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.”
And here's the worst part of doing this: hurting Francis for his own good. Satisfying, in its way, to know that it helps, keeping Francis' ribs stable and safe while his body can't, but seeing the pain is hard. Hard even though Francis can bear it, though he himself could if he'd had to, and though Francis has borne it this far. He's started to wonder if it's wanting Francis in the way he'd wanted Seetha that's making it feel that way, if some confused part of Raju is feeling that and trying to treat Francis in the way he'd treat a woman in pain like this.
He's been wondering, but hasn't come up with an answer. What he's sure of is that he wants to run his thumbs over the corners of Francis' eyes. He wants to soothe him and wipe away the tears pooling there. But a man has his pride. Raju's already letting himself be gentle in every other way, and Francis thinking Raju doesn't believe he can handle it might hurt him as much as the pain would. But Francis isn't a soldier, doesn't seem to have that particular kind of pride, so maybe Francis would...
Francis needs these bandages finished, more than anything else, so Raju needs to keep his hands to their work.
His eyes flicker up to Francis at the question, and a little of his smile comes back. Francis is still trying to distract himself; he'll need a lot of distracting after the day they've had, and if Raju is going to do that he'll have to stop thinking so much on unanswerable questions and ridiculous things. "I don't know all the places you've sailed to. Have you had mangoes? Mangoes are popular. They'd be a nice break from all these meats and roots."
Crozier’s been holding onto his more undignified noises, even if things are becoming more and more uncomfortable with each pass of the bandage. Raju happens to reach the point in his chest where the ribs are the most damaged, and he groans quietly and looks up to the ceiling as his body tries to readjust.
“I’ve had a mango before,” he gasps, blinking rapidly, “but I couldn’t tell you what it tasted like. It was lifetimes ago.”
He wants to elaborate - sometimes those stories can help, not just to hear them but to tell them, but for the life of him he can’t focus on anything but the now. He bangs the heel of his hand against the arm of the chair, exhaling slowly as he tries to gather himself. It’s better now, things have settled and he can handle the ache.
“I’d eat anything fresh though. Do you know what I’ve wanted since coming to Milton? An orange. A goddamned orange.”
Raju's jaw clenches. The best thing to do for Francis is keep going so his hands stay moving steadily and quick; hesitation is the thing that'd stretch it all out longer. Not that this will stop hurting Francis once he's done. But Raju will be done with doing it, at least. And Francis will be safer, all the broken parts of him held in place again. Its been made very clear that no one else is going to look out for Francis, not if that means doing something hard — it's more important than ever now that Raju be able to do these things. And so he will.
"Then that's what we'll ask for," he says, smile flickering on again as he glances at Francis' face. "A box of oranges."
He looks down again at his hands. A moment after he finishes asking they'll be done, at least with this, but Francis won't be done needing distracting. "I've seen them once or twice, at parties, but never had one. What are they like?"
He tries to mirror the smile. A box of oranges for the holidays. Perhaps they can ask for cloves too, make little pomanders to hang in the thresholds and windowsills. It seems like such a frivolous notion though, and it would be their second holiday season spent here. Celebrations would be more bitter than sweet, he imagines.
"Never?" he asks, a touch surprised. He thought oranges were native to India, but what he doesn't know about Raju's home could fill a book and then some. But he does know one thing about oranges that's probably as true for Raju as it is for him - "they're pricy. A rich man's fruit, and rightly so, as delicious as they are. Sweet and tart, just a touch of that bitterness from the peel."
A box of oranges, for him and Raju to share. He inhales, testing the boundaries of the bandages, exhaling to stretch it slightly. He takes a few more of those deep breaths until he's more comfortable in his own skin, the wheezing quieting.
"Or we could ask for the boar to just kill Hickey for us," he adds a little darkly. "Do you think it would oblige?"
