Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is a far, far quicker journey back out of the Arctic than it had been in. Or at least Edward thinks that it is once they manage to get away from King William Island. Before that point, and even when they had been heading back up in the direction of Beechey Island where they had spent the first winter, he doesn’t remember a lot of Rowena’s journey.

Of course, Edward doesn’t particularly want to remember the early days of their rescue either. That is, luckily enough, a view that he shares with George and John, even after the point at which all three of them are once again well enough to talk. Much of the way from King William Island to the edge of Baffin Bay all three of them just sleep.

Edward’s head is still sore nearly all the time, but it isn’t as bad as it had been early in their time on board Rowena. And he has found some relief from what had felt like a constant blanket of fog over his brain, although it still lingers if he stays up too late or tries to do too much during the day. He isn’t steady on his feet either, and he tires far too easily and is generally far less patient and less willing to forgive anything that annoys him than he had been when they had been on board Terror.

Edward doesn’t know if that reminds him of Crozier or if he had just always been a bit more ornery than he had been willing to admit to. Either that or he has just been through enough of an awful experience that he has lost sort of his inhibition. The head injury probably hadn’t helped either, but Edward can’t really blame himself for that.

He spends nearly all of his time with George and John in their cabin. That, he thinks, is probably better for all three of them — especially for George, who has clearly not recovered as much as he claims to have. Edward hasn’t recovered from it either, even though he had been the cause of the problem, as far as he is concerned.

At least with Crozier back on board Ivanhoe, Edward doesn’t have to worry about him. He trusts, he supposes, that Crozier had been really trying to make amends but he can’t trust that he wouldn’t just go back on it later. He had been nothing but kind to Edward while he had been on board Rowena, yes, but that had just been a few days.

Edward isn’t going to wait around to see if Crozier will indeed continue to get better, as much as he hopes that he will. Now that the major, immediate issue is on its way to being solved he would much rather just rest and try to recover, and to look after George and John.

When they had been on King William Island, Edward had thought that he was at least capable of keeping the two of them safe, even if that often came at the cost of his own happiness. With what he has seen since they had been rescued by Sir James and his men, though, he is increasingly unconvinced of that. In all, Edward just cannot believe that he is in any way useful, or wanted, or valued in general.

Or at least, he feels that way when he is around any of the other people on board Rowena. George and John will not allow him to think like that for more than a couple of seconds — and they are both very quick to realise that Edward has started to think like that. Especially John, for somebody who currently seems to process information far, far slower than he had used to think.

Edward is used, in any case, to being told to get into bed by one or the other of them — usually George — when he starts to get upset. Ordinarily Edward would find the idea of being ordered into bed by one of his partners to be rather an exciting prospect. At present, though, it really does just mean that he has been ordered to go to bed and to sleep.

This, unfortunately, is not due to anything except for Edward’s current lack of both willingness and ability to give John or George what they want. It seems as though they both assume that Edward just doesn’t want to accidentally hurt either of them — and that is part of it — but even if he weren’t anxious about that possibility, then Edward would still keep gently rebuffing them.

He doubts that either of them would judge him for it. In fact, Edward is almost certain that he is the only one of them feeling as he does. But he still isn’t going to allow himself to be a position where he will find out what they think. When he has recovered from his head injury then it will all be fine again.

Or at least he hopes that it will.

And even if he could get hard, Edward doesn’t feel like it. Not between how aware he now is of George’s ability to get pregnant and the fact that one or the other of the surgeons could wander in at any second. Neither do George and John, it would appear — not that Edward has asked either John or George if they would like something more. If they said no, then that would be all well and good. But if they said yes, then there would be a need for an explanation that Edward has no idea how to give.

He hasn’t felt embarrassed about his desire for sex for a long time, but now that that feeling is back it’s almost uncomfortably familiar. The circumstances of it might not be — thank God this is the first time it’s happened — but the emotion itself is one that he has felt before. But perhaps that isn’t surprising, considering the pain that Edward had inadvertently caused for George.

At least neither George nor John has kicked Edward out of their cabin. Even if it would just have been temporary, until they were back in England, Edward thinks that he would have understood if they had wanted that. He would have been upset by it, yes, but he would still have understood.

Crozier had made it quite clear that he knew the whole time about what his Lieutenants had been doing and so, it seems, did Doctor MacDonald: or at least the doctor knows the number of people required to conceive a pregnancy, and between that and their unusual closeness he had been able to extrapolate from there. But, of course, there are other people on board the ship, even if Crozier had probably been the biggest issue. If he doesn’t approve then he hadn’t said so to the three of them in his time on Rowena, and he likely won’t say anything of the sort now that they’re on their way home.

Besides all that, Edward rather likes sleeping in the same bed, or the same bunk as is currently the case, as George. He just wishes that he could trust that it would last longer than he thinks it will.

They have talked over what they will do when they get back home, albeit not in much detail, but in spite of George and John’s reassurances, Edward has trouble believing that they will stay together. It isn’t quite so bad now as it had been early in their time on board Rowena, granted, but he still lacks faith. He wants to stay with them for the rest of all of their lives — of course he does — but Edward has trouble allowing himself to feel any hope.

He had hoped that they would find a way back home, after all, and that had all been a lie planted by Hickey that had resulted not just in Crozier being taken prisoner and Hartnell being shot. Le Vesconte wouldn’t have been able to do as he so nearly had if Crozier had indeed come back rather than going with the mutineers. Since then, Edward can’t bring himself to hope for any more than getting home and being alive. Anything more than that would be not just unlikely but, Edward thinks, more than he deserves.

He can still hope, though. And, in spite of how unlikely it is that he will get what he wants, even if it is what both George and John want too, Edward finds himself daydreaming about that very thing almost constantly. It’s quite difficult for him not to think about living the rest of his life with the two of them when they’re sharing a cabin. It’s practically impossible for him to think of anything else when he and George are sharing the same bunk in that cabin.

George tends, especially now that he has mostly recovered from the pain and discomfort of having a pregnancy terminated, to sleep more or less lying on top of Edward. It seems to be more comfortable to lie like that, on his back rather than on one side, since that’s the only way that he doesn’t end up lying on the splint that is still on his arm. Edward, on the other hand, can’t lie on his back lest he put his weight against the back of his head.

Luckily, all that means is that Edward gets to sleep with his head on George’s chest. He and George both like that just as much as the other does.

No doubt they would both like it all the more if John could share the bunk with them, but even having him in the same cabin is a relief. John couldn’t share the bunk with them even if he was feeling better — it is big enough, just about, for two people but not quite for three — but it would still be nice. They will just have to get a far larger bed when they move in together, if indeed they do that, back in England.

When he wakes, Edward isn’t sure whether it’s early or late or if he is just in a dark cabin. Either way, Edward can tell that George, lying beside him, is still asleep even before he moves to sit up. George tends to have trouble getting to sleep, especially since they had started drawing closer to Beechey Island, but at least when he is asleep he tends to stay that way.

Edward still sits up carefully, not wanting to accidentally wake George if it is the middle of the night. Edward hasn’t been able to keep to a ‘normal’ sleep schedule since they had come aboard but George has. And, thanks to that, he will inevitably get annoyed if he is woken at a stupid hour of the morning. Not that Edward begrudges him that, of course — he would be annoyed too — but he is still wary of it.

George is still asleep, and Edward doesn’t know what had woken him. But as he sits up, Edward knows immediately that John isn’t asleep. He can’t lie down on the bunk yet — or at least John can’t lie down properly with his injuries still healing — but he usually sleeps somewhat slumped over.

When the three of them had gone to sleep the previous night, John had wedged himself back into one corner of the bunk so that he wouldn’t slump forward. He has complained a few times that it isn’t a particularly comfortable way for him to sleep, which Edward can imagine, but it’s better than reopening his injuries would be.

In any case, Edward can tell as soon as his eyes will focus on the other side of the cabin that John is awake. Edward can also tell just from looking at the way that John is sitting that he hadn’t woken up naturally. Either the painkiller that he had taken before he had gone to bed had worn off and now John is too sore either to sleep again or to move to try to remedy the issue or he had had a nightmare.

John hasn’t admitted to the nightmares, of course. Not to Edward, and as far as he knows not to George either. He has claimed very strenuously that he doesn’t remember anything about how he had been injured — the last thing that he says he remembers is running towards Hickey. Then the next memory he has is after they had been found by Sir James and his men; or so he says.

Edward knows a lie when he hears one. He also knows that John is an awful liar, if he even wants to try to lie about something. John might not remember everything that had happened when he had been stabbed — and Edward doesn’t want to prod into something that had clearly been horribly upsetting for him in any case — but Edward thinks he remembers something.

He has probably buried the memory, hence the nightmares, and even had he not Edward is sure he wouldn’t be able to help him with it. Not in the way that John needs, in any case — which he’s sure is far more intensive a kind of help than even Doctor MacDonald can provide.

Whether it’s one of those two or something else, Edward is careful as he moves not to startle John. He also has to be careful as he moves not to set his head spinning, as it very often does if he sits up too quickly. Edward hasn’t fainted since he had thrown the book at Le Vesconte, thank God, but if he tries to do too much too quickly he feels as though he might again.

“John?”

Edward can only be so careful not to startle John, but he still manages to feel guilty for it when John goes tense and jolts. Edward can see that he jumps even without any more light than is shed by the small, covered lamp in one corner of the cabin.

Edward can understand why John is as nervous as he is perfectly well. He had been that way even when things had been going if not well then tolerably, and before that when they hadn’t thought of any of what had gone wrong John had been considerably more uptight than most of the other Lieutenants on the two ships. Now that they have all nearly died, and now that John has come far, far closer to death than either George or Edward, it would be more of a surprise if John wasn’t nervous.

“I— sorry,” John says.

“No, no.” Edward sits up a bit too abruptly. “What on earth for?”

George is lying closer to the edge of the bunk than Edward, and so even though he would like to, Edward doesn’t get up immediately. Edward doesn’t trust himself to be able to crawl over him without accidentally falling onto George even in the light. In the dark he feels as though his mind is completely separate from his body, or at least he does where his balance is concerned.

Knowing his luck Edward would not only slip over and jar his own head but he would fall on either George’s belly or his bad arm. Edward doesn’t particularly want to do that as it is, and no doubt George would not thank him for it if he were woken by accidentally having pain inflicted upon him.

“I… don’t want to get into it,” John says. “I’m sorry. Just— just go back to sleep.”

If Edward had been thinking of doing that before he is now completely sure that he ought not to go back to sleep. John being a terrible liar, as he so clearly is, is a disadvantage for John — but at least it makes it easier for Edward to tell that there is something seriously amiss even immediately after he wakes up. It takes him a good while to wake up properly, yes, but clearly John needs to talk to somebody.

The problem, though, is likely to be getting the conversation out of him. Pulling teeth comes to mind, not that Edward thinks he’s much better himself. In fact, he knows that if he were to point out how difficult getting John to talk about his feelings is then he would just be laughed at at best. And Edward can accept that that would be something he would deserve, considering the problems that he has caused lately.

“I’m not…” Edward sighs. “I’m not suggesting that you need to tell me about everything right now in the dark in the middle of the night.” If indeed it is the middle of the night, which Edward isn’t too sure of. “And I suppose there isn’t much I can do about it?”

He pauses to let John say something, thinking that this must be just the point at which he would find his voice again. John just sighs, but at least he doesn’t immediately tell Edward that he can’t help and that he doesn’t want Edward to try to do so.

“I would like it if there was something that you could do,” John admits. Edward nods even though he knows logically that John won’t be able to see it. “But if you could— I mean, if there was something…” He sighs again. “I don’t know.”

“If I can somehow manage to get off this bunk without making a nuisance of myself,” Edward says, nodding down at George, “might it help if I came over to sit with you?”

“I don’t know that it would help,” John says. Edward sighs. “But— but I don’t think it would make things any worse.” He pauses. “Please?”

Edward hadn’t needed John to ask so clearly — he would have gone over to the other side of the cabin anyway if he could figure out how to do so without waking George up — but he still likes to be wanted. Perhaps that’s only natural, especially considering the relationship that he and John have, but even if it isn’t and he is being selfish, Edward can’t quite force himself to feel guilty.

Edward is at least awake enough, and therefore in possession of enough of his senses, to manage to shuffle down the bunk instead of trying to climb across the mattress. He hadn’t ever really been able to share sleeping space with John or George when they had been on board Terror — usually they would finish and then have to go back to their own cabins — and Edward supposes that it’s a good thing to figure it out now.

It’s certainly better to learn all of this now, when they’re on board Rowena and only there temporarily, and when there aren’t family members likely to drop by for a chat. Edward doesn’t necessarily expect conflict — he can’t see anything that he might argue with either of them about on the horizon, and that’s all in spite of his negative outlook — but it’s still a possibility. He would rather get around all of the potential corners early, and he’s fairly sure that he isn’t alone in that.

Edward has been surprised ever since they had all been feeling well enough to want to move by just how much of their bunk George is able to take up. George is a little taller than Edward, yes, but that’s just in his height. He’s slightly built enough that he doesn’t look as though he should be able to occupy as much of the space as he does but George still manages to give the mountainous pile of blankets and pillows and cushions on John’s bunk a run for its money.

In spite of the obstacle presented by George, Edward gets off the bunk with only a minimum of fuss. He also manages to get off the bunk without hurting either himself or George or both of them; and considering how bad his balance is at present, Edward is rather impressed with himself. Even the slightest wave or movement of the ship feels to Edward as though Rowena is being thrown up on her beams, and that’s in the light. In the dark, he feels quite the wrong sort of aware of what the ship is doing.

At least he isn’t seasick. In fact, in spite of his body giving him every excuse to start getting seasick now, Edward has never once experienced seasickness. He just hopes to continue not getting sick in that way for the rest of his life: from what he knows from people who do get seasick it’s a particularly unpleasant experience.

Somehow, Edward manages to scramble over and off the bunk without causing either himself or George any injuries. But unfortunately he doesn’t manage it without waking George up — not that he had completely expected that George wouldn’t wake up. He doesn’t feel too bad about it, either; not least because he can see how bemused George looks when he looks at him.

“Sorry,” Edward whispers. He drops down in front of George for a second to help him sit up properly. “I hoped I wouldn’t wake you up but I thought you’d probably prefer that to me falling on top of you.”

George laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It was… rather more amusing to wake up to than the other options.” He looks over at John. “You were already awake, then?” he asks.

“I…” John begins. George makes a noise. “I was. I—”

“You weren’t missing out on anything,” Edward says, “if that’s what you were worried about.” George laughs and leans into his shoulder. “Since we’re all awake now…” He looks over at John. “Do you mind if I light that lamp?” He still has George leaning against him, but he imagines George will want to go over to John’s bunk as well. “I wasn’t going to if you didn’t wake up, but…”

“Oh, yes,” George says. “Go ahead.” He sits up properly so that Edward can get up. “I don’t think I would have woken up even if you had, honestly, but it’s very kind of you to…” He nods.

Chapter Text

“Honestly…” Edward gets up and goes over to strike a match and light the other, slightly larger lamp in their cabin. “Honestly, it’s been long enough since the last time I shared a cabin with anybody that I had quite forgotten what is and isn’t good and right.”

George snorts with laughter, and even John makes a vaguely pleased noise even if he doesn’t actually laugh. It takes Edward a couple of seconds to realise why they had both been so amused, but as soon as he does he laughs too.

All of the men who had survived and made it to King William Island had been so used to sharing sleeping space that there isn’t much unusual about any of them being comfortable shaking a cabin. There isn’t really that much that’s too remarkable about them being willing to share a bunk either, although by now it might raise eyebrows.

There is, on the other hand, absolutely nothing unremarkable about Edward and George and John’s relationship. God knows what the Articles of War would have to say about George’s personal situation — Edward assumes that the lack of any specific rule means that it must be fine, somewhat — but everything else is very much beyond what would be acceptable for any two people, or three people, sharing the same cabin.

Edward thinks that he prefers what they’ve been doing, though, especially by comparison to how he has felt about some other Lieutenants he has served with in the past. It is certainly a lot more fun than just being friends with his fellow Lieutenants, in spite of the added stress that comes of their relationship.

“Now…” George squints at even the slightest bit of brighter light. Edward can’t blame him, considering how ill he is. “What… what was it that woke you up, then, John?”

Clearly he knows that something is wrong. Edward isn’t too surprised by that, but not just because it’s John who is in a bad way. George has always seemed to be completely out of touch with the minds of other people but Edward had realised very quickly that that wasn’t actually the case. George might not have too much of an understanding of the thoughts of other people but he can pick up on them, and on their emotions, like nobody else.

The problem, as he has explained it to Edward, is more that he can’t actually do anything about them. George can barely deal with his own emotions most of the time and so those of the people around him have to be ruled out completely.

“It isn’t—” John looks away. “I don’t want to worry you with it.”

“I could worry about anything, John. You know that,” George says. “Or about nothing at all, even though that’s of yet less use.” It seems as though John is convinced by George’s words, though — not that Edward can understand how or why. “I don’t mind if you don’t know,” he says, “or if you do know what’s wrong but you would still prefer not to get into it, but if you would like me to help then I can’t unless you say.”

Edward has his doubts that John does know what is really wrong, especially if it is to do with his having been stabbed. He doubts that John would want to tell just anybody what he remembers — and he hasn’t said a lot to anybody on that subject — but he doubts that John would keep both him and George completely in the dark.

But even if his mind doesn’t remember it’s clear that John’s body is more than aware of what happened. More than that, it seems as though his body is also trying desperately to force him to become reacquainted with the memory. If he won’t tell George and Edward about it, well, Edward can’t necessarily blame him for that.

“Well…” John wraps his arms around himself. “Well, I don’t— I don’t want to start that conversation at whatever time it is now,” he says. “But I would like it if you both came over here.”

Edward helps John to shuffle down the bunk a bit so that Edward can come and sit behind him. He leans back against Edward’s shoulder. Then, a few seconds later, when George gets off his and Edward’s bunk, he ends up sitting with his back against the wall of the cabin and with John’s knees over his lap.

There is an awful lot of shuffling around involved in all three of them getting comfortable, but by comparison to King William Island it’s nothing. Even when they had still been on board Terror, Edward remembers how awkward trying to sit comfortably on his own on his own bunk had been. Adding either George or John or both of them, even when they had all desperately wanted that, had not been out of the question but it had been logistically frustrating.

“You do… tolerate an awful lot, Edward,” John mumbles. He tips his head back against Edward’s shoulder. “I don’t just mean me using you as a mattress as I am at present, but—”

“Oh, there’s no tolerating about it,” Edward says. He wraps his arms a bit more firmly and tightly around John’s waist. “I let George sleep lying right on top of me for a reason as well,” he points out. George laughs. “Other than the warmth, I mean. And that it means he can—”

George swats playfully at Edward before he can get to the end of the sentence, but it’s clear that he had been thinking the same thing. It’s no great surprise when George puts his hand over Edward’s either, even though even a couple of weeks ago Edward had been completely convinced that George would never want to see him again after they got off Rowena.

Really Edward doesn’t know, now that he is feeling a bit better in himself, why he had ever doubted that the three of them would carry on together. Theirs might not be a conventional relationship by any stretch of the imagination but even so they’re hardly the first people ever to find themselves confronting an unexpected or unwanted pregnancy.

“And even if we weren’t…” Edward gestures. “Even if we had decided to cry off all that permanently, as unlikely as that would be, I would still…” He shakes his head. “In any case.”

John laughs, and so does George. “No doubt you would be a bit clearer if you were a bit more awake,” George teases him, “but yes. I take your point.”

“I am…” John says, after a while. “I am keen to get back home.” He tries the sentence again, somehow sounding less sure of himself this time. “And I’m keen to not having to worry about… all that we’ve had to worry about in the last few weeks, even. Not just the navy, even though I am planning to leave.”

“But?” Edward prompts him.

John makes a face again. “But I don’t think I’m looking forward to how much more difficult this will become.” He indicates George and Edward, and the way that the three of them are sitting. “I will miss the two of you while I have to be in hospital to recover from all this as well,” he says, “since Doctor MacDonald still thinks I will need that, but…” He sighs.

“I quite see the upset,” Edward says quietly. George nods and leans over to cup his hand around John’s cheek. “And I don’t want to discount that it won’t be as simple back in England as it has been here,” Edward continues, “but it won’t be impossible. Not necessarily, at least.”

Edward has always had something of an idealistic bent, in spite of what has generally been evidence that he is completely in the wrong. But in this case he isn’t sure that he is wrong — especially not when George is currently here. Of course, George can’t discuss his situation openly with most people but that has not stopped him so far. It seems unlikely to do so in the future, either.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, John doesn’t sound convinced by what Edward is saying — but then again Edward can’t blame him. The false hope that they had been offered on the expedition itself hadn’t been either Edward’s or John’s first experience with such rhetoric, and it hadn’t been George’s either. In fact, from what George has told Edward and John, in spite of his apparently positive way of thinking, there is usually very little separating George from cynicism. He had been there quite obviously on King William Island and even now that they are on their way back to safety Edward can tell that he isn’t out of that way of thinking.

While George and Edward both have some ability to withstand being told that sort of thing, even if they can’t quite take it in their stride, John can’t. And that extends even further than just the navy, quite clearly. (And, Edward thinks, completely understandably.) But, unfortunately, John’s way of thinking being one that Edward and George can both understand full well, and even if it’s not too dissimilar from their own attitudes at their worst, doesn’t make it easy for him to be talked around from.

“We will need to talk about what we plan to do back in England, I suppose.” It feels far easier for Edward to talk about this than to try to argue John around to a more positive frame of mind. “I wasn’t planning to do that now, at…” He can only assume that it’s around three in the morning, with how tired he feels and now quiet the rest of the ship is. “But if you’d like to…?”

“I’m not sure like to is quite the word,” John says, “but it would be nice to know what we’ll do before we get home, rather than planning for the next few years as we’re walking down the gang plank in Portsmouth.”

Edward nods and laughs against John’s shoulder. When he feels the way John shifts back against him when he does, Edward leans down again to kiss John’s shoulder and then the side of his neck. George leans forward too, and when he does he kisses John, and then kisses Edward.

Even if he can’t actually follow up on this as he knows both John and George would like him to, Edward doesn’t mind doing this. He’s sure that, if they both feel up to it, George and John would be more than happy to carry on with this by themselves. And, luckily, neither of them would find it too unusual: it isn’t as though any one of them is above watching the other two. It also isn’t as though they don’t all very much enjoy doing that.

“Or we could carry on with this, if you’d prefer,” George says teasingly. John is breathless when he laughs but even though he pulls George in to kiss him again he pulls away after a few seconds. “I… did mean what I said before.” He makes a vague gesture. “About living together after we get home.”

“Mm, so did I,” John says. Edward nods. “That’s why I was hoping that I would be able to just… leave the ship after we arrived back home. And why I’m upset that I’ll need to spend time in a hospital.”

“This is certainly more fun,” Edward admits. “Or… I suppose it would be more fun if we weren’t just talking at the moment. But I would still rather that you actually be able to join in properly, rather than having to be careful or just cry off.”

Not that they have had the opportunity to do anything of that sort since they had still been on King William Island. And the last time that anything like that had happened had caused all manner of problems thanks to Edward’s lack of forethought. Edward is hoping that George and John won’t properly regain the desire until Edward has regained the ability to act on that desire.

It’s a shame that he very much has regained the interest without his mind seeming to have communicated that interest to his body. But he’s sure that that’s not worth thinking about at the moment — not until George and John are both interested again, which they don’t seem to be. Not outside of the most abstract sense imaginable, at least; hence why they had both stopped just now and not carried on.

“I believe my sister is still living in Portsmouth,” Edward says. “I suppose you won’t want to go all the way up to Scotland again, John, especially if it’s just for a few months before you come back south again.” John nods. “And, George, I don’t want to overstep, but—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go back to Carlisle even if all of the rest of the country sunk into the sea.” George rolls his eyes. Edward isn’t sure whether to laugh or wince at his tone, so he opts for neither. “Not under normal circumstances, and I don’t think having recently nearly died will make me more inclined to be kind or patient. Or ladylike, God forbid.”

“That certainly sounds like what your brother has coming to him,” John says. “I would just have an uncomfortable time on a train, I expect, but at least I could go and prevail myself upon my brother and his wife for company.”

“The priest?” George asks. John nods. “I remember you were writing to her on the way here,” he says. “Which reminds me—”

“Were you thinking of writing home?” Edward asks. George makes a face. “I was thinking of writing to my sister and her husband,” he goes on, rather that letting George get himself even more worked up than he already is, “and asking if she might be able to spare the extra space, at least until we recover.”

“Would she—” John begins.

“This being the sister who will also put up the gentleman who my brother lives with while he’s away on ships,” Edward says. “Margaret’s only issue will likely be that I hadn’t somehow told her earlier, even though I only met either of you in 1845.”

This seems to be news to George — both that Edward has a sister to whom he is that close and that he also has a brother of similar persuasion — and he looks as though he now has more questions rather than fewer. Thanks to where he is sitting Edward can’t see John’s face but he can only assume that this is also news to him.

It occurs to Edward that he doesn’t think he has ever said anything of this sort about James to George and John before. It also occurs to him that he probably should have by now, considering how isolating an experience one like his can be without that sort of society. He has never considered having grown up with somebody like him usually just down the hall at the furthest to be a privilege before just now.

