Crozier absently reaches for the bandage before Raju has a chance to ask. He grimaces - grimace on top of a grimace thanks to his blackened eye - his heart sinking to hear what he’d already felt out loud.
Abandoned.
His men, the ones who see sense, they were counting on him to prevent more of the same. He recalls the argument he had with Little during the darker days of the month, accusations that he’s given up. He hadn’t then. He feels a little like he should now.
“Most of the children spoke while the adults stayed silent,” he says quietly, not wanting to inadvertently goad Raju into another firefight. “I don’t understand it, Raju. Were no trial or tribunal, just people speaking. So many took objection to just talking.”
Raju nods, free hand moving to the rag again to tie it up in concert with Francis' movements. There's something soothing about it, moving together in even that one small way, anticipating where Francis is going to wrap the thing around or pull it tight, and what he needs Raju to do in return. It's the best of what's inside him right now, the part of him that can move and think that way, and he tries to focus more on it than anything else. "They only want it to be talking. If none of them did anything wrong no one needs defending, and nothing has to change. It's more comfortable. I should have known things were going to be that way."
Scowling, he pulls his end of the rag tight a little too quickly, catching Francis' fingertip in the loop. He tugs the loop loose and holds his hand apologetically over the back of Francis' for a moment, sighing. Of course things were going to be that way. They always were. Why would any of them stand up for someone when they didn't have to? But he'd never even considered it might happen that way. He never thought he was that much of an optimist. He hasn't ever expected that kind of support before.
It feels better, touching the back of Francis' hand. But it'd be strange to keep holding onto it. He makes his hand drift away, taking up his end of the rag again.
He’s to blame, of course, for Raju’s disappointment. He was so sure of himself, wasn’t he? He was positive that he could address the community he’s helped support and that they would find him credible and see the threat in front of them. His belief in this was firm, so firm that he would have insisted on walking to Milton had Raju not found that bloody wheelbarrow.
He looks down at his now uncovered hand and silently wishes Raju would return.
“The Darkwalker isn’t going to be the threat to these people, it’s using the beast as a scapegoat that’ll be their undoing,” he muses out loud, taking up his half of the cloth once more and trying to pull it tightly. “Hold still, Raju.”
Raju huffs a soft breath, some echo of amusement carried with the sound; it isn’t the first time someone trying to help has told him to keep still like that, and it certainly won’t be the last. The amusement, such as it is, fades quickly; he holds his hands still long enough for the two of them to finish tying the one hand, and then presents the other.
Raju isn’t looking at his hand, though; Raju is looking up at him. His expression is solemn, and curious. As little as he wants to dig up memories in Francis that are going to hurt, he himself might need to know, to learn what he can, if it will help.
“That sounds like a lesson you’ve learned already,” he murmurs, as close to gentle as he can afford to be. “Is that what happened to your men? Before?”
They barely feel like memories anymore, just the same story being reread. He lifts his gaze to meet Raju’s eyes; it’s impossible to keep the pain out of his own. He can only mask so well.
“It didn’t help. The creature was vindictive in its nature. It hunted us, tore us to shreds, robbed us of our souls.” And not in a metaphorical sense. “But we were always the biggest danger to each other.”
Their hubris, the need to fulfill Barrow’s grand promise to England, those ships, their supplies, the men - all of it stacked up against them.
This time when he takes Francis' hand it's no apology for moving too quickly, it's to comfort, and so when his hand grips Francis' Raju keeps it there. For a moment he studies Francis' face. He wants Francis to name them anyway, and Francis didn't.
Raju thinks on it while he looks at him, and then Raju doesn't ask. If any of those painful lessons are things that Raju needs to know, then Francis will tell him. And if any of the failures of that time are useful in this one, Francis is the one who's going to know it. Raju needs to know everything so he can make a plan, needs to make a plan so he can keep them safe, needs to keep them safe because he's the only one who can — but Francis is a thoughtful man, and intelligent, and kind, and wise enough to temper all of that with practicality. Raju can trust his judgement, even if it feels strange to do it.
"You still care about them, don't you? Everyone back there, even now. About making sure they can make it out of this too."
