What the hell are you talking about? Francis says and Raju can feel himself frown. He hasn’t thought this through well enough. He’s gotten some of it wrong. It is hard to think this way, isn’t it?
Francis goes on after that, and the more he does the more obvious it becomes to Raju: this is important. It’s important that Francis is feeling whatever it is that he’s feeling now and it’s important that Raju should feel it with him, should feel how important hearing this is instead of only distantly knowing it. Convenient this might be, this separation and distance that makes it possible to voice unthinkable thoughts and its close cousin that he’d felt so often at home makes it possible to do unthinkable things but when Raju wants to have this moment for himself, to push through the fog and smoke between his thoughts and the rest of him to feel the impact of Francis’ confession and to care, he can’t find the way out.
He does feel something, a hint of it. Frustration, or maybe disgust again. Anger is easier. Anger isn’t the thing Francis needs now.
He breathes hard as he tries to push through it and gets a bout of coughing for his trouble. Please don’t go and You’ve made life worth living should mean something, and the blank thing holding himself apart from the rest of him is stealing it.
That odd, out of place tension in his limbs is there still. At home he would use it on a sandbag or weights, to feel something against his hands and in his muscles, to push and push against something until he felt almost right again. There’s none of that here.
The hand sprinkling snow over the flames, that had been Francis’ hand. The hint of a body nearby is enough to remind Raju that Francis’ body is there too, not only his voice, and Raju turns to meet it. Moving is easier than it feels like it should be. But the distant, unreal world doesn’t fall away, and Francis is there.
Frowning, he studies Francis’ face through the smoke, the way his friend is looking at the ground instead of looking up in the way most people would plead. He reaches out to rub the collar of Francis’ shirt between his fingers while he talks, hoping feeling it there will help. His other hand clenches its fingers into the muddy slush next to him, then relaxes so it can dig its fingers into the ground again. It should be cold, and he knows that it is. Feel something.
“I didn’t want to go.” It’s a fact. Facts are what he has. “I thought you would want me to. There are people who agree with you about whoever it is in that forest, about their children. Any of them should be grateful to live with you instead of me.”
He isn’t arguing for or against it. He says it in a voice that’s not arguing, or asking for anything at all. A voice that isn’t doing what it should, to say words that aren’t the words it should. Francis needs something now, and he needs Raju to feel so Raju can figure that something out.
“But I didn’t want to,” he tries again, in lieu of that. His gaze is fixed, now, on his fingers moving back and forth on Francis’ collar. His brows are pulling together in a faint frown, trying to focus hard. Maybe that small feeling in the tips of his fingers there, the bigger one around his other hand, will be enough to start with and bring him back to something else.
It's simple enough, isn't it? If he doesn't want to go, then he shouldn't go. He's certainly not asking him to leave him.
"Don't go. I'm not asking that of you," he says softly, shifting a little closer. "I don't think you're any less of a good man now than I did this morning." That's what he's trying to say in all of this. None of this changes anything, except how Raju feels about himself. It's out in the open now, that display of self-loathing and fears of inadequacy.
And morality. That question of morality, that Crozier should live with people who agree with him. What he needs is the opposite of that, someone to challenge him. That's how Ross had been, how Fitzjames had been, Sophia. He doesn't need someone like himself, what good would that do him? And he's already established how little that morality actually means when confronted with a difficult choice.
Things he will or won't do - he's held onto these things for years in the vague hopes that he'll somehow make it up to the people he's failed. He's terrified of a repeat occurrence, that's all this is, he's afraid. Having some kind of hard line makes him less afraid, makes him feel more in control. Of course he isn't, none of them are, but it's a coping mechanism as well as anything else is.
"I apologize for not seeing things through your eyes, Raju," he adds, looking up at him now. "I couldn't understand. I...don't think I'll ever fully understand just how much you've had to do to keep your promise. But please see my sincerity when I say this, you are a good man who has been dealt a very difficult hand. Most would crumble under the pressures you've been under."
Francis is looking up at him so Raju looks up too, his frown carrying a hint of irritation now. “What on Earth are you apologizing for?”