But clearly it had been, or neither John nor George would be as surprised as they are about it. Edward feels a brief but unusually powerful sting of guilt at his lack of thought, before he tries to put it out of his mind. At least now that he has thought to mention this part of his family situation George and John are clearly both a lot more relaxed about the prospect of staying with Edward’s family back on shore.

“So… Portsmouth?” George asks. Edward nods. “I take it that your sister is married to a navy man, then?”

Edward nods again. “Cragg… might be a Captain by now,” he says. “He was still a Commander when we left. He’s a perfectly nice man in any case, and he won’t mind just having to… slip out of a room lest he hear something that he might not want to if he stay for a conversation.”

He had done that quite frequently when last Edward had been in Portsmouth, but that had mostly been because of James and not Edward. In fact, before he had taken up with George and John, Edward had never been in anything like a serious relationship. He hadn’t expected to find himself in such a relationship during his time on board Terror, but even so he is glad that he had.

Now that he has brought up his family with George and John, he has started to wonder how James and Margaret will feel about this relationship. James would likely not have an issue with Edward’s having taken up with another man, but he can see that this might be odd for him. Margaret, on the other hand, he can’t imagine any reaction from for some reason. But with any luck a letter will be a good way to introduce George and John to his family — far lower stakes than an in-person introduction, at least.

“We don’t have to decide on anything now,” Edward says, after what feels like far too long a pause, “but I don’t mind writing a letter to my sister in which I just happen to mention the two of you. If she doesn’t pick up on the hints then I imagine my brother will, and he lives near Portsmouth.”

Or at least James had lived in Cosham when last Edward had been in England, but he could have moved by now, or he could be on board another ship. He had been talking about London before the expedition had set sail for the Arctic, and thinking of the way that he knows James to be, some part of Edward hopes that he has gone there.

“I— would like that, yes.”

There is an odd look on George’s face as he says this, and his tone of voice is odder yet. For a second, Edward suspects that John might be shaking his head, but he doubts that George would hold off on telling him if that were the case. It must mean that something is amiss with George, but that is a kettle of fish that Edward isn’t keen to get into. Especially not so soon after they were rescued.

“But?” John prompts him. At least that’s confirmation that John isn’t completely put off by the idea, but the thought of having to untangle what George might be troubled by still worries Edward. “Or perhaps it isn’t—”

“There is— something,” George says. “I just didn’t expect to have to put it into words as soon as this.” He pauses for a second. “It isn’t— I hope it isn’t a bad thing, at least, because I would hate to think that it was, but—” He shakes his head and stops himself almost immediately.

John elbows Edward in the ribs rather than turning around to frown at him in response to this suddenly odd turn of George’s. John clearly elbows Edward deliberately, but it isn’t a particularly useful gesture on his part, even if George doesn’t notice that he does it.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it yet,” Edward says, “then I won’t force the conversation upon you.” He pauses. “But if you do want to talk about it you shouldn’t feel worried about springing something on me.”

John nods. “I wouldn’t be upset either.”

“I’ll…” George looks away from them. “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

For much of Lieutenant Corcoran’s career, a quiet ship at night has meant a happy ship. And for all of his tenure as a Lieutenant — one which he hopes to God will be coming to an end as soon as they reach Portsmouth, where he will be handed a full command — a happy ship has meant a quiet evening for him.

This is not the first time that he has learned that HMS Rowena, newly built and half-hospital, half-icebreaker, entirely infuriating, is not a normal ship by any stretch of the imagination. He doubts too that it will be the last.

The problem, he thinks as he pushes open the door to the wardroom, is the difficulty of maintaining sympathy.

Rowena at least has two wardrooms: one for the officers of the ship before they had picked up their new rescuees, and one that is available to Rowena’s officers and the men of Erebus and Terror alike. For the most part, Corcoran would prefer to spend his time in the first of these places.

But, unfortunately, Charlewood has decided that he is to babysit.

He does not particularly like this. The fact that he doesn’t especially like it makes him feel a little guilty: certainly more so than he would like to feel, especially considering that this is not the job that he had joined the Navy to have.

“Their Captain’s back on board Ivanhoe, eh, Lieutenant?”

“He is, yes,” Corcoran says. “One of the boats just departed. No doubt he’ll be back there before it even begins to get light.”

The saving grace of this experience, Corcoran thinks, is that at the very least the crew of Rowena are able to get on well. Certainly far more than the crews of Erebus and Terror are able to at this stage — but on that particular count, Corcoran supposes that he can’t blame them.

Rowena has three Lieutenants, as Terror and Erebus had when they had departed, but neither of the other two are in the wardroom when Corcoran makes his way in. The only person here, sitting at the table and reading a book which Corcoran can only assume that he had brought from his cabin, is Rowena’s sailing master.

“And no disasters otherwise?”

“Well, nothing beyond what we have already had,” Corcoran says. “But — you saw all of that, I’m sure, Mister Knox.”

Corcoran reckons that Mister Knox — Joseph Knox, a man who he knows has been a master since before Corcoran had even been a midshipman — would enjoy doing the tasks that have been asked of Corcoran far more than Corcoran himself is enjoying them. Moreover, he would probably be a good deal better at it; he seems to know how to talk to people about just about any problem, regardless of its severity. And, after all, he’s children of his own while Corcoran hasn’t yet; he’s no doubt used to getting in between arguments and trying to settle the warring parties. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to mediate whatever had been going wrong between Terror and Erebus’ Lieutenants, but he would at least be able to get a coherent conversation out of them.

Or Corcoran hopes that he would.

“Heard it, lad, but yes,” Knox says. “I thought it better not to get underfoot, while they were… arguing whatever it was that they were arguing.”

‘Arguing’ is certainly one word for the conflicts that have gone on since they departed King William Island. Corcoran would more describe it as all-out warfare, and he would much rather do so from a considerable distance. He’s no thoughts of getting caught in the crossfire.

“Would that I could do the same,” Corcoran says. He considers pouring himself a glass of wine, and by the time he has reached a conscious decision he finds not only that there is a glass of wine in his hand already but that he is drinking it. “Care for a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you, William,” Knox says. “Charlewood reckons we’ve some difficult water coming up. Need to keep my wits about me.”

Corcoran nods, and then looks down at his glass. “Perhaps I oughtn’t, then,” he says. “Hopefully my expertise as a sailor might be needed some time soon.” He drinks the rest of the glass as soon as he finishes speaking.

“Not enjoying your time as a diplomat, eh?” Knox asks. He pulls out the chair next to him for Corcoran to sit. “I’m sure I needn’t preach to you — but you must remember, they’ve—”

“No doubt suffered horrors that would make you and I sick just to contemplate them, let alone to experience them,” Corcoran says. Knox nods. “Yes — it’s no wonder they’re so…” He tries to think of the word. ‘Erratic’, perhaps? But that doesn’t sound right. Worse than that, it sounds insensitive.

“Hurt?” Knox suggests. Corcoran nods. “And, if you’ll forgive my say-so, they’re out of your jurisdiction.”

Corcoran raises his eyebrows at him and sips his wine.

“Well, under any other circumstances once projectiles started being launched you could clap your hands, send one to one end of the room and the other to the other and then order them to behave themselves and apologise — or else they’d both get a taste of the lash.”

Knox is not incorrect about this, but it isn’t the whole issue. Or at least it isn’t in Corcoran’s mind; not any more.

“That’s as may be. But both of their commissions pre-date mine,” Corcoran says, in an attempt at a light tone. “Le Vesconte’s not by long, admittedly.”

Corcoran’s saying this makes Knox laugh — but that isn’t much of a surprise. He can find humour in just about anything, regardless of how bleak the situation appears and how hopeless everybody else feels about it. It’s a trait of his which Corcoran had found endearing when they had departed but which he now feels envious of — even if he does think Knox to be far, far too idealistic at just about every turn.

“Well,” Knox says finally, “when we get home that will be it. Probably for their careers entirely, if I’m not being too cynical. Then you won’t have to think about them, nor they about you, from here on. Not if you don’t want to.” He looks up from his book. “I would bet, too, that whatever it is that you’re seeing of them isn’t half so bad as what they’ve all been keeping to themselves.”

Corcoran cannot deny that, nor would he want to try to do so; after all, he may be frustrated but he’s no monster. Trying to discount the awful suffering of their guests would be wholly indefensible on his part, and he can see that there’s more than they’re telling the crew of Rowena, even the surgeons. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there’s plenty that they aren’t even telling themselves at this stage, and so he’s happy to keep his feelings to himself and nod politely or pretend not to be listening. So are the rest of Rowena’s officers.

The state that the men had been brought on board in had been shocking even when they had been warned in advance of how sick their new charges were. If Corcoran had been in health that poor — and he thanks God that he has never been — then he doubts that he would have it in him to be polite to somebody who even vaguely irked him. The behaviour going on on board Rowena might well have Corcoran’s tobacco consumption higher than it had been when he had been preparing to sit his Lieutenants’ exams but at least he hadn’t been stuck out there. He doesn’t know that he would be able to be even as content as the men from Erebus and Terror are.

“By the way, Lieutenant,” Knox says, “the Captain thought you might want to know — we’ll be coming up on the northern north-eastern tip of Somerset Island within the week.” Corcoran nods. “And then not too long until we reach Baffin Island — and from there, we’ll be out into the Atlantic, and then back home before we know it.”

“That’ll no doubt be good news for one and all,” Corcoran mutters. “Not quite near enough the Hudson Bay to be within range of the outside world, but I’m sure it will be reassuring to hear that we’ll be… known of again soon.”

“Aye,” Knox says. “To all them on the outside too, I imagine — knowing that they won’t be facing down the costs of throwing more men out into this maze in search of us, when we got lost in search of them, and so forth.” He looks up, clearly trying to gague Corcoran’s reaction. “Especially when they’ve sent their golden boy out here to lead the charge, if you’ll forgive the description of Sir James.”

“Oh, no doubt very costly.”

The mental image that Knox has drawn would probably be funnier if Corcoran hadn’t seen the state that being ‘found’ had left the scraps of Franklin’s original expedition in — especially since that had been after a couple of weeks of intensive medical treatment. But Knox had seen them too, and he’s seen them since, albeit not as much as Corcoran had. And so he and Knox get a good — private — chuckle out of it, which will never be mentioned to anybody outside of the wardroom.

Especially not poor Captain Charlewood.

Much of the sail out had been punctuated by Charlewood furnishing the wardroom with tales of his friend James Fitzjames. Clearly he had been hopeful that he would be able to add to those stories when they reunited.

Seeing Fitzjames’ name written on the list of the dead had had an impact on Charlewood’s mental state before the rescuees had come aboard, but that was no surprise. He had temporarily turned over command of Rowena to Corcoran — and even had he not, Corcoran would have told him to his cabin — and had then disappeared for about a week directly after they had learned of Fitzjames’ death. He hasn’t been the same since; although in truth Corcoran thinks it’s a miracle that he’s functioning as well as he is.

But now they’ve two of Fitzjames’ dearest friends on board, both being men who Corcoran remembers Charlewood mentioning not having made more than an acquaintance of. But — critically — not only is Fitzjames not with him, but it’s increasingly becoming clear that neither of these two friends is the person that Fitzjames’ stories about them would suggest them to be. Not through any fault of their own, of course: Corcoran wouldn’t be the same man either, after those experiences. No doubt they had been what Charlewood had said, at one point, but they’re both past that now.

Corcoran still sees it even more clearly than he thinks Charlewood does.

Corcoran can’t say what it is, and he wouldn’t speculate. Besides that, he doesn’t think that it’s his business if Charlewood doesn’t make it his business, but were he to hazard a guess he would say that just missing Fitzjames isn’t all of it. Not for Charlewood, most certainly, but he imagines that it’s not for either Lieutenant Le Vesconte or for Lieutenant Hodgson.

That, he supposes, remains to be untangled fully — but it would probably not be safe for anybody to try to start unpicking the knot until they are safely back at home and mostly physically recovered. Until then, it leaves all of the men on board in an awkward position of feeling that they’re walking on eggshells around each other.

There is a knock on the wardroom door just as Corcoran is finishing his wine, and just as Knox appears to be getting to the end of a chapter of his book. As he’s closer to the door, Corcoran is the one to answer it, to be met by Captain Charlewood’s steward. He really is a remarkably young-looking man, although he and Corcoran are around the same age — partly thanks to Hearne’s small size, but partly because he cannot for the life of him produce any facial hair.

“Everything well, Mister Hearne?” Corcoran asks.

He likes Hearne well enough in any case, and he’s no reason to be impolite to him even if he didn’t. Hearne is just about the most efficient steward, either to the subordinate officers or captain, of a ship that he’s met. And besides that, he has done a good amount of the mitigating necessary between Rowena’s officers to keep things running smoothly since they departed.

“The Captains have called a conference to discuss our upcoming return to letter-writing range,” he says. “Captain Charlewood will be going across on his own to Ivanhoe in the morning but he wanted to discuss any points that his officers might wish to bring up in advance.”

“In his great cabin?” Corcoran asks.

Hearne nods. “He would like both of you in attendance, if you’d both be so good,” he says.

“I don’t know that there’s much that I can add in particular to this conversation, Captain,” Knox says calmly, “outside of telling you how long I would expect our onward journey to take, and how arduous it will be getting ourselves out of the labyrinth that we currently find ourselves in. But I’m glad all the same to provide advice about that, if you feel that you need it.”

Corcoran nods next to him. “I think that might be of use, in fact,” he says. “I can imagine that our guests will be anxious to send letters to their families back at home. If we know how long it will take…”

One of Rowena’s other two Lieutenants is also here, but since Corcoran has been the one with his eye on the Erebus and Terror rescuees, it’s obvious that he’s just here in case there’s something that they miss. The third Lieutenant, not that Corcoran sees a lot of him these days, must be supervising some task or other on deck, or keeping an ear on the Erebus and Terror men.

Corcoran nearly always feels that he’s missing the forest for the trees, and so the extra pair of eyes — and the extra mind — is very welcome. He’s sure that it is for Charlewood as well; he looks paler every day and Corcoran cannot imagine that even a return to shore will improve matters. Hopefully there will be somebody in Portsmouth or London or somewhere else to take care of him.

“Mm.” Charlewood looks down at the table, and then looks between Corcoran and Knox and the other Lieutenant. “And we will need to send a list of who we… have on board back to the Admiralty at home. But I believe that Sir James is dealing with all that.”

“And the less— pleasant future preparations.”

Corcoran has heard, of course, about the mutiny that occurred — although it’s something that he hasn’t pushed for details about, for various reasons. It had been clear as soon as he had come aboard that Lieutenant Le Vesconte was nearing the end of his tether — Corcoran hadn’t even wanted to allow Charlewood to speak to him about Fitzjames, in fact. His upset had been inevitable, as had his attempt to hurt Charlewood with it, and more would probably follow if he asked questions.

Besides that, Captain Crozier has said that he’s no plan to order punishments for any of the mutineers — if any of them even survived. He hasn’t said who they were to the Lieutenants of either ship, or to Charlewood, wanting to avoid anybody experiencing unfavourable treatment or awkward questions. But no doubt it will come out, and no doubt there will be questions for the men involved.

“That…” Charlewood twists his pencil around repeatedly in his hands — a habit that he’s picked up of late, probably from Corcoran himself. “Captain Crozier still plans to present himself to the Admiralty as the whipping boy for the whole operation, even if he didn’t take part in the… illegal activities for himself,” he says. “Or give it his sanction. Or at least, that is what Sir James has told me.”

Corcoran and Knox both nod.

But Corcoran isn’t convinced either way that there had been nobody more to blame than the Captain. He might not have all the information but he’s seen men in dire straits before now, and he doesn’t know that the Captain trying to excuse it would have passed muster in all those situations. But, then again, he doesn’t know everything, and he probably never will: under those circumstances he’s more than happy to just accept that he isn’t being told everything.

“It remains to be seen whether a sacrifice will in fact be asked for back on shore, of course — and whether, if one is, Captain Crozier’s excuse will be taken.” For a second, Charlewood sounds a lot more not just like himself but like a Captain; something that Corcoran hasn’t felt that he has sounded like for far too long. “I do wonder if not telling us the names will be a point in his favour or not.”

But the moment of apparent authority is over as quickly as it had begun. Now, Charlewood just sounds like he’s talking to himself.

“I imagine he’s told Sir James,” Knox says. Charlewood nods. “And — and even had he not, I don’t imagine it being something that the Court Martial would be unsympathetic to. Not under every circumstance, at least. And if all — or at least most — of the mutineers are indeed deceased that might be seen as punishment enough.”

“It sounded from what we were told that the main moving spirit behind the mutiny didn’t survive,” Corcoran says. “And that if he had, then he would have been dealt with before we found them.”

“That’s no surprise,” the other Lieutenant says.

“From what I know, which might not be all, the execution — or attempted execution — was already in process when the mutiny began,” Charlewood says, which Corcoran struggles to understand. “I needn’t say that this doesn’t leave this room, of course—”

“Of course.”

“But it seems that he was being tried for what he attempted to do to Lieutenant Irving when a white bear that had been stalking the remaining men launched its own attack, as it were,” Charlewood explains. Corcoran grimaces. “The mutineers took advantage of the panic and the general confusion caused by the beast, took food and supplies, kidnapped a few innocents, and made their break for it.”

Well, it’s no Spithead and Nore. But that might be to the advantage of any remaining mutineers — if there even are any. Between everything that he already knew, Corcoran was already sympathetic to the plight of the remaining men but the knowledge of how the mutiny had happened dispels any suspicion about Crozier that he might have had.

“From all that — and from what we’ve heard from the men we have on board here — it really sounds as though it was enlisted men who were mislead by another enlisted fellow who was blessed with far more charisma than sense. Or seafaring ability, one imagines,” Corcoran says. He thinks about the state that the men had been in when they had arrived on board Ivanhoe and Rowena, and how they still haven’t seemed to meet rock bottom even now. “No doubt all afraid and hurt, and looking to hitch themselves to any wagon provided that it might take them any distance.”

“And white bears,” Knox says with a shudder. “I wouldn’t want to face down against one with a whole platoon of Marines and their armory at my disposal, let alone — let alone whatever pittance of supplies those lads had about them.”

Charlewood and Knox both sigh. Charlewood and Corcoran, and the other two Lieutenants besides, might not have seen men in such poor conditions thanks to a failed expedition before but they are both at least fairly young. Charlewood had been on an expedition that had been unsuccessful, trying to travel the Euphrates, but it hadn’t been so dramatic a failure as this had. Just frustrating, especially without the rewards that he had anticipated upon his return.

He had told Corcoran about it before they had reached the Arctic, during a conversation about Fitzjames — as most of Charlewood’s conversations, at that point, had been. Charlewood’s own Captain had had to make a case that their time on foot making their way back to England ought to be counted towards their sea time, else the men wouldn’t have been able to obtain well-earned promotions. From what of it Corcoran remembers, Fitzjames had decided to walk back to England with their post — of his own accord, at that.

Knox, though, is not just older but more experienced both in and out of the navy as a sailor. He must have seen plenty, even if he never hints at it — and his opinion is one which carries weight with all of Rowena’s officers.

“I doubt that Sir James will tell me anything much that we don’t already know on board Ivanhoe tomorrow,” Charlewood goes on, “and I haven’t a mind to try to prod, either, lest I learn something that I will have to report when we get back home.”

“Until then, Sir, is there anything that we ought to do?” Corcoran asks.

“I imagine it will be difficult sailing between the mouth of Baffin Bay and the southern tip of Greenland,” Knox says, “with the time of year being what it is, and this weather we’ve been having. They’re all sailors, of course, and they’ll be familiar with rough seas. And they’ll have gone the other way — but in the summer. So it might be pertinent were you to…”

“An advance warning might not go amiss. You’re right,” Corcoran says. “Just to guard against the potential stomach upset, if nothing else.” He looks up. “And — while I remember. Mister Eliot thinks that our guests are enough physically recovered to be allowed to take exercise on the quarterdeck, during the day.”

“Including Lieutenant Irving?” Charlewood asks.

“Perhaps Mister Eliot ought to speak to him separately,” Corcoran says, “but with that one exception…”

“And I would like to have at least one of you Lieutenants on deck, if our guests are going to be…” Charlewood sighs. “I’m sure they’ll feel that you’re hovering over their shoulders but I would rather that than allow myself to be the cause of any more dead bodies.”

“You wouldn’t be, sir,” Corcoran says — although saying as much feels instantly regrettable. “Nor would they, with how…” He sighs. “In any case.”

“No, no,” Charlewood says. “I— I appreciate your rationality, William, I really do.”

Corcoran might not have called it rationality, if he was being as harsh as he could with himself. But he appreciates Charlewood’s words; doubly so for the fact that he clearly means it sincerely.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Either way, gentlemen, if that was indeed all that you had to bring to the table…” Charlewood closes the book that he’s been writing in. “I’m aware of the lateness of the hour, and the… constant stream of disasters of the last couple of weeks. I’m not keen to keep you all in this conference for any longer than is wholly necessary.”

“Of course, sir,” Knox says. “As soon as all we Masters know how long we’ve to wait until we reach the coast of Greenland, I’ll communicate that to our guests, so that they can decide if they want to write letters.”

“Greenland?” Corcoran asks. “I don’t see that it’ll be a great imposition for us to make a brief detour to Pond Inlet, or even to Clyde River, if you and Sir James consider the way in to Pond Inlet to be too much of a mission for our ships to navigate, so that we can send their letters ahead of us from there.”

“Yes, I doubt we’ll lose too many sailing days that way,” the other Lieutenant says. “It would save us some time, in fact, would it not? If we’re to be docking at the other end in Portsmouth and not going back to where they left from, as it were? Rather than navigating down one coast or the other.”

“You’re right that it wouldn’t be adding many more sailing days to our voyage back, Lieutenant,” Knox says, “but in the end it wouldn’t help. With the speed of the post from those little outposts — I imagine the letters would arrive after we were already back on shore, and be of use to neither man nor beast. Send ‘em from Disko Island and we’ll not have the same issue. Or I damn well hope we won’t — ’scuse me, Sir.”

He nods briefly at Charlewood, but if he was even listening, either the swearing had gone over his head entirely or he simply doesn’t care. Corcoran doesn’t see much of an issue with it either, considering the ordeal that the last few months have been.

“Sir James would no doubt agree,” Charlewood says. “And he was eager to make his way home with our guests in an expedient a manner as he could, so as to reduce the amount of time that we put between them and a doctor on the shore.”

Even before they had found the men and realised that they were in truly awful circumstances things had been tense. When they had arrived in the Arctic, it had become clear very quickly that this would not be a straightforward case of loading relatively healthy men from one ship to another. Coming off the ships at points, with the translators, had started to paint quite a picture with worrying rapidity.

The worse that picture had become, thanks to the information of the native people, the more distressed the Captains had become. Thanks to that, the more distressed the men had become. By the time they had been found and brought aboard there was virtually nobody aboard either Ivanhoe or Rowena who wasn’t a bundle of nerves.

But, then again, their men had turned that mostly to good ends. Corcoran can content himself with that, he thinks.

But he just hopes that Charlewood can too. His connection to the men who had died is far more personal than that of just about any of the men on board either ship, excepting Sir James, and if he wanted to simply shut himself away in his cabin for the rest of their voyage home then Corcoran would have nothing negative to say about it.

Chapter Text

At least they are now allowed out on deck.

This, in reality, is very little consolation for Henry. In fact, considering the length of the day out here, and the fact that the day is the only time they are allowed out, it is virtually no consolation. When he thinks of who his company on board Rowena is, and what he’s done to that company with no hope of trying to remedy it, it is no consolation at all.

But it’s another place to be sullen and to smoke. And it is, up to a point, a place where Henry can be on his own without feeling actively alone.

In his own cabin, even though it’s a different cabin to the one that he had shared with John, he is very aware of the empty bunk opposite his own. It would be very difficult not to be, considering John’s parting words with him — and it is difficult for Henry not to think that he had deserved that reception. He has tried various ways of distracting himself from it, of course, from just putting the few things that he does have on it to removing all the bedding. He’s failed at every turn. Now he just sleeps with his back to it, when he does sleep.

That is all true. It does nothing, though, to help with the feeling of almost painful upset that he feels when he looks across, expecting somebody else to be there.

Out on the deck he at least is perfectly content to be on his own, because none of the other rescuees particularly want to be out here. It’s nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the agonising weather. Des Voeux had come out with him earlier, but felt the cold too strongly and then immediately turned back in. Doctor MacDonald, likewise, had spent a few minutes outside, mostly for Henry’s sake and not for his own, before also giving up.

“Lieutenant Corcoran.” He is not, however, pleased to have company. He is especially displeased about having that company when it insists on pretending that it isn’t there. “You don’t need to lurk over there and pretend that you have me on a long leash. If you just admit to being out here in this miserable cold to keep an eye on me then I might even share my tobacco with you.”

“My apologies, Lieutenant Le Vesconte.” Corcoran does not sound particularly apologetic, but Henry knows that he hasn’t been a particularly bearable guest on board his ship. So he’s willing to allow bygones to be bygones. “Far too kind of you, by the way.”

Corcoran is not much taller than Henry but with Henry’s physical condition being what it is he’s a great deal broader. Even wrapped in several coats and scarves and layers of shirts, Henry is shivering as he draws a little nearer to him. Corcoran at least makes for a decent windbreak, even if he is as egregious an eavesdropper as Henry is himself.

“Well, you smell like a chimney,” Henry mutters, a second before his mind registers the improbability of a chimney billowing out tobacco smoke. “I thought your supply might be running low.”

