Raju opens his mouth, automatically ready with a usual answer—
—and then he pauses, considering. He can say anything, now. He doesn't have to say anything, so he can tell Francis anything at all.
"I, ah..." He looks down, over Francis' chest and his stomach and away, then back up at Francis' face, and he pauses for a second. "Would it... be so strange if I don't know?" Before he's finished asking he's smiling a little at himself, to get ahead of the answer being 'yes'. Not that Francis would think so, of course, but it is, isn't it?
"Eyes, hair, body? The usual thing, I think. There's never been any reason to pick anything out." Then his smile grows, teasing again, as he shifts around happily against Francis' legs. "Not everyone's going to skip the question and go straight to personality like you."
He chuckles under his breath. They’re both being a little vague now with their answers, but Raju’s never allowed himself to admire pretty things. There would have been no time for it when he was an officer - that would have been too frivolous! Or perhaps it has something to do with his fiancé and waiting to remain faithful.
“Some people don’t know what’s beautiful until they see it, mn?” Lord knows that’s been the case for him. He strictly admired blue eyes once upon a time, liked blonde and copper hair until he saw brunette locks carefully arranged into waves and curls. He admired tall, lithe figures, and then curvy ones, and then those with strong physiques - he’s the last person to have a physical type, but he knows what’s beautiful and what’s not.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a romantic, do you?”
"Hmm." The sound is low, pleased and warm. "Certainly not. It's just rare. The real way, the way that you do it. It's... poetry is easy. You only have to read the right things, and remember how to say them later. And compliments are easy. But thinking, say... bravery, that that's what beauty is, and really meaning that — bravery, shared jokes — that's rare. You look at someone you find beautiful and you see them. Not just their shape, or the way they've done themselves up."
He shifts to put the hand on Francis' thigh under his jaw, too, propping his head up, and smiles up at Francis, admires him. "It's... good. I know that. You're a good man. You do know it too, don't you?"
"Mm," he says, an agreeing noise, for all it isn't his own thought. He hasn't really developed his own thought on the matter. There are certainly days it seems the opposite. But without an ounce of tension in any of him, with that need to move so quiet, laying here cared for by a man who's proven time and again that Raju can trust him with anything, he doesn't mind agreeing.
"But what makes a man choose to do that work?" Or, agreeing was his first thought, anyway. It isn't what comes out of his mouth. Maybe pushing is too much of a habit by now. He doesn't sound like he's pushing, at least, his voice relaxed and agreeable even if the words aren't. "Where does that come from? Plenty don't. Most never even wonder if they should."
“Lord, that’s an even more difficult question, Raju. No easy answers today, mn?” He laughs and sits back briefly, looking up at the ceiling.
For him it had been a series of choices. He always thought he was a decent man; certainly before the fated expedition he wasn’t a bad man. But he was a sad man, a pathetic man, and he knew he needed to do better.
“I hurt a friend through my actions; that was my turning point. From that day on I knew I had to do better, but it was difficult and I faltered. I still do. But what it takes for each person, I couldn’t possibly say.”
"Mm. Someone needed you." Raju shifts around again, a little more onto his back. It's a little easier — just a little — to stay still at night, when Francis is so near and trying to sleep, and so needs him to be still. It's strange to be so relaxed while not actually tired, not beyond what's already becoming a normal pull at the back of his mind without any daylight to keep track of the night. He bends a leg, moving it back and forth in the air to try and tell the rest of him that it can keep resting. "I imagine that's at the heart of it; whether that matters more to a man than what he wants. You hurt a friend, and you didn't want to do it again. Plenty of men would have stopped thinking about it there."
It helps that the nature of the injury was traumatic. Hearing Thomas scream through the leather strap between his teeth as his leg was sawed off would have haunted the dreams of a stranger, let alone a dear friend.
He shakes his head. This conversation feels so casual, Raju sprawled out in his lap, the two of them laughing and joking. It feels good, even if the conversation's taken on a more philosophical nature now.
"Plenty of men are pricks," he says with a snort. "I've had my fair share of moments, don't mistake me, but I'd like to think my baser instincts are to be civil, if not kind."
