breath, then clears his throat, blinking quickly as his eyes move away from Francis again. "Sorry, I ah..."
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Raju’s pupils are wide, his breathing a little shaky and intense. Crozier pauses almost imperceptibly as he appraises his expression, looking for discomfort or any sign that he should stop and finding none. The exact opposite, in fact, every little twitch of his lips, flair of his nostrils, and quick exhale tells him to keep going.
He smiles softly, left wrist coming to rest in the nape of his neck. He’d hold him just there if he could. “All right,” he repeats again, a little disappointed that he’s turned away. He likes looking into his eyes, those pretty honey-brown eyes, the way they lift and crinkle when he’s smiling and how they glitter when he’s cooking up some plan.
He could wax poetic for hours, but should probably do so while he’s actually washing his hair. His hand pulls away just long enough to pick up the soap and lather up his hair, pushing his fingers back into his hair to massage it through. He works methodically, humming an Irish drinking song to himself while he gets every inch of his hair - and pauses to wipe some of the suds away from his forehead.
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“You always sing while you do this,” he says, his words a little slower than usual, barely saving themselves from mumbling. He can feel his heart beating and his breaths are openmouthed and deep, a little louder and sharper whenever Francis moves his hand more quickly. One of Raju’s hands wanders up to brush its fingers down the arm Francis has under his neck, and then settles to rest lightly just below the elbow there. “Or hum. But it’s something different this time.”
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Different? It probably is a lot different than the last time he’d sat Raju down and washed his hair. The purpose is the same, he wants to help his friend forget his burdens for a while, but the process feels a lot more intimate this time.
Because it is. This is intimate. Crozier is holding and caressing this man lying in his lap, looking into eyes and idly appreciating the curve of his lips, and he’s humming because he’s giddy like some boy with a schoolyard crush -
Ah. He wishes Raju hadn’t noticed.
He laughs gently, playing it off as he tips Raju’s head forward to rinse the soap from his hair. “It’s been a strange day,” he says simply. “And…oh, I don’t know. I somehow feel lighter in spite of it all.”
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“I can feel now,” he notes, tilting his head against Francis’ hand just to feel it move over his scalp again. “And I can feel you. I feel better.”
He lets out a slow, relieved breath. After a moment, he focuses on Francis again, free hand moving slowly, idly against the floor, feeling the texture of it beneath him. Sensation. Most of it’s coming from Francis now, but all of it helps. “What were you humming? I don’t know it.”
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“I’m not surprised you don’t. Upstanding English patriots wouldn’t be caught dead singing an Irish drinking song. Barbaric.” He’s only somewhat facetious; it honestly wouldn’t surprise him if his fellow officers didn’t know any Irish songs, or if they did they saved them for more of their bawdy rounds of drinking.
“Wild Rover. That’s the name of the song. I don’t know why I’m humming it - I haven’t thought about it in years.”
His father would sing it after too much gin, and some of the lads when he was still a Midshipman would sneak a little too much rum and sing it loudly in the Orlop.
He shakes his head a little and inspects Raju’s hair for remaining soap. He combs his fingers through his hair, glancing back down into his face briefly and smiling once again. He’ll be sorry when he’s through here.
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"Sing it for me," he smiles, still watching Francis' blue eyes. His other hand wants to be touching, too, so he moves it to curl around to Francis' leg, grip loose and fond. "I want to hear how it goes."
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“Oh, you don’t want that,” he laughs, ruffling Raju’s wet hair a little. It sticks out of place for a second, making him think of when Raju first wakes in the morning, woke up this very morning that way in fact, in his arms tucked in close to him-
A song actually seems very appropriate right now. “When you’re covering your ears and asking for mercy remember that you wanted this.”
He doesn’t have the worst singing voice, but it certainly didn’t get him invited to sing in any choirs. It’s passable. Humming is far a more appropriate musical venture. “I’ve been a wild rover for many's the year and I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer…”
The chorus, of course, is always the most diverting part of any song, especially a drinking song meant to be sung at the top of one’s lungs in a pub. “And it’s no, nay, never - no nay never no more will I play the wild rover, no nay never no more!”
He pauses the tune briefly to chuckle under his breath. “You need to sign that part with me next time, Raju.”
He takes a breath and continues. It’s difficult not to feel a certain amount of homesickness for a place that was never his own when singing one of its songs. “I went to an alehouse I used to frequent I told the landlady my money was spent. I ask her for credit, she answered me nay, such a custom as yours I can have any day…” And then pauses to nod at him. “And it’s no nay never…”
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The thought is brief, and not nearly as important as the way Francis looks while he does it, when he laughs, and the way that he sounds when he sings. It's a simple tune — a drinking song, he'd said, so that makes sense — and the simplicity suits Francis' voice well. Raju stares up at him, fascinated, smile openmouthed but faint like he's forgotten about it and then spreading wide and delighted when Francis invites him to join in.
"No nay never, no more," he starts, quiet and flattening out the notes a little to make sure he doesn't sound too terrible over the unfamiliar tune. His voice hasn't ever seemed too bad, steady and clear enough, but he hasn't done much singing at all, and isn't sure how he might sound. At the same time, though, it's impossible to worry about it at all; Francis is singing, the first time Raju's really heard his voice this way, and looking down at him, and he thinks he could do anything wrong right now and Francis wouldn't mind it at all. When he goes onto the rest his voice is just a little less cautious, a little bit louder.
"Will I play the wild rover, no nay never no more," he finishes, smiling, The hand on Francis' leg rubs at it appreciatively, excited to sing together with Francis for a moment, and his hand on Francis' other arm squeezes.
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He can’t remember the last time he’s sung with somebody else. Christmas with the Rosses before the trip to Antarctica? He always hated parlor games, so he can’t imagine he indulged that way.
He used to listen to the men singing in their bunks at the end of the day, or whilst on deck or hanging in the rigging. They’d sing with the officers during Sunday services, Sir John leading with a big, booming baritone. He’d listen, but never join. He’d never wanted to before now. Before this very moment he didn’t, couldn’t understand what could possibly be so diverting about singing with somebody else.
He smiles again and smooths Raju’s hair back into the neat swoop that he typically prefers. He wants to focus on just how much he liked singing with him, not on the fact that Raju’s staring at him like he’s some kind of marvel. He’d never - he isn’t, but Raju thinks… His attention meanders to his lips and he wonders briefly what they’d feel like on his, if they’d be soft and pliant or chapped and a little rough -
And then jump quickly back to his hair innocently, as though he hadn’t just tempted himself like that. God. If Raju knew.
“You’re a natural,” he says, quiet huff of a laugh through his nose. “Irish in your heart.”
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"You weren't honest with me though, Francis," he grins. "You told me I was going to hear you singing and beg for mercy, but I didn't want to beg you even once. You have a fine voice for singing. In fact I wouldn't mind hearing it more often. Not what I was promised at all."
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“I guess I’m not a man of my word anymore,” he sighs, very clearly (and playfully) exasperated.
He folds the towel around Raju’s head and starts drying out the strands with little squeezes to his hair. The rest he’ll let Raju handle, though he’ll be sad to part from him.
“There. Now you can slick it with that pomade or perfume or whatever the hell it was.”
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“Saving the pomade for special occasions?”
He hasn’t moved away. He hopes Raju doesn’t; it’s so nice to just have him there, to be able to look down at him as he teases him and keep touching his head.
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