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"I think," said James, thoughtfully, staring up at the bedroom ceiling, "that we should end this."
"Hush. Go to sleep," Francis grumbled reflexively, because it was late and they were both worn out, and it would not do if James were to be deprived of his rest. Francis' old heart already gave stuttering pangs every time James had to beg leave to sit in polite company; every time James smiled at him with dark bruises under his bright eyes, one never focusing quite as well as the other; every time he looked as tired and world-weary as on the worst days on the ice, when Francis had grown increasingly certain he would bury his heart on the ice together with a most beloved corpse. It was a miracle that James had remained with him, and a curse that the tendency towards illness and exhaustion had in turn remained with James.
Then, once James' soft words had settled proper in his ears, "...what?"
"I said, you inattentive lout," James repeated, kicking at Francis' calf with a bare foot, under the blanket, "that we should stop seeing each other."
"You're talking nonsense." Francis' stomach was all in knots, and his throat was tight, and if he weren't turned towards the wall, away from James, he rather feared his face would betray him.
"I am making a very sensible proposal, actually," James huffed. Francis knew that arrogant tone, the way it would often be accompanied by a toss of his head to shake the hair out of his eyes. Had that habit not infuriated him, once, years ago? It had been another lifetime. He could not imagine hating any habit of James' now, after nearly losing him. How could any part of his walking miracle be anything but dear to him? "Perhaps I should have brought it up sooner, this much I'll grant you - but if the best time to discuss it was yesterday, then the second-best is tonight. What do you think, Francis?"
"I think you're being ridiculous."
"Ah!" Triumphant grin now. Francis could see it, clear as day, on the inside of his eyelids, shut tight to keep any stray tears in. "Precisely! I am a ridiculous man, and you are at times a rather churlish one, if you'll forgive me for saying so, and neither of us is the sort of company we would normally seek."
"I suppose not," Francis said, instead of I did not seek you, but, oh, James, I found my heart in you.
"And I am grateful, Francis, truly grateful, for your care. On the ice, and on the journey home. It was good, what we did, it suited us both - it surely saved my life - and I only pray it has given you half the comfort it has given me."
"Twice that," Francis choked out.
"Flatterer." Another nudge at his calf. "But we are home now. We are home, and can once more choose our company among more than a few dozen men and the occasional seal. I only think we ought to start acting like it, instead of... well, we're rather clinging to each other, aren't we?"
(How diplomatic of James, even in his flippant rambles, to say "we", instead of "you". Ever the affable socialite, even when ending a relationship that had never been quite so casual to Francis as it should have been. As it clearly was to James. Francis wished he could hate him, but no, never, not his dear James, his gift from Above, who had already given Francis more than he rightly deserved.)
"It will be best for us both, going our separate ways," James finished - decisive nod, now, the Captain making his call - and briefly touched Francis' shoulder with his hand. "I only wish you happiness, Francis. You must understand."
My happiness is at your side, James Fitzjames, Francis thought, and said "of course, James. I'm sure you have the right of it."
The next day, they ate breakfast together; James rambled of some acquaintance - "friend", but to James, any man he'd spoken to for more than five minutes was a friend - who'd invited him to his club; and when they parted ways at the door with a firm handshake, it was with the taciturn agreement that their affair, live-saving in the merciless arctic cold, and overstaying its welcome in the rapidly fading English summer, was now at an end.
The bottle had called to Francis then, the siren song of an old lover, stronger now that James' voice was not always there to drown it out; but he resisted. Resisted the drink, resisted the urge to fall back into bed and rot away surrounded by James' fading scent, resisted the sudden mad thought that he could sign up for yet another expedition and really establish a pattern of how Francis Crozier dealt with romantic rejection.
But, no, that would be ridiculous; and Francis, as James had rightly pointed out, was churlish, rather than ridiculous. His third rejection would be the charm, would be well-handled at last. At least there was no social humiliation to go with it, no gossip, as there had been with Sophia. Nobody knew that Francis loved James, except perhaps those of the few survivors of the expedition that knew him well enough to tell - and those men, his men, would all take that secret to their grave, as he would take any of theirs.