He does. God help him, he does still care for them all. He doesn’t want anyone else to die.
“You think me a fool,” he says quietly, glad at least that Raju’s hand is back on his again. He holds it as tightly as he can, weak as he feels. “I cared for them too, even the mutineers. Good people are capable of terrible things in times of desperation.”
But they’re nowhere near desperate. No one believed him about that either.
“Further north nothing grows, not even moss. Game was scarce. The ice was so thick we couldn’t fish. There was nothing, Raju, and here there’s still so much plenty…”
Raju looks surprised, and then troubled; he grips Francis' hand tighter. "I don't," he insists, hating the quiet way that Francis said it, resigned to believing Raju could ever think of him that way. "I..."
He finds himself looking away, down at his hands. It's harder, he realises, to meet Francis' eyes. "It's what this place needs, even if they don't deserve it. A man who can be kind, like you. But I... don't think I can be that way. Not now. You don't feel..."
He shakes his head, searching for the word, then looks up again to frown into Francis' eyes. There's that pull to looking at them, even like this. The bruised, swollen one only makes him want to cover Francis up somehow, put himself between this man and the rest of the world. But that isn't all he wants, right now. He names it. "...angry? I'd be too angry, where you are. Or... disgusted. I don't know."
"I'm livid," he tells him, trying to turn his hand to squeeze Raju's palm against his own. "I just can't light fires over it."
His delivery may be dry, but the warmth there isn't. He ducks to try to Raju from turning away from him again. "I'm in too much pain for anything more than this right now. Maybe it's resignation as well. I hope not, but..."
Crozier frowns quietly. His head is still tilted up, but his gaze is unfocused now. He's considering how much he wants to say, whether Raju should know about these expectations. Well. Of course he should. Raju should know it all. They're in this together now, aren't they?
"Little and Irving look to me to lead," he starts, slow and with very careful pauses for his breath. "Jopson and Goodsir are more reasonable, in the end they were far more practical...but none of them can shake the 'sirs' or 'Captain', and every time I do nothing I feel as though...." He grimaces softly, putting his hand up to his chest a moment. It feels tight. "I'm killing them a second time."
Raju's eyebrows draw together, concern deepening the lines of his frown. He goes to his knees so he can lean further forward, moving one hand to the back of Francis' head, the back of his neck. "What more could you have done?" It's less a question and more of a statement, a demand. "You gave everything you could to keep anyone more from getting hurt, you nearly died for it. Look at you, even bringing yourself there and back took a toll. If anyone's killing here, it wasn't your hand that gave the weapon over. You did everything you could."
“I could have argued it differently. I could have…” Could he have kept arguing? He wants to blame himself for his failure, but he’d been too tired to keep going after he said his piece.
It’s so hard to meet Raju’s gaze now, but he can’t look anywhere else. He’s so intense, as though he can see right through him.
“I can’t do anything. I’m helpless here, helpless to stop even Hickey, of all people. Hickey, who is so obviously guilty!”
"They knew he was guilty." Raju's voice is still intent but his expression is almost confused; even as he needs Francis not to blame himself, he's thinking it through. "We thought that would matter, that surely anyone would want to stop him from doing it again— but we won't make that mistake twice. They knew everyone was guilty, they didn't care. Little was practically asking to be punished, for rules and consequence, and no one cared. There's something else they wanted more. We have to think about it differently."
His grip over Francis tightens, hopefully reassuring, and he doesn't look away from Francis' eyes. "We aren't helpless until it's done. We keep trying." Raju pauses, sighs. Smiles a little, wryly. It's odd to be in this position, the one who isn't pushing forward, who would step back and stop if someone else gave him the word to. He isn't really used to it. But these aren't his people, and anyone who might have been has made it very clear where they stand on protecting the vulnerable, forming a real community, doing what's difficult to keep everyone safe. Everyone who's his is very far from him, except the one in front of him now. "If you're sure that's what you want? To keep everyone safe here, whether they want to be or not?"
No. No, he isn’t sure. He can name a handful of people he doesn’t want to see harmed, a handful of his surviving men that he’d give his life for, and then - there’s the person who is with him here now. But that certainly doesn’t mean all.
