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Every creak of the wood seemed louder than usual in James Fitzjames’ cabin. The strong hands of John Bridgens danced along the buttons of his shirt, completing his task of dressing Fitzjames for an evening’s rest. Though they hadn’t worked together for long, the trust between them had been growing. Wintering so long in the Erebus left them with little more to do than talk. Bridgens led talks on literature, from the classics to the modern, and Fitzjames loved sharing stories of battles he’d been in and his views on naval warfare. On the longest, dullest stretches they had their own book club, sometimes attended by Henry Peglar on Bridgens’ invite.
It was at one of these book club meetings James first noticed it.
Lingering glances. Small smiles. Laughs a little too enthusiastic. Then, at the very end, the way Bridgens placed his hand on the small of Peglar’s back as they exited Fitzjames’ cabin.
“Bridgens. May… May I ask you something?”
James looked down as he adjusted his cuffs - a perfect excuse to avoid John’s gaze.
“Of course, sir.”
“How long have you known Pegler?”
John took a step back so James could reach his bed. He seemed stiff for the briefest second, but James couldn’t quite tell if he’d imagined the moment.
“We’ve sailed together several times before,” John answered, watching Fitzjames carefully. “Became friends. Much like you and I have, we bonded over books on the long voyage. I taught him to read, in fact. Why do you ask?”
“You two seem… close. Closer than most of the men on this boat.”
James cleared his throat and shook his hair out, thinking for a moment before choosing to eschew sleep a little longer. He led the way to the sitting room and gestured to one of the ornate chairs stationed around the table.
“We are close,” John said as he took the offered seat. “We have been for a while. Henry is my closest companion, sir. There’s no one I’d rather have sailing with me.”
Nodding, James sat too, elegant in his movement.
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad you have someone like that,” he replied, a slight smile spreading on his lips. There was more he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to accuse Bridgens of anything deviant. It would be uncouth - and it would mean he -
That he…
“Is… that all you wanted to ask me, Captain Fitzjames?”
John’s prodding was gentle, his question just leading enough to encourage James to ask whatever it was that he truly wanted to ask.
James met his eyes for a moment. Bridgens had a kind gaze, disarming if unfamiliar. Not many men in his life had looked - nor been - kind. Perhaps that was why he let his walls down around the man.
He steeled himself for answering. A deep breath, a glance at the ceiling, the briefest tremble in the fingers drumming against the wood…
“How do you become close enough with someone to share the sort of joy you two seem to share?”
The silence stretched between them as Bridgens regarded Fitzjames, watching him with preternatural stillness. It rattled him to his core. Time seemed to stop as he waited for any acknowledgement, any sign Bridgens had heard him. Had it been moments? Hours? How long had his dark eyes stared through him?
A warm smile cracked beneath his mustache. John Bridgens grinned at his captain, apparently satisfied by whatever it was he found.
“Captain… If I may,” he chuckled, “are you asking me for courtship advice?”
“I…”
James pursed his lips as he lowered his gaze, staring intently at his hands. Could he trust his steward with information so delicate, so dangerous?
“… Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes, Bridgens, I suppose I am.”
Still smiling, John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.
“Is there a particular man that’s caught your eye, sir? Some strapping marine, a scholar of medicine, a sailor?”
“It’s… It’s Captain Crozier,” James replied quietly, picking at an imaginary splinter just to keep his hands occupied.
“Oh… That, Captain, is another beast altogether. I’m sure you’ve heard of his courting attempts of one Sophia Cracroft?”
“Sir John may have mentioned it in passing,” James said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to mention the argument, nor the cruel words John Franklin had felled upon Francis during it. Eavesdropping was unbecoming of officers, but with Sir John being so damn loud* about it…
“His heart and mind may already be made up, sir. Is that a battle you’re willing to undertake? The war for his heart?”
James sat in silence for a moment, considering his words carefully. At first things had been rocky with Francis. They’d been mere acquaintances, passing ships in the night, until both were assigned to the expedition. Francis showed little interest in his stories, writing him off and embarrassing him in front of the other officers.
And yet James couldn’t get him out of his head.
“Francis Crozier is… a stubborn man. He drinks too much, he’s bullheaded, and he’ll let you know exactly what he thinks of you - even in polite company.”
He took a steadying breath.
“… But I’d do anything to sway him. Not out of professional awe, or physical necessity. I… care, for him. Deeply. I can’t stop thinking about him. Especially now, after - after Sir John’s -“
Bridgens nodded his understanding.
“When did your feelings for him begin?”
“Did you hear of the Officer’s Dinner where he - he interrupted my war story to ask me about the island?”
“Rather crudely, it was said. I do not make a habit of dropping eaves, but some of the officers speak louder than they should. Especially when they find themselves in their cups.”
Of course. James sighed and tilted his head back, staring up at the swaying light above him.
“That night, when I retired here, to my quarters. You mentioned I was quiet and I waved it off. Said I was merely tired, do you recall?”
“Aye, sir.”
“I thought about him that night. I hated how he’d made a fool of me. I wanted to impress him instead. Do something that would coax praise from his cruel lips instead of pointed barbs. I didn’t understand it then - I thought it normal, to seek the good graces of a captain.
