Chapter Text
Henry returned from his five years on HMS Wanderer changed.
The ship’s assignment had started in the Americas and the Caribbean, but then a letter he had managed to send John told him of new orders from the Admiralty, asking of the Captain to sail to Africa to lead anti-slaving operations, lengthening his stay. John himself had taken a few posts here and there, on some small ships, just for a few months, hoping to catch Henry while off-service. Though from 1841, he had gotten no news – until he saw a list of the vessels engaged in the operations in China. John’s knees buckled when he found Wanderer, in neat print, near the bottom.
The following three years were a blur. John took on more assignments, trying to focus his mind on something else. There was nothing he could do for Henry, who was quite literally on the other side of the world. No way to send him any letters. John wrote them anyway.
He had been back a few weeks when Henry appeared on his—their doorstep, completely drenched from the summer rain, a shiny medal pinned to his worn uniform, his sea trunk by his side. John had barely opened the door when he found himself with a shivering Henry in his arms. John smoothed his hands over his hair, his back – he was here. He was safe, and home.
“You must be freezing,” John said, keeping Henry in his arms. It was June. “Let’s get you inside.”
Henry nodded. They reluctantly parted from their embrace so Henry could grab his trunk and come up. John was quick to put water to boil so Henry would have something warm. From his small kitchen, he could hear Henry unpacking, putting his things away in the drawers they had been sharing for the past eight years. John was pouring water in the cups when Henry walked in, in much more relaxed wear, now too loose around him, and a towel on his shoulders. The late afternoon light flooded the space. John closed the gap between them as the tea steeped. He grabbed the towel and brushed away the rainwater clinging to Henry’s face and hair. Henry closed his eyes, rimmed with dark blue, and lost himself in the touch, his hands hovering between their bodies, unsure of what to do. Five years apart meant some getting used to once reunited. Henry’s eyes fluttered open.
“I meant to send word ahead—”
“No, no, this is your home, too.” John put the towel away, then rubbed Henry’s arms up and down. “Do you still have your key?”
Henry looked down, his hands settling to fidget with the cuffs of his shirt. “I—I must have dropped it somewhere, I’m sorry.”
John cupped his face. “Henry,” he called, gently. “From what I heard, you’ve been through—through things I can’t even imagine in the last few years. I don’t blame you at all. I’m so glad you came home.”
Henry shifted his weight from foot to foot, gaze still evasive, but covered one of John’s hands with his own. “Thank you.”
“Will you come sit with me? I made some tea.”
~~~
John found Henry reading in what had become his nook, a cup of tea on the windowsill and a blanket over his legs. He had been too worried about borrowing some of John’s books for his assignment on Wanderer, and was now going through some of his favourites, as if to make sure he had not forgotten them all.
“I have to run some errands,” John said, popping his head in. “I shouldn’t be very long, just some groceries before the shops close.”
Henry looked up from his book and extended a hand towards him. John fully stepped in the space to grab it. He watched as Henry brought his hand to his lips to place a kiss inside his palm. “Do you have an umbrella?”
It took John a few seconds to find his words. “Yes, it’s—” he took a sharp breath when Henry met his eyes, “right by the door so I won’t forget.”
“Alright,” Henry replied. He smiled, so gently, the first John had seen since he came back. “See you soon, then.”
John leaned in, kissed the top of Henry’s head, and made his way out. His hand felt cold.
~~~
The sun was starting to set by the time John returned. He made enough noise to ensure Henry heard he was back, though had no reply when he called his name. John moved fast, dropping his umbrella and his bags before making his way to Henry’s nook, heart tight and up in his throat. They had not spoken much of the past five years.
“Hen—”
Henry was asleep, his head against the window, and The Iliad fallen on his chest. A wave of relief washed over him, followed by one of fondness. He leaned against the wall, just to watch him. He was here, safe, and home. John quietly walked closer to grab the empty cup and card his fingers through Henry’s hair. On the table in the kitchen, he left a new key.
As he was chopping some vegetables for dinner, John heard some shuffling behind him. He smiled to himself, then felt Henry wrap his arms around his midsection and a warm chest press against his back. John kept cooking. They would get to talk about what had happened – the anti-slaving operations, the war, the medal he had seen on Henry’s uniform – later. In the immediate, Henry needed to be cared for, and John was more than happy to oblige.