“I’m not sure I can answer that yet,” he tells him honestly. His head slowly leans against Raju’s arm, his gaze lowering to his lips just a little absently. “Perhaps it will look different in the morning. Right now…right now I feel like wouldn’t have minded if you burnt it all down.”
Francis leans his head against Raju's arm and Raju leans a little further forward, one hand braced on the seat and the other secure where it is and ready to stay there, for as long as his friend leans that way against it. "I want to go back and do it, when I think about... all of it. The complacency. The moralising. The accusations. They knew damned well what everyone there did and spoke very well of themselves for being so generous and merciful about it. Convenient for them that doing nothing is so much easier. I suppose anyone who can't defend themselves in the next attack are worth the loss, while the rest sit around admiring one another for how clean their hands are."
He pushes a hard breath out through his nose, jaw clenched. "I should have spoken up more. Especially when that boy spoke to you that way. I thought the adults could decide their own minds regardless, but— but I should have known better. Just because this isn't home doesn't mean the people are any different. It's only colder."
He heaves a sigh, frowning, and the hand on the seat sets itself against Francis' leg, fingers curling over his calf. "I'm sorry, Francis. You did everything you could, but I could have done more. Tried harder."
Some of it may have been the Darkwalker’s influence. Hell, he knows a lot of it was. But Hickey’s methodical carving up and hiding of a body decidedly wasn’t. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t believed.
“And faced the same ridicule? Nonsense,” he says quietly, energy fading rapidly. Raju is a comfort, plain and simple. He could sleep like this and be entirely comfortable. “No one was ready to act. They will the next time it happens, but it’ll be too late.”
At least no one will take any meat given to them by Hickey without finding its source first.
“I don’t understand the minds of some of these people. I think…that might also be a hindrance. Who wants to listen to a man from 1852?”
Eighteen fifty-two. Raju had pushed the question into the back of his mind and after that carefully never wondered, but now he knows. Almost lucky, then, that they have larger problems just now, and there's too much else inside of Raju for there to be much room for that.
Still, for a moment Raju looks at him, studies the soft and handsome face — handsome still, and handsome in its potential, for what it will be again after it heals. Nearly seventy years. And already, Francis must be... But he can feel Francis' neck underneath his hand, solid, alive. Even the wheezing of his breath is, in moments, more of a comfort than its absence. He can't imagine not listening to this man, no matter how unpleasant the thing he had to say.
"Anyone with sense," Raju says firmly. "What did you say that wasn't a fact? That wasn't obvious? Only to get told you were singling him out." Raju makes a disgusted noise. Mindful of those accusations Raju had voted to punish everyone, not that it matters at all now. "But you're right. If you do decide you want to go back to... protecting the lot of them, somehow, we can figure it out. I'll write down the arguments I remember, we can go over it."
Raju's hands both squeeze and he smiles a little, sadly, but warm. "You did speak well. If a man looking like you do making a speech like that didn't convince enough of them, nothing would have done it."
Crozier had voted for those who were absurdly cruel in their attacks, where the apparent Darkwalker influence ended and their own moral failings had begun. Hiding the bodies, mutilating them after the attacks had ended, being dishonest. But evidence wasn’t strong in most cases - only his own, it seemed.
But Raju says something that briefly takes his attention away from all the arguments and failings and frustrations of the past evening. We. Raju means the two of them, working in tandem together. If Crozier heals properly and decides that he wants to keep fighting, then Raju will help him. It isn’t even a question for him, is it? He’d just do it, by virtue of what?
By virtue of Raju being Raju, of course. What else? This very loyal, very noble man will stay by his side even if no one else would.
He smiles ever-so-slightly, eyes closing briefly. He’s falling asleep upright. “Looking beat to hell, you mean? It does have its advantages, oddly enough.”
Crozier raises his hand to his chest, eyes opening again with a soft grunt of pain. “I need to have my bandages redone.”
"Mm." Raju stands, slow enough that the arm Francis has been leaning his head against doesn't move much. He looks around for a pillow, setting it on top of another so it'll sit on its own at the level of Francis' head before slowly easing his arm away. But not completely away; he presses just a little, enough to suggest Francis lean forward, or at least sit up straighter. "Put your arms out and I'll get that off you, unless you'd like to just hold it up while I work. I'll be quick."
