#kiev4am

Still, he shouldn’t have minded this particular party so much, as it was being given partly in his honor, and in honor of all of the other men who had returned home from the expedition. Naturally, the nation had mourned the loss of Sir John – Edward had heard that the queen herself had donned a black armband for a full week following the news – but the successful rescue of the remaining crew had been cause for some celebration, least of all by the Lords of the Admiralty, who with good reason had feared the worst. 

They were all in high spirits now, circling around the officers of Erebus and Terror, resplendent in their dress uniforms that had been dusted off for just such an occasion. Edward attempted to mingle, at one point finding himself drawn into conversation with Sir William Parry, who seemed fixated on the precise location where the two ships had been abandoned in the ice, until he was finally able to make his excuses and retreat into the refuge of his own company. He meandered through the reception rooms, occasionally crossing paths with one of the other expedition officers. They shared some passing words – news of their family, or their future plans – and he was mostly appreciative of the fact that so little needed to pass between them, for what did they not know of each other that hadn’t already been learned in all those years they spent marooned within the ice or else hauling dying men across the length of an unforgiving shore? They were brothers now, a kinship marked by the weight of memory and a slightly haunted look about the eyes. A few he had not seen since they had parted ways upon their return, and it warmed him to see what a difference those short months had made. Bruises had faded, hollowed-out cheeks had filled in, and they had begun to resemble those men he had met when they had first set sail a lifetime ago.

From across the room, he caught a glimpse of Le Vesconte, whose full head of dark silver hair only seemed to offer him an air of greater distinction, although Edward remembered the night it turned that color, all at once, following the death of one of Terror’s men and the realization within the camp of the terrible choice left to them if they all wished to survive the rest of their journey. 

Next to a carved marble fireplace he saw Captains Crozier and Fitzjames, both in conversation with a dark-haired lieutenant Edward didn’t recognize, at least not with his back turned. The captains, he knew, had taken up residence together in Mayfair, the bond they had forged during the expedition flourishing into dearest friendship upon their return. There was gossip, of course; tongues wagged that the two men were more than simply friends, for why else would they live as they did, so flagrantly? Edward ignored such prattle and, perhaps more to the point, found he did not care. If the two of them had managed to find happiness in each other amid such pain and sacrifice, then he would wish them well and be glad of it. 

On the wall just next to him hung a massive seascape depicting the Battle of Lissa and the sinking of the Favorite; amid the billowing clouds and the rough, white-capped waves, he could just make out the French sailors bobbing above the water, clearly hoping to make it to shore before they were dashed onto the rocky coast. One day, he assumed, the Admiralty would commission a dramatic rendering of the Arctic expedition, hang it high upon the wall to be viewed with all the rest, and he truly hoped he would not live long enough to have to look at it. 

“Commander.”

He was still becoming accustomed to his new rank, so he did not immediately turn and acknowledge the person who had addressed him. Even so, there was something in the voice, a soft familiarity that tugged at his mind in a way he could not quite piece together.

Edward Little was not a man easily shocked. But what he saw when he swiveled his gaze was enough to still him entirely, his eyes opening wider as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. 

The face of the man that stood before him was achingly familiar, one he had had occasion to look upon every day – often several times a day – over the course of many years. If pressed, he might have admitted that he knew it better than he knew his own. And in the months since he had last seen it, he had sometimes found himself trying to recall it, attempting as best he could to reconstruct the exact color of those pale blue eyes, the precise curve of that cheek as it rounded with an expression of unexpected joy. 

Yet it was not the face alone that had drawn his thoughts into sudden disarray. For where Edward would have expected to see the unadorned suit of a steward, he was met with something far more resplendent. The pewter buttons on his coat had given way to the glint of polished brass, that golden color echoing around the cuffs and the high collar, the accentuated narrow waist, along the shoulders in a pair of stiff and gleaming epaulettes. Hands were gloved in spotless white, black boots brought to a mirror shine. His dark hair was sleekly parted along one side, not a strand of it out of place, and he looked every inch the officer, as if he had been born to it. But perhaps Edward should have expected nothing less from Thomas Jopson, whose estimable qualities would always far outshine the magnificence of a dress uniform.  

Quite of their own accord, Edward’s lips curled upward into a modest smile.

“Lieutenant,” he replied, as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Jopson’s cheeks pinkened slightly in response, and Edward could feel his own heart begin to quicken with warmth and memory. 

He quickly cleared his throat. “I heard the Admiralty had approved your promotion. I must say it suits you.”

The compliment was enough to bring a small smile to Jopson’s lips. 

“I’m not sure how you manage so much finery,” he said, glancing down at the embellishments of his dress coat as he ran his gloved hands along the gilded embroidery. “I feel as if I must have forgotten something vital.”

“You’ll soon grow accustomed to it,” Edward offered, having no better advice for the new lieutenant. But as he spoke, his mind was filled with all the many things he wished to say, words he should have uttered long ago, without knowing quite how to say them. 