But Francis was being kind. If Raju was… himself, he wouldn’t be irritated that Francis was being kind. Irritation hasn’t ever been the wrong thing before. To superior officers it could be turned into impatience to act, which is forgivable, and the inferior officers had always deserved it.
Raju squeezes his eyes closed, raising the heel of his hand— not that hand, that hand is dirty now, he’ll have to let go of Francis instead. There. —to rub it hard over his brow, as if that will clear anything up at all. But he doesn’t have to act as an officer should, or as a husband should, or anything else with Francis, does he? He doesn’t have to find a way to make it happen, he can just say it, and Francis will help.
“We can talk later. I can talk to you later. I can’t, I can’t, ah… I feel…” But there isn’t a way to explain it, is there?
“I feel strange,” he says, voice very quiet, a little defeated. He only realises it when he reaches for them, he doesn’t have the words. The hand that’d been digging into the mud clenches, the nails pressing into his palm not quite as good as the cold had been over his fingers, then relaxes his fist so he can clench it again. “I can’t talk to you like this. I want to do it right. You deserve more than this, but I can’t… I can’t think yet.”
He’s still combative, he can see it in his muscles. He’s still feeling like Crozier had earlier, like he wanted to flip the goddamned table, he’d been so frustrated. He didn’t feel like himself until he saw Raju burst into flames and stalk out, and even then it’d been a slow come down of sorts.
…but of course. Of course it could have something to do with the consistent, almost never ending fog in the air. The Darkwalker’s breath lingering in the air, seemingly having no other presence than to blot out the light, would actually be responsible for everyone’s short tempers.
Crozier sighs and hauls himself up to his feet. “I’ve said what I needed to say. I’m going inside,” he tells him. He holds his hand out, considering placing it onto his shoulder in some meager attempt to comfort him, but aborts the gesture at the last second.
“Until later, mn?”
Raju just needs time, and Crozier…well, he probably needs a little time to process too. Get his head back on straight. He considers him once more, kneeling there in the snow in anguish, and reluctantly turns away from him and walks back inside to sit by himself at the table.
He didn’t do it right. He still didn’t do it right. Raju presses the heels of both hands into his eyes, remembers about the mud too late and doesn’t care, lets out a frustrated noise with his breath. Francis is gone now and Raju got it wrong, but he’s never been any good at giving up anyway. He stands up in one sudden movement, takes long, quick strides to the door, but then pauses there, looking back.
He won’t bring the smoke in with him, will he? It doesn’t feel like it’s attached to him now, any of it. So maybe it will stay there.
He closes the door behind himself, watching Francis. He walks halfway to the table and stops. He doesn’t know what expression is on his face. Probably nothing, feeling strange like this. But strange in a more familiar way; everything in front of him is distant, but not so distant as it was. It all feels a little unreal, but not like a film isn’t real. Only separate from him. He thinks the irritation might have helped. Or maybe being close to Francis had helped. One of those is going to help Francis, at least, more than the other, so he knows what route he’ll be going with.
“The last time I felt…” He isn’t sure what word to use. He wants to be closer to Francis, so he walks the rest of the distance there. Francis’ hand is just there, so Raju wraps his own around it. “…off, like this. Almost like this. You washed my hair. I think that would help this time, too. I want to tell you… everything I should have, a moment ago, but I want to do it right. At home I’d train for a while, that helps, but when you—“
He stops, frowning at his hand. When he pulls it away from Francis’ it leaves mud behind. “The wrong hand…” he mutters to himself. His hand darts toward his trousers and stops, the instinct not to dirty them for something like this strong even when he’s been kneeling in the dirt already. His hand moves toward the blanket wrapped around him, but the same thing stops him. His hand hovers uncertainly in the air. There’s mud on his knees and on his face, and on his hand still, and on Francis’ hand now, damn it.
“I’m sorry, I’m still not… thinking, I should have…”
He frowns softly as he Raju trails behind him. That wasn't nearly long enough to gather himself, and it's proven when Raju starts trying to speak. He's all over the place, trailing off and getting mud on his face and then on Crozier's hand.
All he'd meant to do was give him space. If that's not what he wants, then fine. He can do that too, even if he muddles his thoughts.