Raju smiles a little. It's hard to see him this way, hurting even doing nothing, sitting there, having hurt himself this way only to be roundly ignored, insulted, backs turned by people who could have tried to protect him. And sitting here hurting now, for that. But that's no reason to let his mood — and so, Francis' — fall every time the subject of that pain comes up. "Advantages?" Raju asks, to distract him. His smile deepens as he takes the hem of what Francis is wearing and starts to lift it upward. "You mean, to tug on people's heartstrings and get what you want? Have you been taking advantage of me, Francis?"
He moves as directed, leaning forward and raising his arms up. Everything yanks up when he does, the bruised tissue and overworked, still-healing muscle, it all pulls and stretches with the unfamiliar movement of his arms raising in the air.
Even so, Crozier returns the smile as he hisses through his teeth. “Mhm. I’ve got you wrapped around my fingers, don’t it?” Voice muffled now, “I’ve been using you as a pillow for days now, and I haven’t heard a single complaint.”
That’s the thing about exhaustion, at a certain point it mirrors intoxication. And sometimes, though it was rare, Crozier could be a punky, amusing drunk who enjoyed making people smile.
"Mm." Francis is going to be hurting no matter how Raju does this but Raju takes care anyway, carefully picking the clothes away from Francis' wrists and over his chin, setting them aside. Being gentle with him helps Raju at least, whether or not it makes much of a difference to Francis, and smiling and joking with him helps. "Is that what's been happening? And I thought I was doing that because I like it."
He's still smiling, but he's glad he has the bandage around Francis' ribs to focus on, instead of his face. Is that something Raju would have said before? He would have felt the same before, spoken about it even before he knew what it was, or what some part of it was. And if Francis had ever thought him strange or overfamiliar before, he'd never said anything about it. It's probably alright.
"Here, and here..." he murmurs, fingers brushing the places the bandage has come loose, memorising them. "I'll tie this differently, so it holds up better. Just a moment..."
He starts unwinding it, hands even quicker at it now that he's become familiar with the way it has to sit. "What are you talking me into next? This power of yours is only lasting so much longer, you're going to want to use as much of it as you can."
Because he likes it. Of course Raju would choose to say that at this particular moment, while he touches his chest so delicately. It’s been that way for a while now, tenderness and care, as though Raju’s attention to his broken body would be enough to cure him alone.
He lowers his hand to the arm rest to brace himself as the bandages are removed and his chest goes through the wrapping process once more. If he could focus on the pain instead of the light flirtation, inadvertent as it is, it would probably be better for his mental state, dour and low as it already is from the beating he’s taken today alone.
But it’s good to smile. Hell, it feels good to focus on anything besides the town meeting and Hickey’s smug little face at all those not-guilty votes from their peers.
“Reading that godawful pirate book out loud, that’s what I’ll get you to do one day,” he decides, smirking softly.
Raju's huff is meant to sound exasperated, but he's still smiling as he does it. "You wouldn't," he scolds, a little bent so he can reach better, gaze focused on the movement of his hands. It's important, making sure that the bandages lie flat, that they're wrapped correctly, that they're a certain balance between too tight and too loose that he and Francis have already gotten perfected, so long as Raju focuses well enough on doing it perfectly. And he does, so it will be. "Try it and I'll—"
He realises when he reaches for something like pull these bandages tight, see if I don't that he can't quite bring himself to threaten Francis with anything right now, even jokingly, even if they both know Raju would rather take a swim in the icy lake than actually hurt him. "—find real spice to put in your dinner," he finishes, with the same emphasis as if the obvious hesitation hadn't been there. "And you'll have to eat it anyway. You said you hated hot food, didn't you?"
The threat definitely lacks more bite, but Crozier is a good sport (and still more than a little loopy). “Oh, Christ, not more spice. You’ll kill me with a curry.”