They stood in silence, and without the distraction of words, it was difficult for him not to think back to all the tender intimacies they had once shared, the stolen moments they had pocketed and hoarded up like thieves, seizing every chance they could to be together regardless of the ever-present risk of discovery. Just looking at the color on Jopson’s cheeks was enough to spark a host of memories, each occasion springing vividly to life. A space as small and crowded as that of Terror had required them to be careful, forcing them to seek out all manner of places for their assignations. And those encounters, so often, were regrettably brief – in the middle of a watch change, following the conclusion of a command meeting, in the tiny hour just before sunrise – and only seemed to ignite their hunger rather than assuage it. It was a passion that had threatened to consume them both, and at times it felt as if it had, drawing Edward so far from thoughts of his duties that he had come to resemble a man possessed. But how could he be blamed, when any man might reasonably have lost himself in the deep pools of those sea-colored eyes? 

Eventually, though, passion had given way to contention and they began to quarrel, about minor matters at first, and then larger ones. It had all been over nothing – he could see that now – the bitter words they aimed at each other merely a mask for the deeper, unspoken fears that plagued them both. Each morning had seemed to bring a new threat to their survival, whether through cold or fire or the unpredictable attacks of the creature. Yet rather than seeking greater comfort from each other, they had turned their torment outward, day by day weakening a bond he had once thought unassailable. Towards the end they had almost ceased to use words at all, the tent they shared a cold and inhospitable place, so perhaps it should not have surprised him that the final break, when at last it came, was over an idea he had not dared voice to anyone, save Le Vesconte. 

It had been a craven notion – given the benefit of time, he now understood how wrong he had been – and to compound the error, he had continued to defend it to Jopson after the officers’ meeting, in the privacy of their tent. Those were the last words they had spoken, until this moment, for Jopson had gathered his few belongings and left silently, keeping to the captain’s tent until the day they were finally rescued. 

But to see him now, dressed as he was, the light of life shining in his gaze, it was more than Edward could have ever imagined. And yet the pleasure could not be separated from the attendant pain, for he knew the hurt that he had caused, and above all he knew he could not bear to part ways again without at least acknowledging the magnitude of his fault.

He had to find the words, as difficult as that might be.

“Lieutenant,” he began, only to pause, the formal address immediately leaving an unnatural taste on his tongue. He glanced down, pursing his lips together as he attempted once more to speak. “Thomas, I... I am sorry for the way we parted company. If nothing else, I wish for you to know that I regret entirely the position I took, the cause of our quarrel.” 

He could remember each word, each accusation, but most of all he remembered the look in Jopson’s eyes, a mixture of anger and brittle disappointment, and how it had seemed to pierce his heart in ways he had not thought possible. For it was only in that moment that he had understood: Jopson opposed leaving the sick men behind not merely on principle, as any moral man would, but because he also feared the worst for himself. And when Edward had foolishly pressed his case, all Jopson had been able to hear were the cowardly justifications of a man who might abandon his lover as easily as he advocated leaving behind the ones who lay dying in their tents. 

“Had the captain followed my suggestion,” he continued, his breath turning heavy in his throat, “so many men – a few here tonight – would not have returned—”

Jopson shook his head. “The burden you were under was immense. Anyone might have—”

“No,” Edward replied firmly. “You did not. And thankfully the captain did not. You were right. I should have trusted your judgment.”

Jopson nodded, but did not reply. Edward understood; in truth, he did not deserve any more than that, and he knew he should count himself fortunate that Jopson saw fit to speak to him at all. After all that had passed, perhaps the only thing finally left to them was politeness and pleasantries, and still he would accept it gladly, if given the choice.

“So,” he asked, “how have you found life as an officer?”

Jopson shrugged. “Much like that of a steward, in all honesty. I’ve not yet received a commission and I remain on half-pay.” He raised a dark eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling with mirth. “If the situation continues, I may be hard-pressed to afford the polish for these buttons.”

A small laugh escaped Edward’s lips. “You’ll manage, I’m sure. You were always resourceful.”

“And yourself?” Jopson inquired. “Have you been granted a commission?”

Edward nodded. “I’m to serve on the Thetis. She sails from Plymouth in two months’ time.”

He had been pleased to get the commission. The captain, upon their meeting, had seemed able and competent, and there was a large part of him that wished more than anything to start entirely anew, to leave behind Terror and all that had happened in that place, far away in an unimaginable part of the world. But as he gazed once more at Jopson, he was struck with the realization that there might still be some pieces of the expedition worth holding onto.  

“I wish you the best of luck, then,” Jopson offered. 

His face began to grow round with a genuine smile of pleasure, a pair of perfectly matched dimples curling into the pink expanse of his cheeks. Edward remembered that smile – he had seen it often enough during those moments of passion they had shared together – and he resisted the overwhelming and familiar urge to reach a gloved hand up to Jopson’s jaw and pull him closer for a kiss. But there was also something in the warmth of the other man’s gaze that make him think – hope – that there might somehow be more for them than just a lifetime of polite exchanges at Admiralty functions. 

That tiny sliver of hope was perhaps the only explanation for the thought that began to form in his head, one that he felt the need to give voice to before the impulse entirely disappeared. 

“The ship’s captain has tasked me with filling the complement of junior officers,” he said. “As circumstances would have it, I am still in need of a lieutenant and I would be pleased to recommend you to the position, were you interested.”

“You wish me to serve as your lieutenant?” Jopson asked, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

Edward nodded, doing his best to maintain an outward expression of calm, even as his heart was beginning to thrum in a most agitated fashion within his chest, a sensation so profound that he was certain Jopson could hear it from where he stood.