Raju's imagined what it would be like, needing to settle himself in the constricting pressure of the bandages tight around him that way. As he watches it now his hand drifts toward Francis' shoulder and he allows it to settle lightly there. Then Francis asks that last question and he snorts, smile grimly amused. "I think it's worth a try. Who could blame us for what one of those creatures decided to do? There's precedent enough for that, after today. Then if it refuses, we'll ask for oranges."
He quite possibly shouldn’t be encouraged to think about murder, but it makes him feel better, the idea of Hickey being slaughtered by a giant, gift-giving boar. “I think either way we can’t lose.”
He tries to smile, but he’s too pained and stops himself about halfway through. “I need to sleep,” he says quietly, turning his head away from Raju. He’s looked pathetic enough today.
"Of course," Raju murmurs. He realises he's watching Francis — not what Francis wants now, judging by the way he's looking away from him. Distraction, poor or not, can only go so far, and the betrayal today was personal for Francis in a way it can't quite be for Raju, and Raju knows what it looks like when, close quarters or not, a friend needs to be alone.
Francis' shirt is still off; it hurts him to raise his arms, and seems cruel to insist he do it again now, when it's only the two of them. Raju lets his hand slip away from Francis' shoulder to add another blanket atop the first, the warm, soft fur that's become as familiar to Raju as any bed, and shakes them straight and aligned with each other, and sets them over Francis' shoulders. Raju tucks the blanket around him, finds his hand lingering over Francis' shoulder again, his arm. But if solitude is what Francis needs now then that's what he'll get and Raju lets his hand drift away, stepping back. He'll stay near the fire the way he always does but maybe with his back turned, take up a book or some quiet way to keep his hands moving. And then— "I'll be here when you wake," he says, quiet.
And he will be. The rest in this place might not stand up for this man in the way he needs, but it was ridiculous to count on anything like that anyway. Raju will do what needs to be done. He'll be here.
As badly as it hurts now, Crozier knows the worst of it's to come in the morning when he wakes. His body protest at its continued ill-treatment, and he'll likely be in a state and not wanting to do much of anything besides have a little tea to keep Raju from worrying.
In these moments it would be so easy to give into the despair he feels, and Lord knows he's done it before. He doesn't want to be that man anymore though, and those conscious efforts to keep pushing, keep trying, keep hoping have become more engrained in his being than simple habit. He wants to keep trying. He wants Hickey to keep his grubby little hands away from the people he loves, and he wants people to see that he's not merely dredging up the past for the sake of it.
But don't they see, don't they see how mired they are in what happened to them? Where's the grace for the dead and newly-risen? Is that not enough to keep one's thoughts occupied indefinitely?
He thanks Raju quietly and pulls the furs up just a little, settling in for the evening and forcing himself to sleep. It comes, but it's uneasy and strained. It's so hard to breathe.
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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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He's been wondering, but hasn't come up with an answer. What he's sure of is that he wants to run his thumbs over the corners of Francis' eyes. He wants to soothe him and wipe away the tears pooling there. But a man has his pride. Raju's already letting himself be gentle in every other way, and Francis thinking Raju doesn't believe he can handle it might hurt him as much as the pain would. But Francis isn't a soldier, doesn't seem to have that particular kind of pride, so maybe Francis would...
Francis needs these bandages finished, more than anything else, so Raju needs to keep his hands to their work.
His eyes flicker up to Francis at the question, and a little of his smile comes back. Francis is still trying to distract himself; he'll need a lot of distracting after the day they've had, and if Raju is going to do that he'll have to stop thinking so much on unanswerable questions and ridiculous things. "I don't know all the places you've sailed to. Have you had mangoes? Mangoes are popular. They'd be a nice break from all these meats and roots."
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Crozier’s been holding onto his more undignified noises, even if things are becoming more and more uncomfortable with each pass of the bandage. Raju happens to reach the point in his chest where the ribs are the most damaged, and he groans quietly and looks up to the ceiling as his body tries to readjust.