Raju makes another one of those relaxed, wordless noises, thinking and still studying Francis, fascinated. The idea of Francis as he is now taking work to be that way is strange. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it is. "What were you like before? It's hard to imagine you anything but kind, the way you are now."
"Oh, yes?" That also sounds so strange to him, only ever being known as this creature. "All you need to do is have a frank conversation with Little or Irving. Gibson will probably tell you, Jopson if he's pressed."
But before that. Before those months in the ice when he'd gotten too ill to think straight.
"I was envious, and bitter," he admits, just a little more quietly than before. "I saw what others had and I wanted it for myself, and it was humiliating to feel that way. I loathed myself for it."
Crozier shakes his head a little. "And then of course there's the melancholy, quieter in my youth but unchecked after Antarctica. As the years ticked by it made me...difficult to be around. So I imagine. Then when I let the whiskey take full hold over me, I was cruel and jaded, and worst of all, indifferent. I'm certain you would have loathed me."
He's still surprised that Blanky and Jopson had stayed so loyal when he'd been nothing but abusive to them both during the worst of it.
“No,” Raju says, not giving either of them a moment to think about it, in that moment very certain. Maybe he hasn’t thought about it. But Francis has heard the worst of Raju and stayed through all of it; Raju should be able to do the same, if it ever came down to knowing the man Francis used to be, somehow. Besides: “The core of a good, kind man was always there. You wouldn’t have been able to grow into him later if it wasn’t there already. I would have seen that.”
In this Raju is very certain, too. Of course he would have. Maybe things would have been different, but he would have seen the kind of man Francis is underneath the rest, even if it was deep underneath. Raju isn’t blind.
He laughs quietly; Raju is so adamant, how can he not trust him? He admires his judge of character; perhaps if they’d known each other all those years ago he would count Raju among his closest friends, even when he was the worst version of himself.
“If you had known me then you could have knocked some sense into me.”
"I can do that," he grins. "Would it have done you any good? Your pride must have been more fragile then than it is now, I can't imagine you'd have thanked me for it."
“I would have tried to punch you.” His gaze falls back onto his face, his lovely eyes, and he laughs. He’d tried to punch Fitzjames and he’d loved those eyes too.
“But it might have helped. Lord knows I needed a rude awakening.”
"Mm. Sometimes a good brawl does help." He pauses, reconsidering. "Not for us, I suppose. Or maybe just not about this, or with that odd fog in the air."
It's easy to talk about fighting with Francis lightly now, with Francis' hand in his hair and his legs under Raju's hand and head, and the contentment glowing inside him makes it easy to grin as he goes on. "Maybe we can try it next time, see if a punch or two clears things up at all."
"That fight was hardly cathartic," he agrees. That brawl wasn't satisfying in any way; it wasn't as though they needed to get that all off their chests. Thankfully it had seemed to lead to something positive - this moment between them, a casual conversation about important things.
"Next time I start acting like a twat go ahead and knock me on my arse. I give you full permission." He doesn't think he'll need the second punch - he's seen Raju without his shirt, he knows those muscles could fully knock him the hell out if he's allowed to let loose.
"Mm." This time the noise is a displeased one, wrinkles pulling between Raju's brow. He considers it, shifts against Francis' lap, rubs his thumb back and forth over Francis' leg. "Tell me that again when we're arguing. I'm sure I'll like it better then. Don't think I would have this time either, anyway. You were... concerned, that's all. And not yourself, if your theory's right."
He gives Francis' leg a couple fond pats, smiling again. "We'll save it for the right moment. You can let me know."
Crozier wants very much to take the pad of his thumb and smooth those wrinkles away.
"This time surely wouldn't count. It it came to blows it wouldn't have been very sporting." But he's almost certain his theory is correct now, just by the way they'd fallen back into their typical easy exchange. The source of his anger hadn't been Raju - and it hadn't really been anger to begin with, but a slow, lingering feeling that the world was closing in and control was slipping away from him.