He proffers it towards Corcoran, who takes a cursory amount. Enough to be polite to somebody who’s offering his own personal supply, but not so much as to put Henry out. In all honesty, Henry is just glad of somebody being willing to talk to him or even approach him; Corcoran might not be a friend of his but at least he’s willing to have a conversation.

“Your captain is back on board after his trip over to Ivanhoe, then?” Henry finally asks.

He had, for want of literally anything else to do and anybody else to talk to, overheard the conversation about his journey over to talk about their return to England with Sir James. He hasn’t heard any particularly frantic activity since Crozier had returned to Ivanhoe — and he had fled from the possibility of accidentally getting under Edward’s feet when he had been in a bad way last week. Other than that, he has been completely on his own, in a different cabin to the one that he had been in beforehand, with no opportunity to even try to apologise.

On the one hand, he thinks that he deserves that lack of grace. On the other hand he knows that James would be incandescent with rage past even how angry either John or Edward had been if Henry had done this in his presence. It would probably have ended the same — the three of them refusing Henry’s attempts to mend things — but at least he would have been marched over to their cabin by James and forced to apologise profusely. And Edward, ever a stickler for propriety, would probably have gritted his teeth thanks to James’ being a Commander for long enough for Henry to grovel.

It would not have made Henry feel even remotely better if this had happened — in fact, even if James had still been alive it would still have been agonising. But perhaps he deserves to feel worse than he currently does; he knows that he’s made George feel awful enough with his stupidity, after all.

“He is,” Corcoran says. “We were going to inform you gentlemen about it tomorrow.”

His tone is wry, and when Henry finally brings himself to look at him Corcoran is smiling, and not looking murderous. Even so, the thought of being accused of putting his nose where it hasn’t been expressly requested makes Henry feel nauseous.

“Respectfully withdrawn, then,” he says quickly.

Corcoran frowns. Then the way that he’s just put his foot in it clearly dawns on him and his shakes his head. Henry supposes that it’s reassuring — or at least he knows that it is meant to be reassuring to him. He’s glad of the kindness, he supposes, since he isn’t getting that from anybody else.

“Well, I’ve no problem informing you early — and nor has the Captain, it was just an issue of finding a time when you would all be awake and receptive to your doors being knocked on,” Corcoran says. Henry can only imagine that such times are few and far between. “Allows me to get my explanation straight, if nothing else,” he says.

“Then please, feel free to use me as an experimental subject.” Henry’s jaw relaxes, but not without a considerable effort on his part.

“We should expect rough seas between the mouth of the Davis Strait and the southernmost tip of Greenland,” Corcoran begins. “I’m sure you were aware of that already, but Captain Charlewood thought it pertinent to say as much.”

“With the amount of lead I’m told there is in my brain, I’m a little surprised that I still know what the sea is,” Henry says. Corcoran chuckles. “No stop-offs, then, along the way?”

“A brief one on the coast of Greenland,” Corcoran says.

Henry has a mind to tell him that they ought to avoid revisiting the places that they had stopped off at on the way over, but he isn’t so sure now that his opinion carries much weight. He isn’t sure that he’s right, either; as much as the thought of even seeing Disko Bay makes him want to jump overboard he doesn’t know if he’s alone in that or not. He certainly hopes that he isn’t.

“Or rather…” Corcoran must read his expression and surmise what Henry is worried about. “We will probably anchor close enough for Ivanhoe and Rowena’s crews to send a message ahead to inform them of which of the men we’re bringing back and who… well, whose families ought to be informed.”

Henry sighs.

He has thought about writing a few of those letters himself, for family members of the officers of Erebus to whom he had been particularly close if not for everybody who had died. He is, now that Sir John and James and Graham are all dead, technically Erebus’ Commanding Officer, after all; and so that duty should fall to him. But he knows that his letters wouldn’t be welcomed, even if his experience has been awful, because he survived.

No, better to leave the notifications to the Admiralty, rather than allow a man who is still suffering from the aftereffects of the expedition to write to the families of the men that he had lost. God knows he had made enough of a hash of the conversation with Charlewood, who he now thinks that he ought to apologise to. He doesn’t want to do that to the families of his friends.

“Both of our Captains, by the way,” Corcoran says, “have also agreed that we will send ahead letters from your men to your families — or whoever you have waiting for you back home besides.”

So, he does know something about George’s situation.

Or at least Henry assumes that he does; there aren’t many other reasons to say something like that. Even the married men, had any of them survived, would have had families at home as well as their spouses. Not only had Henry apparently not been party to critical information about the relationship between George and his family, but seemingly he never will be partly to any information about George again now.

But perhaps he deserves that.

“There’s no pressure on any of you to write, of course.” Corcoran must have misinterpreted the reason for Henry’s silence, but this is reassuring all the same. “But if you think it might be comforting — for you or for them — then you may write as many letters as you like. All in the strictest confidence, at Sir James’ orders. They’ll all be delivered straight to their recipients without any…” He gestures.

“Thank you,” Henry says, because he isn’t sure what else he can say.

He doesn’t really feel like writing to anybody back on shore — but he’s sure that the other men will want to. In Henry’s case, he thinks it would be better just to allow his family, and maybe Henrietta if she hasn’t found a better offer elsewhere, to meet him when he gets off the ship and has a few more weeks between him and recent events. He can’t imagine he will be a good friend to anybody at present — in fact, he knows for a fact that he isn’t.

“I…”

Henry doesn’t, after what has happened since they came on board Ivanhoe and Rowena and today, want to make sweeping generalisations. He especially doesn’t want to make generalisations about people who understandably no longer want to know him. But he still knows that they all have, between them, succeeded in bringing the moods of everybody around them down to their own horrifically low level; and he’s sure that all of the officers of Rowena will be feeling it. And, with Crozier back on board Ivanhoe now, he imagines that the news will have spread over there too.

He wants to say something to dispel that, since Corcoran has really been nothing but kind to him even though he is clearly as out of his depth as any of them are. He wants to do that far more than he wants to try to protect his own feelings; something that he feels that he can barely justify in any case.

“I may currently be persona non grata amongst our remaining men,” Henry begins, “but I still feel — I still feel very confident in my assertion that there won’t be any negativity towards you and your men in any letters that ours do send.”

“Thank you,” Corcoran says. “But for what it’s worth… you’ve no need to try to protect my potential feelings about your— situation.”

“Perhaps not,” Henry agrees, “but it would be ungallant at best if I didn’t say it.” Corcoran tips his head to the side and waits for him to continue. “I realise that we’ve every reason to be just as mad as we so desire,” Henry continues, “what with what we’ve experienced out there.” He gestures back in the direction that they have come from. “But you gentlemen certainly had no responsibility to play nanny to a group of grown men.”

“We’re a hospital ship, Lieutenant,” Corcoran says, “or I suppose we are for the time being, even if we weren’t expecting to be providing such— intensive treatment when we departed.”

“I’m sure you would have taken a whole raft of surgeons if you’d guessed at the state we’d be in,” Henry agrees.

“Exactly. And I’m sure that most of our older officers of the wardroom have seen men in worse states of mind.”

“Hm?”

“It isn’t that we were told to expect…”

“Projectiles?”

“I was waiting for you to say it, sir.” Perhaps if they had met under more favourable circumstances Henry and Corcoran could have been friends. “But we were warned that a poor experience — not even so bad as the one I understand that you have suffered — may well have left you gentlemen feeling volatile. That you are is no issue to me, certainly. It would be the same if you had a broken leg and needed a crutch to walk — your walking slowly would not be a reason for me to be angry, but perhaps a reason to find you a chair rather than to insist upon dragging you out for a walk.”

“I think even saying that we’ve been volatile is putting it mildly, Lieutenant. I really do.”

Henry has been holding onto this thought on the way back below decks to go and sit in the wardroom with Corcoran. He doesn’t want to be overheard by somebody who might do as he had done and take it to mean something that it didn’t, after all. The only one of the three original Lieutenants of Terror that he’s seen since last week is Edward, and while he hadn’t seemed determined to get revenge on him then, that had probably been circumstantial. Henry doesn’t want to do anything more than he already has, which he knows to have been egregious enough to cause substantial hurt, and worsen it.

And, on top of all that, he still thinks that Corcoran isn’t giving himself enough credit for his patience.

Henry hadn’t realised until Corcoran had started talking to him just how starved he had been for any sort of conversation. But now, when they’ve been having this conversation for only a few minutes, he feels suddenly as though he has been drowning and somebody has flung a lifesaver down to him. And a good thing, too, considering the news that the rest of them are likely to receive tomorrow.

“That’s as may be,” Corcoran says, “and I won’t try to argue you away from what you feel. I don’t think it would improve either of our days, honestly, and I am certainly not in any mood to make yours any worse than I imagine that it already must be.”

“Hm.”

Henry flexes his fingers repeatedly in an attempt to get the feeling back into them. He’s wearing gloves, or he had been outside, and even though it’s cold out he can’t say that it’s so bad on board Rowena as it had been on King William Island. But he must be more sensitive to the cold now, perhaps understandably after the last year or so.

They’ve been back below decks, in the warm now, for a few minutes. It’s long enough, he thinks, for his fingers to have warmed up — and it would be for his toes, if he still had them — but they’re still numb and stinging and stiff. He blows into his hands: it doesn’t warm him particularly but it does make him feel a little better about himself.

“We might not have gone in expecting for your gentlemen to react as you have done, when we knew that there were a number of you who were still alive and would be returning to us,” Corcoran says, “but that’s because we weren’t expecting to find you in… the state that we found you in. None of us knew how to react to the news when our men who went ahead from your group to warn us of the preparations that we were to make disseminated it to us.”

Henry can only imagine that they had had as unpleasant a couple of days after that party had returned to the ships as Edward and Henry had had while they were waiting for the rest of the crew to reach the camp. Any preparations that they had made for a best-case scenario would have been rendered completely useless and no doubt they had been left with a lot of empty space on board.

Henry can sympathise with that.

“And I can’t imagine that you were expecting what happened out there either — so I will happily allow you any of your feelings that you care to express.”

Henry nods weakly. He cannot fault the treatment that he has received from the crew of Rowena, even if he still isn’t fond of Captain Charlewood; and from what little he’s heard, the men over on board Ivanhoe have fared similarly. He can say that Charlewood and his Lieutenants have been only too happy to disseminate information about the state of the men on Ivanhoe, even if there is no news.

The issue, Henry knows logically, is not really with their rescuers, but they’re an easy target. The biggest issue, really, is with the way that he and Terror’s Lieutenants have been responding to what they’ve been through; something that can’t be changed now and that, with space now between them, Henry has sympathy for.

And God, Henry almost desperately wishes that he could go back on the things that he had said and done a week ago. But there’s no way to reverse that error now.

Lieutenant Corcoran, though, and all of the rest of Rowena’s men that Henry has seen so far, in spite of how small that number has been, has been incredibly kind and accommodating. Henry can only think that Corcoran would have a good career ahead of him as a diplomat, if he understandably decides that the Navy is no longer for him on their return to shore.

Henry would certainly decide as much, were he in such a position. And, from conversations that they had had before things had gone down the pan, he knows that at least John is ready to be out. He had had one foot out of the door before they had gone away — this expedition had been something of a Hail Mary for a man thinking that he would be stuck indefinitely as a Lieutenant — and now that he’s nearly died he’s thoroughly ready to see the back of the sea for good.

Henry agrees with John, really, although he hadn’t before he had taken his place on board HMS Erebus. Back then, if he had John had had the same conversation, he’s sure that they would have been unable to arrive at any sort of consensus. He doubts that he’s much more time in the Navy ahead of him, once they arrive back on shore; and even if he was still on the fence in that regard he doesn’t think that the navy will have him back. Not after all of this.

And even if any captain will have him as a Lieutenant after he recovers, which is doubtful enough as it is, Henry doesn’t know that he’ll ever be able to get back on the horse, as it were. He would be constantly paranoid; constantly looking over his shoulder and no doubt still beset by the nightmares that have started to assail him here. It wouldn’t be the makings of a good companion on shore, let alone the makings of a good officer at sea.

He doesn’t know if he has no doubt that a captain would see that and reject him out of hand or if he wants the decision to be out of his hands. Either way the answer is likely to be that he is simply not wanted on board the ship of any self-respecting captain. And even though he might not be a particularly self-respecting officer any more, Henry is more than willing to accept that decision and disappear entirely once they reach the shore.

“So — all you’re telling me today is that we’ll be allowed to send letters home on the way back?” Henry asks. “And that they won’t be read?”

Henry doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but his willingness to put in effort to avoid coming across as such is low. He knows logically that there is nothing much that Corcoran can do other than what he already has done — and really he is grateful for the opportunity to send a message that he isn’t dead, and for Corcoran’s willingness to let him know. But the desperation to have something concrete and real that he can hang on to through this horrible experience is almost overwhelming. So too is the knowledge that he excels, seemingly, at ruining his relationships with others, and therefore the desire to cut himself off before he can be cut off for himself.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Corcoran says. But his tone is kind — far kinder than the tone and the language which Henry had just used with him. “But — our sailing masters, here and on board Ivanhoe, both think that once we make it past the coast of Greenland and out into fairly open waters, then it will be… if not plain sailing then at least fairly un-dramatic.”

“For you, perhaps.” Henry truly tries to say this with good humour, but with how terrible his mood is and how little faith he has left in the rest of the world, he’s sure that he just comes across as petulant. If Henry’s tone does offend him, though, Corcoran doesn’t give any indication that it does. “I… shall be counting down the days until we reach the English coast and I am finally able to put this behind me.”

“I fully understand, Lieutenant,” Corcoran says. “Even if I don’t necessarily feel it with the same intensity that you do — or with anything like that amount of intensity.”

“Like I said.” Henry wraps his arms around himself. He cannot bear the feeling of emotional vulnerability at the best of times, which this is not. “We cannot have been easy to be around these last few weeks. And I doubt that we will become much easier company as we recover physically.”

“You needn’t worry about any reproach from me. Or from any of our other officers besides me, in fact.”

Corcoran is not a good actor by any stretch of the imagination; it’s only a good thing that he hadn’t decided on a career in the theatre. Henry can tell very clearly that he is talking around the subject of Henry’s anger at being dragged into a conversation with Captain Charlewood so soon after they had arrived, but he isn’t going to show any anger about that. He certainly can’t think either quickly or clearly enough to be able to understand somebody who is trying to imply anything to him rather than speaking openly.

Henry has finally thawed out enough that he can take the last of the coats that he had been wearing on the deck without immediately beginning to shiver. He had taken two of the three coats that he had gone out in off, the first because it was damp and heavy and the second because he has been starting to warm up quicker. But the last coat, and the shortcoats and shirts under it, were still standing between him and hypothermia.

“I was just thinking,” Corcoran says. “We didn’t tell you about how we came upon all the clothes that we’ve given you.”

“Go on, then?”

It hadn’t occurred to Henry that the clothes would have come from somewhere. But when Corcoran mentions it, it suddenly feels as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well…” Corcoran sighs. “Well, we were going to keep from our men, after the officers knew what the state of things was for you gentlemen, just how bad a state you would all come along in. Tell them that there was an issue with the food and so you were sick and we didn’t want them mingling with you lest you all give each other some… monstrous cold or similar.”

Experience tells Henry that trying to conceal something of this magnitude even from a contented, well-fed crew of sailors is a poor idea. Corcoran doesn’t seem as though he’s about to inform Henry of a narrowly-evaded mutiny, though, so he assumes that it couldn’t have been that bad.

“I don’t think we could have, now,” Corcoran goes on, “but even so it proved itself to be…” He gestures. “I’m sure you know how quickly news spreads on board a ship, even if the officers try to conceal it.”

“All too well.”

“Well — somebody must have been listening at a door, or they must have given the right steward the right amount of tobacco to get him to tell. We won’t punish them for it, thanks to what they did with the information, and so we’ve no need to prod any further. In any case — we had a few of them come to us to let us know that they’d collected some things for the new ‘guests’ we would be having on board. It was the men on both ships, so you could as well be wearing a shirt belonging to a sailor from Ivanhoe as one of our boys.”

Chapter Text

“How are things on deck, then?”

Edward had assumed, when he had gone out for a walk, that George and John were both asleep. He had certainly asked them both if either of them would like to join him, rather than lying around in their cabin, but he had taken the lack of a reply to be because neither of them had been awake to hear the question.

John might well have been asleep, for all Edward knows to the contrary. He reckons that he was asleep, in fact. But he isn’t so sure about George.

These days he rarely is sure about George — but with recent events being what they were he takes any indication that George is at least still able to talk to him to be a good sign. Any more than that would feel to Edward as though he was expecting too much from somebody who has just been through what can only be described as a cavalcade of trauma and misfortune. It’s no wonder that he isn’t immediately back to himself, and he doesn’t want to try to hurry him towards anything.

“Much the same as they would be on any other deck, I imagine,” Edward says.

It had been George who had spoken, which he takes to be a good sign — but even then it is something that he is also a little surprised about. Pleasantly surprised, but no less he is surprised by it. George still doesn’t sound himself, of course, but after what he has been through recently Edward would be more surprised if George had immediately bounced back to his old self.

The pregnancy, after all, and the subsequent termination, hadn’t been the only awful thing to have happened to George — just the most recent calamity that he had suffered. After all that has happened since they had walked out it’s a wonder, almost, that George is still standing. Edward still wants to try to protect George from it even though he supposes that that is past being possible now. The best thing that he can do is to look after George after it’s happened — and not to leave once they get back to shore.

Leaving once they arrive back in England, of course, is something that Edward has never even considered for a second. He hopes that he has made that clear enough that George would never doubt it, of course, but knowing what he does now about the both of them he fears that no reassurance will ever be enough.

“And your head?” John asks.

John is awake too, but Edward is sure that he knows that he had been asleep when he had left to go out on deck. Now that he is awake, though, whether or not his being conscious is a positive remains to be seen. It sounds harsh to say as much, but Edward can see all too clearly just now much strain everything that has happened recently has placed on John. He won’t say it — none of them will, because it seems that none of the three of them will ever be able to learn this lesson — but Edward sees it all the same.

“Still sore,” Edward says, “and I’m still a little dizzy.” And everything is still blurry; and he tires easily; and his nose still seems as though it’s running, even if not as badly as before; and, and, and… “But I’m not in so much pain any more, and the contents therein are… a touch more able to be rational now than they were a week ago.”

John laughs, or at least Edward supposes that a dictionary might define the sound that he makes as being a laugh under the right circumstances. Somehow, it just makes him look even more listless than he had when he had been lying on his bunk when Edward had opened the door.

Edward sighs as he sits down beside George. All of the three of them must look, and seem, to be in a mood as poor as the other two but Edward truly cannot bear to see either George or John in this state. He at least knows what George is going through, though — and while he can’t take away that particular pain he can talk to George about it. That seems to help both of them.

John, though, has consistently been keeping whatever sadness he is currently feeling on top of his injuries far too close to his chest for Edward to be able to get a look in. George hasn’t heard either, or at least Edward can’t think when they would have had that conversation since the three of them have been constantly together since they moved into the same cabin. It’s been happening ever since he had started to regain consciousness when Sir James’ men had found them on King William Island, and over the last week he has only seemed to get worse.

No doubt John thinks that it’s something that he can’t be helped with — but Edward knows that it won’t get better if he doesn’t at least try to start a conversation about it. The problem is that Edward knows John so well. He knows him well enough to know that, when there is something that is weighing heavily on him, he won’t talk about it. But more than that, he knows him well enough to know that there is something troubling him.

There are very few people who John will grant that level of confidence to: really, it is just Edward and George. But if John won’t allow either of them to help him with it — whatever it might be — then it just leaves all of the three of them where they are.

“And the captain’s gone back over to Ivanhoe now,” Edward adds. George cuddles into him, pressing himself against Edward’s chest as Edward drags a blanket around the two of them. “He went back yesterday, actually.”

Edward hasn’t had confirmation of this, but he has a suspicion no less that just the knowledge of Crozier’s presence nearby has been making George more nervous. Edward has explained to him a couple of times that the only reason that Crozier had been on board was that he had been worried about all of the three of them, but he doubts that George believes that. And Edward can’t blame him for that, either; there is precious little, in Edward’s mind, that Crozier has done to make himself seem like the sort of person that George can trust with anything.

“That’s good.” George doesn’t sound too convinced by that, but Edward understands why.

“The offer to come for a walk does still stand, by the way,” Edward says. “For either of you, if that’s something that would be… helpful?”

He doesn’t know how it could be helpful, but he thinks that it would at least be better for all of them than sitting around in their cabin all day. Edward is still almost painfully exhausted — and he suspects that George is still in pain — but he feels a little better for getting out of the rather stifling air of the lower deck.

Edward hasn’t seen any signs of Le Vesconte still existing either, let alone actually seen him any time he’s left their cabin since last week. None of the three of them have heard a word out of him for that amount of time, but that’s no great surprise with how thoroughly he had seemed to go out of his way to hurt George. No doubt he’ll be feeling guilty, as though that will help him in any way, about what he had done — and he won’t be able to be enough of an adult to bite the bullet and come and apologise.

“Maybe if it wasn’t so damn cold,” George says. Edward squeezes his hand. “But not in this… horrible weather.”

“Nor I.” John sounds terribly despondent. If Edward didn’t currently have both no physical energy and George on his lap then he would want to go over and sit with him, but he doesn’t know that that would help John either. “I don’t want to fall on my face and reopen these, as I’m sure I would on a wooden deck.”

Doctor MacDonald, who had been the last doctor to check on him, had seemed quite content with how well John was recovering. But even so, it’s no surprise to Edward that John can’t bear having to be inactive for this long, and it’s no surprise either that he can’t stand being in pain near-constantly.

“I understand,” Edward says softly. “Is it still disturbing your sleep, by the way?” he asks.

John frowns, but when he does he doesn’t look confused. He looks more as though he’s thinking that Edward has said something very upsetting, and that he doesn’t know if he cares to explain what the problem is.

“Nothing has been.” John sounds far too defensive, and he speaks far too quickly, for this to sound like anything but a lie. “Edward—”

“We don’t need to get into it if you don’t want to,” Edward says. “But if you do…” At least Edward would know what he should try to avoid if John would tell him what he had said to hurt him.

“It’s not—” John must know just how defensive he sounds when he says this, because he seems to lose all momentum as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I…”

“You don’t need to be.” God knows that John has been putting up with him for long enough that Edward has no leg to stand on where complaining about him is concerned. “You haven’t had an easy time lately either. None of us have.”

“Then neither of you should be apologising either,” John says.

Hearing John say this makes Edward think that at least he is getting somewhere in trying to recover mentally from the ordeal that they’ve been through between being frozen in irreparably and being rescued. Perhaps it isn’t where either Edward or John would like to be at this point, and perhaps it will take George a while still to catch up to the two of them, but at this point Edward would gladly take any small victory.

And God, this feels like a truly small victory.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me any of it, like I said,” Edward says softly, “but if you would like to talk about any of it, I will listen for as long as you need me to.”

“Thank you.” John looks relieved — but he still doesn’t look as though he wants to talk about it. Edward can only hope that that just means that he doesn’t want to talk about it yet.

The main problem with all of this is just that Edward is constantly exhausted, regardless of how much or how little he does during a particular day. He had been warned of this repeatedly by Doctor MacDonald, of course, and both of Rowena’s surgeons. And he had been warned that trying to overstretch himself might worsen his already-tenuous grip on his health — but it seems as though that’s a lesson that he isn’t capable of learning.

Or at least, it isn’t one that he is capable of learning without being taught it repeatedly. He hopes for his own sake that he will finally succeed in persuading himself to catch on soon, let alone for both John and George’s sakes.

The fact still stands that it is three in the afternoon, a time at which Edward would ordinarily be working — not to mention a time at which he feels that he should be working — and he had woken around eleven in the morning. In spite of this, Edward still feels as tired as he would if it were midnight, and he had woken at four in the morning.

Edward is not just thinking of going to bed, because he is already mostly lying down on his bunk. George is beside him with his head against Edward’s chest, and just having the warmth of somebody else’s body against his own is enough in and of itself to make Edward sleepy. In combination with everything else, he is comfortably half asleep before he and George even lie down.

But, unfortunately, Edward isn’t able to actually get to sleep. As soon as he has his eyes closed and George is curled up against his chest there’s a knock at the door.

“I’ll go,” George says, before Edward can think of moving.

Since Edward is lying closer to the wall of the cabin, that wasn’t particularly in question to begin with; with the size of the cabin, George would be by the door anyway if he got off the bunk for Edward to get the door. John, too, isn’t well enough to move around too much, even if he felt inclined to — which he seems not to.

Edward is still glad of it, though. He mumbles out something that might be either an acknowledgment or a thanks as George gets up and hauls himself upright as carefully as he can.

“Doctor MacDonald?”

George doesn’t quite sound defensive about Doctor MacDonald being their caller, but he doesn’t sound particularly pleased to see him either. With recent events, Edward has every sympathy for that. He hopes that Doctor MacDonald doesn’t mind either; but he can’t see any reason for him to be angry. He had seemed as though he was expecting George not to be in too good a state.

“Is everything well?” Edward asks.

He’s sure that he would have heard by now if there was anything amiss elsewhere on this lower deck of the ship under other circumstances, but his current circumstances are anything but normal. He’s only just returned from taking a walk on the deck, and since he, John, and George have more or less shut themselves in their own cabin nobody would have told him. He doesn’t necessarily want to hear anything, of course, especially if it happens to be something about Lieutenant Le Vesconte.