Without a word he rises. There's no trace of that earlier anger on his face or in his movements, just a quiet little look of empathy and patience as he reaches for the blanket wrapped around him like a large comforter. He undoes the makeshift coat and unwraps it from Raju's shoulders, hanging it over one of the benches and then circling around him to fetch the meltwater by the fireplace.
He gestures for him to sit as he sets up the makeshift vanity, a clean cloth, a hairbrush, some soap fetched from their lavatory to do the job properly.
Crozier washes his hand, then holds it out to take up Raju's muddied fingers in his, sitting down across from him to scrub gently at his fingernails and over the back of his knuckles. He's almost afraid to break the peace, worried that he'll further agitate him if he tries to speak. Hopefully Raju will settle for his quiet nod, and understand that he's waiting for him to talk first again.
As Francis unwraps the blanket from him, sets up the things he needs all at hand and organised, rubs a cloth over his fingers, his fingernails, his knuckles, the ramrod line of Raju's back and shoulders starts, minutely, to curve. His attention on Francis' hand moving over his is very close, intent on the sight and the feeling there as if it's the centre of the world. After a few minutes, when Francis isn't working on one particular finger or another Raju wiggles it, hoping if he draws more attention in himself to the way that the cold hurts, it will start to matter more.
Francis is here, and cleaning off his hand. Things are better than they were. Maybe Raju won't get it wrong this time.
"You said... most would crumble under the, ah... the pressures. But I— when it's... hard. I..." Raju's eyebrows pull closer together. There's still mud under his nails. Francis needs to know, where no one else ever has. Uncle's guessed some of this, he thinks. But he's never asked. It hurts Uncle to watch it, Raju thinks, when he allows himself to. What Uncle sees of it hurts him, and he doesn't want to know the rest. It won't hurt Francis, not in the same way. Not away from everything the way they are. There must be a way to say it somewhere. "...Maybe I do. I've never thought about it. I'm not myself. Maybe it really is humanity I'm losing when I... become whatever I am, when I feel that way. Maybe that's what it is. But I don't feel like the man you know. It's easier to follow orders that way, and to... talk about things. Like my father."
His father, and other things. If he's going to say any of those other things before he's thinking clearly enough to hurt with it, now would be the time. The next few sentences almost trip over each other coming out, and then he settles into explaining again. "I had a mother. And a brother. A little brother, before. That wasn't— that was the soldiers. I want you to know everything, but I don't think about it. So if I tell you I have to stop thinking, and stop feeling. But then you said those... those beautiful things..."
Raju pauses, frowning again, wondering over the word. It feels like the right word, now, and so it'll have to do.
"I want... I want to feel. For that. For you. That's what I meant. But you must have thought I wanted you to leave."
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."
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Francis goes on after that, and the more he does the more obvious it becomes to Raju: this is important. It’s important that Francis is feeling whatever it is that he’s feeling now and it’s important that Raju should feel it with him, should feel how important hearing this is instead of only distantly knowing it. Convenient this might be, this separation and distance that makes it possible to voice unthinkable thoughts and its close cousin that he’d felt so often at home makes it possible to do unthinkable things but when Raju wants to have this moment for himself, to push through the fog and smoke between his thoughts and the rest of him to feel the impact of Francis’ confession and to care, he can’t find the way out.
He does feel something, a hint of it. Frustration, or maybe disgust again. Anger is easier. Anger isn’t the thing Francis needs now.
He breathes hard as he tries to push through it and gets a bout of coughing for his trouble. Please don’t go and You’ve made life worth living should mean something, and the blank thing holding himself apart from the rest of him is stealing it.
That odd, out of place tension in his limbs is there still. At home he would use it on a sandbag or weights, to feel something against his hands and in his muscles, to push and push against something until he felt almost right again. There’s none of that here.
The hand sprinkling snow over the flames, that had been Francis’ hand. The hint of a body nearby is enough to remind Raju that Francis’ body is there too, not only his voice, and Raju turns to meet it. Moving is easier than it feels like it should be. But the distant, unreal world doesn’t fall away, and Francis is there.