"I will, I will." He chuckles again and finally pulls his hand back from Raju's hair. He's done all he could with it; it's washed and dried and fixed up, and Raju looks once more perfectly coifed. He thinks quietly that it's a bit of a shame, that. It's a strange thing to want a friend to be dirty again, but here Francis Crozier is, wishing for more goddamned mud.
Raju heaves a breath, smiling upward. Francis’ hand is gone, which means maybe they’re done; Raju is so full with contentment now, and still lying here with his friend’s strong thighs and bodyheat beneath him besides, that the idea is hard to mind. It’s hard to really mind anything. “Back to it, hm?”
He twists to look toward the table and the goods still waiting to be put away. “Nothing on there that won’t keep, though.”
Minding is different from liking things exactly where you’re at. They could stay here a while more and Raju wouldn’t complain.
“Nothing that won’t keep,” Crozier smiles, happy to not be the only one reluctant to move.
They can get up and around later, the chores will still be there, that awful green fog that lights up the parts of their brains itching for a fight. For now this just seems a better use of their time.
He decides to tell a story about his time with Parry and the sick Netsilik, and how his trekking back and forth across the island with the elderly and children in tow had earned him an Inuit nickname. He hopes for a story in return, real or imagined, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the continued smile on Raju’s face and the lightness behind his eyes.
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—and then he pauses, considering. He can say anything, now. He doesn't have to say anything, so he can tell Francis anything at all.
"I, ah..." He looks down, over Francis' chest and his stomach and away, then back up at Francis' face, and he pauses for a second. "Would it... be so strange if I don't know?" Before he's finished asking he's smiling a little at himself, to get ahead of the answer being 'yes'. Not that Francis would think so, of course, but it is, isn't it?
"Eyes, hair, body? The usual thing, I think. There's never been any reason to pick anything out." Then his smile grows, teasing again, as he shifts around happily against Francis' legs. "Not everyone's going to skip the question and go straight to personality like you."
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He chuckles under his breath. They’re both being a little vague now with their answers, but Raju’s never allowed himself to admire pretty things. There would have been no time for it when he was an officer - that would have been too frivolous! Or perhaps it has something to do with his fiancé and waiting to remain faithful.
“Some people don’t know what’s beautiful until they see it, mn?” Lord knows that’s been the case for him. He strictly admired blue eyes once upon a time, liked blonde and copper hair until he saw brunette locks carefully arranged into waves and curls. He admired tall, lithe figures, and then curvy ones, and then those with strong physiques - he’s the last person to have a physical type, but he knows what’s beautiful and what’s not.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a romantic, do you?”
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He shifts to put the hand on Francis' thigh under his jaw, too, propping his head up, and smiles up at Francis, admires him. "It's... good. I know that. You're a good man. You do know it too, don't you?"
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He smiles warmly, albeit a touch bashfully at being looked at so closely. Truly looked at, seen like he’d seen others, like he’d seen Raju.
“It takes some reminding,” he tells him honestly. “And work. No man is innately good, or wakes knowing they’re good or decent.”
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"But what makes a man choose to do that work?" Or, agreeing was his first thought, anyway. It isn't what comes out of his mouth. Maybe pushing is too much of a habit by now. He doesn't sound like he's pushing, at least, his voice relaxed and agreeable even if the words aren't. "Where does that come from? Plenty don't. Most never even wonder if they should."
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“Lord, that’s an even more difficult question, Raju. No easy answers today, mn?” He laughs and sits back briefly, looking up at the ceiling.
For him it had been a series of choices. He always thought he was a decent man; certainly before the fated expedition he wasn’t a bad man. But he was a sad man, a pathetic man, and he knew he needed to do better.
“I hurt a friend through my actions; that was my turning point. From that day on I knew I had to do better, but it was difficult and I faltered. I still do. But what it takes for each person, I couldn’t possibly say.”
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It helps that the nature of the injury was traumatic. Hearing Thomas scream through the leather strap between his teeth as his leg was sawed off would have haunted the dreams of a stranger, let alone a dear friend.