He laughs low in his throat, though if he were being honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind something with heat in his mouth. And what does he even know of Raju’s home customs and foods anyway? Not much at all, which is a shame. But Raju himself might have a little heat, all that fire that pours from him, he might kiss the same -
“What would you use to spice the root stew we make?” he smiles, grip letting up to brush his fingers across Raju’s knuckles. “Maybe we can ask that boar the next time it comes around.”
"Mm." Raju tries to make a face — of all the bizarre impossibilities they face down in this place, the ridiculous ones are still the hardest to take — but he feels Francis' fingers moving across his knuckles like they're lighting something up under his skin, so he smiles faintly, in spite of himself. "It spits them out though, doesn't it? You really want your food from there?"
Then he sighs, thinking about it seriously. "I was never much for cooking, though. It was never a priority. I wouldn't have the first clue how to make any of it now." His smile starts to shift slowly into a distant frown. It hadn't seemed important. He supposes he'd been assuming he'd be able to enjoy things like that... later. Some time later. If he survived the efforts he's obligated to go back to long enough to earn it.
Better not to think about any of that too closely. Luckily he still has this bandage to finish wrapping. Unluckily, he's almost done with it. At least that's going to make Francis feel a little better. "Some kind of chillies, maybe? Chilli powder. Or ginger. But it wouldn't matter without knowing what else to put in it. We'd be better off asking for bread, or fruit."
“What better time is there to learn something new?” Crozier hisses, that tightening in his chest from the bandages making the breathing come a little easier. There’s pain with it, the particular ache of jostled things being reset making tears pool at the corners of his eyes. Raju is being careful with him, but those bandages need to be tight.
“Christ knows I’ve never known how to cook,” he admits, bringing his hand to his chest and holding it. The ache makes him want to grind his teeth, but he knows the bandages are doing their job. It will hurt less in the morning. His outlook might be less bitter in the morning too, but he’s less hopeful there. “But survival…you figure things out.”
There’s a slight melancholy look in his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about their conversation that makes his smile fade, but it almost certainly has to do with home.
“Fruit would be a nice change of pace though,” he admits. “Tell me what kind.”
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Crozier absently reaches for the bandage before Raju has a chance to ask. He grimaces - grimace on top of a grimace thanks to his blackened eye - his heart sinking to hear what he’d already felt out loud.
Abandoned.
His men, the ones who see sense, they were counting on him to prevent more of the same. He recalls the argument he had with Little during the darker days of the month, accusations that he’s given up. He hadn’t then. He feels a little like he should now.
“Most of the children spoke while the adults stayed silent,” he says quietly, not wanting to inadvertently goad Raju into another firefight. “I don’t understand it, Raju. Were no trial or tribunal, just people speaking. So many took objection to just talking.”
They’re all going to die here.
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Scowling, he pulls his end of the rag tight a little too quickly, catching Francis' fingertip in the loop. He tugs the loop loose and holds his hand apologetically over the back of Francis' for a moment, sighing. Of course things were going to be that way. They always were. Why would any of them stand up for someone when they didn't have to? But he'd never even considered it might happen that way. He never thought he was that much of an optimist. He hasn't ever expected that kind of support before.
It feels better, touching the back of Francis' hand. But it'd be strange to keep holding onto it. He makes his hand drift away, taking up his end of the rag again.
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He’s to blame, of course, for Raju’s disappointment. He was so sure of himself, wasn’t he? He was positive that he could address the community he’s helped support and that they would find him credible and see the threat in front of them. His belief in this was firm, so firm that he would have insisted on walking to Milton had Raju not found that bloody wheelbarrow.
He looks down at his now uncovered hand and silently wishes Raju would return.
“The Darkwalker isn’t going to be the threat to these people, it’s using the beast as a scapegoat that’ll be their undoing,” he muses out loud, taking up his half of the cloth once more and trying to pull it tightly. “Hold still, Raju.”
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Raju isn’t looking at his hand, though; Raju is looking up at him. His expression is solemn, and curious. As little as he wants to dig up memories in Francis that are going to hurt, he himself might need to know, to learn what he can, if it will help.
“That sounds like a lesson you’ve learned already,” he murmurs, as close to gentle as he can afford to be. “Is that what happened to your men? Before?”