Frowning, he studies Francis’ face through the smoke, the way his friend is looking at the ground instead of looking up in the way most people would plead. He reaches out to rub the collar of Francis’ shirt between his fingers while he talks, hoping feeling it there will help. His other hand clenches its fingers into the muddy slush next to him, then relaxes so it can dig its fingers into the ground again. It should be cold, and he knows that it is. Feel something.
“I didn’t want to go.” It’s a fact. Facts are what he has. “I thought you would want me to. There are people who agree with you about whoever it is in that forest, about their children. Any of them should be grateful to live with you instead of me.”
He isn’t arguing for or against it. He says it in a voice that’s not arguing, or asking for anything at all. A voice that isn’t doing what it should, to say words that aren’t the words it should. Francis needs something now, and he needs Raju to feel so Raju can figure that something out.
“But I didn’t want to,” he tries again, in lieu of that. His gaze is fixed, now, on his fingers moving back and forth on Francis’ collar. His brows are pulling together in a faint frown, trying to focus hard. Maybe that small feeling in the tips of his fingers there, the bigger one around his other hand, will be enough to start with and bring him back to something else.
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"Then don't."
It's simple enough, isn't it? If he doesn't want to go, then he shouldn't go. He's certainly not asking him to leave him.
"Don't go. I'm not asking that of you," he says softly, shifting a little closer. "I don't think you're any less of a good man now than I did this morning." That's what he's trying to say in all of this. None of this changes anything, except how Raju feels about himself. It's out in the open now, that display of self-loathing and fears of inadequacy.
And morality. That question of morality, that Crozier should live with people who agree with him. What he needs is the opposite of that, someone to challenge him. That's how Ross had been, how Fitzjames had been, Sophia. He doesn't need someone like himself, what good would that do him? And he's already established how little that morality actually means when confronted with a difficult choice.
Things he will or won't do - he's held onto these things for years in the vague hopes that he'll somehow make it up to the people he's failed. He's terrified of a repeat occurrence, that's all this is, he's afraid. Having some kind of hard line makes him less afraid, makes him feel more in control. Of course he isn't, none of them are, but it's a coping mechanism as well as anything else is.
"I apologize for not seeing things through your eyes, Raju," he adds, looking up at him now. "I couldn't understand. I...don't think I'll ever fully understand just how much you've had to do to keep your promise. But please see my sincerity when I say this, you are a good man who has been dealt a very difficult hand. Most would crumble under the pressures you've been under."
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But Francis was being kind. If Raju was… himself, he wouldn’t be irritated that Francis was being kind. Irritation hasn’t ever been the wrong thing before. To superior officers it could be turned into impatience to act, which is forgivable, and the inferior officers had always deserved it.
Raju squeezes his eyes closed, raising the heel of his hand— not that hand, that hand is dirty now, he’ll have to let go of Francis instead. There. —to rub it hard over his brow, as if that will clear anything up at all. But he doesn’t have to act as an officer should, or as a husband should, or anything else with Francis, does he? He doesn’t have to find a way to make it happen, he can just say it, and Francis will help.
“We can talk later. I can talk to you later. I can’t, I can’t, ah… I feel…” But there isn’t a way to explain it, is there?
“I feel strange,” he says, voice very quiet, a little defeated. He only realises it when he reaches for them, he doesn’t have the words. The hand that’d been digging into the mud clenches, the nails pressing into his palm not quite as good as the cold had been over his fingers, then relaxes his fist so he can clench it again. “I can’t talk to you like this. I want to do it right. You deserve more than this, but I can’t… I can’t think yet.”
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He’s still combative, he can see it in his muscles. He’s still feeling like Crozier had earlier, like he wanted to flip the goddamned table, he’d been so frustrated. He didn’t feel like himself until he saw Raju burst into flames and stalk out, and even then it’d been a slow come down of sorts.
…but of course. Of course it could have something to do with the consistent, almost never ending fog in the air. The Darkwalker’s breath lingering in the air, seemingly having no other presence than to blot out the light, would actually be responsible for everyone’s short tempers.
Crozier sighs and hauls himself up to his feet. “I’ve said what I needed to say. I’m going inside,” he tells him. He holds his hand out, considering placing it onto his shoulder in some meager attempt to comfort him, but aborts the gesture at the last second.
“Until later, mn?”