And maybe it really had been inevitable. James was still not well, but improving, and young, despite the sometimes-ancient look in his eyes. Francis had given him comfort and care when James needed it, and had done so gladly; now, it was time to release him to greater happiness than the attentions of a morose old sailor who flattered himself that he had learned to satisfy James' body, and had earned the man's friendship and trust, brotherly affection, but simply could not occupy that special place in James' heart.
Perhaps James really did have the right of it. It was for the best.
Francis dressed, and went out, and handled the day's business as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Any obvious morbing would prompt inquiries he could not possibly answer, and would only shed suspicion on them both. He could not be the one who would make James happy, and without James, there would be no happiness for him; but, God willing, there would be joy and love in James' life yet, and Francis would rather let the Tuunbaq tear apart his body than act in any way that might become a hindrance to it.
Life went on. Francis ate, and thought about whether James had remembered to have lunch today, if he had needed to force himself through it, as was the case some days, when everything tasted of rotten meat and his own blood.
Francis dressed, and thought about James fussing over his appearance, taking comfort in fine fabrics and stylish cuts, and yet flinching sometimes when his gaze found the reflection of his own haggard face.
Francis moved about in society, spoke to his friends, and thought about the inane stories James would chatter on and on about, just to fill Francis' half-cantankerous, half-comfortable silence.
Francis slept, and thought about James and his nightmares, and if he had already found someone else to hold and soothe him in the night.
Francis lived, and thought of James; and considered himself most churlish indeed, for being so monstrously selfish and ungrateful, and incapable of loving James selflessly enough to not be tortured by the thought of him loving another.
And he tried, God help him, he really did try to find himself other company - but none of them were his dear James, and if he could not have James, then he would have solitude, and be near-as-content with it.
Life went on - and then it ground to a halt, when James reappeared in it.
An accidental meeting, in the park a few streets away from Francis' lodgings - "oh, I had forgotten, you live nearby, don't you!" James exclaimed, and nattered at length about what business had taken him to this part of the city, and why he had thought to linger at the park, none of which Francis took in, too preoccupied with the slight tremor in James' gesturing hand, and the way his knuckles stood out stark-white around the grip of his cane. He had clearly not been eating well, and slept ever more poorly.
And yet, he was still James, dear, ridiculous, accidentally-cruel James, winding his arm through Francis' readily when he only barely indicated with a shift of his elbow that he was welcome to; talking and talking about things Francis did not care about, except for James' sake, who clearly cared greatly; acting almost as if they had never severed their relations at all.
Francis thought at first that it was only their chaste friendship James was clearly eager to rekindle - but then, after James mentioned for the fifth time that there was rather a chill on the air, and didn't it look very much like it might rain, Francis?, he cautiously suggested that they might talk more comfortably in his own rooms, and James accepted the invitation so heartily one might think he'd received the honour of a royal summons instead.
"Maybe just once more," James said, after kissing Francis against the hastily-closed door, "I apologise, Francis, for inconveniencing you yet again, but if you are amenable-"
Francis kissed him back, murmured something about "never an inconvenience, James, never" and led him to the sofa, only because it was closer than the bedroom.
"It is only- only this once, you understand," James gasped like a drowning man, as Francis kissed along every rib on his bare chest, and then the twice-survived gunshot wound in his side. "I still - I would never wish to keep you from, oh, Miss Cracroft or whoever else you- I only wanted, once more, Francis, Francis, you are so good to me, nobody like you, nobody-"
Then keep me, damn your eyes, Francis thought, touching that beloved body, burning it even deeper into his memory, if this was to be the last time. I would give you the world, James, I would give you myself, which I know is a paltry offering, I would give you anything you wanted, if you could only resign yourself to me.
Instead, he said "don't squirm, insufferable creature, you'll exhaust yourself" and pressed his face into James' neck, where any stray liquid leaking from his eyes could surely pass as sweat.