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They barely feel like memories anymore, just the same story being reread. He lifts his gaze to meet Raju’s eyes; it’s impossible to keep the pain out of his own. He can only mask so well.
“It didn’t help. The creature was vindictive in its nature. It hunted us, tore us to shreds, robbed us of our souls.” And not in a metaphorical sense. “But we were always the biggest danger to each other.”
Their hubris, the need to fulfill Barrow’s grand promise to England, those ships, their supplies, the men - all of it stacked up against them.
“The parallels are too numerous to name.”
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Raju thinks on it while he looks at him, and then Raju doesn't ask. If any of those painful lessons are things that Raju needs to know, then Francis will tell him. And if any of the failures of that time are useful in this one, Francis is the one who's going to know it. Raju needs to know everything so he can make a plan, needs to make a plan so he can keep them safe, needs to keep them safe because he's the only one who can — but Francis is a thoughtful man, and intelligent, and kind, and wise enough to temper all of that with practicality. Raju can trust his judgement, even if it feels strange to do it.
"You still care about them, don't you? Everyone back there, even now. About making sure they can make it out of this too."
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He does. God help him, he does still care for them all. He doesn’t want anyone else to die.
“You think me a fool,” he says quietly, glad at least that Raju’s hand is back on his again. He holds it as tightly as he can, weak as he feels. “I cared for them too, even the mutineers. Good people are capable of terrible things in times of desperation.”
But they’re nowhere near desperate. No one believed him about that either.
“Further north nothing grows, not even moss. Game was scarce. The ice was so thick we couldn’t fish. There was nothing, Raju, and here there’s still so much plenty…”
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He finds himself looking away, down at his hands. It's harder, he realises, to meet Francis' eyes. "It's what this place needs, even if they don't deserve it. A man who can be kind, like you. But I... don't think I can be that way. Not now. You don't feel..."
He shakes his head, searching for the word, then looks up again to frown into Francis' eyes. There's that pull to looking at them, even like this. The bruised, swollen one only makes him want to cover Francis up somehow, put himself between this man and the rest of the world. But that isn't all he wants, right now. He names it. "...angry? I'd be too angry, where you are. Or... disgusted. I don't know."
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"I'm livid," he tells him, trying to turn his hand to squeeze Raju's palm against his own. "I just can't light fires over it."
His delivery may be dry, but the warmth there isn't. He ducks to try to Raju from turning away from him again. "I'm in too much pain for anything more than this right now. Maybe it's resignation as well. I hope not, but..."
Crozier frowns quietly. His head is still tilted up, but his gaze is unfocused now. He's considering how much he wants to say, whether Raju should know about these expectations. Well. Of course he should. Raju should know it all. They're in this together now, aren't they?
"Little and Irving look to me to lead," he starts, slow and with very careful pauses for his breath. "Jopson and Goodsir are more reasonable, in the end they were far more practical...but none of them can shake the 'sirs' or 'Captain', and every time I do nothing I feel as though...." He grimaces softly, putting his hand up to his chest a moment. It feels tight. "I'm killing them a second time."
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“I could have argued it differently. I could have…” Could he have kept arguing? He wants to blame himself for his failure, but he’d been too tired to keep going after he said his piece.
It’s so hard to meet Raju’s gaze now, but he can’t look anywhere else. He’s so intense, as though he can see right through him.
“I can’t do anything. I’m helpless here, helpless to stop even Hickey, of all people. Hickey, who is so obviously guilty!”
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His grip over Francis tightens, hopefully reassuring, and he doesn't look away from Francis' eyes. "We aren't helpless until it's done. We keep trying." Raju pauses, sighs. Smiles a little, wryly. It's odd to be in this position, the one who isn't pushing forward, who would step back and stop if someone else gave him the word to. He isn't really used to it. But these aren't his people, and anyone who might have been has made it very clear where they stand on protecting the vulnerable, forming a real community, doing what's difficult to keep everyone safe. Everyone who's his is very far from him, except the one in front of him now. "If you're sure that's what you want? To keep everyone safe here, whether they want to be or not?"