Raju just needs time, and Crozier…well, he probably needs a little time to process too. Get his head back on straight. He considers him once more, kneeling there in the snow in anguish, and reluctantly turns away from him and walks back inside to sit by himself at the table.
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He won’t bring the smoke in with him, will he? It doesn’t feel like it’s attached to him now, any of it. So maybe it will stay there.
He closes the door behind himself, watching Francis. He walks halfway to the table and stops. He doesn’t know what expression is on his face. Probably nothing, feeling strange like this. But strange in a more familiar way; everything in front of him is distant, but not so distant as it was. It all feels a little unreal, but not like a film isn’t real. Only separate from him. He thinks the irritation might have helped. Or maybe being close to Francis had helped. One of those is going to help Francis, at least, more than the other, so he knows what route he’ll be going with.
“The last time I felt…” He isn’t sure what word to use. He wants to be closer to Francis, so he walks the rest of the distance there. Francis’ hand is just there, so Raju wraps his own around it. “…off, like this. Almost like this. You washed my hair. I think that would help this time, too. I want to tell you… everything I should have, a moment ago, but I want to do it right. At home I’d train for a while, that helps, but when you—“
He stops, frowning at his hand. When he pulls it away from Francis’ it leaves mud behind. “The wrong hand…” he mutters to himself. His hand darts toward his trousers and stops, the instinct not to dirty them for something like this strong even when he’s been kneeling in the dirt already. His hand moves toward the blanket wrapped around him, but the same thing stops him. His hand hovers uncertainly in the air. There’s mud on his knees and on his face, and on his hand still, and on Francis’ hand now, damn it.
“I’m sorry, I’m still not… thinking, I should have…”
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He frowns softly as he Raju trails behind him. That wasn't nearly long enough to gather himself, and it's proven when Raju starts trying to speak. He's all over the place, trailing off and getting mud on his face and then on Crozier's hand.
All he'd meant to do was give him space. If that's not what he wants, then fine. He can do that too, even if he muddles his thoughts.
Without a word he rises. There's no trace of that earlier anger on his face or in his movements, just a quiet little look of empathy and patience as he reaches for the blanket wrapped around him like a large comforter. He undoes the makeshift coat and unwraps it from Raju's shoulders, hanging it over one of the benches and then circling around him to fetch the meltwater by the fireplace.
He gestures for him to sit as he sets up the makeshift vanity, a clean cloth, a hairbrush, some soap fetched from their lavatory to do the job properly.
Crozier washes his hand, then holds it out to take up Raju's muddied fingers in his, sitting down across from him to scrub gently at his fingernails and over the back of his knuckles. He's almost afraid to break the peace, worried that he'll further agitate him if he tries to speak. Hopefully Raju will settle for his quiet nod, and understand that he's waiting for him to talk first again.
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Francis is here, and cleaning off his hand. Things are better than they were. Maybe Raju won't get it wrong this time.
"You said... most would crumble under the, ah... the pressures. But I— when it's... hard. I..." Raju's eyebrows pull closer together. There's still mud under his nails. Francis needs to know, where no one else ever has. Uncle's guessed some of this, he thinks. But he's never asked. It hurts Uncle to watch it, Raju thinks, when he allows himself to. What Uncle sees of it hurts him, and he doesn't want to know the rest. It won't hurt Francis, not in the same way. Not away from everything the way they are. There must be a way to say it somewhere. "...Maybe I do. I've never thought about it. I'm not myself. Maybe it really is humanity I'm losing when I... become whatever I am, when I feel that way. Maybe that's what it is. But I don't feel like the man you know. It's easier to follow orders that way, and to... talk about things. Like my father."
His father, and other things. If he's going to say any of those other things before he's thinking clearly enough to hurt with it, now would be the time. The next few sentences almost trip over each other coming out, and then he settles into explaining again. "I had a mother. And a brother. A little brother, before. That wasn't— that was the soldiers. I want you to know everything, but I don't think about it. So if I tell you I have to stop thinking, and stop feeling. But then you said those... those beautiful things..."
Raju pauses, frowning again, wondering over the word. It feels like the right word, now, and so it'll have to do.
"I want... I want to feel. For that. For you. That's what I meant. But you must have thought I wanted you to leave."
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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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