Work Text:
It was a tiny ring, a plain gold circle no bigger than the tip of Edward’s little finger. The Captain put it into his hand without ceremony.
“Not so much, is it?” he said, looking at Edward over the rim of his whisky glass. His eyes were heavy-lidded with drink and the evening meal they’d shared, with the warmth of the wardroom and the geniality of the board. It was Saturday - Crozier had toasted their absent wives and sweethearts with more joviality than usual, and so cheerful was the mood that even George, whom Edward doubted very much had either, chorused a hearty, “May they never meet!”
“No, sir,” said Edward softly, turning the ring between his fingers. His heart had begun pounding when Crozier caught his eye at the finish of supper, staying him at the door with a casual, “Edward, a moment, won’t you?” but now it hammered in his throat.
Crozier lifted his glass to his mouth. “A token,” he murmured, “that’s all.” He didn’t quite meet Edward’s eyes.
“Yes, sir.” Edward swallowed. “Thank you, sir.” Appreciative. Polite. Like he’d been instructed at Crozier’s knee, with no great protest from his own nature. He touched the lobe of his left ear, where he could feel the little hole, old but still open. The relic of a sporadically impetuous youth. “Here?”
Crozier shook his head. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, baring his teeth. “A bit obvious, don’t you think? I had a more appropriate hole in mind.”
Edward blinked. His hand fell. “A more... Sir, I -” He squeezed the ring. Embarrassment strangled his voice. “I don’t have another, sir.”
“Ah, well.” Crozier turned away. “That’s easily remedied.” With a casual movement, he leaned his hip on his desk’s edge, tugging the hem of his jacket straight. He raised his voice. “If you please, Jopson.”
Edward flinched as the door opened. He turned, dry-mouthed. Jopson ducked inside from the outer hall. His bright gaze met Edward’s with an unfathomable expression before going to Crozier. His face bore the faintest trace of a smile as he shut the door.
“Ready, sir?”
Only then did Edward see what Jopson held. His breath stuttered, caught, and rushed. “Sir,” he whispered.
Crozier glanced at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Alright, Edward?”
Edward was frozen. He tried twice to speak. Finally he nodded.
Jopson stepped forward. He raised the long needle. It was familiar to Edward from a hundred hours spent overseeing the darning and mending of sailcloth, but never before had the sight made the blood rush through him in so ferocious a clamour. He trembled. He wanted to fall to his knees at Crozier’s feet, but when he looked across for reassurance, Crozier only lifted his glass for another drink, smirking.
“Go ahead, Jopson,” he said.
“Lieutenant.” Jopson’s smile broadened, even as his tone remained deferential. He touched Edward’s elbow. “If you’d be so good as to lift your shirt. This won’t take a moment.”