But if some catastrophe or other has occurred, Edward would like to know about it. With the men in the state that they’re in Edward knows that anything could have happened. And he can’t think of many reasons that Doctor MacDonald would be knocking on their door other than to announce something going horribly wrong.

“No disasters to report to you today, gentlemen,” Doctor MacDonald says. He doesn’t sound breezy or cheerful — that would be inappropriate considering what has gone on recently — but he sounds a good deal calmer than Edward remembers him sounding of late. “Or — if you three are all doing as well as can be expected for where we are, then I haven’t anything negative to tell you about.”

“No, no,” Edward says. “I just… came back from taking a walk on the deck.”

Edward suspects that Doctor MacDonald will also want to know if Edward has succeeded in convincing either John or George out on deck for a walk. All three of them are supposed to be moving around a little — as much as they feel the inclination to, John especially to avoid fluid in his lungs — but it’s difficult. If Edward was the sort of man to pull rank with either of them, then perhaps he would, but he doesn’t want their feelings hurt by it.

And Edward can see that John is particularly sore. He hasn’t taken so much of the laudanum as the surgeons want him to for the last week — he hasn’t said why but Edward can guess — and the increased pain leaves him irritable. The only reason that Edward isn’t walking on eggshells around John is the fact that, well, he’s John. George’s case is much the same, luckily — and John also feels very clearly aggressively protective of George on top of that.

“That’s good to hear,” Doctor MacDonald says. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of cajoling I had to deploy against Captain Charlewood — and Mister Eliot, and the Lieutenants — to make sure that you were allowed out there.”

“And we appreciate it, Doctor MacDonald,” Edward says. “Possibly not so much as we might if we were somewhere the sun set a little later, admittedly.”

Now that he’s feeling a little more awake, Edward is sitting back against the wall of the cabin, carefully trying to keep the back of his head away from the wood. It isn’t so much that having pressure against the back of his head hurts now — the rate at which Edward is healing is surprising even to himself — but the movement of the ship.

Edward isn’t back to himself enough in regards to his physical strength that he can stop himself from thumping himself on the back of the head if the ship goes through a large wave. His mind is still sluggish enough that he’ll only notice when he has already hit his head, and even were it not he doesn’t trust that he has the physical strength to stop it from happening. He’s hit his head in that way a couple of times in the last week, and every time it’s left him dizzy and nauseous. He’s keen to avoid allowing it to happen again, now that he’s starting to feel better.

“You’ll start having an easier time soon, Edward, I hope,” Doctor MacDonald says. Edward could almost believe it, were he not as unlucky as he is. “And I’m glad to hear you aren’t doing so badly now. But that wasn’t what I came along for — it’s more good news, or I hope it is.”

“Yes?”

George sits back on the bunk beside Edward. Doctor MacDonald stays in the doorway, rather than try to maneuver a chair somewhere in the middle of the cabin. There hadn’t been much space in this cabin when it had just been George and Edward in here; now that John is in here too, space is even more at a premium. Not that any of the three of them object: it’s far easier to sleep when somebody else is around for all of them. Being around each other is even more reassuring.

“Well, since you’re all faring as well as you are across the two ships,” Doctor MacDonald says, “both of the captains — and Captain Crozier, actually — have decided that we’ll have time when we reach Greenland to stop off so that we can send some letters ahead of us. To your families, if you like, but to whoever else you feel you would like to know that you’re still here.” He paused. “And all in the strictest confidence — nobody will be reading them other than the people they’re addressed to.”

Edward is not entirely sure that this is a good idea: or at least he doesn’t think that it is a good idea for all of the men. For somebody like him, who has a good enough relationship with enough of his family that he wants to write to them even now it would only improve the situation. But he knows exactly what sort of family George has — they’ve talked about it at great length — and he doesn’t think that he would be well served by writing to them.

But he can see why both the captains and Doctor MacDonald (and Crozier, apparently) had thought that it might be. Even had they not had the time to stop off briefly, because the rescued men were so sick, the crews of Ivanhoe and Rowena would still have been able to send a message on with their list of survivors. That is easy enough to do without having to be at anchor for any amount of time, or even without sending anybody ashore.

“That sounds like— a sensible idea,” Edward says after a pause.

“Well,” Doctor MacDonald says, “you needn’t make any decisions of any sort right this very minute. It will be a few weeks before we’re close enough to the coast of Greenland for the crews of Ivanhoe and Rowena to even start planning it.”

Edward nods. He can feel already that he’ll have to do the speaking for the other two for the rest of this conversation, but that isn’t an unfamiliar state of things. George had been sick enough when they had come on board — for reasons that Edward hadn’t even guessed at — that Edward had had to be the one to communicate for both of them.

Chapter Text

“I might have to take you up on that offer of a walk, Edward.”

Edward had not so much thought that Doctor MacDonald’s news about the possibility of writing letters had passed without too much comment, because that would have been a stupid assertion to make. He knows John and George too well to think that either of them would have been anything but unnerved by the news. He also knows both of them too well to think that they would try to talk through it with him.

George has been antsy, for understandable reasons, ever since he had recovered enough from the termination to be antsy. Edward had noticed it, and mostly put it down to the combination of what he had gone through recently and just the fact that everybody on board is currently on edge, and that wearing off on all of the three of them. But ever since Doctor MacDonald had come to speak to them, all three of them have been beyond just nervous.

George is clearly in the worst state, though. Edward has thought that he just doesn’t want to talk about it — but looking at him now, Edward thinks that that might be about to change. Neither George nor John has much of an ability to disguise their feelings, and George has a particularly readable facial expression.

“Mm, we might as well take advantage of the half an hour of daylight we have every day,” Edward says, not quite jokingly. He isn’t finding the weather in the Arctic, especially the early nightfall, to be particularly conducive to his recovery. “John? Do you want to come with us?” he asks. “Or do you mind if we leave you on your own for a bit?”

“Oh. No. I was going to get some sleep.”

Edward has trouble believing John, even though he knows for a fact that he’s exhausted. It’s a strange issue — he knows that he can trust John; of course he does — but he can see that there’s something amiss with him that John isn’t sharing.

Perhaps he’s told George.

That, of course, will only be particularly helpful if Edward is able to get that information out of George, and he doubts that he will be able to. When he’s in a bad way, which he must be, George is virtually incoherent, and Edward has no desire to start trying to extract information from somebody who he cares about.

“Mm.” Edward squeezes John’s hand. “Well, don’t keep yourself awake on our account — we can go and sit in the wardroom if you’re asleep when we return, if you like?”

“I don’t mind either way,” John says.

Edward and George exchange a look that makes Edward think that they ought to just stay here and see if there’s anything that they can do to help John. But the two of them are in just as much of a state as he is and they can only really do anything to help if they aren’t both in as bad a mood as John is.

Besides that, maybe the thing that will help John the most is just to be allowed to nap for a while. He’s exhausted, after all — even Edward can see that, and George must be able to as well — and he’s probably as exhausted emotionally and mentally as he is physically.

“Then we’ll see you when we get back,” George says. He squeezes John’s hand as well, before Edward allows himself to be ushered out of the door.

Even after over a week, Edward hasn’t been able to find it in him to even think of speaking to Le Vesconte, let alone forgiving him. He hasn’t been able to think of talking to George about it either — he knows that he ought to talk to him, of course, because he knows that George won’t talk about anything unless he’s prompted, unless it’s something truly dreadful. But, generally, if something is that bad, then George will shut down before he can even try to get out that it’s something that he needs to talk about.

Edward isn’t quite sure whether it just feels warmer outside today than it had yesterday or if it really is. It isn’t as though they’re much further south, after all, and it isn’t as though he is wearing any more layers of clothes today than he had yesterday. Still, Edward isn’t quite so shivery and stiff today as he had been last time he had ventured out on deck.

Yesterday, even with his gloved hands crammed as far down into his pockets as he could his fingertips had still started to go numb after barely a few seconds outside. Even with George downwind of him and trying to use Edward as a windbreaker, Edward doesn’t feel it quite so badly today.

Of course, they aren’t alone on the deck. They’re never allowed to be alone on the deck, and they probably won’t be even when they’re barely a day from reaching home again. Ostensibly the reason for that is that they’re all sick and therefore unsteady on their feet, and the officers of Rowena — and probably those of Ivanhoe too — don’t want them falling and injuring themselves further.

The real reason that they aren’t allowed out unattended, Edward supposes, is technically thanks to the risk of the men falling and injuring themselves. In a manner of speaking, the obvious risk of somebody throwing himself overboard deliberately could be described like that.

When they had come on board, Edward knows for a fact that he would have been one of the men that they would have needed to keep a close eye on. Of course, when they had been close enough to the coast of King William Island they hadn’t been allowed on deck either way, but Edward knows himself well enough, he thinks, to know how he would have reacted.

Edward won’t deny that he still feels rotten, of course, both physically and emotionally. But it’s nowhere near as bad as it had been: he feels not much more of a purpose now but he does at least feel better in himself.

The hatch swings shut behind the two of them, the wind having snatched its handle out of Edward’s hand aggressively enough that even were he healthy he likely wouldn’t have been able to keep a grip on it. As soon as it does, Corcoran looks up, waves in their direction, but doesn’t say anything to them.

“Hopefully Lieutenant Corcoran will leave us alone,” Edward mutters. “I don’t think we’ve given him anything to worry about just coming out here.” And at least Corcoran had actually acknowledged that he is out here, rather than lurking as though Edward and George wouldn’t notice.

“I imagine he’s too worried about you throwing something at his head to do that,” George says.

He sounds fond — even when he’s been frustrated or out of his mind with worry lately he has — but Edward can tell that there’s something weighing on him even with that. And, of course, Edward cannot even think of blaming him for that: his own problems feel very insignificant compared to what has happened to George recently.

“Ah, I haven’t brought a book out here,” Edward says, which gets a laugh out of George. “So he’s safe.” He looks over. Corcoran is determinedly looking away from the two of them. “For now.”

George heads a little further away from Corcoran, clearly intending for Edward to follow him over there. Even had Edward not been concerned for him — and he is — he would have followed him. He sticks close to George’s side as they draw a little closer to the wooden guard-rail that surrounds the quarterdeck.

“I’m not going to— fling myself over the side, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

George sounds defensive at first, but he gets a handle on it quickly enough that Edward would probably have missed it were he not so sensitive to any perceived rejection. George is, in this regard, much the same as Edward; and because of that it’s obvious that when he catches himself sounding irritable, that’s the reason.

“I know that.” Edward casts a glance behind them to make sure Corcoran isn’t watching them. When he sees that he isn’t, or at least when Edward doesn’t think that he is, he extricates a hand from his pocket and rests it on George’s back. “I— I still worry about you, though.”

Edward expects that George might move away when he says that; Edward knows that he can’t bear being pitied, after all. Instead, George leans in to Edward’s shoulder and presses against him as best he can when they’re both in layers of clothes. Then again, since Corcoran is hanging around, perhaps it’s for the best that they not be too openly affectionate.

“You don’t need to be worried about me,” George says softly, “but— but thank you.” He doesn’t look at Edward for a few seconds. “Really. I know this has been horrible for you as much as it has me.”

Edward doubts that his experience has been as bad as George’s, but he knows better than to try to object. George needs support far more desperately than he needs Edward to tell him how to talk about his own feelings. That’s a mistake that Edward has made before, both with George and with John, and he thinks that right now is just about the worst time to make George feel defensive.

“You don’t need to thank me for it,” Edward says instead. That seems as though it calms George’s nerves without also offending him — and it stops Edward from coming across as though he’s trying to blow George’s affection off. “I do really mean that I care about you.”

Edward knows that George has trouble believing that anybody even tolerates or likes him, let alone feeling as strongly for him as Edward and John both do. If only Edward could just convince George of his importance to him, and to John, who is his own subject entirely, he thinks that all three of them would feel better for it. But, no matter how hard Edward and John try — no matter how long John had been trying before even meeting Edward — George just won’t believe that either of them care as much as they do.

“I—” George cuts himself off. “I am… starting to believe that, perhaps,” he says, which is a lot more than Edward had thought might have been the case. “But I still like to be kind to you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

Edward moves his hand a little further around George’s waist so that he can pull him in towards himself. He can’t really put his arms around him out here, especially not with Corcoran hanging around, but he still feels that George needs this sort of affection. George leans against him, as carefully as he can, and reaches across to put his hand over Edward’s. Edward is on his injured side so it’s clearly an awkward movement but both of them need this sort of affection from the other.

“You…” Edward looks at him. “You seem as though there’s something that’s disturbing you.”

“Other than the obvious?” George asks.

“I suppose I walked into that one, yes,” Edward says. George laughs. “But— but really, George, if there is something that you—”

“There is,” George says. He can’t meet Edward’s eye as he does. “It isn’t something dreadful like— like last time,” he says quickly, “but it still — I still think we should talk about it.”

Had George been anybody else, Edward would have been very unnerved by him starting a conversation like this.

He knows, vaguely, that Le Vesconte had decided, in spite of the absence of any actual evidence, that he and George had decided to call it a day as far as their relationship is concerned when the ships reach England. He has given that about as much thought as he thinks it deserves until now — but hearing this makes him give it a little more credence as an idea.

“Before you— before you launch off on this,” Edward says, moving his hand away from George’s back for a second to get his attention, “what Lieutenant Le Vesconte thought— I know you don’t want to think about him now but—”

“Oh!” George’s eyes widen with realisation in a way that Edward hasn’t seen in far too long. “Oh — Edward — oh, no, I—”

Rather than continue to try to talk himself out of the hole that he’s in, George turns Edward to face towards him, and kisses him quickly but surprisingly fiercely. It’s been long enough since the last time Edward has kissed anybody — and longer still for George — and it’s cold on deck. But even though they’re both clumsy and awkward at it, it’s still a more reassuring gesture than anything anybody could say.

It seems that George remembers where they are — and who is keeping an eye on them — only after he lets go of him. But when Edward looks over towards Corcoran to make sure that he hadn’t seen what had just happened, he is looking in the other direction. A good thing too, although Edward doesn’t know that Corcoran would have it in him to complain about anything that they did, provided that they weren’t being aggressive with each other.

“He didn’t—?” George asks.

Edward shakes his head. “Politely averting his eyes.”

They both snort with laughter, partly at Edward’s choice of words and partly at the situation itself — and just as they calm down again, Corcoran looks over at them with what Edward can identify even from a distance to be a raised eyebrow. George and Edward both notice, of course — they’re both conscious enough of Corcoran’s presence that it would be stranger had they not — and once they spot him, it starts them both giggling again.

For the first time in far longer than he likes to admit, Edward feels like a particularly foolish teenager, or a midshipman sneaking around and feeling very grown-up. He prefers that, he thinks, to feeling like an adult: he might technically be one but he would much rather the responsibility be taken away from him for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Edward says, still laughing. “I’ve distracted you.”

“Well — I believe that you have form for doing just that.” George draws a slightly more respectable distance away, but he clearly does so unwillingly. His hand stays on Edward’s chest when he moves. “No, Edward — if you and John will both have me—”

“We both will.”

“You certainly will,” George says, seemingly without thinking. Both of them laugh again. “I’m sure John will too, if he’s given the opportunity.”

“I’ve seen that he will,” Edward says. “But— if you’ve brought me out here to flirt—”

“No, no, you’re right,” George says.

It isn’t too cold to be out here for relatively short periods of time, at least — but moving around, which they currently aren’t doing, makes it more bearable. And more importantly it makes it safe, or at least safer, for them to be outdoors for an extended period of time. Edward has to keep stomping his feet to keep the feeling in them, and even with multiple pairs of socks on under large boots he can still feel the sting of the cold.

“So?” Edward asks.

He casts a look over to see if Corcoran is watching them or if he’s still pretending not to be paying attention, only to find that Corcoran has wandered off entirely. Presumably he’s decided that they’re well enough to be unattended while he goes to get another pair of gloves or a warm drink.

Edward isn’t going to complain about that.

He slides his hands between George’s coat and the outermost of his layers of shortcoats and shirts, and he only partly does it to try to warm his hands again. George turns so that anybody who does happen to be looking at them won’t see how Edward is touching him. Edward is wearing gloves, and God only knows how many layers George is actually wearing, but this is still the closest to genuinely affectionate physical contact that they have got for far too long.

“I imagine you’ll think I sound mad for this,” George begins tentatively, “and I felt mad when I first thought of it, and I don’t know how any of us will feel about this when we get home. And so there is every chance that nothing will come of it — and if that is the case then you are more than welcome to forget that I ever even brought the idea up.”

“Well, even though I won’t know whether I do think you’re mad for it unless you tell me,” Edward says, “I really don’t think I will.”

Edward thinks that he knows what revelation George is about to come out with.

If it is that, then it will be a relief, and Edward will not think that he’s gone mad, not that he ever would to begin with. He hasn’t ever discussed it with George — mostly out of embarrassment at first, but more recently out of a lack of faith that they would even survive and recent events have made him think that it’s a door that is, as far as George is concerned, permanently closed.

He doesn’t want to jump the gun, of course, and find that George had had something far more benign and far less life-changing in mind that Edward had more than just dumped cold water on. But with the intensity of his feelings for George it’s really no wonder that he might perhaps want to start a family with him.

“You say that now,” George says, a touch defensively, “but I— I haven’t told you already, not really, even though I— I tried to, but even then, not until you… collapsed. The other week.”

“If…” Edward tries to decide on the best way to talk around this, and then realises that there isn’t even a tolerable way, let alone a best way. “If you are telling me that you’ve had the realisation that I think you have,” he says carefully, “then I took— what you did, and what you said, to be the result of my seeming as though I had taken a turn for the worse.”

“I believe I have.” George looks nervous — but not quite crestfallen. “But if you aren’t—”

“Wait, wait,” Edward says softly. “I haven’t said everything yet. The reason that I haven’t renewed the subject with you, other than… all that’s happened since, is that I didn’t think that you wanted to. Not because I didn’t—” Edward shakes his head, and is then immediately reminded of why he shouldn’t. “I remember that you weren’t too happy with me when I sprung my feelings on you immediately after the damn bear attacked Mister Blanky when we were still on board Terror. I didn’t think that you would take too kindly to me throwing that at you and just expecting you to know what to do with the information.”

George laughs. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t upset then, Edward,” he says. “I just felt— rather too many things around me at once, and then by the time thought that I ought to say something—”

“You already had John pawing at you by that point, yes,” Edward says. “I remember.” It would be rather difficult for Edward not to remember what they had done that night. Even with the lead poisoning and the other sickness and injuries it’s a memory that his mind has held on to almost jealously. “I doubt that either of us would have let you get a word in, even if you had tried.”

He and George both laugh at that. Edward suspects that it’s as much out of relief as it is actual humour for both of them. It certainly is for Edward, after all, and apparently he knows George rather better than he had even assumed to begin with.

“I know we’ll all have a lot to recover from when we get home without having to think about— about planning for a new baby,” George says, sliding his hand under his coat to press over Edward’s hand. Edward nods. “And I haven’t even told John yet — but I… I would like to spend the rest of my life with the two of you, if you both— I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” Edward says, very gently, “and I — yes! Of course! I just thought that I didn’t actually say—”

As he says this, Edward feels, for no reason that he can actually express, that he might burst into tears. George must see the look on his face — it isn’t as though George hasn’t seen Edward in this state before, after all. As soon as he registers it, it seems, George pulls him in against him, so that Edward can press his face against George’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Edward and George — and all of the rest of the survivors — have been easily distracted ever since they had started to develop scurvy and lead poisoning and all of the rest of it. According to Doctor MacDonald that had been inevitable; either the sickness or the malnutrition on their own would have left their minds frazzled. The two in combination, and everything else that has happened besides, mean that it’s a wonder that anybody on board either Ivanhoe or Rowena has it in them to think.

Even with that, though, George knows that he is almost ridiculously distracted and jumpy. Edward is too, even though it doesn’t show quite as obviously what with how muted his reactions are these days, but George feels as though everybody on board must somehow have realised the truth of the conversation that they had had.

Or rather, everybody except John must know.

It would be the person who they most need to know what has happened, the person who George very much hopes will be the other father of one of their children, is also the one person who he does not know how to begin the conversation with. Edward doesn’t know either — very clearly, even though he is trying as hard as he can to pretend that he does — but Edward isn’t really the person who needs to try to broach the subject.

They can, at least, sit in the wardroom and try to figure out what they’re going to say to John before they say it.

That would be far better, though, if the idea of having this conversation with anybody, John included, didn’t terrify George. Even telling Edward, who has tolerated just about everything that George has thrown at him since they had met, let alone since their relationship had become what it is now, had been terrifying. George and John might have known each other for longer than either of them have known Edward but that doesn’t make the idea any less imposing.

“Have you ever… talked to John about this sort of thing before?” Edward asks.

George makes a face. “I’ve told him not to finish in me before,” he says, “but so have you, I believe.” Edward rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that he can’t deny that George is completely right about it. Of course, for Edward it’s just because he doesn’t like how it feels. For George it had been a reasonable worry about getting pregnant without his intending it to happen. “And I don’t know that it ever went any further than that where that subject is concerned.”

And even then, George had mostly been thinking of not getting pregnant now, when they were still on board Excellent or preparing to depart on Terror. The rest of his thoughts there had been simply that John likes to be told what to do by his partners.

“We never discussed whether either of us… wanted there to be children in our futures.”

Then again, George had got the impression from John that he skirted around the subject because he wanted children, and the fact that it would probably never happen was an uncomfortable subject. Of course, George had known that he and John both had serious feelings for each other but he had thought that he would no longer be able to have children by the end of his career.

That had certainly been what he had planned, in as much as he had planned anything in particular. He would make it to Commander, come up with some condition that required him to have surgery, and then report that ‘oh dear, I suddenly find myself unable to carry out my work properly’. Finally he would retire early, with the bigger pension that a Commander receives.

Events have since transpired against all three of them.

The problem is that George realises now that it’s a conversation that he has truly never even thought of having. Telling Edward about the unwanted pregnancy had been frightening, and telling him just now that actually, he had realised that he wanted to have a child with him had been frightening as well.

But John is so erratic these days that George just cannot work out how he might react. That is something that he doesn’t know what to do about; between his knowledge of how upset John is and how nervous George himself is there are just so many things that could go wrong.

“That’s— you don’t need to worry about that,” Edward says. “Not right now, at least.”

He gently draws George down to sit beside him on one of the couches in the wardroom, which are, especially by the standards of furniture on a naval ship, surprisingly comfortable. George wraps his arms around him and leans his head against Edward’s chest. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be affectionate with Edward or John outside of one of their cabins, for obvious reasons, but there is little enough going on on board Rowena that neither of them would expect somebody to come in.

In any case, the members of Terror and Erebus’ crews who are on board Rowena are nearly entirely people who know them and what their relationship is. Henry, as far as George knows, is hiding in his own cabin and has no plans to come out again — and he deserves as much. Des Voeux, likewise, must know something even if he rarely comes out of his own cabin either; and there’s very little that took place on board Terror that Doctor MacDonald didn’t know of.

“He ought to know before we start — doing anything.”

Which they won’t before they get home, anyway.

Even if either of them wanted to, which George certainly doesn’t yet, it wouldn’t happen just now. George is still far too emotionally fraught, and then Edward has been surprisingly honest about not being well enough to be able to perform the necessary actions. John hasn’t complained about the same issue, admittedly, and the laudanum had left him uninhibited enough that it would probably have come out at least in private.

And, well, George knows well enough for himself that an orgasm makes for good pain relief — both physically and emotionally.

“Or, well, he does share a cabin with us. I’m sure he would catch on soon enough,” George adds, once this thought occurs to him.

Edward laughs and strokes George’s hair back off his face. “We’ll figure something out, I’m sure.” He pauses and looks down at George. “In fact — in fact, I can tell him for you if you like. I would understand if you’d rather not face it while you’re still feeling fragile.”

Fragile is certainly one word to describe how he’s feeling, George supposes, but whether it is the right word is another question. In fact, it certainly isn’t the right word for it when George thinks a bit more into it; it feels far too mild a description for just how shaky the idea of telling John about this makes him feel.

“I don’t suppose you’re about to realise that you’d had this conversation with John, are you?” George asks.

Edward grimaces. “I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

“No, no. I don’t know why you would have.”

“Mm.” Edward glances down at him. “I don’t see that anything much would have come out of it, if we had tried.”

“I seem to remember that you have,” George laughs.

Really, George cannot imagine that John would take poorly to the news — but only if it was news that he was receiving in isolation from everything else that has happened of late. He simply isn’t doing well, and with all that’s happened this last week George can’t blame him. He doesn’t want to make matters worse for him either, and he can’t bear the idea of making things worse for Edward, either.

“I am glad that you— want this as well,” Edward says. “I have just been assuming that you didn’t want to have children and not asking the question for myself.”

“I thought that it might seem incongruent with the image that I’ve built for myself,” George says, “and the idea made me… quite uncomfortable when I was younger. But I think differently now, I suppose.”

“I wanted to,” Edward says, “even before I fully knew what I wanted otherwise in a relationship.” He leans into George’s shoulder. “But — well, you know my situation.” George does indeed. “I don’t know. Perhaps John feels similarly. I can see why none of us would bring it up, between all that’s gone on since we met.”

“I can’t argue with that. But — I just fear…” George sighs. “I don’t want John to think that we’re making this decision without even thinking of him — when I…” He makes a face. “I hope he’ll be involved, at least.”