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No. No, he isn’t sure. He can name a handful of people he doesn’t want to see harmed, a handful of his surviving men that he’d give his life for, and then - there’s the person who is with him here now. But that certainly doesn’t mean all.
“I’m not sure I can answer that yet,” he tells him honestly. His head slowly leans against Raju’s arm, his gaze lowering to his lips just a little absently. “Perhaps it will look different in the morning. Right now…right now I feel like wouldn’t have minded if you burnt it all down.”
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He pushes a hard breath out through his nose, jaw clenched. "I should have spoken up more. Especially when that boy spoke to you that way. I thought the adults could decide their own minds regardless, but— but I should have known better. Just because this isn't home doesn't mean the people are any different. It's only colder."
He heaves a sigh, frowning, and the hand on the seat sets itself against Francis' leg, fingers curling over his calf. "I'm sorry, Francis. You did everything you could, but I could have done more. Tried harder."
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Some of it may have been the Darkwalker’s influence. Hell, he knows a lot of it was. But Hickey’s methodical carving up and hiding of a body decidedly wasn’t. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t believed.
“And faced the same ridicule? Nonsense,” he says quietly, energy fading rapidly. Raju is a comfort, plain and simple. He could sleep like this and be entirely comfortable. “No one was ready to act. They will the next time it happens, but it’ll be too late.”
At least no one will take any meat given to them by Hickey without finding its source first.
“I don’t understand the minds of some of these people. I think…that might also be a hindrance. Who wants to listen to a man from 1852?”
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Still, for a moment Raju looks at him, studies the soft and handsome face — handsome still, and handsome in its potential, for what it will be again after it heals. Nearly seventy years. And already, Francis must be... But he can feel Francis' neck underneath his hand, solid, alive. Even the wheezing of his breath is, in moments, more of a comfort than its absence. He can't imagine not listening to this man, no matter how unpleasant the thing he had to say.
"Anyone with sense," Raju says firmly. "What did you say that wasn't a fact? That wasn't obvious? Only to get told you were singling him out." Raju makes a disgusted noise. Mindful of those accusations Raju had voted to punish everyone, not that it matters at all now. "But you're right. If you do decide you want to go back to... protecting the lot of them, somehow, we can figure it out. I'll write down the arguments I remember, we can go over it."
Raju's hands both squeeze and he smiles a little, sadly, but warm. "You did speak well. If a man looking like you do making a speech like that didn't convince enough of them, nothing would have done it."
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Crozier had voted for those who were absurdly cruel in their attacks, where the apparent Darkwalker influence ended and their own moral failings had begun. Hiding the bodies, mutilating them after the attacks had ended, being dishonest. But evidence wasn’t strong in most cases - only his own, it seemed.
But Raju says something that briefly takes his attention away from all the arguments and failings and frustrations of the past evening. We. Raju means the two of them, working in tandem together. If Crozier heals properly and decides that he wants to keep fighting, then Raju will help him. It isn’t even a question for him, is it? He’d just do it, by virtue of what?
By virtue of Raju being Raju, of course. What else? This very loyal, very noble man will stay by his side even if no one else would.
He smiles ever-so-slightly, eyes closing briefly. He’s falling asleep upright. “Looking beat to hell, you mean? It does have its advantages, oddly enough.”
Crozier raises his hand to his chest, eyes opening again with a soft grunt of pain. “I need to have my bandages redone.”
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Raju smiles a little. It's hard to see him this way, hurting even doing nothing, sitting there, having hurt himself this way only to be roundly ignored, insulted, backs turned by people who could have tried to protect him. And sitting here hurting now, for that. But that's no reason to let his mood — and so, Francis' — fall every time the subject of that pain comes up. "Advantages?" Raju asks, to distract him. His smile deepens as he takes the hem of what Francis is wearing and starts to lift it upward. "You mean, to tug on people's heartstrings and get what you want? Have you been taking advantage of me, Francis?"
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He moves as directed, leaning forward and raising his arms up. Everything yanks up when he does, the bruised tissue and overworked, still-healing muscle, it all pulls and stretches with the unfamiliar movement of his arms raising in the air.
