#survivedau

Lead poisoning.

It was lead fucking poisoning, meting out little bits of madness into every single one of them for years.

Thomas had already resolved, back in that Pale Void, if he should ever get his hands on the men of the company that produced them.... he would personally have them chewing on those cursed things, for every single supper, for the rest of their lives.

That is, if it wasn't going to kill him first... ---

--but Thomas buried that thought, buried it right into the bedrock of his tired mind.

(And he sneezed.)

Today was not the day for those thoughts, not at all, he had things to do, places to go. He had a life to return to, though certainly a different one than he'd hoped. Here in Liverpool, his home was now empty and his dear Esther was gone, dead and buried months before they'd all been found.

(He sneezed, again, and once more, this time into a handkerchief.)

Thomas was mostly dressed to go out, sat in an old chair in that empty home with a pair of boots ready to be separated for the day. With a grunt he strapped on his leg, wrestling with the bloody thing.

He was fatigued, eyes and nose were runny, ears blocked up too, and his cheeks ruddy--nothing a strong panacea wouldn't fix, he was sure--but if the Arctic itself couldn't lay him up, neither would a little snuffling.

He could practically hear Goodsir gently protesting. The thought brought a slight smile and a dry laugh as he finally got his false leg to cooperate.

--But what he didn't hear was the visitor at the door in the other room, nor did he notice that this visitor had just decided to enter anyway when no one had come to answer.

Francis had always considered his friendship with Blanky a true one. After spending multiple trips and multiple years in his company in the Arctic he thought that merited a true friendship and loyalty. Enough apparently to let himself into his house when he received no answer at the door, knowing his friend was not as mobile as he once was, Francis had been too impatient and too uncomfortable waiting outside for him to open the door for him. Since his return without Franklin and dozens of other men under his charge, he had found the streets of England unwelcoming if his face was recognised. He had half considered returning to sea but was perhaps not quite ready yet. Instead he had returned home to Banbridge for a while, reacquainting with his siblings and niblings. 

Still, he was in Liverpool now, in the empty looking house of his friend. He had intended to remain in the hallway of the door until Blanky made an appearance, that was until he heard a few sorry sounding sneezes coming from the next room. A moment or two later and Francis pushed himself to open the door, knowing it could only have been his friend behind it.

Francis often found he had time to himself since his return, a couple of hours here and there or a day or two if Mycroft was particularly busy. Ever the opportunist, Francis had ventured out into the Estate and surrounding village and country side at the crack of dawn, picking flowers he thought looked interesting and nice without being too much. Cornflowers, forget-me-nots and a few oxeye daises that he had tied together neatly in long grass.

He spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon preparing a meal for the pair of them, a salmon and cream cheese starter, lamb shanks for main and since he was not all too confident with his baking, he had bought some profiteroles and ice cream with some red velvet cake just in case. Everything was set up ready for when Mycroft arrived home, the lamb still simmering just to keep it tender and warm in the kitchen while the dining room had been set nicely with the flowers in a vase by Mycroft’s chair and a nice bottle of red wine at the ready.

Ashildr jumped at the sound of a voice. She wasn’t sure if she’d been sleeping or unconscious. Those two things seemed to be very close to one another, “You’re alive,” She smiled a little. “I started to worry that you weren’t,” She probably shouldn’t have been so surprised. “My head hurts,” She frowned as she sat up.

There had been hints or maybe they had just been clues scattered about over the last few weeks, a few wistful comments and the stash of paintings hidden in a room Francis had followed the other Francis into when it was time to give him his flee treatment. It appeared as if Mycroft was rather fond of fluffy white cats and in doing his research he discovered the paintings were of Norwegian forest cats.

The short answer? No, Mycroft had not been listening. The long answer, though, was that he was highly irritable and, quite frankly, just not interested in what Francis was talking about.

He shot the other man an irritated glare. Why exactly he was so annoyed, it wasn’t clear. Mycroft’s work was currently no more stressful than it usually was, so he supposed it had to be Francis’ voice. That wasn’t to say that his voice was annoying, mind you! Mycroft liked Francis and he usually had nothing against hearing him speak, but today… Today it was just the noise that was getting to him.

“No,” Mycroft responded, not bothering to high his moodiness. “You’re talking irritating nonsense.”

Francis should have expected a blunt response, his expression dropped moodily and whatever it was he had been gesturing for no doubt one of his tales from one deployment or another, stuck in the air for a moment before just falling to his side with an exasperated smack.

“How would you know I was talking nonsense if you were not listing to me in the first place?” He countered stubbornly, irritated by Mycroft’s rude dismissal. People had not listened to him before, sure this had not been a cautionary tale or any professional warning he should have been heard with, but the suggestion still ate away at him perhaps more than it should for those old frustrations.

Francis wanted to treat his friend for once, especially for everything he had done for him but so too for the chance to just show him that he was appreciated and deserved nice things when he had the time of course.

With Francis living in his home, it was inevitable that the other would eventually catch Mycroft without any shoes or socks on. This in itself wasn’t an issue, but it did reveal something he would rather not have anybody pay attention to - namely a large scar, distorted skin marking the site of an old bullet wound that never quite healed properly.

Mycroft glanced down at the question, though he already knew what Francis was asking about. For a second, he debated how much he should say. His field work days for MI6 were long in the past and he could likely get permission to tell Francis if he wanted to, but... Well, the other would look at him differently if he knew, wouldn’t he? How could he not? Mycroft had done some very cold things back then - things that he did not regret in the slightest, but that he knew could be distressing to somebody unused to such situations.

Hm. Perhaps he could tell him a few details though.

“That is from a hostage situation that I found myself a victim of,” Mycroft stated, calmly as if it was no big deal at all. “It looks worse than it should because the nature of the situation meant that I did not receive proper medical aid for a few months, thus a lot of damage had already set in by the time I found myself free again.”

Francis waited for the answer, he knew Mycroft’s work was dangerous, but he was much more grateful that he seemed to be off the field with his more recent work. He glanced to the scar again and thought about what he was saying. That Mycroft had been in a situation, injured and unable to receive help in time. “This is what makes you limp sometimes?” He checked but didn’t look to the scar again.

He knew of plenty of injuries that scared over but never healed, often it was too late to do anything about them but learn to live with them, Mycroft’s was obviously too old to do anything about. “Did you shoot the fool back?” He assumed so, he doubted anyone would get away with shooting Mycroft, if he had not sorted it he was sure Siger would have.

It had been at least 50 years since she’d seen Francis. She made sure that he knew how to find her, but that went far beyond actively insisting he stay with her. “You can always come here,” She stood aside so he could walk in. “What happened?” She knew whatever it was, it was likely not lifethreatening, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. “And tell me if we have to worry about anyone seeing you survive something you shouldn’t.”