“He’s worried about the same thing that you are,” Edward says. “Or — he was last week. I told him that we both wanted him to stay, but I don’t know that he believed me, and I haven’t really had it in me since to want to talk to him about it any more.”

George can only imagine.

“I think it would help for him to hear it from both of us, rather than just from one or the other,” he suggests, when he begins to feel as though they’ve both been silent for too long. “I know we all agree on most things,” he says, “but that and — and starting a family both feel… rather larger issues than we’ve faced up to now.” He looks up at Edward. “Or — or not larger, I suppose, because we’ve had so much to contend with since we departed, but just— just so utterly unlike what we’ve seen out here.”

“You’re right,” Edward says. “About everything, I think.”

He puts his hand on George’s cheek to make sure George is looking at him — but in truth George doesn’t need to be cajoled in this. In the past, looking somebody else in the face has been almost painfully awkward for George but with both John and Edward he feels more comfortable than with just about anybody else he’s met.

“There is…” George sighs. “There is plenty more than just that that I’m worried about.”

“I’m sure,” Edward says.

He rests his hand on the back of George’s head. When he feels Edward’s fingers start to comb through his hair, George leans his head against his shoulder. The top of his head is tucked under Edward’s chin, and Edward has his other hand on George’s back.

Even though George is a little taller than Edward, and even though Edward is particularly slight and fragile to look at — and how couldn’t he be, after this long trapped out here? — George is usually the one who wants to be held. Of course, Edward also won’t say no to it, but George has far more of a preference than Edward does. In fact, it seems as though Edward is happy to do just about anything where physical affection in concerned, and so is John — but George is sure that by anybody else’s metrics he would be considered needy.

He thinks he has plenty to be needy about, though. Even before everything has gone as wrong as it has since they were frozen in he had known that finding anybody who could feel for him as Edward and John do was virtually impossible. The fact that both of them had been in the right place at the right time, and that all three of them are still alive even now might as well be a miracle.

“And so — would you like me to see how John is feeling?” Edward asks. “And I can tell him about what we talked about, too — I truly don’t mind if that’s what you would prefer.”

“I…” George grimaces. “I would like you to tell him, of course,” he says, after a few seconds, “because the idea of… starting that conversation twice in one day makes me feel rather more like Jonah than I like.”

Edward frowns. “Swallowed by a whale?”

“In trying to flee by boat his duty to deliver the judgment of God to the people of Nineveh, yes.”

Clearly, this does not particularly elucidate George’s point to Edward. He still looks just as confused as he had before, but at least not quite as concerned as he had before George had given this explanation. And George understands his own meaning — because of that he knows that John will too, most likely.

“I think, though,” George goes on, “that he would prefer to be informed first hand this time.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Edward says. “You know that, don’t you?”

“What Henry did wasn’t,” George replies. “But I could still have told John before he found out. I had known since—” He decides against thinking of that. “For quite a while.”

John at least doesn’t look quite so dejected when Edward and George return from the wardroom as he had before they had gone for their walk on deck. But, George thinks, that does not mean anything much considering the sort of mood that John has been in in recent days.

Some part of George feels guilty for even thinking of trying to bring John into this, now, when he’s in this state. He hasn’t thought that it might not be good news for John to learn of this; but now that he and Edward are back in their cabin he can think of practically nothing else.

“We didn’t wake you, did we?” George asks.

He sits down carefully on John’s bunk beside him, and finds John’s hand under all of the layers of blankets covering his bunk. Usually, John is the less physically affectionate of the two of them — or at least he is when he’s sober — but George can tell that he’s been feeling out on a limb and generally starved for affection and attention. George can’t imagine that he and Edward have been helping him particularly with that of late, but that probably doesn’t affect it too overwhelmingly. Even had George’s situation not been what it is at present it would be somewhere between uncomfortable and painful for John to be on the receiving end of anything much more than a pat on the shoulder.

“No, no,” John says. “I couldn’t sleep in the end, after all the fuss I made.”

George helps John to shuffle along on the bunk so that Edward can sit down too. Edward does; he leans across to kiss John as he does, and then settles down beside George. George thinks he might be doing a good job at disguising his anxiety but the way that Edward reaches for his hand and squeezes it as soon as he glances in George’s direction completely dispels that thought.

“You weren’t making a fuss,” Edward says immediately.

George is probably looking forward to getting home and having a proper bed more than he is looking forward to anything else at the moment. At least a bed that’s big enough for more than one person at a time to lie down would be an improvement upon the bunks on board a ship — but, then again, the bunks on board a ship are an improvement upon where they had been sleeping on King William Island.

And the bunks on board Rowena are, especially for those on a naval vessel, fairly comfortable — and able to accommodate more than one person. Even with all of this, George knows that he isn’t the only one of the three of them to be keen to have a little more space.

There is, on the bunk, not really enough space for all of the three of them, but that is bearable. Or at least it is a good deal better than being in a tent on the shales of King William Island; and it’s even an improvement upon Terror’s particularly small and uncommonly uncomfortable bunks. Even so, thanks to the lack of space and John not being well enough to have one of them on his lap, Edward and George both have to squash up together.

Edward might pretend to be doing well now that they’ve been here for a few weeks, but he’s a dreadful actor. And, even were he not, his body very obviously betrays him; George can still see that one pupil is larger than the other, and even though Doctor MacDonald says that the injury causing that seems to be healing he hasn’t said that it’s healing quickly.

Edward tires far more easily now too, and he’s clumsier than he had been before. The clumsiness had probably been a good thing for Le Vesconte, who would probably be sporting a black eye now if not for it. But for a man who had been a talented marksman before they had set out it clearly frustrates Edward. Not too badly, though, George hopes.

Edward is small and most of the stomach pain that has been dogging George for the last week is mild enough now that it isn’t disturbing him too badly. And so as Edward goes to sit down on the bunk beside him, George pulls him into his lap instead. Edward seems only too happy to accept this — as does John. He smiles, a little, and reaches to put his hand on George’s back.

“Not so cold as it was yesterday, anyway,” Edward says.

Apparently he says it without remembering that he is very much in range of getting jabbed in the ribs by George for continuing to drag the attempts to navigate away from the subject at hand out. Of course, George knows that he’s a hypocrite for not starting the conversation and still being annoyed but he still gives Edward a gentle prod.

“Are you—?” Edward starts.

“No, I—”

George can hear that he’s being sincere and had really thought that George might not have wanted him sitting on him suddenly, and that he’s not trying to skirt more around the issue. George looks towards John, and slides his hand under Edward’s to try to draw some comfort and reassurance from him as he does so. Edward laces his fingers through George’s and squeezes his hand.

“Is something wrong?”

John picks up on it, but that’s no great surprise. All three of them are particularly well attuned to the other two but John seems to be particularly sensitive to it: right now, yes, but also more broadly.

“Nothing’s— well, I hope nothing is wrong,” Edward says, which George thinks isn’t likely to help.

John frowns. “No?” Clearly he doesn’t believe a word of it, but perhaps George can’t blame him for that.

In fact, he certainly can’t blame him for that. George has trouble even believing that John doesn’t blame him for what had happened to him, despite John’s reassurances that he bears no grudge that isn’t against Hickey. George wishes that he could believe that; he’s sure it frustrates John to have to keep going back over the issue.

But George had been the one to find him, Hickey’s plot to kill him having been unsuccessful despite how badly injured John had been. Even George can allow himself enough grace to accept his own response being that of somebody who had experienced a trauma. Of course, George doesn’t suffer it so badly as John does; he will have the scars for the rest of his life. Even so, George knows that he won’t be over the issue soon, if he ever is.

More than that, George has trouble not blaming himself for the whole thing — for allowing the group to split up, yes, but even before that he thinks of himself as the perpetrator of the whole horrible affair. George had been the one, after all, to recommend John to James as a Lieutenant for this expedition. If he had not done that, then John would probably still be safe at home, or if he were not then he would be on an ordinary ship.

Then again, this would not be happening either if George hadn’t put John forward. And in any case, John is an adult; he can make his own decisions about which appointments he takes and which he turns down.

“Please tell me that neither of you are going to go back to the navy,” John says.

“Heavens no,” George says immediately. Edward laughs. “I don’t think they’d have me back, and even if they did… why on earth would any of us want that?”

He knows, of course, that John had desperately wanted to be a Captain at one point. That isn’t a desire that George has ever shared — he hadn’t expected to ever become a Lieutenant, even — but it’s something that he thinks John would have been good at.

Of course, that ship has sailed, as it were. John probably still has a secret hope that he’ll eventually get to be a captain, of course, but George thinks that that would be impossible at this stage. Sailors are naturally superstitious, even the wardroom officers and captains; there would be some inevitable conflict. And that would be if John could find it in himself to return to service, which George cannot imagine him doing.

“And I believe I killed my chances of a return to duty by not ingratiating myself with Sir James when his men found us,” Edward says. “If it wasn’t dead to begin with.”

“Well, God knows how much of your brain was in your skull at that point,” John says. “So — your next plan? I know we talked about it, Edward, but that was— before.” He indicates both Edward and George. “And then we never got the chance to bring the idea up with George.”

“George and I talked about it,” Edward says.

George supposes that they must have, but he cannot for the life of him remember the conversation. If they had discussed it before the termination, even if George had already told Edward about the pregnancy by that point, then George knows for a fact that the memory will have completely gone. And even if the conversation had been more recent there’s enough in his brain that he hasn’t the first idea what the last thing he talked about was.

“Remind me?” George says, finally. “Or — no, this is more important, you’re right.” Edward might not have said anything but George can still tell that he and John are both thinking the same thing.

“Yes. Please,” John says.

George reaches for John’s hand. Edward shifts around on George’s lap to face more towards John, but also so that George can hold onto both of them.

“You might think we’re mad for this,” George says. “I— I know I said this to you, Edward, but I felt rather stupid when it occurred to me.”

Edward nods, and squeezes George’s waist gently. John strokes George’s hand with his thumb and reaches over to put his other hand on George’s cheek. It’s still a viscerally terrifying conversation to try to have — in spite of everything else that George has done recently this is the worst of it.

“I still don’t think you’re mad for it,” Edward says, which helps a little. “And… I can still—”

“Mm.” George leans his head against Edward’s shoulder. “No, no. I will, I just…” He exhales. “It may take me a while to close in on the point.”

“That’s alright,” John says, with what George can only think is a truly miraculous amount of patience. “We certainly have time.”

George can’t disagree with that, and he also knows that he could just ask them to table the conversation until it stops being quite so frightening for him. But he knows that he’ll just have it over his head and he’ll start to read resentment into every interaction that he has with John and Edward until he does tell them.

No, it’s a far better idea to rip the bandage off now and assess the damage.

Hopefully he will find that there is none; that’s certainly the best case scenario for all three of them. But even if they do find themselves to be at odds on this account, it will no doubt be best for all three of them if they know as quickly as possible.

“I was thinking— when we get home, I mean, and when the three of us are able to— Edward and I were talking about it just now.” He shakes his head. “I want to have children with both of you. When we get home, I mean.”

John does not say anything, but he doesn’t let go of George’s hand either; nor does he stop stroking the back of George’s hand with his thumb. But George is suddenly panicked enough that he can’t look at John, or at Edward; or focus any of his attention on Edward running his hand placatingly up and down George’s arm.

Even though George had been the one to start the conversation with Edward, it had not been George who had actually said out loud what he wanted. In doing that, Edward had certainly saved George from a couple of minutes of awkwardness on the deck, but he feels it tenfold now.

“I— I understand if you don’t want to think about all this yet,” George adds hastily, “or at all, if you don’t—”

“George.” John’s voice is soft, but George is sensitive enough that he wouldn’t have been able to ignore him if he had tried. “It’s— you don’t need to worry. I just never thought you… did want that—” He cuts himself off. “That you also wanted that, rather.”

Chapter Text

Edward has spent the past far-too-long wishing in the abstract that he was, or would be, able to persuade his body to do just about anything that he would like it to. And, now that George and John are both more than just making eyes at him, that vague want has at least taken a specific form.

This isn’t so great a problem — in fact, by comparison to the vague and utterly overwhelming problems that Edward has found himself facing lately it isn’t a problem at all. The problem is that, now that Edward knows just what he wants to do, he can’t actually force that knowledge to turn itself into anything at all, really.

He would like to, of course, and he is sure that George and John would both love to, even if George would just be spectating. If he were healthy the thought either of sex with John or of letting George watch would have Edward nearly maddeningly hard already. But, even though he is certainly interested, it almost feels as though his body is just ignoring that information.

Edward pulls George down to kiss him again rather than trying to put any of what he is thinking into words. He does it to distract George in part, but also in an attempt to shut his own mind up. He doesn’t think that it does anything to distract George, perhaps not surprisingly, and Edward also knows even as he kisses George that it does nothing to distract himself.

“Well, I’m happy to perform if you would like me to,” Edward says when he is finally allowed to stop kissing George. “And — John, if it wouldn’t be too much for you?”

He looks across at John, but only for a second before George pulls Edward back around with a hand on his face to make him look at him again. He can tell from even the briefest second of eye contact with John that he is more than happy to do this. Edward almost groans at the thought, let alone at the act in question.

With any luck John also won’t mind being on top, since Edward won’t be able to do so. John doesn’t usually object to being asked to do that, even though he has always said that he prefers to be on the bottom if he’s being offered the option, but Edward almost doesn’t want to ask. Then again, if John has him face down then perhaps it won’t be too noticeable that Edward isn’t hard.

“Not at all,” John says. He pauses and then nods over towards his own bunk. “In fact, Edward, I think you’ll like what I managed to liberate from the sick bay a couple of days ago.”

“Hm?” George snakes his hand between Edward’s legs and squeezes. Edward groans and pushes his hips upwards against George. “If you’re concerned, by the way, Edward—” he begins.

“I—” Edward almost says no, but then he thinks better of it. “I am. I suppose.”

“Well, I’m not particularly surprised,” George admits. Edward whines. “But I’m not surprised that you aren’t able to do as you would like, either,” he points out. “And believe me, I know that you would like to.” Edward wants to ask how on earth George could know this. But George kisses him before he can even open his mouth and suddenly Edward is very distracted. “Clearly you didn’t ask as many questions of the doctors as you ought when you were in the sick bay.”

Edward frowns up at him but he can’t think of anything other than how much he wants this for long enough to actually ask the question. And he supposes that if George is in the mood to tease, as he clearly is, then George will already be planning to give an exhaustive explanation. Hopefully he will be planning to give this explanation with his hand on Edward’s cock, even if Edward can’t be as appreciative as George deserves.

“Well, I was friends with Doctor Stanley,” George points out. Clearly that is a subject that he would like to get away from as quickly as possible. “He was very happy to share gossip with me. Especially about seamen worrying about whether they would be able to perform for their sweethearts back on shore after similar injuries to yours.”

“And—” Edward begins to ask.

“And they never seemed to have any problems,” George says reassuringly. “So you needn’t feel worried.” He pauses. Edward kisses him as soon as he stops talking for a second. “In fact, Edward, I’m more surprised that John can than I am that you can’t.”

“That will no doubt be reassuring in a few months,” Edward says, “but it isn’t of much help now.” Even as he says this, Edward wraps his legs more tightly around George’s waist, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth he kisses George again. George groans and pushes down against him. “I don’t mean that I don’t want to—”

“I know,” George gasps. He kisses Edward again. “For now…” He looks in John’s direction for a second, and then he looks back at Edward. “For now, Edward, I hope that you can content yourself with taking John’s cock, even if you can’t get hard too.”

“I—” Edward wants to trust that George isn’t secretly disgusted and putting on a believable but still untruthful show but perhaps it isn’t any wonder that he has trouble convincing himself. “You’re sure you— you’re sure that you don’t— I don’t know—”

“Of course I don’t mind,” George says. “I’m sure you know that I would tell you if I wasn’t interested.” He leans down for another kiss. Edward kisses him back almost desperately. “I will tell you just what I think in a second, if you would like that,” George begins. Edward nods. “Good.” He kisses Edward again. “But before that… I think I would like to hear you explain to yourself why I wouldn’t mind if your body weren’t behaving as expected.”

Put like that, Edward almost feels stupid enough to call the whole thing off. But he realises completely consciously that he likes when George uses his authority on him like this and that he always has. He might outrank George, or he might have done so when they had been on board Terror, but Edward still doesn’t feel like much of a figure of authority. Perhaps it’s for the best that he not try to act like one, considering how easily he gives in to George now.

“I—” Edward begins, but he finds himself laughing practically immediately that he tries to speak. “No, you’re right. Of course.” He kisses George’s shoulder as he sits up to start undressing. “If I’m to take John’s cock, and if you are to be denying yourself until we’re able to start living together…” He allows George to move his hands out of the way so that he can take over undressing Edward. “I suppose you would like to have my mouth.”

George groans at that, which is no surprise at all for Edward; but even though he pauses for a second he returns even more quickly than before to getting Edward out of his clothes. Edward leans forward while George is distracted to unfasten the front of George’s trousers so as to stroke George’s clit while they talk.

“Or perhaps John’s fingers?” Edward continues. He spreads George open with two fingers before moving to press his thumb against his clit. “You’d like that, I expect.”

“Mm.” George groans and squeezes Edward’s cock. He pushes against Edward’s fingers when he begins to slide them inside. “You’d ask that I limit myself to only one or the other, then?”

“Not at all.” Edward circles his finger in a way that he knows will be far slower than George wants around his clit. “Why, do you think I should?”

“I would be surprised if you were able to deny me anything at all,” George teases, but Edward would admit in a second that it’s the truth if George had asked him to. John laughs too. “Or if you were, John.”

“You’re right, of course,” John says. He pauses. “If you’re to ride me, Edward, I think you had better face towards George and not me.” He kisses Edward’s neck as Edward shuffles into his lap. “That way, he can be in your mouth while I fill you, just like you need.”

John reaches his hand around Edward’s waist and into his now-unfastened trousers; he leans in to kiss Edward’s neck when Edward opens his legs a little wider to allow him in even further. With Edward guiding him, John’s palm curls around the length of his cock and begins to rub the tip of one finger in slow, gentle circles over the underside of his head.

Edward immediately has to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep himself from moaning out loud at John’s touch, and he has to force himself to keep his hips still so as not to buck against John too aggressively. He grasps onto John’s wrist with the hand he isn’t using to keep himself quiet to keep him there as he rubs at Edward’s cock.

“You’ll need to suck my clit to keep yourself quiet, won’t you?” George breathes. “I think you shall. I will have to help you into a comfortable position to have us both inside your holes at once, hm?”

Edward moans just at the words that George uses, let alone at the actual action that he is describing. George pulls Edward’s hand away from his mouth to kiss him, and as he does he guides that hand back between his legs. George gasps immediately that Edward’s fingers make contact with his clit; he deepens the kiss as much as he can, moans against Edward’s mouth.

Edward moans too, even more loudly as he realises that the motions that John is making against his cock are near-exactly the same as those that Edward is making with his own fingers against George’s clit. Edward angles his thumb a bit more tightly to stroke back and forth over the head of George’s clit, and in response he gets a very satisfying groan against his lips.

As they move, George works Edward’s trousers down over his thighs and then leans back for a second to let Edward push himself off John’s lap to strip them off entirely. George holds him upright for a second, his hands wrapped around Edward’s hips, as John takes his trousers off too. Edward glances back as John shuffles down the bunk to press his back against its wall. His hand is on his own cock, stroking himself slowly.

“Sit back,” John says softly. He helps Edward arrange himself on his lap, facing towards George as John had suggested, and then reaches between Edward’s legs again to squeeze his cock. “George — in the top drawer under my bunk, can you…?”

Edward tips his head to the side and tries to look back at John. But as soon as his neck is exposed John’s mouth is there again, pressing kisses and nipping his way up and down, and suddenly he isn’t so curious about whatever is in John’s sea chest. All of Edward’s other thoughts fade away entirely the second that John takes his cock into his hand again and begins to rub him again.

“Here.”

George has an odd smirk on his face as he comes back to the bunk. He gives whatever had been in the drawer to John without allowing Edward to see it and then takes Edward back into his arms.

“Thank you.” Edward can hear the sound of John removing the stopper from a bottle behind him. “When I said earlier I had something from the sick bay,” he says, “this is what I meant.”

Edward doesn’t need to look around to see what John is referring to, but he still does: only for a second, though, because George turns Edward back to face him so that they can kiss. Even without looking, Edward can feel the oil on John’s finger as he runs it slowly up the back of Edward’s thigh, and he moans just at the thought let alone at being stretched open so throughly with it.

“I suppose they don’t know?” George asks.

“No,” John says. “I hope they don’t miss it.” He presses his fingertip to Edward’s hole, but he stops before pushing it in. “I could have had you suck my cock while I opened you up instead of this, I suppose,” he says, “but I don’t think I would have had the patience.” He pauses. “Or that you would.”

“You’re right,” Edward groans. “I—”

John silences him by pushing his finger slowly into Edward’s hole at the same time as he wraps his other hand around Edward’s cock. The fingers of both of his hands are slick with the oil, letting him stroke Edward just as easily as he can enter him. He slides his finger in all the way at the same time as he strokes his finger slowly up and down Edward’s cock, and as he pulls back slightly to add another finger, he starts to rub in circles against the underside of his head again.

“You’re just as sensitive as ever,” John says. “I know.” He curls his fingers inside Edward’s body in a way that almost makes Edward scream. George puts his hand over Edward’s mouth to keep him from it. “Even more, in fact,” John gasps. “Shall I take my hand away from your cock?” he asks. “I don’t want you coming too early.”

“No!” Edward gasps out immediately. “Please— I’ll—” He squirms against John’s fingers in and around him. “I won’t. Please.”

“If you’re sure,” John says softly. He kisses the side of Edward’s neck again. “In fact… George, why don’t you get him onto his hands and knees for me?” He stretches his fingers open inside Edward as he speaks. Then, he leans forward to kiss Edward’s neck again. “I know you’re worried about falling onto me,” he says. “I’ll have you sit up to take my cock.” Another kiss. Edward moans into his mouth. “I promise.”

“That sounds manageable,” George says. He pauses. “Or…” Edward groans. “Do you remember the first time all three of us were together?” he asks. Edward nods. His cock twitches slightly at the memory. “You were on your back, John, remember?” he goes on. “With your head on my lap so that I could hold you open for Edward to stretch you for his cock.” He puts his hand over Edward’s mouth again. “And you seemed to be quite able to turn your head to suck my clit then, I seem to remember.”

“I’d quite like to be able to see his face,” John admits. He takes his hand away from Edward’s cock, but his fingers stay inside his hole. “Edward?” he asks. The hand no longer wrapped around Edward’s cock rests low down on his back to keep his attention. “Does that sound manageable for you?”

“As long as—” Edward groans. “As long as you will be inside me.” He wraps his hand around his own cock. “Please.”

“Of course,” John says.

John pulls his fingers out painfully slowly and then the three of them wait for a moment for Edward’s breath to slow. Once Edward is ready, John and George help Edward on to his back with his head on George’s lap. George has his legs open in such a way that, when Edward turns his head slightly to one side, he can immediately run his tongue over George’s clit.

Edward can’t resist the desire to do as such. Of course he can’t; not when he is so turned on even if he still isn’t hard and George is holding his legs open so that John can fill him. He moans against George’s clit even before John’s fingers are inside him again, and he can barely hold back the sound that he makes as he feels two fingers finally push into his hole.

“God,” George gasps. He guides Edward’s head to a deeper angle and then lifts his chin slightly as Edward begins to suck on his clit. “Just like that. Good boy.”

Edward moans against him, partly for the satisfaction of hearing George gasp and feeling him push his hips forward at the vibration that it creates. Hearing how George moans at the slightest movement that Edward makes is almost as rewarding as the way that John’s fingers press into him even deeper and curl in his body when he makes George moan.

Edward lifts his thighs up higher, even though he knows that it will be far too uncomfortable to press them back against his chest as he would have done had they been on board Terror. He glances up at John for a second, trying to only take his mouth away from George’s clit for a fraction of a second, and sees that he has his hand wrapped around his own cock as he stretches Edward open.

“Edward,” George gasps, curling his fingers through Edward’s hair. Edward moans against his clit. “Do you want me to touch your cock?” He reaches out to run his hand down Edward’s chest to his belly and then brushes his fingertip against the head of Edward’s cock. “Mm, I think you do.” He laughs breathily at the sound when Edward moans around his clit.

“You should,” John says softly. He stretches his fingers open even wider inside Edward’s hole as he does. “He really is sensitive.” He curls his fingers inside to make Edward moan in demonstration. George gasps again. “And so are you, I see.”

John leans forward to kiss George as George finally wraps his hand right the way around Edward’s cock. He squeezes for a second as he and John moan into each other’s mouths, and then, as he pulls away, he begins to stroke Edward in the same way as John had been stroking him until he had laid Edward on his back. Edward doesn’t pull his mouth away from George’s clit to watch but he is almost desperately tempted to do so, especially when John lifts Edward’s thighs higher to get a deeper angle with his fingers.

On its own either the sensation of George’s hand on his cock or John’s fingers inside him would be enough for Edward to whimper and push down as tightly as he could around John. Seeing John and George kiss, hearing how it makes the two of them moan and feeling how George’s clit twitches in his mouth, is close to being enough for Edward to come before he even gets to take John’s cock. He pushes down with a noise far closer to a sob than a moan at the mix of sensations, and he feels his cock twitch again when George laughs in response.

