Chapter Text
The Atlantic air was biting, seeming to penetrate through layers and layers of wool and cotton with ease. Rory donned his reefer jacket as though it would do anything to fight off the chill, slipping out of the Marconi wireless cabin to make his way towards the bridge.
The change in temperature was immediate, and the wind made Rory want to dive back into the relative warmth of the wireless room, the small space practically radiating heat with all the live gadgets it housed within. But he braved it, walking past deck crew he was still attempting to recognize. Some nodded at him as they passed, friendly but clearly busy with the day's work. Others ignored him outright and that was fine too. Working on a ship was a means to an end for some, a passion for others, and it was important to choose your relationships accordingly.
"And to what do I owe this honor, Mr. Moore?" Francis James Bennett, junior officer and a friendly face that Rory had quickly grown fond of. Francis practically strutted everywhere he went, a crooked, goofy smile ever present on his face. The confidence he radiated was positively intoxicating and Rory made quick work to remind himself that, while Rory chose to be employed in the maritime industry due to an insatiable wanderlust within him, Francis saw his own position as a curious happenstance- it was best to adjust his feelings accordingly.
Rory snorted at the usual quip, trying to hide the glee such a greeting always brought about. "Only the usual, Mr. Bennett." With this, Rory held up a small piece of paper- a telegram with a message from a nearby ship- and, by sheer habit of human nature it would seem, Francis automatically reached to pluck it right out of his hand. Rory pulled his hand back in time, however, earning an amused chuckle from Francis.
How strange it was- Rory often found ships' officers to appear quite foreboding, the collars of their greatcoats turned up and the brim of their caps pulled low in order to ward off the cold, and yet he would hesitate to use any kind of sobering language to describe the likes of Francis. Collar and cap brim obscured his features, yet sunlight still managed to find its way to brighten his eyes.
"I am to deliver this to the Officer-of-the-Watch if not the captain, thank you very much!" Rory responded, sidestepping Francis as the taller man still attempted to take the telegram out of his hand. "And last time I checked, you are still but a junior officer."
This put a stop to Francis' actions, though he proceeded to clutch invisible pearls in a dramatic display of offense. "Et tu, Rory?" And Rory felt his shoulders stiffen at the casual use of his nickname.
Francis continued to speak. "And here I thought we were friends as well as colleagues, but I see now where your alliances stand." There was the crooked smirk of his again, the left corner of his mouth pulled upwards to reveal sharp canines. He was joking and Rory had come to recognize that specific tone he used when he was- but still, something pulled Rory away from their jest.
"Julius Caesar? You've been reading some Shakespeare, Mr. Bennett?"
Francis' cheeks were already a bright pink color, likely from the cold, but Rory could've sworn they only turned brighter at his question. "Ah, you liked that? I saw that the first-class library had a compilation of his works, so I decided to check them out for myself. The language escapes me still, but it's as you say: the mind is a very malleable thing."
Rory made a wordless noise in response, a little embarrassed to have his own words parroted back to him. He held on to a different detail instead. "Crew is allowed to take books from the libraries?"
Francis shrugged, expression sheepish. "If one is persuasive enough, sure."
And Rory could only smile at this, for persuasive he certainly was.
"Indeed," Rory held the telegram out to Francis, who only stared down at it like a confused dog. "Can I trust you to deliver this to the Officer-of-the-Watch, then? I believe you have kept me away from my station long enough now."
Francis' eyebrows twitched upwards, but his expression then softened with a closed-mouthed smile- still ever crooked, but with a warmth that rivaled the North Atlantic chill that swirled around them.
Francis reached for the telegram and Rory expected the man to quickly pluck the paper away from him- a casual movement he had grown accustomed to within the bustle of the bridge- but then their fingers touched. Slight and feather-light, a true touch separated only by the leather of Francis' gloves. As risky as it all was, Rory still found himself cursing the cold more than usual.
Francis' touch lingered as he gave a polite nod of his head. "You can trust that I'll always do right by you, Mr. Moore."
Contact was severed as the telegram traded hands. Francis sauntered off with one final glance back at Rory, who could only think to shove shivering hands into the pockets of his reefer jacket as he watched Francis disappear into the starboard bridge wing.
"Right," he said finally, shaking his head slightly before turning on his heels. As much fun as it all was, Rory had to remind himself that such pleasantries were not meant to be had between two men.
He sat back down at his work station, the warmth of the near-living wireless room welcoming his return and, as he slipped his headset back on over his ears, Rory reminded himself that it was always best to adjust his feelings accordingly.