"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.
no subject
Date: 2024-07-07 06:37 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2024-07-08 01:04 am (UTC)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.