"You are so very warm, Francis," James whispered, his arms around Francis's back, the two of them arranged on the sofa - not comfortably, but they'd had worse on narrow, uncomfortable cots in the eternal ice. "I am still so cold, always. But you are warm."
"Of course you're cold, all your foppish coats with their garish patterns are much too thin for the weather," Francis muttered, and thought let me keep you warm, James, please, let me sit you down at my hearth, let me shield you from the icy winds, let me nurse you through the fevers, let me love you, please.
"Thank you," James said, buttoning up his shirt with clumsy hands, "for indulging me once more. It's very generous of you."
I should be thanking you on my knees simply for being alive, never mind this, Francis thought, and made a noncommittal sound.
"It was a momentary lapse, you must understand. It really need not continue. It must not continue."
"Of course," Francis agreed dully. Then, "but you'll stay for dinner, won't you?"
"Ah, Francis, no-"
"You've not eaten yet, have you?"
"I really oughtn't impose-"
"It would be no trouble."
"I must go-"
"James." Francis would not beg. He would not beg. He would not- "Please."
James fell silent.
"Oh, very well," he finally shrugged, airily, smiling in a way Francis once used to hate. "If you insist!"
"It's getting terribly late," James said, after moving his food about his plate endlessly, telling Francis story after story about his countless "friends" in between each bite, and glancing at the clock every ten seconds. Francis could not make heads nor tails of it; if James was so keenly attentive of the hour, why delay all throughout the meal, instead of eating to pacify Francis' fussing, and disappearing as quickly as possible? "I really ought to go, Francis."
"Yes." Francis inclined his head. "I'll fetch your coat and cane, shall I?"
"That's very kind of you," James said, and sounded oddly wretched. "I do hope I'll still find a hansom to take me, at this hour."
"I'm sure you will."
"Oh, and my landlady will have locked me out - she does not approve of my unannounced gallivanting in the evenings, as she puts it, you understand. I shall have to ring the poor woman out of bed."
Francis hummed, and held out the coat, for James to slip his arms into. It was not James' - that one really was too cold for the early evening chill, and Francis was in possession of a thick woolly number that was getting a bit too tight in the waist for him. Tomorrow, he would send James’ flimsy fashion affectation back to him, and ask that he keep Francis’ old coat, too, taking some small measure of comfort in the thought of it warming James, even if he himself could not.
(He did not think James had even noticed the switch, the dear man, so careless at times, so oddly distracted now. Confused, sometimes, in a way that made Francis fear for his mind. It was no matter. Francis gladly provided for him, unnoticed, unrequited. The ache of it was most sweet, and ever welcome.)
"Well, will you look at that! I was right, Francis, it is indeed raining!" James exclaimed as they made their way to the door, past the windows. "Ghastly weather! Man could catch his death in it!"
"I could lend you an umbrella?" Francis offered tiredly. He had no fondness for goodbyes, and wished, suddenly, to be left in blessed peace to lick his wounds and nurse his battered heart. "Or, let me slip out first, find you a cab and get it to stop right outside the door, if you’d prefer."
A moment of silence.
Then, "Oh, Francis!", James suddenly snapped, losing his composure entirely, whirling around to face him. "I beg of you, be plain, be as blunt as I know you are capable of being - if you are so set on getting rid of me, only say so, and I shall be out on the street anon!"
"What!?" Francis reared back. "James, I do not understand-"
"Must I come out and voice it? I should like to-" James shook his head, something so boyish in it, as if he was going to stomp his foot and pout next. "Francis, how cruel you are to me! I fabricate a thousand excuses, I practically prostrate myself at your feet, and you- you! I must fight tooth and nail for every second you grant me! I thought we had long passed beyond this point, that you no longer bear me any ill will, that you do not wish to see me humbled- nay, humiliated! Was I wrong, Francis? Have we returned to Erebus and Terror, at least in the matter of our friendship, if not bodily?"
"I do not understand," Francis repeated, his mouth dry, stunned by the outburst of animated fury. "Whatever upsets you so, dear James, I truly do not know, I never intended-"
"Dear! Francis Crozier, if I were dear to you, you would not send me out into the night!" James snapped. "And the rain! And the long walk towards my landlady's locked door! What does it take, these days, to be permitted to spend the night with you!?"