Even so, Crozier returns the smile as he hisses through his teeth. “Mhm. I’ve got you wrapped around my fingers, don’t it?” Voice muffled now, “I’ve been using you as a pillow for days now, and I haven’t heard a single complaint.”
That’s the thing about exhaustion, at a certain point it mirrors intoxication. And sometimes, though it was rare, Crozier could be a punky, amusing drunk who enjoyed making people smile.
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He's still smiling, but he's glad he has the bandage around Francis' ribs to focus on, instead of his face. Is that something Raju would have said before? He would have felt the same before, spoken about it even before he knew what it was, or what some part of it was. And if Francis had ever thought him strange or overfamiliar before, he'd never said anything about it. It's probably alright.
"Here, and here..." he murmurs, fingers brushing the places the bandage has come loose, memorising them. "I'll tie this differently, so it holds up better. Just a moment..."
He starts unwinding it, hands even quicker at it now that he's become familiar with the way it has to sit. "What are you talking me into next? This power of yours is only lasting so much longer, you're going to want to use as much of it as you can."
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Because he likes it. Of course Raju would choose to say that at this particular moment, while he touches his chest so delicately. It’s been that way for a while now, tenderness and care, as though Raju’s attention to his broken body would be enough to cure him alone.
He lowers his hand to the arm rest to brace himself as the bandages are removed and his chest goes through the wrapping process once more. If he could focus on the pain instead of the light flirtation, inadvertent as it is, it would probably be better for his mental state, dour and low as it already is from the beating he’s taken today alone.
But it’s good to smile. Hell, it feels good to focus on anything besides the town meeting and Hickey’s smug little face at all those not-guilty votes from their peers.
“Reading that godawful pirate book out loud, that’s what I’ll get you to do one day,” he decides, smirking softly.
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He realises when he reaches for something like pull these bandages tight, see if I don't that he can't quite bring himself to threaten Francis with anything right now, even jokingly, even if they both know Raju would rather take a swim in the icy lake than actually hurt him. "—find real spice to put in your dinner," he finishes, with the same emphasis as if the obvious hesitation hadn't been there. "And you'll have to eat it anyway. You said you hated hot food, didn't you?"
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The threat definitely lacks more bite, but Crozier is a good sport (and still more than a little loopy). “Oh, Christ, not more spice. You’ll kill me with a curry.”
He laughs low in his throat, though if he were being honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind something with heat in his mouth. And what does he even know of Raju’s home customs and foods anyway? Not much at all, which is a shame. But Raju himself might have a little heat, all that fire that pours from him, he might kiss the same -
“What would you use to spice the root stew we make?” he smiles, grip letting up to brush his fingers across Raju’s knuckles. “Maybe we can ask that boar the next time it comes around.”
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Then he sighs, thinking about it seriously. "I was never much for cooking, though. It was never a priority. I wouldn't have the first clue how to make any of it now." His smile starts to shift slowly into a distant frown. It hadn't seemed important. He supposes he'd been assuming he'd be able to enjoy things like that... later. Some time later. If he survived the efforts he's obligated to go back to long enough to earn it.
Better not to think about any of that too closely. Luckily he still has this bandage to finish wrapping. Unluckily, he's almost done with it. At least that's going to make Francis feel a little better. "Some kind of chillies, maybe? Chilli powder. Or ginger. But it wouldn't matter without knowing what else to put in it. We'd be better off asking for bread, or fruit."
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“What better time is there to learn something new?” Crozier hisses, that tightening in his chest from the bandages making the breathing come a little easier. There’s pain with it, the particular ache of jostled things being reset making tears pool at the corners of his eyes. Raju is being careful with him, but those bandages need to be tight.
“Christ knows I’ve never known how to cook,” he admits, bringing his hand to his chest and holding it. The ache makes him want to grind his teeth, but he knows the bandages are doing their job. It will hurt less in the morning. His outlook might be less bitter in the morning too, but he’s less hopeful there. “But survival…you figure things out.”
There’s a slight melancholy look in his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about their conversation that makes his smile fade, but it almost certainly has to do with home.
“Fruit would be a nice change of pace though,” he admits. “Tell me what kind.”
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