He shakes his head. This conversation feels so casual, Raju sprawled out in his lap, the two of them laughing and joking. It feels good, even if the conversation's taken on a more philosophical nature now.
"Plenty of men are pricks," he says with a snort. "I've had my fair share of moments, don't mistake me, but I'd like to think my baser instincts are to be civil, if not kind."
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"Oh, yes?" That also sounds so strange to him, only ever being known as this creature. "All you need to do is have a frank conversation with Little or Irving. Gibson will probably tell you, Jopson if he's pressed."
But before that. Before those months in the ice when he'd gotten too ill to think straight.
"I was envious, and bitter," he admits, just a little more quietly than before. "I saw what others had and I wanted it for myself, and it was humiliating to feel that way. I loathed myself for it."
Crozier shakes his head a little. "And then of course there's the melancholy, quieter in my youth but unchecked after Antarctica. As the years ticked by it made me...difficult to be around. So I imagine. Then when I let the whiskey take full hold over me, I was cruel and jaded, and worst of all, indifferent. I'm certain you would have loathed me."
He's still surprised that Blanky and Jopson had stayed so loyal when he'd been nothing but abusive to them both during the worst of it.
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In this Raju is very certain, too. Of course he would have. Maybe things would have been different, but he would have seen the kind of man Francis is underneath the rest, even if it was deep underneath. Raju isn’t blind.
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He laughs quietly; Raju is so adamant, how can he not trust him? He admires his judge of character; perhaps if they’d known each other all those years ago he would count Raju among his closest friends, even when he was the worst version of himself.
“If you had known me then you could have knocked some sense into me.”
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“I would have tried to punch you.” His gaze falls back onto his face, his lovely eyes, and he laughs. He’d tried to punch Fitzjames and he’d loved those eyes too.
“But it might have helped. Lord knows I needed a rude awakening.”
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It's easy to talk about fighting with Francis lightly now, with Francis' hand in his hair and his legs under Raju's hand and head, and the contentment glowing inside him makes it easy to grin as he goes on. "Maybe we can try it next time, see if a punch or two clears things up at all."
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"That fight was hardly cathartic," he agrees. That brawl wasn't satisfying in any way; it wasn't as though they needed to get that all off their chests. Thankfully it had seemed to lead to something positive - this moment between them, a casual conversation about important things.
"Next time I start acting like a twat go ahead and knock me on my arse. I give you full permission." He doesn't think he'll need the second punch - he's seen Raju without his shirt, he knows those muscles could fully knock him the hell out if he's allowed to let loose.
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He gives Francis' leg a couple fond pats, smiling again. "We'll save it for the right moment. You can let me know."
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Crozier wants very much to take the pad of his thumb and smooth those wrinkles away.
"This time surely wouldn't count. It it came to blows it wouldn't have been very sporting." But he's almost certain his theory is correct now, just by the way they'd fallen back into their typical easy exchange. The source of his anger hadn't been Raju - and it hadn't really been anger to begin with, but a slow, lingering feeling that the world was closing in and control was slipping away from him.
"I will, I will." He chuckles again and finally pulls his hand back from Raju's hair. He's done all he could with it; it's washed and dried and fixed up, and Raju looks once more perfectly coifed. He thinks quietly that it's a bit of a shame, that. It's a strange thing to want a friend to be dirty again, but here Francis Crozier is, wishing for more goddamned mud.
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He twists to look toward the table and the goods still waiting to be put away. “Nothing on there that won’t keep, though.”
Minding is different from liking things exactly where you’re at. They could stay here a while more and Raju wouldn’t complain.
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“Nothing that won’t keep,” Crozier smiles, happy to not be the only one reluctant to move.
They can get up and around later, the chores will still be there, that awful green fog that lights up the parts of their brains itching for a fight. For now this just seems a better use of their time.
He decides to tell a story about his time with Parry and the sick Netsilik, and how his trekking back and forth across the island with the elderly and children in tow had earned him an Inuit nickname. He hopes for a story in return, real or imagined, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the continued smile on Raju’s face and the lightness behind his eyes.