"Is that what you were angling for!?" The wool was drawn, suddenly, from Francis' eyes, and the first emotion that burst out of his startled heart was fury. "Christ love you, James! You said you must go, you said it was the last and only time, you said it would be for the best if we never again-! What was I to think? You say one thing and mean another, you know I have no patience for such politicking!"
"I know, I know!" James cried, burying his face in his hands, clearly mortified. "I am a fool, a selfish, greedy fool! And yet I tried, Francis, tried not to cling to you in such an unseemly manner, to take advantage of your generous, caring nature forever - you must cast me out, please, you must be firm with me, I beg of you, it is the undeserved kindness that I truly cannot bear!"
"Cast you-!? James," Francis reached for him, drew one hand away from his face, held the cold fingers so that they might be warmed in his own, and dared not hope. "Dear James, we speak at odds. Tell me plainly, with none of your pretending or your stories or your blasted rhetorics - why on earth did you think it would be best for us to part?"
"...was that, at least, not obvious? Because you felt obligated to care for me, and it burdened you," James said wretchedly, and this was the man who had stood before Francis on the ice, raw and ashamed and all stripped of pretence and vanity, a single tear rolling down the crack in his cheek. "Don't deny it, Francis. You look at me, and you act as if we are still there, as if I am dying and you must near as kill yourself to ensure that I will live. And I, I let you, because I am craven and cowardly and selfish, and it pleased me to be cared for, pleased me to be touched and to be the object of your attentions. Pleased me to keep you to myself, Lord forgive me. I even deluded myself to think that, if I were only patient, if I could wait, obligation and friendship might one day turn to-"
James did not say the word. But Francis knew it, even unspoken.
"Forgive me, Francis. I should not have come here, today. I swear that I had only wished to see you in passing, only to inquire if you were well, but I could not restrain myself." His head was bowed in shame. "I ask again: cast me out. Curse me. Admit freely which circle of Hell you wish I would go to, and I shall be on my way. Please. Whatever might ensure your happiness."
"James," Francis murmured, stricken. "Oh, no, no, James, you misunderstand me. Obligation, that is not- it was never-"
(How useless he was, with such things. James spoke too much, and Francis too little - what a pair they made.)
"My happiness," he finally managed to say, uncertain, wavering, feeling like a young boy who had not yet gotten his sea legs all over again, "is at your side. Stay, James, please - you are entirely right, I have been a poor host, and a poorer friend, trying to usher you out the door when, in truth, I wish for you to never leave again. Indeed, to live without you was misery greater than any I had ever experienced.”
He took both of James’ hands, pressed them to his racing heart.
“My dearest James, my miracle I brought back from the ice, to care for, to love you for the rest of both our natural lives would be no chore - it would be a joy, an honour. Will you grant me this?"
"Oh," said James, another tear falling from his eyes, and then a third; and when he choked out "yes, oh yes, I would like that very much," Francis knew that he was, for once, saying only precisely what he meant.
"And you will truly be happy with me," James asked hesitantly, when they were abed together again, all tangled together so that James could warm himself against Francis' chest, "even though I never say what I mean, and can be terribly foolish, and am so overall ridiculous?"
"Of course. Everything you do is very precious to me," Francis soothed him. He had never said so out loud before, but he was planning to make a habit out of it, for the way it made James' eyes shine. "Even - especially - the ridiculousness. I'm sorry to say that it suits you."
"Horrible man," James accused him, grinning. "I happen to think very fondly of your churlishness too, you ought to know. All my other friends are much too... friendly. I was getting quite desperate for someone to as much as roll his eyes at me!"
Francis harrumphed, which seemed to please James greatly; and then said "go to sleep," making no attempt to keep the fond warmth from seeping into his tone.
So they slept; and their lives went on, intertwining ever tighter. Perhaps it really might have been for the best to untangle them once and for all - but as neither of them had any desire to find out, no further attempts were ever made.