“You know, Edward…” George holds Edward’s head steady, his mouth around his clit, as he strokes Edward’s cock. “If I had known that you liked your holes being filled a bit earlier than when you told me…” Edward moans around him at both the words and the tone that they’re spoken in. George groans. “I think I would have asked that John join us far earlier than I did.”

“When did he tell you?” John asks. Then he leans forward and puts his hand on Edward’s chest. “You feel ready for another finger,” he says softly. “Are you?”

Edward moans out his assent around George’s clit. John laughs, and then he slows for a second. He guides Edward’s hand down to his own hole to feel how he’s stretched open, and to pull himself further apart ready for more. George is watching too — Edward can tell that even without looking from the way that he gasps and pushes his hips forward, forcing his clit deeper into Edward’s mouth.

“Christ…” George gasps, squeezing Edward’s cock. John kisses him again. “He begged me for it when we reunited on King William Island,” he goes on, his voice low. “Didn’t you?” He curls his fingers a little tighter in Edward’s hair. “I thought it was just because you hadn’t had anything at all for so long, but…”

“I wanted it long before that,” Edward agrees with a moan. He lifts his head from between George’s thighs, taking the opportunity to adjust his neck so as not to be at so uncomfortable an angle. “But…” He props himself up on his arms so that he can look at George properly. “I seem to remember how much you like being filled.”

George laughs, but he runs his finger over his clit as he does and Edward can see the glazed-over look in his eyes all too clearly. He must have stopped at just the right moment, then; he had known that George was close just from the way that he had been rutting against him but not how close. Edward bends his head down again, but this time he just licks, slowly, and then sits back up again when he feels George start pushing against him.

“Certainly,” George moans. “Luckily…” He kisses Edward, lingering for a long time when he does. “Luckily, I won’t have to deprive myself for too long once we get back to shore,” he says. Edward makes a quizzical sound. “This…” Again he squeezes Edward’s cock. “This won’t last for too long,” he says, “even if you don’t now.” He and Edward both laugh. “And it seems you’re recovering quite well too, John.”

George snakes his hand down between John’s legs, and runs his finger slowly up the length of his cock. Even though he has to stop touching Edward to do this, Edward doesn’t mind: especially not when he hears the way John’s breath catches in his throat. John pushes his fingers even more deeply into Edward as George wraps his hand around him and strokes, slowly. He only does it twice but Edward can see from the way that John’s eyes widen that he nearly comes as soon as George’s hand is on him.

“We won’t have to deprive you of everything,” Edward points out. “Quite clearly we won’t need to do that. You seem… very happy indeed to fuck my mouth.” He grinds his hips down as John spreads his fingers open inside him. “As happy as John is to fill me, in fact.”

“Of course,” George says. “And I suppose using toys can be… the next best thing by comparison to what I actually want.” He pauses. Edward watches how he rubs his clit as he thinks. “Just as much fun, in fact,” he moans, “since it means that you two can watch me just as I’m watching you now.”

“Exactly,” Edward says. “And…” He pauses. “And there isn’t a risk of you being spoiled for size by it.” He nods down at John, who somehow manages to blush in spite of the otherwise completely mindless look on his face. “I’ll have to buy you something,” he says. “Back on shore, I mean.”

“You will,” George agrees, leaning in to kiss Edward. “You must, in fact.” He leans forward to kiss Edward, and then he reaches across to kiss John. Edward hears how John moans into it. “And when you do…” He squeezes Edward’s cock again. “When you do I will have to put on a show for you, won’t I?” Edward moans just at the thought. “I will, just to demonstrate my appreciation.”

“Oh…” Edward reaches his hand between George’s legs to rub his clit. “Oh, you will,” he agrees.

George moans and pushes forward against him at the contact. Edward can only think, all of a sudden, of how clearly aroused George had been by the sight of Edward helping John to open him up. He takes George’s hand and guides it just as John had his, until both he and George have their fingers against George’s clit. Then, as Edward pushes two fingers into George’s hole, he has George feel how it stretches him; he rubs George’s clit slowly with his thumb as he does, to accentuate the feeling as much as to reward him.

“Christ,” George gasps. He squeezes around Edward’s fingers. “You absolute tease.”

This time, when George kisses Edward, he bites gently at his lip; his teeth stay there for a second before he allows Edward to pull away. Edward only pushes his fingers in deeper in response, circling his thumb harder and tighter around George’s clit only to pull away entirely — both his thumb and the fingers inside him — as George is right on the edge of coming.

“I know,” Edward says, in a tone that would be playful if not for the wide eyes with which he knows he’s looking at George. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Of course.” George sits Edward up a bit more and kisses him. Then he glances towards John, his hand reaching between Edward’s legs to rub Edward’s cock the same way that Edward had just been rubbing George’s clit. “John? I think he’s ready now.”

“I think you’re right,” John agrees. “And… I think I rather like having him face me.”

“I will, then,” Edward says.

With Edward facing towards him rather than away, and with him half sitting up against George’s chest as he now is, it isn’t an awkward contortion for John to lean forward to kiss Edward as he pulls his fingers out. John stays there, his tongue inside Edward’s mouth and his hands at his hole to ease him open, as he guides his cock inside.

Edward whimpers and pushes down around John’s cock as it fills him, not out of pain or discomfort even after he’s stretched open after so long without being penetrated. John lifts his chin, moaning into Edward’s mouth as he kisses him, his hips trembling the slightest bit as he tries to keep himself from slamming in as hard as he can over and over. George holds his hands under Edward’s thighs, keeping him open for John.

Edward moves their hips together to encourage John to start to fuck him, his head falling back against George’s shoulder as he does. George tips his head to the side encouragingly, and once he has his skin exposed George begins to kiss his neck. Edward has to hold back a moan even before John starts to thrust and when John does begin to move his hips Edward has to slam his hand over his mouth as hard as he can.

Edward lasts barely a few seconds after John begins to thrust, spilling over his own belly and George’s fingers even as his cock never gets more than half-way hard. He pushes down against John through his orgasm, his hips jerking back and forth as he tries to keep himself from screaming and begging for more. He covers George’s hand on his cock with his own to keep him from stopping or taking his hand away until his orgasm finally ends.

Edward’s heart beats heavily, all the more so for how he can feel John tremble with the effort of not immediately fucking Edward as hard as he can after watching him come. George holds Edward’s hips steady now that Edward is so thoroughly finished, keeping him from grinding himself around John’s cock and keeping John from slamming inside harder than Edward can take.

Edward is still so sensitive, even for having finished, that he has to bite down on his lip as John does start to thrust again. John moves slowly and cautiously even as he clearly has to fight his own desire to release inside Edward. He grips onto Edward’s thighs with both hands, hard enough to leave bruises as Edward squirms and twists beneath him.

“I’m— going to—” John whimpers. “Hold him open wider. Please.”

John looks over Edward’s head at George, and George moves immediately that he says it. Edward has to tip his hips up slightly as George moves his fingers to spread him open and the new position sets the tip of John’s cock against a spot inside of Edward that makes him gasp with every thrust. George holds Edward steady as much as he holds him open, breathlessly moaning praise against his ear as John moves his hips faster and faster.

“Oh. Oh God,” Edward whimpers. “I can’t— please don’t stop—”

“That’s it,” George moans. “Keep— keep taking him. That’s it.”

Edward can feel the frantic movement of George’s hand against his clit at his back and he can hear how George gasps louder and louder with every thrust that John makes. Edward wants to look down and see him touch himself; wants to help him, even, and feel George come on his fingers, but he’s caught so hard between the two of them that he couldn’t move even if he tried.

John covers his own mouth as he comes inside Edward, and Edward has to turn and press his mouth against George’s shoulder at the sensation and the way that John looks at him so as not to moan or cry out. Barely a second later, even before John pulls out from inside of Edward, George’s gasps and whimpers begin to build in intensity. Edward is even more aware of the frantic twitches of George’s fingers between his legs as he draws closer and he is even more aware of how much he wants to be the cause of them.

“Don’t—” Edward gasps. “Don’t finish yourself off,” he manages to force out. “I want to— let me make you come, I—”

Edward turns half way as John’s cock finally slides from inside of him, and he pulls George’s hand away from his own clit. He thinks for a second of putting his head back between George’s legs but the urgent little cry that George gives is enough impetus for him not to. He pushes two fingers inside George instead, and circles his clit with his thumb as George ruts his hips forward at Edward’s touches.

George comes almost the second that Edward’s fingers are inside him. He tenses hard around Edward’s fingers, holding his hand there, between his thighs, so that Edward can’t move away but Edward wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that. Then, as George’s gasps and whimpers and moans finally reach their highest point, he tightens desperately around the fingers filling him. His hips jerk upwards in tighter and tighter circles as Edward rubs his clit; he leans back against the mattress and lifts his thighs for more just as Edward had for John.

George lasts a surprisingly long time in that state of utter desperation, gasping and rutting as Edward strokes and rubs. It seems to serve only to make his orgasm all the more intense, his head falling back against the bedding as he keeps Edward’s hand in place with his own through the pulsations. Edward can hear not just how hard George is breathing after he finishes but he can hear his own breath, and his heart beating in his ears.

Edward pulls his fingers out slowly, far slower than he had pushed them in, allowing George to adjust to the gradual change in sensation rather than taking his hand away all at once. He brushes the tip of his thumb against George’s clit as he withdraws, and he can’t help but gasp at how it makes George’s hips push up against even the slightest touch. He’s sensitive — still sensitive — just as much as Edward is, even if he couldn’t go again right away as he has been able to in the past.

Edward feels suddenly exhausted as he makes his way back up George’s body to kiss him. George groans into it, wrapping his thigh around Edward’s waist for a second before pushing him back again. John pulls the two of them over to him, and as soon as he does he begins to kiss Edward all over again.

Edward’s ears are ringing the slightest bit now, and he can’t tell if his head is spinning or if the sensation is just the result of the ship moving. Either way he holds onto the two of them, resting his head on George’s chest as he begins to come back down from their activities.

Chapter Text

“I hope you aren’t going to tell me…” George pants. “I hope you aren’t going to tell me, Edward, that you still feel insecure about—” He reaches his hand down to grope at Edward’s cock. Edward groans and pushes forward. “Because you took John so well just now.” He glances up at John. “Didn’t he?”

“Very well,” John agrees. “And you came so prettily.”

Edward groans, as much at the praise as at George’s hand still massaging at his cock. He can tell that this isn’t the first time George has been with somebody so afflicted, but that isn’t a surprise. It would probably be quicker to list all of the obscure sexual mores that George hasn’t experimented with than those he has, after all. It is almost a surprise, though, that John had been not just so content to please him without regard for Edward’s inability to get hard for him but that he had seemed to know just as well as George what to do.

“Not at all,” Edward says. He pauses to allow George to kiss him, opening his mouth for George’s tongue to lap against his lower lip. “Even if I’m not able to perform when we return home…” George kisses him again. “Even if I’m not, I see that you know just how to take care of me.”

“Of course,” George says. “What, did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I did think that it might fall outside of your experience,” Edward admits. “It did mine, after all.”

“How… unoriginal of you,” George teases. Edward laughs. “Since you still felt just the same pleasure as if you had been hard, and since you finished just the same—”

“Even more so,” Edward admits. George hums curiously against his shoulder. “I noticed that you touched me the same way that you like to be touched,” he goes on, lifting George’s chin to look at him properly. “You will have to do that again even after I recover.”

“Of course,” George says. “No doubt you’ll be even more sensitive for it.” He kisses Edward again, just as Edward can’t stop himself from moaning. “I’ll have to use my mouth, too,” he continues, making sure Edward is looking at him as he speaks.

Edward is sure that, were they all a breath healthier, all three of them would be hard again by now. It still feels like something of an injustice that they aren’t but far more bearable now than before. He kisses George again in an attempt to silence the thought.

“But when we get home,” Edward says, “you’ll be the one receiving.” He feels how George inhales sharply at that, and it’s no surprise when he kisses Edward again a moment later, or when he tangles his hand through Edward’s hair to keep him there. “Once we’re all together…” Another kiss. Edward moans softly into it. “Once we’re all together, in our own home, I know I won’t be able to resist.”

“You’re right,” George gasps. “I— I won’t either.”

“Perhaps, then,” John says, “that’s a topic we ought to leave until we’re able to give you what you want.” He pauses and looks around the cabin. “Or at least we ought to leave it until we’re further away from our nearest neighbours.”

“That’s— true,” Edward says, suddenly remembering where they are. He can see that George has reached the same realisation just looking at the blush that spreads across his face and his chest. “We’ll save that until we’ve a locked door between us and the outside world,” he says, pulling George forward for another kiss. “You’ll be able to be as loud as you need that way.”

“I’m sure we’ll still have to talk about it while you’re in hospital, John,” George says. He looks up at John. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, you’ll have to, will you?” John teases. George laughs. He sits up properly, and then reaches to pull Edward up too. “Next you’ll be telling me that you’ll have to have Edward’s fingers inside you during the conversation.” He starts in the same teasing tone of voice that he had been speaking in before. Edward can hear the arousal creep in before he’s even said three words. “In that case, you’ll also have to visit regularly, to tell me about these conversations of yours.”

“We will,” Edward says immediately. “You’ll need something to keep yourself connected to the outside world while you’re recovering.” He kisses John. “And we will both be gracious enough to give you what you need,” he jokes. “Every other day if you’d like.”

“Only so rarely?” John laughs. “I’m sure if you two were to keep me up-to-date on all your… planning, you would have to visit with news multiple times a day.”

“Most probably,” George agrees. “But we’ll be ever so good for you. No matter how much we want to we won’t start trying before you’re able to come home.”

That is probably for the best, Edward supposes; and quite a sensible suggestion even if it will be beyond frustrating to have to hold off on acting on their desires until all three of them are together. At least it will give them some time to recover more physically. Edward doesn’t know how he will feel in nine months from now, or even in nine months from when they get back to England, but he can’t imagine that he will feel up to the constant work of caring for a newborn baby. John’s situation, he imagines, will be the same: if not worse for his more severe injuries.

And he can’t imagine how George will cope with either the pregnancy or its end by that point: even for somebody healthy Edward understands pregnancy to be at best uncomfortable and at worst horrible. What he knows about the birth is very limited, partly through his own choice, but his knowledge doesn’t suggest that it would be anything but torturous to put George through nine months from now. But since that’s out of the question now he decides against thinking any more about it.

Edward sleeps far better that night than he remembers sleeping for quite some months. That is probably inevitable — even with John having to be careful with him and with himself and even when George had had to be cautious there is only so much energy that Edward can muster. There is also only so much energy that the other two can muster, which is quite obvious when Edward wakes up the next morning.

He wakes up a good while before he thinks that either John or George will be ready to get up. For most of his life Edward has been early to wake up — partly out of necessity, yes, but also partly because that had just been how his body had seemed to want things to go — but of late he hasn’t been able to get up much earlier than ten. John is usually awake before him — in fact, he usually makes Edward seem as though he sleeps all the day — but since they had been rescued, John is too exhausted to get up before mid-day more often than not.

John had gone back to his own bunk before he had gone to sleep, but Edward and George are still in bed together. More specifically, Edward wakes up because his arm has fallen asleep because, at some point during the night, George has rolled almost completely on top of him. His head is buried in the crook of Edward’s chest and his shoulder, the arm that he still needs the splint on draped over Edward’s chest.

Edward does not particularly want to dislodge him, and only in part because George tends to be irritable first thing in the morning, especially if he is woken up un-naturally. Edward finds that he doesn’t actually mind having George’s full weight on top of him, even if that also means that all of his bones are pressed into Edward’s body. Edward has never felt particularly calm. But there is something about the presence of something rather heavy right on top of him that slows his nerves down, even if it doesn’t arrest them entirely.

He isn’t surprised when George wakes up not too long after him. Edward also isn’t completely surprised when, as soon as he wakes, George seems to be far more awake — far more alert — for first thing in the morning than Edward would ordinarily see him. Edward still has to help him to propel himself upright, but that’s as much because of the lack of ability to move one arm as it is because George is still suffering from the after-effects of the last few years. And, well, Edward is not arguing with the opportunity to be around George.

“I don’t want to start too early,” George says, “even if we could.” Edward doesn’t feel particularly teased by this — especially not now that he knows that George had not only not minded his body’s inability to play its role but that he had actively enjoyed it. “But I would hate to just… sit here for the next few weeks and try to pretend that nothing at all has happened.”

“No, nor I,” Edward agrees.

George glances over at John, who is still asleep, and seems for a second to be weighing up whether or not he should wake him. Edward wouldn’t mind including John properly in this conversation and he imagines that John would like to join in too — but he also imagines that John would prefer to be properly awake for it. And, well, Edward doesn’t know where the conversation ought to begin: it isn’t a position that he has ever been in before. More than that, it isn’t a position that he had ever expected that he would be in.

“So,” George says. “If you don’t want to wake John up, I suppose I don’t mind if we start deciding on names now.” He pauses. “Or is that perhaps a discussion for when you and I are a bit more awake than we are now?”

Edward laughs but he also can’t deny that he still isn’t completely awake. And George is both very warm and still lying against his chest, in a way that feels rather soporific as well. Edward at least has thought about baby names a couple of times — but not in great detail and he imagines that his and George’s wildly different childhoods and upbringings will be made very obvious when, in a few months’ time at least, they come to start properly thinking about baby names.

“I would like to know what strikes you as a good baby name,” Edward admits. George hums and props himself up on his forearm, although he doesn’t lean his weight away from Edward’s body completely. “I remember you said that you always thought you should have been called George right from the start,” he says, “but I never really got the impression that you’d thought about any other names.”

“I suppose I didn’t,” George says. He pauses and looks at Edward. “I don’t know if John has ever given it much thought either.” He frowns over at John, clearly hoping that he will hear his name mentioned and wake up. John doesn’t — but considering how exhausted he has clearly been for the last far too long Edward would have been more surprised if he had woken up than if he hadn’t. “I know my sister told me that she held all of hers for the first time and knew immediately,” George goes on, “but—”

“But you didn’t believe that?” Edward raises his eyebrows. George laughs and nods. “I’m just glad that my sister never tried to convince me of that,” Edward says. “I wouldn’t have wanted to, but I just know that I would have said something utterly stupid in response.”

Granted, Edward’s older sister Margaret has only one child, and that child is a daughter who is named after her mother and who has their oldest sister Elizabeth’s name as a middle name. That had clearly been a straightforward decision for Margaret and as far as Edward remembers, not only had Elizabeth been overjoyed but Margaret’s husband hadn’t had a negative thing to say on the subject.

George, on the other hand, has a good number of nieces and nephews; and even if he doesn’t talk much about his family out of Edward and John’s company it’s more than clear to Edward that even if he doesn’t think much of his siblings, he’s keen to be a good uncle. Or at least as much as one can be when they are barely over five years older than the oldest of their nieces and nephews: as is George’s case.

Edward would probably spend the rest of the journey back home in the cabin that the three of them are occupying with John and George — and he imagines that the crew of Rowena would not be surprised if the three of them were to do that. He would not be particularly surprised if they were glad not to have to deal with him again, and Edward wouldn’t blame them for that.

Granted, Edward hadn’t really known what was going on in his head early on in their time on board the ship. He is willing to grant himself a little bit of grace for that, especially with what he now knows about the amount of danger that he was in and the added effects that it would be having on him. But he is also willing to grant the surgeons here in particular some grace too if his behaviour had been that off-putting.

From an inside perspective, even though Edward doesn’t completely remember all of it, whatever it was that he had been thinking and feeling had not felt like it was happening inside his own mind. From an outside perspective, well, he doesn’t really want to ask: he doesn’t want to ask John or George because of what they had been going through at the same time. He doesn’t want to ask anybody else for fear of learning just how embarrassed he should be.

“The issue is,” John says, “that I don’t really want to…” He waves a hand. Edward notices almost as soon as he does that John seems less guarded and cautious when he moves now than he had even a couple of weeks ago. “I already find myself feeling restless,” John tries again, “even if I know I’m still not in a state to actually act on that.”

Edward and George both nod. George has finally started to allow Edward to help him, at least half of the time, with getting dressed: although it’s clear that he wishes that his wrist were just a bit better healed. Not because it would mean that he actually could fasten buttons and so forth with his own hands, rather than needing to be helped, but because he would at least be able to try to do so.

“I imagine that I’ll know just how you feel in a few months,” George says. John tips his head to the side. “Well…” George casts a quick look in the direction of the door to their cabin to make sure it is closed. Once he sees that it is, he carries on — albeit in a lower voice — with what he had been saying. “I believe that doctors still want a nine-day laying in after having a baby.” He glances for a second between Edward and John. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”

“They do?” John asks. Edward thinks that he vaguely remembers his mother doing such a thing after his younger siblings had been born but he doesn’t nod just yet. “That does sound…” He tips his head to the side — apparently too far to the side — and then straightens up again abruptly a second later. “I can’t imagine that you would enjoy it, I would say that.”

The only way to actually get a straight answer to the question — whether not getting out of bed for just over a week is necessary — would be to talk to one of the surgeons on board about it. Needless to say, Edward has not suggested that to George yet: not in relation to Doctor MacDonald nor in relation to either Mister Eliot or the chief surgeon on board Rowena. Edward can’t blame him for that, especially not considering the sort of treatment that George had had to persuade Doctor MacDonald to give him only a few weeks ago.

Besides that, it doesn’t seem as though talking about medicine is the order of the day in Rowena’s wardroom at the moment either. Doctor MacDonald isn’t the only person here — he and Lieutenant Corcoran are talking while Des Voeux seems to be napping with his head on the table — but it does not at all seem as though he is discussing medicine with the two of them.

“I was wondering where the three of you had got to,” Doctor MacDonald says. Luckily he seems to be cheerful enough — and Lieutenant Corcoran seems happy to see them as well. “You look a lot better than you did last week, Edward.”

“I feel a lot better, too,” Edward admits. He helps John sit down on one of the couches as George sits down — noticeably as far away as he can from Des Voeux. “You…” He pauses. “Well, I hope that you won’t mind if I say you’ve seemed in a good mood since we came here, really, doctor,” he says.

Doctor MacDonald chuckles. “Oh, believe me, I’m very glad to have been put out of a job.” He casts a look at George, but George is looking not at him but at the door. Edward thinks that he knows why — but he doubts, somehow, that George would be afraid if it came down to it to just leave if Le Vesconte were to show up again. “Not that I’ve minded treating you gentlemen.” He laughs. “I will say that I’m looking forward to getting home and setting up on my own, nowhere near any ships.”

Edward isn’t particularly surprised that Doctor MacDonald has no plans to set foot on the deck of a ship again — and he isn’t just glad to learn that because it would be worrying if he had said just about anything else. Doctors have been one of the topics of conversation that George has been continually rehashing with Edward and John for the last couple of days, and more specifically the fact that he doesn’t know how to go about finding one. He sees just from the look on George’s face that the two of them have had the same idea but he decides not to mention it while Des Voeux is here.

“But no doubt you didn’t come in here to talk about my possible career,” Doctor MacDonald says, before looking at Edward and George again. “Nor, I imagine, so that I could press you three for any details about your futures.”

Edward supposes that he must just look particularly nervous, even if the only thing that he is feeling is mildly curious. George certainly does look like that, Edward is more than aware of that fact, but he had never thought himself to be victim to that particular fallacy. At least the doctor’s assumption means that that is the end of the conversation, as awkward an end as it is — and so no need for them to come up with any more publicly acceptable explanations for what they might be planning back on shore.

Edward manages not to say that he is sure that Doctor MacDonald already knows roughly what the three of them are planning. That isn’t least because, actually, Doctor MacDonald currently doesn’t have the first idea what they are thinking of doing back on shore. A good thing too, since Edward is completely sure that Doctor MacDonald would decide the three of them to be idiots before the full explanation was before him if he did know.

“But, ah, Lieutenant Corcoran was just saying.” Doctor MacDonald nods in the lieutenant in question’s direction. “Captain Charlewood and Sir James have proposed that our survivors all spend the evening on board one of the ships together once we’re safely docked in Disko Island.” He keeps his tone carefully neutral. Edward has trouble doing the same with his expression but if he or Lieutenant Corcoran takes note of that then neither one of them comments on it. “You’ll have plenty of warning of it, of course, and I’m sure nobody will mind if anybody wants to cry off the whole thing,” he goes on, “but…” He glances back at Corcoran.

“We’ll likely be paying host,” Corcoran confirms. He doesn’t sound too pleased about it. “But all that is just if the weather permits the men on board Ivanhoe to get in a boat and come over to us, of course.” He makes a face. “Which is… unlikely.”

Edward doesn’t necessarily hope that nothing comes of it — he is sure that at least a couple of people wouldn’t mind seeing each other — but he does hope that nobody would mind if he didn’t go. He doubts that George would want to, not when Crozier knows what he does, but even if John is more keen to socialise that isn’t too much of a concern. He wouldn’t say anything ill-considered just because the other two weren’t directly in his earshot.

“Well,” Edward says, instead of anything that would be too obviously negative, “I suppose it will be nice to see Captain Crozier when I’m not in a terrible state.”

Chapter Text

“I expected,” Sir James says, not quite tentatively, “when I suggested this, that you would either want to cry it off yourself or tell me that it was a dreadful idea all around.”

Crozier laughs, although he finds most of his attention to be taken up by trying not to either fall flat on his face in the boat or to be sick. He has been at sea for long enough now that he had just assumed that he had passed the stage at which he might develop sea-sickness. Unfortunately, he is all of a sudden very much not immune to it.

