#gildedlife

the very first thing diane does is misspeak, "it's the most incredible thing, i almost didn't recognize you."

but her schema for comportment around james is challenged – informed as it has been by ill-fitting conversations, which over time, gradated more comfortably into cursory pleasantries. glib greetings, as one shouldered past.

what she means to say, "it's the textbook example of the – disorientation – a person feels when they happen upon someone outside of their established context for them."

it shivers on the ice.

its hair is wet with saltwater, speckled with little flakes of frost. its clothes are wet. its skin is wet. the arctic air chills it to its bones.

—

mutt's teeth are chattering so fast, he swears they'll chip and grind themselves into dust. his knees are squeezed up to his chest, his shoulders hunched tightly inward. in some pathetic way to stay warm, the remaining men have forgone shaving, something he, for obvious reasons, isn't able to do.

The bone-weary seaman held his breath as the ship finally docked at its final destination. The yells of the crew a mixture of “hooray” and final orders to moor the vessel; the ship gently bobbing against the side of the dock as it came to a halt. This was it, the moment they had all longed for, the moment they had all believed would never come. They had made it home. The captain felt his hand grip the railing as he took in the sight of the large crowd that had gathered to greet the survivors, his knuckles turning white with his grasp.

Shouts of greeting mixed in with applause began to assault the homecomers' ears. The Irish man turned his head to look at his companion who he was holding steady with his other arm. It was bittersweet. A wave of relief washed over the older man; he had done it, he had kept Fitzjames alive and brought him (along with the other survivors) home but he also felt a pang of guilt in his breast. To the men who had not made it home; whose family and friends, some of whom were present, they would never see again. To the man Fitzjames had been forced to become, to the rose-tinted glasses which had been ripped from before his eyes, for the innocence lost.

He glanced around at the rest of his men; some half-heartedly joining in a chorus of the national anthem started by the crew of the Enterprise, while others looked shell-shocked and some openly wept. The gangway was lowered and there was a rush as the crowed gathered around, some of them shouting the names of the crew. Crozier looked at Fitzjames again, forcing a smile. They should be happy; they should be relieved, he thought. He had to be for the others' sake. He had to be for his friend’s sake.

Suddenly, Crozier felt a hard clap on his shoulder as his oldest friend (and captain of the vessel), James Clark Ross came to see them depart safely. They two spoke for several moments, before all three began to make their way off the ship. The redhead assisted Fitzjames down the steep gangway, though the younger man was eager to walk for himself as much as possible. Behind them their few remaining possessions were carried by Ross's crew.

As the trio reached the end of the slope, their feet finally landing on English soil, they were swallowed up by the crowd. Cries of greeting and sympathy in equal measure filled their ears, and without meaning to, Crozier and Fitzjames diverged along different paths. He felt the clap of welcoming hands on his back and shoulders and tried his best to smile weakly at the passing faces. He had always hated crowds, hated the attention. Now it was worse than ever. What had he to be proud of?

Feeling overwhelmed, he looked around for Fitzjames, surely the man had been right beside him. Now that he was no longer above the crowd but standing among them, Crozier’s height impeded his ability to look above their heads. He wanted to cry out, but with the roar of the horde reaching fever pitch he knew it would be useless. Suddenly, he felt a familiar touch on his shoulder and he turned around to see Ross again, a wide sympathetic smile on his face. “I’ve lost Fitzjames.” Crozier said, his unused voice croaking over the noise. He didn't intent to say it so pleadingly. “I think he found his family.” The other man replied, leaning in to hear his friend better. “Come, I’ll get you out of here.” He said reading Crozier’s mind and leading the Irishman out of the throng of people.

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even after nearly a decade of consistent involvement in theatre, stephen loves to attend a play. especially when he isn't engaged in a show of his own, he feels a need to support the community and his working peers. so, after the performance, he says his hellos, his congratulations, to each of those in the cast he knows, and typically, after doing his friendly rounds he would go home ( never one for unnecessary social interactions ) but there was another member of the cast who had caught his attention. so, out of respect and perhaps some curiosity, he approaches him with a hand offered for a shake as he sees him exiting the stage door. "great show and great work," he says sincerely. "you were really compelling."

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