“This continued until… Well.”
He levied his gaze at Bridgens once more, soft hair falling in his face. John rose and held up a hand.
“A moment, sir.”
John walked back into James’ sleeping quarters. A few moments later he returned with James’ brush. He stepped behind his chair and began to tend to his hair, his touch gentle and soothing.
“Continue, please.”
“Thank you, Bridgens - John,” he quietly corrected himself. “The day of Sir John’s death, he granted me a day of grief. Despite my state, despite my argument with him, Francis granted me a day - and a funeral for our Captain. That… that brief moment of agreement showed me that his own personal ice could be melted. The walls surrounding his core were not insurmountable. Instead of a crass drunkard, I saw the man behind the mask of duty.
“That was when I was… sure.”
“Sure?” John asked, inviting him to continue.
“Sure that we could be friends, at the very least. Sure that I did respect him, and despite the way Sir John treated him, he held a modicum of respect for him as well. It was a difficult day for me, for all of us, but he proved he can set aside differences and lead.”
John continued to brush his hair, the strokes easing the tension James Fitzjames held in his neck and back. The creak of the ship seemed far less demanding, far less hungry, to him now.
“John. I want to be with him. Feel his arms around me. Indulge in his warmth in the frigid dark. It is a sin, it is wicked to think such things, but I cannot help myself.”
“Is it a sin?” John asked, choosing his words carefully. “What about love is wicked, sir?”
“I didn’t say - this isn’t -“ Beneath John’s attentions James tensed.
“It doesn’t sound carnal to me. Not necessity driving some lustful desire, Captain. It sounds like you care for him, deeply. You seek the comfort of feeling his heart beating against yours - a comfort I myself find in Henry,” John added, smiling down as James tilted his head to peer at him.
“This cannot leave this room.”
“It will not.”
James watched him for a moment, his expression one of vulnerability. Finally he relaxed, releasing the taut muscles of his shoulders.
“I think I care for him. Love is - it is too soon to say. We’ve only just begun our working relationship properly. I do long for his attention, for his touch. A hand on the shoulder, a smile of acknowledgement, anything he will give me. Sometimes I feel so empty, I see him and I ache the way one must ache for a lover. But this, this ache? It burns in my chest like a coal fire, hot as Hell itself.
“Which is where I’d likely find myself if I gave in.”
John set the brush down on the table and turned James’s chair so they were facing one another. He leaned in, bracing himself on the wood behind it.
“I am not a man of God, James. I don’t believe you will suffer for eternity for daring to have feelings for another man. Out here, far beyond the reach of civilization, no one is watching. If we make it through this winter, and we turn back like Captain Crozier has wanted to for well over a year, then yes. You may find yourself in a situation where you must hide these feelings.
“Doubly so if the Captain returns them.”
James’s face fell, but before he could slip a word in edgewise John continued to speak.
“But that does not mean you cannot be together, even in England. Henry and I have made it work for a while. Sometimes, on occasion, you may need to take a woman out to a play, or to tea, but you can live together happily with a partner of the same sex if you keep up even the slightest appearance of just being close companions.
“And what would bring two men closer than mutual loss in a land where God does not keep watch? Where you survived the most hellish odds by listening to one another and working together?
“If what the men say is true, and we are being hunted? If death awaits us no matter if we stay or go? Why leave this hole inside your heart unfilled? Why give up on the one thing that could bring you comfort?”
James stared up at him in awe. He should be punished for being so forward, so close, but…
But he was doing this for James’ benefit.
“How does it work? Love, between two men?”
John let out a soft chuckle.
“It works like love, James. There is no difference between the love of a man and woman, and the love of two men. Or two women, even. The emotions are the same. The dances are the same. Dinner, sleeping, breakfast - there’s no difference. Making love takes a bit more work, though, of course.”
“How?” James asked, a little too quickly. Noticing his blunder, he cleared his throat and repeated the question, attempting to sound as normal as he supposed he could. “Um. How does it take more work?”
Bridgens stood up and patted his captain on the shoulder.
“Now that, sir, is a question for another day. One I’m happy to answer, but it is getting late. You need your strength - and your rest - for the morrow. Let’s get you to bed, Captain.”
He offered James his hand, which James took. It was slightly rougher than his own, calloused from manual labor and years of skill. The hands of a working man. James briefly wondered how Francis Crozier’s hand would feel in his own. Would it be rough as well? How would it feel on the small of his back? His neck? His breasts?
Shaking the thoughts away, he let John lead him back to his bed. He climbed in, pulling the covers over his body to keep out the chill.
“Goodnight, Captain Fitzjames.”
“Goodnight, Bridgens.”
John bowed his head and turned to leave.
“John?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“… Thank you, for this evening. And your discretion.”
“You’re welcome, James.”
He hesitated at the door.
“… Talk to Captain Crozier. The worst he can say is no.”
The worst he could do was have him lashed, James thought, but he didn’t voice his fears. John was right. He should talk to Francis in the morning.
“I will.”
With that, John Bridgens took his leave. Their conversation left him missing his bed, and Henry along with it.