“No, I think it’s a fair idea.” With any luck, Sir James does not take Crozier’s grip on the side of the boat as an indication that he does not, in fact, think this to be a fair idea. “If not for the state of the men we sent to Rowena, though, I would suggest that holding it on board Ivanhoe might be the better choice.”

He doesn’t just mean Lieutenant Irving by that, although of course he is the first person to enter Crozier’s mind. Even if John weren’t recovering from a number of stab wounds that, by rights, probably should have killed him, the rest of the men on board Rowena are either not in a physical state to travel or not in a mental state for it.

And, based on what Crozier has heard, he doesn’t think that putting Edward and Le Vesconte in the same small boat would result in the same number of living men arriving in the boat on Ivanhoe as had left Rowena. Crozier doesn’t usually think Edward to be particularly capable of violence but what he had heard from Doctor MacDonald had been enough to have Crozier worried for the safety of the rescuees on board Rowena. If Edward didn’t do it physically (from what Crozier had heard from Doctor MacDonald), then Lieutenant Irving would likely have harried Le Vesconte to a breakdown.

Crozier had been surprised to hear that John — usually kind and good-natured and more likely based on what Crozier himself has heard to turn his aggression on himself than on anybody else — had been so downright unpleasant to Le Vesconte. Granted, he had only been surprised by that at first but it would still have been a terrible idea to throw all of them into a boat and expect an enjoyable afternoon to be had by anybody.

Ivanhoe, by comparison, has been rather quieter.

Goodsir keeps, for the most part, to himself — although he sometimes spends time with Crozier and Jopson. Crozier thinks that he would probably not want to spend too much time with the men who had kidnapped him but that doesn’t mean that he personally avoids the former mutineers. He is with Jopson more often than not — today will be the longest they’ve been out of each-other’s company since everything had gone truly to pieces on board Rowena — but he is also sensible of the fears that the men with him must have.

Tozer might have been one of the mutiny’s two ringleaders but Crozier is in no mind to have the consequences brought down upon his head — nor upon Lieutenant Hodgson’s, for that matter. He has told Tozer as much, with as much genuine sincerity as he can muster, but he doubts that Tozer actually believes that. He certainly doesn’t look as though he believes it now; he looks, in fact, more as though he is worrying that this will just be the preliminary hearing of the court martial that will inevitably follow back on shore.

Crozier, if anything, wants to keep all of the survivors out of the court martial.

He knows that he won’t be able to do that completely — he knows that at least a couple of the lieutenants will likely be called — but if Crozier can keep it from hitting as many of them as he can then he supposes that he will be content with that. Granted, a lot of the punishment will likely fall upon his own head with this but that is, in a manner of speaking, bearable. He had gone into the march out to safety knowing that there would, eventually, be consequences but hopefully the admiralty will decide that he has already experienced some of those consequences just by having lived through the march south.

“With any luck, with everybody in slightly better health than they were in last time you were on board Rowena…” Sir James says. He doesn’t need to say anything more — and Crozier is glad that he doesn’t say more. “Perhaps Commander Little will be in a slightly less— less erratic mood now.”

Crozier had been perhaps not startled by Edward’s capacity for anger on King William Island. He had not been startled by it, but he had certainly been surprised by it. He had partly been surprised by it because he hadn’t thought that anybody could have the energy, in the state that they had all been in, to get angry — but, then again, Edward had somehow held out far past the point that anybody else would have fallen apart. Holding out well enough to be able to tell Sir James to stick his promotion up his arse had perhaps not been the best way for that to manifest itself but Crozier can’t blame him for that, either.

“At the least, I doubt that Captain Charlewood would have allowed this if he didn’t think that his guests were in a state for it,” Crozier says.

He is a little surprised, perhaps, that Sir James himself had suggested it — but not unpleasantly surprised. It has meant leaving Jopson in the surgeons’ care on board Ivanhoe but not only is he not well enough to manage a trip like this on a whim, he is aware that he isn’t well enough for it. If only some of the men on board Rowena had realised that, well, Crozier thinks that would have saved everybody a bit of stress.

Granted, it would probably not have fixed everything — not that anybody, Crozier included, would have expected that it would. But that isn’t the intention of today: all that Crozier, or Sir James, or anybody else involved in organising this, intends with today is to allow the men who had survived to see each other for a while. And, of course, for the Captains to confer properly, and to talk about the next steps when they are back on shore.

Working out what will happen back on shore, though, will require a good amount of organisation and communication that Crozier doubts any of the men to be ready for yet. Crozier isn’t ready for it himself, for one thing — so the idea that any of the others could be isn’t just unlikely but wholly impossible.

The two ships are anchored off the coast of Disko Island, just as they had been a few years ago on their way in. But, thanks in part to the far harsher weather and a desire for news not to filter back home before it can be delivered properly, Ivanhoe and Rowena are at anchor quite a way away from the coast. Erebus and Terror, as Crozier remembers, had been just about as close to the shore as they could reasonably be positioned — but not only are Ivanhoe and Rowena far from the coast, they are quite far away from each other.

It’s all out of necessity, of course: the weather has been rough for a few days and even now that it is good enough for it to be safe to go between the ships they have had to find the calmest area of the water. That would have been difficult enough to do with one ship, and with two it has left the vessels practically out of each other’s sight. Rowena’s masts have occasionally been visible while Crozier has been standing on deck on board Ivanhoe, peeking out from just over the top of a particularly large outcrop that she is at anchor to one side of.

Lieutenant Corcoran, and not Captain Charlewood, is the person who meets the men from Rowena on deck. Considering the way that Captain Charlewood had seemed the last time that Crozier had seen him — and considering all that he must be going through, he supposes more charitably — that is not much of a surprise. It doesn’t seem as though it surprises James either — although Crozier suspects that he is more disappointed than James is.

“No sign of your Captain this afternoon, Lieutenant?” James asks. His tone is somewhat wry but it’s just as clear that he is, if anything, a little concerned for Charlewood. “Not that I’d blame him for remaining below, especially not in this weather.”

Corcoran doesn’t exactly smile, but that’s more because his facial structure doesn’t acutally seem to allow for him to smile. Not sincerely, at least. (That seems to Crozier to be the makings of a reasonable senior officer, he thinks for a second — and considering all that Corcoran must have been adjacent to, Crozier can’t blame him for seeming a little humourless.) He and a few of Rowena’s other senior officers — and the particularly tall surgeon’s mate — are the only people who have come out here to meet them and it looks as though all of them are already hoping to head below again.

“Captain Charlewood is still below, yes,” Corcoran says. He pauses, looking behind Crozier and Sir James to make sure that nobody who shouldn’t be is listening in. “With the way that things have been here…”

“You’ve not had any further problems?” Crozier asks immediately.

“None that I’ve seen first-hand, at least,” Corcoran says. “I imagine that we’re all as keen as each other to be able to head it off before there’s a problem in the future, though.”

Crozier cannot at all disagree with that. He would like to avoid any more violence — the whole sordid business had been equally unpleasant for all of them, he thinks — and he would especially like to avoid any more medical problems or similar incidents. Perhaps if Crozier had mentioned to either Alexander or one of the other Lieutenants that Lieutenant Hodgson’s condition had been what it had that would have been a bright idea. But perhaps it would just have lead to more and far worse difficulty down the line.

“So long as everybody continues to keep to themselves,” Sir James says, “I don’t think we ought to expect any more problems.” He pauses and glances between Crozier and Lieutenant Corcoran. “Or perhaps the two of you know something more?”

Crozier hasn’t the first idea, really. He doubts that Corcoran even knows enough about any of the men under his ship’s care to be able to make an accurate comment and he doubts very much that he could possibly know enough about Terror’s original three Lieutenants to give an opinion. But it would be more of a surprise to Crozier if he did know what to do or say than if he did.

“We’ve had near-complete peace here since…” Corcoran makes a face. “I think Commander Little collapsing may have thrown everybody off enough that nobody has wanted to cause any further issues.”

Crozier thinks that Lieutenant Hodgson might have been the real reason that the men billeted here on Rowena have suddenly become so quiet. Edward and Lieutenant Irving had certainly both been thrown enough by what had happened — and by what it lead to — that they wouldn’t want to get near anybody else. And Lieutenant Hodgson certainly won’t have been in a state to do anything but sleep and try to recover: or at least Crozier hopes that that is what he’s been doing.

“I wouldn’t think you’ll have any more…” Corcoran makes a face. “I don’t want to describe Mister Little’s situation as trouble,” he says, at which point Crozier has to look away as he remembers his mother describing one of her pregnancies as a ‘trouble’ and he knows that his expression would be all too clearly odd. “But he’s seemed to be in a surprisingly good mood for a man wandering about with an open fracture to his skull.” He shrugs. “I’m not complaining, of course, but it is strange.”

Strange is one word, Crozier thinks with no little anxiety. Before they had been brought on board the rescue vessels Edward had been in a disproportionately worse state mentally speaking than just about any of the other survivors — something that Crozier had put down to Lieutenant Irving still being unconscious. When John had regained consciousness, and Edward had not showed many signs of a lifted mood, Crozier had become even more concerned.

Crozier will have to keep an eye on Edward at the very least. If not for the fact that they will be almost constantly around other people today, as is to be the case, Crozier would be taking him aside again to make sure that he doesn’t have plans to do anything that can’t be returned from. If one of the men who managed to survive this far by some miracle were to die of his injuries or of illness on the way home then that would be one thing. If he were to do it to himself, then Crozier knows that he would never forgive himself.

Nor would anybody else.

Crozier is entirely in his own head by the time they make their way into Captain Charlewood’s great cabin, but he doubts that he is the only one. Sir James seems to be lost in thought more often than not these days and while Corcoran is unreadable Crozier can at least make out that he has a lot more on his mind than distributing whatever will be taking the place of wine today.

None of the men on board the rescue vessels are allowed to drink — but that likely would not have stopped Crozier had they been found a couple of years ago. Sir James is aware of that matter, of course. He is also more than aware that Crozier had stopped drinking at some point — but they haven’t talked about the details. That is how Crozier prefers it, he thinks; he hadn’t liked that anybody on board Terror had known in spite of the necessity of letting some people in.

Crozier also has his doubts that the prohibition on drinking has stopped all of the men on board the rescue vessels from finding alcohol somewhere. Crozier particularly would not be surprised if the men on board Rowena had some personal stash since they aren’t under his direct supervision here. He doesn’t know that he would blame them for going against the surgeons’ instructions, not if things here have been so fraught; but he would be frustrated, he thinks, that they were putting their recoveries in danger in that way.

Charlewood, when Crozier and Sir James are finally lead through into his great cabin, does not look anywhere near as weak and pathetic as he had the last time Crozier had seen him. That is as good a thing for Charlewood himself as it is for Crozier — not least because it means that Crozier will not have to nag at Charlewood for his lack of any sort of presence.

He doesn’t seem like Captain material, granted. From what Crozier knows he had seemed to have the makings of a good Captain — according to Fitzjames, who had clearly been biased, but no less, in Fitzjames’ eyes Charlewood had been an excellent Captain — but then again, Crozier can still remember thinking that Edward would likely make a fine Captain some day when they had first met. He’s just glad that Edward seems not to want anything to do with the Navy any more, because if he had wanted to carry on his career then Crozier would have to have a very uncomfortable conversation with him.

“It’s good to see you again under better circumstances, Captain Crozier.” Charlewood manages not to sound like a child playing dress-up in his father’s naval uniforms, even if he looks that way. “I’m sure all of our ‘guests’ here will be glad to see you again.”

Crozier has his doubts about that. But he also doesn’t think that Charlewood, a man going through his own dramas while he is in command of this particularly ill-fated ship, needs to hear about any of that. Le Vesconte certainly does not want anything more to do with Crozier and Edward is likely still either too shaky or just too sick to be ready to draw a line under the last few years. And those two are just the most straightforward — Edward has a right to his anger and Le Vesconte, well, he just doesn’t have all the facts.

“I’ll wait to see if that’s actually true before I relax too much,” Crozier says. Charlewood almost smiles. “I asked Lieutenant Corcoran,” he goes on, “but I thought I would confirm with you before allowing your steward to get the fine china out. Has there been any more unpleasantness? Any at all?”

“Nothing so to speak of,” Charlewood says. Crozier nods, although he doesn’t quite relax. “And on board Ivanhoe?” he asks. “I’m sure you would have signaled, but this seems like the best time and place to have this conversation.”

“Nothing at all,” Sir James says. Crozier nods when he notes that Charlewood looks more at him than he does at Sir James. “Lieutenant Jopson is recovering well — although he didn’t think that he would be well enough to make the trip over here today.” He makes a face. “Perhaps a sensible move on his part. I had forgotten how rough the waters in this area can get at this time of the year but I don’t think I or the gentlemen from Ivanhoe will ever forget again.”

Crozier laughs and nods. He still feels the slightest bit seasick after the journey over — and he is not in any way looking forward to making his way back to Ivanhoe. With any luck, what happens on board Rowena will make his coming over worth his while and not just another mistake like this expedition had been.

“It seems that we’ve had rather the worse luck for health issues,” Corcoran says, very charitably indeed. Crozier can’t help but think that he doesn’t know the half of it. “Even for Sir James and Doctor Rae’s attempts to split the sickest of the survivors up as evenly as they could.”

“Well,” Crozier says, “being that Edward wouldn’t either allow himself to be examined or to be separated from Lieutenants Hodgson or Irving, I can’t see that there was much that you could do besides.”

And that is before even accounting for Des Voeux, who had thrown something of a spanner in the works by turning up so unexpectedly on their way back to the ships. Crozier can’t imagine that he is doing well — probably not physically, but not mentally either. Crozier thinks that he would have nightmares for the rest of his life if he had been that close to being left behind and he’s a good few years on Des Voeux. Whatever might have been going through his mind before, and Crozier is sure that it had been nothing good, he can’t imagine that things are much better for him now.

“That’s true,” Corcoran says. He looks nervously in the direction of the door. “I don’t think there’s a reason to continue to keep you here, though, gentlemen?” He doesn’t look convinced. “I believe that your men from Ivanhoe are already with our guests here.”

Chapter Text

George very much does not seem as though he wants to be here. That very much does not surprise Edward — and he doubts that John is surprised either. The only real surprise is that George, who has recently seemed to discover the ability to stand up for himself, has apparently not done so on this one occasion.

Edward can only suppose, especially when John is talking to Goodsir again rather than with the two of them, that George is more keen to keep out of the way and avoid further drama than he is to actually act on what he has been saying for the last couple of days. Edward had said a few times that it wouldn’t be likely that anybody would object to George crying off today, not if he has recently been as ill as he has, and that it would probably do better for George himself to stay in their cabin than for him to come along today.

But for some reason George had been insistent. Considering everything that he is currently going through Edward doesn’t think it to be a good idea, but he doesn’t think that George wants it to be a good idea either. Edward would comment on how obvious it is, how clear it is to probably all of the people here that George is just doing this in an attempt to hurt himself, but he doesn’t think it wise to do so.

It would not be wise.

It would, on the other hand, be hypocritical.

In fact, considering the amount of time that Edward himself has spent trying to punish himself for just about everything that he has done since they had come off the ships he is sure that George would not just be annoyed to be told off but actively offended. Besides that, he thinks that trying to avoid arguments on a day when everybody is likely a bit fraught is a better idea than going out of his way to provoke one; especially since the last time that had happened, Edward had fainted.

“I suppose I shouldn’t say that this would feel far less awkward if we were allowed to drink while we’re here,” Edward says. He and George are sitting together on one of the couches in the corner of the wardroom such that they likely won’t be overheard. George probably feels confident enough to laugh at Edward’s comment thanks to that. “And…” He lets his words trail off, knowing both that he ought not to mention what he is thinking will put George off alcohol soon and that George will know what he means. “I think Doctor MacDonald would have a heart attack if I were to try it, in any case.”

Doctor MacDonald, in fact, seems just about as cheerful as he ever does these days. Since Edward and George had both had their issues dealt with — although George is still a bit sore and sensitive if he is touched in the wrong place or the wrong way — Doctor MacDonald has finally not just been allowed to relax but allowed himself to sit back. He still seems a bit twitchy but far less so than he had been even a couple of weeks ago: and Edward can’t quite tell if that is to do with Goodsir or if he is just incidental.

John certainly seems to be pleased to see Goodsir. George, on the other hand, seems as though he does not want to have anything to do with Goodsir, and that he would like to wring Goodsir’s neck for being anywhere near John.

That is certainly new.

It is also certainly not worth Edward’s inquiring into. It is particularly not worth Edward looking into it now, when George would probably get snippy with him at best and actually angry about his questions at worst. Considering that Edward shares not just a cabin but a bunk with George at night he would prefer not to deal with any of that.

George glances nervously at Edward when he notices Edward’s gaze particularly on him. He then follows Edward’s gaze towards John and the two remaining surgeons from their expedition, and if such a thing is even possible, it seems as though he shrinks even further into his body. Edward briefly puts his hand on George’s back, in such a way that nobody who is looking at them — if any of the people here indeed were looking at them — would take note.

“We can talk about it later if you want,” Edward says. He doesn’t know if he means Goodsir, and whatever it is that has made George particularly dislike him, or everything else that is going on in addition. “Or not?”

Edward takes George’s silence as a hint that he should shut up too. He both is and is not surprised when George leans slightly closer into him, in such a way that would just look to even an outside observer who knows about their relationship as though they were trying to talk quietly and not as though there were something else going on.

“He knew,” George says, in a tone that makes it very obvious just what Goodsir had known, and how George feels about his having known about it. “There’s more than that,” he says, still in a low voice, “but— I don’t know. I suppose he overheard…” He shakes his head.

George clearly expects that Edward will think it just to be water under the bridge or not worth either of their saying anything more about. Edward can tell that from his tone — but that is far from what Edward immediately thinks. In fact, the first thing that he thinks, which he doesn’t quite know whether to classify as the brain injury speaking or a sincere desire to protect George, is that Goodsir’s teeth would likely be very easy to knock out at the moment.

He decides against starting another fight, but only because he feels George worriedly grasp at his arm. Edward realises then how tight his jaw is — and how generally furious he must look — and he has to make a particularly concerted effort to pull himself back from that vile mood. He puts his hand gently over George and squeezes lightly before George pulls his hand away as though he had forgotten that they shouldn’t be making so much physical contact. Edward, as soon as he gets his mind back under his own control, irritably settles back against the back of the couch. He casts a quick glance at George to make sure that he is alright — or as right as he can be — and he is glad to see that he is at least not as miserable now as he had seemed a moment ago.

“Perhaps we should have stayed in our cabin after all,” George huffs. He glances across at Edward, who is leaning against the couch in such a way that the top of his head is just about level with the top of George’s collarbone. “I didn’t think I’d be so—” He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “Clearly I should have expected it.”

On top of everything else, George hasn’t really been well enough to bind his chest for these last few weeks. In fact, he hasn’t done so since they had begun to walk out to King William Island — it would just have been uncomfortable, he had explained — but for the most part he hasn’t really had much need to. Edward had asked in a way that he had hoped would just sound as though he was trying to be sensitive to what he assumed to be a problem but George had explained that the only time that he particularly needed to do anything with his chest was when their dress uniforms came out.

There still isn’t actually that much there that he can flatten down, not that Edward would say as much. Not because George is particularly fond of his chest — he has said that he is at best vaguely ambivalent towards it unless either Edward or John is sucking his tits — but because he doesn’t really know how much of an insecurity it is for him. Telling him not to worry because there isn’t too much for him to worry about might go down fine or meet with a laugh. It might also result in Edward accidentally verbally kicking George in the teeth — and at the moment he thinks the latter to be more likely as a result of his making a comment.

He certainly doesn’t bind his chest at the moment, but that is more because he can’t. Not only does he not have the means to do so, something that Edward imagines must be very uncomfortable for him indeed, but he is still sick enough that even if he had something that he could use to bind his chest he would probably just do himself damage. The weight that he is mercifully putting back on, in spite of how little he usually eats, mostly seems as though it is going to other parts of George’s body than his chest. Edward can still tell, just from George’s body language, that he is having trouble believing that.

At least most of the other survivors of the expedition seem to be keeping their distance. Not just from George and Edward, although Edward is certainly glad that nobody is trying to talk to them at the moment, but from everybody else in the wardroom. Doctor MacDonald, and both Goodsir and John with him, are at the moment the only exceptions to that current rule.

Edward doesn’t expect that it will be Tozer, who has been more or less hiding in the corner, who is the first to come over. He also doesn’t expect that George will look if not pleased to see him then not actively displeased — and, finally, Edward especially doesn’t expect that he himself will be glad to see and to speak to Tozer as well. He is certainly far more keen to see Tozer, in spite of all the problems that he has inadvertently caused, than he is to be in the same room as Goodsir.

“I, ah, I heard that you weren’t feeling well when we first set off, Lieutenant.” Tozer doesn’t quite look at George, almost as though he is worried that George will bite him if he makes eye contact by mistake. Edward can’t blame him. “I’m glad you’re feeling—” He casts a nervous glance towards both George and Edward. “Not so unwell, I suppose?”

“Not so unwell,” George confirms. “Exactly.” He pauses. Edward can tell that he is trying to weigh up whether or not to say something out loud or not. Edward can imagine that he knows what is being skirted around but he would prefer not to be reminded of it in any case. “Certainly nowhere near so bad as I was feeling before we came on board here.” He looks briefly at Edward before he continues. “And you…? I mean, I suppose that the surgeons on Ivanhoe must have thought you’re well enough to come over here, unless you stowed away?”

Tozer, surprisingly, manages a small smile at that. Edward nearly misses it because he is too busy cringing at even the name of the other rescue ship but if George notices that then he doesn’t draw any attention to it. Perhaps one day Edward will be able to hear the name of what he remembers his mother describing as a second-rate little novel without wanting to disappear into the ground but apparently that day is a bit further out than he had anticipated it being still.

“Not at my best,” Tozer admits, “but I didn’t expect that I would feel completely better so soon after…” He gestures around them. “You know.”

Edward doesn’t know, really, if things would have been worse for Tozer than they have for him. He had clearly been afraid to even approach any of the people standing around at this ‘event’ (if it can even be called that) but he had also quite clearly wanted to. Edward also remembers that after the mutineers had returned to the rest of the men, Tozer had found Edward to give him advance warning of the state that George was in.

Granted, the warning had arrived a little too late, thanks to Edward’s ability to extract at least some of the information from George himself. But Edward had been grateful no less, he recalls. It had been odd, yes, to be grateful that Tozer had told him that he had been the one if not to directly talk George out of suicide then the person that he had been talking to in order to keep himself from acting on any of his worse impulses. It had been odd in a way that, had Edward been a breath healthier or had John not survived, would likely have resulted in injuries to the messenger at the very least.

Edward is, he has to admit, very glad that he had not flown off the handle in such a way when he had been informed by Tozer. Granted, it had felt like a punch in the gut — mostly because the idea of George killing himself had been horrible, of course, but also because the idea that Tozer knew about their relationship was horrifying at the time to Edward. He is also glad that Tozer had been clear-headed enough, in spite of how clear-headed he clearly hadn’t been feeling at the time that he and Edward had spoken, to keep George both physically moving and mentally distracted enough not to do anything to himself that couldn’t be returned from.

Edward knows now, of course, why George had felt as he did. He can’t say that he wouldn’t feel the same as George had when they had been on King William Island and he can’t say that he would not also have tried to act on the desire. He can say that he doubts that anybody would have been able to talk him out of it.

“I will admit that I’m looking forward to never seeing any of it again once we get to Portsmouth. I would be surprised if the Navy wanted me back, of course,” George half-laughs. He shuffles up the couch so that Tozer can sit down too — and, probably, so that he can practically place himself right in Edward’s lap without attracting any comments or looks from anybody else in the room. “But even if they did I…” He shakes his head and looks properly at Tozer again. “I imagine you’ve heard plenty of that of late, though, if you haven’t been thinking it yourself.”

Tozer chuckles. He looks for a second as though he is thinking of asking what George is planning to do back on land if not join the navy. Then he glances at Edward in a way that Edward has to force himself to feel anything but mild amusement about and seems to think better of essentially asking him to incriminate himself.

The look on Tozer’s face certainly confirms that he had known all along that Edward and George at least had been carrying on as they had when they had been on board Terror. It also suggests that he doesn’t mind, and that’s the worst case scenario in Edward’s mind. And clearly his knowledge of it had been part of the reason that Tozer had talked to Edward and Edward knows for a fact that his hovering had been what had kept George alive at least before they had been well enough to be moved to the rescue ships.

The problem, of course, had been far greater than even Edward had known about. But he has to try not to think about that too much — either about what would have happened if George had not told either him or Doctor MacDonald about the pregnancy or if he had just gone through with it. It is more than Edward can think of at the moment but he still finds himself haunted, if only for a split second, by the thought that perhaps one day somebody would have discovered him and discovered what George had been trying to disguise.

“In any case,” Edward says softly. He has to actively try to stop himself from thinking about what could have happened to George. “Do you have anything in mind, Sergeant?” he asks. “When we get back to shore, I mean?”

“Nothing I would call something as lofty as a plan,” Tozer admits. He grimaces and looks away from the two of them. “I think I’ll still be as glad as I am now just to still be alive by the time we get where we’re going.”

Chapter Text

Edward knows better to expect that he will be able to avoid Crozier all day, even though that is currently what he would most like to do. In fact, he would like to avoid Crozier for the rest of both of their lives if that’s at all possible — and not just because of the way that the expedition itself had played out. He can see now that Crozier had come on board Rowena when Edward had taken sick with good intentions, of course, but when he had been in that situation Edward had been blind to anything but his own upset.

