Archive of Our Own

Third Lieutenant John Irving was accustomed to the cramped confines of HMS Terror but at the present moment he could have used a longer stretch of corridor as he paced up and down as best he could outside of Captain Crozier’s quarters. Blood was thrumming in his ears as his nerves were stretched thin. 

Although mercifully, he had been spared from witnessing any specifics, there was no doubt in his mind about the scene he had just unwittingly interrupted between the officer’s steward and that rat-faced Caulker’s mate. How exactly he would relay the scene to the captain he was not sure. It was not a topic that was spoken about in polite company. He did not have the language to describe it.

“Sir?” The voice behind him startled Irving from his thoughts. He turned to see Jopson standing there. “Can I help you, Sir.”

“I need to see Captain Crozier.”

“I believe he’s up on deck with Mr Blanky right now, Sir.” Jopson, who had clearly expected the Lieutenant to head off to find the captain, was watching quizzically as Irving stood anchored to the spot.

“I -,” he scrambled to explain himself, “I am afraid the matter is - not one for discussing in public. I will wait here for him.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jopson nodded.

Irving stood fast to the spot as Jopson passed him awkwardly trying to enter.

“Would you like to wait inside, Sir? I doubt the captain would mind and, forgive me, you seem a little agitated - Sir,” he added the second ‘Sir’ tentatively. Irving felt a small pang of admiration for the man who could not ever be accused of impertinence - in fact, for him to have said anything at all, Irving was sure he must have looked quite near hysterical.

He followed Jopson inside and took a seat at Crozier’s table. Then stood again, unsure if he should sit in the captain’s absence.

“Take a seat, Sir. Would you like a drink? Coffee? Or something a little stronger?”

It took a moment for Jopson’s words to register as Irving’s mind remained fixed on what he pointedly had not seen in the hold.

“Stronger?”

“I’ll pour you a gin.”

Of course it would be gin he offered from the captain’s store - it was no secret that was not the Captain’s drink of choice. Irving would bet the ice would thaw before Terror’s captain took a drink from the gin bottle.

He focused on Jopson’s movement that were always so exact and calm. Irving had admired that in him since the day they had set sail from Greenhithe - there was a steadiness to Jopson that bordered on mesmeric to watch. It reminded Irving that below his trained officer’s exterior he was a mess of insecurity and indecision, not least about the question at hand - whether to give up the two men to the captain for discipline.

Jopson handed Irving the drink and he sank back into the chair as he knocked it back, seemingly forgetting his earlier choice to stand.

“If your matter is urgent, Sir, I could go to fetch the captain.”

“No!” the words left him before he could think better of it, “Don’t interrupt him for the sake of this filth.”

Irving’s eyes widened in horror at the realisation of what he had said. Jopson remained inscrutable, turning to face the captain’s mantle to begin the polishing he was there to do.

“You have men to report then.” His casual tone caught Irving off guard; it was so dissonant to the chaos that this had thrown him into.

“I do - Mr Hickey and Gibson were found in flagrant violation of the Articles.”

“Oh dear.” Irving was sure he must have imagined the tone of amusement from Jopson - or if not, the man must also be in shock. It occurred to him that Gibson was likely a man that Jopson spent a great deal of time with as a fellow steward. Perhaps someone he even considered a friend.

“My apologies, Jopson. I do not intend to shock you with such a blunt revelation on the character of your friend.”

Jopson carefully placed down one of the captain’s few ornaments and picked up another all the while pointedly avoiding the Lieutenant’s eye as he chose his next words carefully.

“No need to apologise - you have not shocked me.”

He let his words hang there between them, a gentle invitation for the other man to inquire further.

“Have I not?” A second thought struck Irving like a bolt of electricity - Jopson was a handsome man, as any impartial observer could attest, what if Gibson had made advances towards him.

“Do you mean to say that Gibson’s - proclivities - were known to you?”

“I knew nothing of Billy specifically but - well, Sir - surely you’ve been a naval man long enough to know such things go on.”

Irving’s face flushed red with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation at what was undoubtedly the most direct statement the steward had ever spoken to him. He was under no illusions that he was a worldly man - for the most part the naivety was by design. Piety was easier to emulate when temptations were kept at arm's length.

“We have no need to speak any more of this. I am only here to wait for the captain.”

“I wonder, Sir, forgive me - if that is entirely necessary.” He took advantage of Irving’s stunned silence to continue treading carefully, “Billy is a good steward. He’s a good man. Is it really worth condemning him over-,” Jopson considered his words, searching for the phrasing least likely to spook the lieutenant who at any moment could remember he was an officer who outranked Jopson and had every authority to order him silent, “-over a desire for companionship? Is it so unforgivable for a man to be lonely?”