“I’ve had a mango before,” he gasps, blinking rapidly, “but I couldn’t tell you what it tasted like. It was lifetimes ago.”
He wants to elaborate - sometimes those stories can help, not just to hear them but to tell them, but for the life of him he can’t focus on anything but the now. He bangs the heel of his hand against the arm of the chair, exhaling slowly as he tries to gather himself. It’s better now, things have settled and he can handle the ache.
“I’d eat anything fresh though. Do you know what I’ve wanted since coming to Milton? An orange. A goddamned orange.”
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"Then that's what we'll ask for," he says, smile flickering on again as he glances at Francis' face. "A box of oranges."
He looks down again at his hands. A moment after he finishes asking they'll be done, at least with this, but Francis won't be done needing distracting. "I've seen them once or twice, at parties, but never had one. What are they like?"
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He tries to mirror the smile. A box of oranges for the holidays. Perhaps they can ask for cloves too, make little pomanders to hang in the thresholds and windowsills. It seems like such a frivolous notion though, and it would be their second holiday season spent here. Celebrations would be more bitter than sweet, he imagines.
"Never?" he asks, a touch surprised. He thought oranges were native to India, but what he doesn't know about Raju's home could fill a book and then some. But he does know one thing about oranges that's probably as true for Raju as it is for him - "they're pricy. A rich man's fruit, and rightly so, as delicious as they are. Sweet and tart, just a touch of that bitterness from the peel."
A box of oranges, for him and Raju to share. He inhales, testing the boundaries of the bandages, exhaling to stretch it slightly. He takes a few more of those deep breaths until he's more comfortable in his own skin, the wheezing quieting.
"Or we could ask for the boar to just kill Hickey for us," he adds a little darkly. "Do you think it would oblige?"
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He quite possibly shouldn’t be encouraged to think about murder, but it makes him feel better, the idea of Hickey being slaughtered by a giant, gift-giving boar. “I think either way we can’t lose.”
He tries to smile, but he’s too pained and stops himself about halfway through. “I need to sleep,” he says quietly, turning his head away from Raju. He’s looked pathetic enough today.
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Francis' shirt is still off; it hurts him to raise his arms, and seems cruel to insist he do it again now, when it's only the two of them. Raju lets his hand slip away from Francis' shoulder to add another blanket atop the first, the warm, soft fur that's become as familiar to Raju as any bed, and shakes them straight and aligned with each other, and sets them over Francis' shoulders. Raju tucks the blanket around him, finds his hand lingering over Francis' shoulder again, his arm. But if solitude is what Francis needs now then that's what he'll get and Raju lets his hand drift away, stepping back. He'll stay near the fire the way he always does but maybe with his back turned, take up a book or some quiet way to keep his hands moving. And then— "I'll be here when you wake," he says, quiet.
And he will be. The rest in this place might not stand up for this man in the way he needs, but it was ridiculous to count on anything like that anyway. Raju will do what needs to be done. He'll be here.
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As badly as it hurts now, Crozier knows the worst of it's to come in the morning when he wakes. His body protest at its continued ill-treatment, and he'll likely be in a state and not wanting to do much of anything besides have a little tea to keep Raju from worrying.
In these moments it would be so easy to give into the despair he feels, and Lord knows he's done it before. He doesn't want to be that man anymore though, and those conscious efforts to keep pushing, keep trying, keep hoping have become more engrained in his being than simple habit. He wants to keep trying. He wants Hickey to keep his grubby little hands away from the people he loves, and he wants people to see that he's not merely dredging up the past for the sake of it.
But don't they see, don't they see how mired they are in what happened to them? Where's the grace for the dead and newly-risen? Is that not enough to keep one's thoughts occupied indefinitely?
He thanks Raju quietly and pulls the furs up just a little, settling in for the evening and forcing himself to sleep. It comes, but it's uneasy and strained. It's so hard to breathe.
Come morning the hurt will be worse.