Thanks to that, he had not had many good things to say to Crozier.

He had been glad to see Crozier leave again in part because it had meant that Edward would not have to deal with the embarrassment of talking about their last interaction again. In fact, Edward had been so glad that Crozier had been leaving that he had pretended to be asleep when he had actually departed in the hopes that Crozier wouldn’t try to bother him. Whether or not Crozier had in fact caught on to the fact that Edward was very much awake at the time, he hadn’t tried to start a conversation — so Edward had considered it a victory, even if it had been an embarrassing one.

This isn’t to say that Edward begrudges Crozier his presence here. He hadn’t done anything like what Le Vesconte had done, after all (and Le Vesconte has not left his own cabin, to boot), and in fact it had seemed that Crozier had been the one to talk George off a particularly dire course of action when they had still been stuck on King William Island. It more means that he doesn’t think that he could look Crozier in the eye considering that he must know not just what had been wrong with George but how he had got himself into that condition.

And yet, here they are planning to do the same thing again when they get back to England. Edward has to admit, with some distance between himself and the excitement of what they are going to do in a few months’ time, that it doesn’t sound like the actions of particularly sensible people. But that isn’t the half of the problem; especially not when Crozier had taken upon himself to keep ‘an eye’ on Edward when George had begun to feel truly unwell with the termination. Edward had not been in his right mind then, unsurprisingly, but he had been so far from his right mind that it had come across to Crozier as though he was a danger to himself. Perhaps he had been — Edward isn’t really one to comment, even though he had been the one experiencing it — but he is not fond of the person that he had been at that point in time.

No doubt Crozier had been even less keen on him then, though — and no doubt he will have plenty to say to his former Executive Officer that Edward will not enjoy hearing. Not least because, for once in their mutual time together, Crozier will be completely right about Edward’s shortfallings and Edward will only be able to sit there and agree with him. He almost considers just slinking off to their cabin again rather than waiting for Crozier to inevitably show up and tell him how much of an idiot he has been.

The only thing that stops Edward from doing that is the fact that it would mean leaving George to his own devices when George clearly does not want to be on his own at the moment. Tozer looks every bit as nervous as Edward feels but even if he didn’t Edward wouldn’t leave George in his care at the moment: just in case somebody gets the wrong idea. He doesn’t think that he is being thoroughly rational in his judgement of Goodsir but Edward no less suspects that he would cast aspersions. And, well, Edward still doesn’t really feel like himself enough to trust that he won’t be able to keep his feelings about Goodsir to himself even if he hadn’t apparently known about the situation that George had been in before Edward himself had known.

Crozier leaves Edward and George alone for much of the time that the men who had been taken on board Ivanhoe are on board Rowena. He doesn’t avoid John — but that more seems to be because John is not sitting with Edward and George than because John and Crozier have anything to talk about in particular. John being with Doctor MacDonald and Goodsir rather than with George and Edward on the other side of the room is partly because of the surgeons’ suggestion that he move around more, but Edward also very much doubts that John is completely insensible to the mood that he and George have both been in.

Edward catches Crozier’s eye as soon as he is physically able to do it — because Edward has been feeling increasingly uncomfortable throughout the day. He realises then that Crozier hasn’t really been trying to draw out an uncomfortable situation; instead he seems to be trying to give himself as much of a run-up as he can before he actually talks to Edward. That doesn’t bode particularly well for either of them and Edward doesn’t want to cause any more discomfort for Crozier than he already has.

“I reckon he’s trying to avoid me,” George says, just softly enough that Edward will be the only person to hear it. Edward has to hide a laugh. “Hopefully because he’s too embarrassed to look me in the face rather than because he thinks me that much of an idiot that he detests me utterly.”

“Well,” Edward says, already knowing that George will not be able to be talked around from what he thinks, “I wouldn’t dare to ask you to stay in eyesight until Crozier leaves.” George laughs this time. “But if you felt like doing that perhaps I could find some way to make it worth your while in a few hours.”

George laughs again. Edward isn’t completely joking — even if he still can’t actually give George everything that he would like he is more than eager to please — but he leans over and puts his hand over Edward’s and squeezes it as he does. Edward thinks that he probably should care that anybody might see them being affectionate like this but he also thinks that, at this stage, more of the people in the room probably know why George had been indisposed a couple of weeks ago than are unaware of it.

Crozier doesn’t really circulate around the room, considering that he clearly has something in mind that he is trying to persuade himself to do, but he does spend a good while wandering about before he actually comes up to speak to Edward. Noticeably, he does it just after George gets up to go and speak to John again: and George only does that because Goodsir and Doctor MacDonald have both wandered off to speak to Mister Eliot.

Clearly, George really doesn’t like Goodsir. Edward thinks of that for a moment but he manages to draw himself back around onto a more useful topic of conversation, like whatever it is that Crozier might want from him.

“You look far better than you did last time I saw you, Edward.” This isn’t a bad opening line that Crozier comes out with, all things considered. “Certainly far less…” He makes a face. Edward does too, for a slightly different reason. “I’m not so concerned about leaving you on your own now than I was a few weeks ago,” he manages to say, at last. “And… I would ask Lieutenant Hodgson how he is feeling too but I get the impression that he would rather I didn’t.”

“Probably,” Edward admits. “He is feeling quite a bit better, though, sir.” He hopes that George won’t object to Edward telling Crozier that much — not that he has actually said anything much. In fact he doesn’t think that he has really said anything at all. “Certainly not…” He laughs awkwardly and looks over at Crozier. “Certainly not unwell enough to justify the mood that I was in last time we saw each other.”

“Well, last time we saw each other I believe you had an open skull fracture,” Crozier says. “In fact, I believe you still have a broken skull. I don’t think I would be able to be up and about if I were in your position, let alone…”

Edward decides not to pay attention to the obvious innuendo there. Crozier knowing in an abstract sense that George had been pregnant as a result of Edward’s actions is one thing but the idea of him knowing what those actions were is another thing entirely. (Perhaps not a sensible one, but no less a different thing.) And, well, Edward would rather walk off the side of the ship than admit to his present issue somewhere that Crozier might be able to overhear it, let alone saying it directly to his face.

“Doctor MacDonald has been taking care of all three of us,” Edward says, in what must seem like a very transparent attempt to change the subject. “And… Sir James’ surgeons?” he asks.

Crozier nods. “I feel that I should be apologising for…” He nods in the direction of Rowena’s Chief Surgeon, who is carefully avoiding eye contact with anybody and standing in one corner of the wardroom with Lieutenant Corcoran. He looks generally as though he would like to be anywhere but here, not that Edward can blame him for that. “Doctor MacDonald tried to reassure me that he seems to be perfectly competent, but—”

“Between the two of us,” Edward says, “I did think that his bedside manner left— something to be desired when we first came on board.” He and Crozier both chuckle at that: probably as much because they both remember similar complains about Doctor Stanley as because they are actually amused by the surgeon’s behaviour. “I imagine now that he meant well with it,” Edward says, “and that he was in a very… odd situation with how we were.” He sighs. “He seemed to think it was odd that we were all sharing cabins.”

Crozier raises his eyebrows, but he seems to decide not to say anything more. Edward is glad of that, considering that two men sharing a cabin is quite different to three men being in a cabin which only has two bunks in it. His mind is sluggish in an almost embarrassing way, even though he knows that he can’t do anything about how healthy — or otherwise — he is. Crozier, regardless, seems not to object.

“No doubt just trying to break the ice,” Crozier agrees. “And, as you say, falling flat on his face in his eagerness to put you all at ease.”

If nothing else it had helped to break the ice with Mister Eliot, who even George seems to be quite fond of now that they have been on board Rowena for a while: and in spite of all that happened in the first few hours on board the ship. In fact, considering that George had seemed not to want Mister Eliot anywhere near him the day they had come on board Rowena, that had certainly been something. Doctor MacDonald, too, is clearly quite happy to work with Mister Eliot — and far more so than he had seemed to be to work with Rowena’s Chief Surgeon.

“That’s one word for it,” Edward laughs. He pauses. “By the way…” He looks at Crozier properly, in spite of how difficult it is for him to do that. “How is Lieutenant Jopson recovering?” On the one hand he doubts that Crozier would be here if Jopson were in a bad way but on the other hand his absence is quite conspicuous, all things considered. “Or rather — I hope that he is as well as he can be under the circumstances.”

Edward almost expects some sort of passive aggression from Crozier for that, but luckily it seems as though Crozier either doesn’t blame him or doesn’t want it to be too obvious that he places the blame at Edward’s feet. Edward wouldn’t be either surprised or annoyed if Crozier did tell him that he was the one to blame for what had happened to Jopson — and in fact he would probably be inclined to agree, much as it would sting to do so.

“He isn’t completely well,” Crozier says, “but he is certainly far better than he was even a couple of weeks ago.” He pauses and pats Edward on the shoulder. “And a lot more lucid.”

That is certainly a positive. Jopson had been able to speak when they had been brought on board the rescue ships, but Edward remembers that he had not made much sense — all that had been at all clear had been that he was distressed and in pain. That is something that Edward had blamed himself for; even though Le Vesconte had been the one to make the suggestion, Edward had been the one in command at the time and he had still almost allowed it.

“Lucid enough, in particular, to know that he wouldn’t be well enough to travel here in his current state,” Crozier says with what is almost a laugh. Edward smiles and nods. “He’ll be going to a hospital for a while when we get back to shore, but I imagine that Lieutenant Irving will be doing so as well?” he asks.

Edward nods. “As far as I know, he will still need to spend some time being taken care of properly, yes,” he says. And he can already imagine how pent up he and George will be by the time they are able to live together — not that he says as much to Crozier. “I hope—” He thinks for a second before he actually goes through with the sentence, but Crozier already knows about the only thing that would keep him from saying anything. “I hope, when it comes to it, that we will be able to find somewhere near Portsmouth,” he says in a low voice, “so as not to be too far from each other.”

“You’re thinking of staying near the coast, then?” Crozier asks. Luckily, he keeps his voice low: not that Edward thinks that his and George’s and John’s situation is as secret as he would like it to be now. “That seems… wise.”

It is, Edward has heard, a good place to raise children — but that probably isn’t worth mentioning to Crozier. Especially not so soon after Edward has inadvertently caused Crozier all manner of trouble when he had collapsed and then George had chosen that as the right time to tell Doctor MacDonald about his pregnancy. He can see, though, that Crozier is expecting that not to be the end of the conversation.

“Well, my sister lives there,” he says, rather than explaining any of the real reason that he is so keen to stay near Portsmouth to Crozier. “And John and George’s families are both in the north. I doubt that any of us will be in a state to travel that far by train as soon as we come off the ships at the other end.”

And that’s not to mention the complicated relationship that George has with his family. Not only do they not get on well now — or rather they hadn’t when last George had seen any of them — but it would be more of a surprise if their relationship didn’t get more complicated once they find out that George is expecting his first child. Edward would not want to be near them and he isn’t even a relation, so he can’t blame George for wanting to keep his distance.

“I suppose, then, that you’re already aware of how things are likely to play out when we get back home?” Crozier asks. Edward nods. “Specifically that there will be… questions.”

He phrases it very diplomatically. Edward, though, knows exactly what he is referring to. He knows what Crozier means, and in truth Edward fully expects a long, drawn-out court martial to ensue as soon as they reach the shore again: or at least as soon as all of the men who had survived the Arctic is well enough to be questioned. He finds the idea not so much unsettling as he finds it frustrating — but he doubts that Crozier will share his view.

“I don’t look forward to it,” Edward says, after a moment of thought, “but I suppose we ought to expect it in any case.”

He isn’t thinking of himself, really, but he can’t fully express the reason for that to Crozier. There is no time that the Court Martial will happen over the next few years that wouldn’t be, for one reason or another, terribly inconvenient and it will likely be inconvenient mostly for George, and not so much for anybody else. The best possible scenario is that it happens long enough after one or the other of their future children is born that he will be back to himself enough for it not to be obvious. But it won’t be easy even then; especially not if George is called to the Court Martial.

“I doubt that they’ll call you,” Crozier says after a moment. “But I imagine that they will want at the very least to speak to me.” He raises his eyebrows the slightest bit. Edward tries to laugh but his mind is elsewhere — and not in such a way that he can explain to Crozier. “And…” He pauses to think in a way that Edward does not even remotely like. “I doubt that you or Lieutenant Irving will be called, but…”

He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t need to. Edward tries not to make it too obvious just how much he hates the idea, because no doubt it would lead to questions just because of how strongly he feels himself reacting. He hadn’t thought that he would be able to keep George away from everything, as much as he would have liked to — but the idea of it happening at a truly bad time would likely be more than detrimental for George. And, as much as he tries to reassure himself that there are plenty of things that could happen that would make it far less painful, Edward knows better than to hope for it not to be awful.

Chapter Text

Edward is in a mood far too odd to just be explained by having seen Crozier earlier that day when the three of them finally head back to their cabin at the end of the day. George is aware of it — but he thinks that even Doctor MacDonald had taken note of it earlier, before they had turned in to go to sleep.

Needless to say, George doubts that they actually will be getting much sleep.

Edward is, by the time George comes to their cabin, on John’s bunk with him rather than on the bunk that he and George have been sharing. George waits for a moment for John to shuffle over to the corner of the bunk so that he doesn’t have to support his own weight too much, and then curls up with the two of them. George almost thinks as he pulls the blankets back around himself and Edward that they might not end up talking at all — Edward certainly seems to be in that sort of mood — but at least Edward doesn’t shy away when George reaches out to put his arms around his waist.

“Crozier thinks there will be a Court Martial,” Edward says. His voice is muffled against George’s shoulder. “He thinks it will be quite a while after we get home.”

“Well, I wasn’t in any doubt about that,” George says. He pauses. “Nor was I in any doubt as to who would be called as a witness. Specifically, I doubt that they would want either somebody who was unconscious for weeks or somebody who was wandering around with his skull broken for about as long.”

That isn’t to say that George isn’t worried about it, of course. He is worried — but he isn’t worried enough that he would put his plans for the next few months on hold because of something that may or may not happen in a couple of years after that. He doesn’t expect either Edward or John to do that either; even though he knows that it will likely have consequences when it comes to time for the Court Martial.

“I certainly don’t like the idea of it hanging over us for ages,” George admits. Edward nods against his chest. “But I like the idea of… allowing it to take over our lives for the next however many months it takes for them to get themselves together and make a decision.” And, if it seems that the Court Martial might be really unfavourable towards him, George isn’t above destroying papers and changing his name. He’s done it once, after all. “I imagine that having children is going to take over our lives too,” he jokes, “but that sounds far more enjoyable than…”

Edward laughs. Even though he does, it doesn’t sound as though he thinks that is going to be the end of it — it might be the end of it for tonight, admittedly, but George is sure that they will talk more about the potential Court Martial over the next few days. For now, though, he would rather try to sleep: especially if John doesn’t want to move him and Edward off his bunk so that he can lie down as best he can.

“You aren’t uncomfortable, by the way?” George asks, glancing up at John. John shrugs; and George feels his hand on the back of his head when he does. “That’s a relief,” George says. He lowers his head slightly so that he can hold Edward a bit more tightly. “I think Edward is already asleep, for one thing,” he laughs. “And…”

“And you won’t be awake for much longer?” John asks. George laughs and shakes his head. When he looks up at John again, he looks far more awake than George had expected. “I don’t like to speak about people when they’re in the room,” he says, “but…” He nods down at Edward.

If Edward is awake and listening to their conversation then he doesn’t give any indication that he is — but George knows better than just to take that at face value. He glances down at Edward to make sure he actually isn’t awake but it isn’t too surprising for him to see that Edward is certainly asleep now.

“He seemed to be in a state when we got back,” John admits. George nods, his hand resting gently on the back of Edward’s head as he holds him and listens to John. “I suppose it must have been about…” He nods. “That.”

“I can’t blame him,” George admits. “Even if I’m not…” He grimaces. “I suppose I must have come across rather poorly but I don’t want to dedicate any more of my time to this expedition or to the navy once we get home.” He pauses and looks up at John again. “We’ll have other priorities, like I said.”

John grins and nods. Not for the first time, but certainly for the first time in a while considering how sad John has been of late, George thinks how pretty he looks when he smiles. That really is the word, in spite of how little it applies in most other scenarios to John; but that probably isn’t a sensible line of thought at the moment. Especially not when Edward is not only asleep but still not able to do as he might like.

Then again, perhaps that is still advantageous at the moment. George has poor enough self control when he is completely healthy and he is far from that at the moment — and, well, he knows that just his own fingers, or Edward’s fingers, or John’s, will only be enough for him for so long. If he were able to, George would be making some very poor decisions indeed.

“You didn’t come across poorly, by the way,” John says. George makes a noise, partly because he can’t really be bothered to speak out loud. “I think you’re right. I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know if I can completely convince myself of that. Or if I will be able to relax.”

This being John, that doesn’t particularly surprise George. He has never been calm — not in all the years since George had met him — and this is hardly something that George would expect that he would be calm about. Not the prospect of starting a family, for one thing, but not the far worse and far more inevitable Court Martial. George expects that it will catch up to him sooner or later, of course, but so long as he can carry on without panicking he plans to do that.

“I’ll have to help you with that,” George says. John goes slightly pink when he laughs. “I’m sure that Edward and I can both think of something to do that might help you calm down.”

Even that gentle teasing, which George doesn’t do for no reason at all, doesn’t seem to be enough to wake Edward up, much as George had thought that it would. But that is probably a good thing — considering that Edward seems to be taking the news of the Court Martial far worse than either George or John is, it is certainly for the best. George is, after all, far more dedicated to taking care of both Edward and John than he is to his own gratification: especially with how much George had done to make their situation worse, rather than better.

George is the first to wake up the next morning, or at least he thinks that he is. Edward is still lying with his face against George’s chest, and John is still sitting with his back against the side of the bunk with the two of them lying on his lap — and it certainly doesn’t sound as though either one of them has woken up yet. George lies still for a while, not wanting to wake either of them up yet. He is, even if Edward is lying on his uninjured arm in such a way that he can’t move much, quite comfortable in spite of how sore he usually is when he wakes.

And, well, George would much rather not get back to the rather miserable topic of conversation that they had found themselves lead into last night. He can still completely understand Edward’s anxiety about the idea of a Court Martial, as much as George himself doesn’t want to dedicate too much of his mind to thinking about it. Thanks to that, he doesn’t want to wake Edward up to start the conversation again: because that is what he knows will happen.

He feels Edward move not too long after George himself wakes up. He shifts, unwrapping his arms from around Edward so that, if he is awake and not just still half-asleep, Edward can move away from him again. Edward doesn’t move; his face stays pressed against George’s chest, but he looks up at George sleepily, his eyes only half open.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” George asks quietly. Edward makes a noise. “I hope that was a no.”

“I would have woken up anyway,” Edward laughs. He sounds bleary, but not in a way that George is concerned about: just as though he is still waking up, rather than as though he needs George to send for the doctor. “You seem…” He pauses as he props himself up on his arms to sit up. “I was a bit concerned, with what we were talking about last night.”

“I meant what I said,” George says. “I see why you were concerned.” And he isn’t actually upset that Edward had been concerned for him personally. “But I also don’t want to allow it to take over my life — and I don’t want it to take over yours either.”

“I hope it doesn’t happen at all,” Edward sighs. George nods. “But— but I suppose you’re right,” he says after a moment. “I just hate the thought that it could all happen at the same time as…” He indicates George. “But I suppose I’m not really helping myself by letting myself get into that state in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” George admits, “but I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong by being concerned about it either.”

Edward clearly can’t actually do anything about it, and George knows that he will just talk himself around in circles until he can’t do anything but talk about what might happen if the Court Martial happens. George’s own concern is more that it will cause Edward and John this sort of distress and not so much for himself — but that is just because the idea is just that at the moment. An idea, and not something that is definitely going to happen.

“And…” Edward makes a face. “Well, I suppose that Crozier is inclined to be negative.”

That’s certainly putting a fine point on it, not that George can blame Edward for doing so. After all, it will probably be Crozier who gets the blame for everything that had happened rather than one of the lower-down officers: not that George necessarily thinks Crozier to be guilty of all that had gone wrong. It makes sense that he would be preparing himself for the worst, even if George would much prefer that he do so without involving Edward or John.

“Exactly,” George agrees. He pauses as he goes to sit up as well. “There are far more important matters for us to start thinking about than what might happen in the future. I really mean that, and not just because I can’t stand the idea of not being—”

Edward laughs, and leans across to kiss George properly. Considering how nervous he had seemed to be when they had gone to sleep, George is glad that Edward hasn’t completely lost any interest in this aspect of their relationship. Granted, that makes it doubly frustrating that they can’t do all that George would like to, even if both of them physically could: but George is quite happy just to be kissed, or at least he is for now.

“Oh, you’ll get what you want soon, believe me,” Edward says when they pull apart. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep a handle on myself, let alone you.”

“How long I can keep a handle on myself?” George asks. “Or how long you think you can keep on denying me?”

Edward and George of course both know that the answer to that question is ‘both’, but if that were not the case then they probably wouldn’t be teasing each other about it now. George is not at all glad that they won’t start trying to have a child for a good while yet — and only partly because of how much he wants the end result — but he is glad even so to know that Edward still wants him even if at the moment nothing is allowed to come of that.

“Hopefully we won’t have to keep from doing what we want to for too long, in any case,” Edward says. George nods. “I would certainly like to…” He laughs awkwardly. “Well, I suppose you don’t seem to mind that I can’t at present, so perhaps I ought not to complain.”

For obvious reasons, George had not actually mentioned not minding it if his partner couldn’t get hard before — and he had been cautious about mentioning it to Edward lest it be a sorer point than he had been letting on to. But Edward isn’t wrong; and even though he seems to be feeling a bit awkward about it he doesn’t seem to be upset, and he clearly doesn’t feel as though George is making fun of him behind his back or to his face.

“I’d only rather if you could because you’re so clearly possessed by it,” George admits. Edward presses his face against George’s shoulder and laughs awkwardly, but George still feels it when he nods a moment later. “Clearly it doesn’t affect your ability to use your hands, or your mouth.”

If anything, Edward seems to be even more desperate to please than he had when he had been as healthy as he physically could be. George doesn’t mean to take advantage of that fact — but no less it hadn’t made for any less satisfaction for any of them the last time they had been together.

George hadn’t been surprised that John had suddenly begun to need an awful lot more sleep when they had been brought on board Rowena than he had before. It hadn’t seemed to surprise John either — and it hadn’t surprised any of the three of them that it still doesn’t seem as though John gets much out of it, no matter how long he sleeps for. George tries to speak as quietly as possible with Edward before John wakes up thanks to that — and he can tell that Edward is trying to keep his own voice down too.

At least it probably isn’t the two of them that wake John up a little while later.

George still feels the need to apologise for waking him. He doesn’t know if that is because John still looks so bleary and exhausted or just because he feels the need to apologise for everything at the moment; but he tries to push the inclination back down again before he starts saying anything too stupid. John and Edward will both just tell him that he doesn’t need to be sorry, as difficult to believe as that is for George.

“How did you sleep?” George asks instead. He can see just from John’s expression that the answer isn’t likely to be any more positive then ‘almost decently’, but he still wants to ask. “And… are you feeling any less sore now than you were yesterday?”

“I don’t feel as though I did sleep,” John admits. George nods, sitting up carefully. Edward sits up too, and settles with his back against George’s chest. “Not that I’m… particularly surprised.” And, well, he certainly doesn’t look as though he is feeling particularly awake. “Not because of you two, of course,” he clarifies hastily. “Just…”

John doesn’t actually need to tell Edward and George that he hasn’t been sleeping well of late. It isn’t just the fact that they are all sharing the same cabin that means that both of them are aware of his state of mind — but it does help. Even without that, though, George is sure that he would know that John was in a bad state. He wouldn’t be able to identify why, of course, or what he could actually do about it — and that would be all the more unhelpful — but he still knows his mind and he knows John’s, perhaps as a result.

“Do you think one of the doctors could help?” Edward asks cautiously. John shrugs. “Or… I suppose the things that they can give you don’t really make for particularly restful sleep, do they?”

George certainly knows that they do not. He hadn’t so much taken the wine of coca that he had been given by Doctor MacDonald a couple of weeks ago because he had expected that it would be a cure for what he was feeling but because he had known it to be capable of just wiping out the memory of an unpleasant event. He is starting to regret even that now, though; in part because he is sure that something happened while he had been unconscious that Edward and John will not tell him about.

“I’m not quite at the point where that will be better than nothing yet,” John says, but he sounds fond as he speaks rather than irritable. George can see that his words are reassuring for Edward as well. “And…” He lowers his voice somewhat, and ducks his head down. “Forgive my saying so but after what happened out there I wouldn’t be keen to drink even if it were offered to me.”

“That’s quite understandable,” Edward says, “but you shouldn’t… You shouldn’t restrict yourself on account of that, especially if you think it’s something that would make you feel better.”

George nods. He knows that John doesn’t drink much — he never had when they had been on board Excellent, in spite of there being plenty of opportunities for him to do so and on board Terror there had been few times when any of the officers really could have done — but Edward still isn’t wrong about this. George certainly won’t be allowed to drink for a good while, but he doesn’t see that the other two should restrict themselves on his account. He also doesn’t see why John should refuse to take something that might make him feel better after what he has been through recently.

“I’ll certainly think about it,” John says finally.