Irving studied him carefully; unable to respond. Surely, Jopson could not be arguing that such vices were acceptable. Indignation overwrote the propriety which normally would have precluded his speaking on the subject.

“I hardly think that loneliness enters into it living in such close quarters are men do onboard a ship. It is deviance nothing more. The vice of the weak willed.”

“If I may speak freely, Sir?” Irving nodded. “I have never quite understood the harm of it. Surely there are worse things than seeking intimacy. Would you really subject two men to a cat o’ nine tails because they sought comfort in each other?”

In all the time they had been aboard Terror Irving had not heard Jopson speak more than a few polite words at a time.

“Comfort is a strange term for endangering one's immortal soul. And besides, I would not put it past that weasel Hickey to inflict himself on -,”

“Nor would I, Sir.” The interruption took Irving aback but he said nothing, “And if it were a ship's boy, for example, who you had seen him with I would happily report it to the captain myself. But I know Billy well. He is not in need of that kind of protection from you - of that I am confident. There would seem to me to be no victim in this situation.” The Lieutenant had allowed him this much impropriety so Jopson pushed his luck further, adding, “Notwithstanding yourself, Sir, and the distress you were clearly caused by becoming an unwitting witness.”

In all this time onboard Terror, Irving did not think he had heard the stoic steward speak more than a few polite words at a time so to hear the litany he had just given seemed unreal. Despite himself, and despite or perhaps because they had conversed so long on a subject that set his teeth on edge, Irving actually laughed.

The sound made Jopson exhale and he smiled back. The expression, unlike the one he kept painted on at all times when tending to the officers, actually reached his eyes. Irving pointedly did not allow himself to notice how well it suited him or how it provoked an immediate ache inside him to elicit it again.

Irving left without waiting for Captain Crozier to return.

-0O0-

The Caulker ’s Mate moved ahead of him. His steady pace never varied. His gait never took on anything more urgent than a man out for an evening stroll. He seemed indifferent to John’s pursuing him, stalking him clumsily through the shadows. Mr Hickey walked with purpose through a series of corridors until at last they reached a ladder leading down into the hold.

John followed Hickey down but when he reached the bottom the caulker ’s mate was gone. Instead, Thomas Jopson stood amongst the crates leaning gentle against the stack a dishevelled Gibson has scrambled out from - when? John could not remember when that had happened.

Thomas never looked dishevelled. John was sceptical that it was even possible. Although, wouldn ’t it be a wonderful sight to see the pristine steward undone. Breathless as Gibson had been -

The thoughts had entered John ’s mind fully formed and involuntarily, and he did not recognise himself, he mustn’t recognise himself in them. What he could recognise though was his own body taking a step towards Thomas, closing the gap between them. The steward did not speak as John watched himself approach; he only watched him with so much fondness in his eyes. John felt sick. Thomas had the brightest eyes. He knew it was wrong to want him. It was worse than wrong; it was a crime, a sin against nature, against God Himself. So why then- with the wrath of God and threat of the Empire gripping him from every side - did the desire to reach out and touch the beautiful man eclipse anything else? John did not understand it - he had not understood it in his youth nor did he now - why these feelings dogged him. The demon of lust had developed a diabolical obsession with him. He kept it at bay, day-in day-out, any way he could think too. But had he not followed the sinner. Maybe here beneath the low ceiling of the ship’s wooden beams he was out of sight of God. Maybe he could stand to hold Thomas’ soft gaze as he ran his hands over the shape of his thighs.

When he decided to touch him was a mystery to John. His body was simply acting of its own wicked accord as he watched helplessly. He watched himself trace every inch of Jopson's body, running his hands down his chest then, one by one, gently unfastening the buttons of his uniform to reveal the white undershirt beneath. He balled the fabric up in his hand and held it against Jopson’s chest. The thin layer made a poor barrier between John’s hands and Jopson’s skin. He could still feel the heat of the other man through the shirt.

“Touch me,” the steward whispered.

Irving awoke with a jolt. His consciousness took a moment to catch up to his imagination as traces of his dream still lingered. A familiar shame washed over him as he became aware of the ache between his legs, but he would not yield to what his body was screaming out for. Instead, he dressed without acknowledging it except in forgoing his usual morning prayer which seemed inappropriate given the state he was in.

He was glad to have told Jopson he would skip breakfast in the Officer’s Mess this morning. He had papers to attend to. The tedium of stock taking was as good a distraction as he could want. Or rather the odd mixture that was the mundane nature of the task coupled with the effort to keep the creeping sense of dread at bay. Tallying their supplies up with the number of men aboard in mind brought into stark focus how precarious their situation was. He disliked the task the same way he disliked being around Captain Crozier most of the time now - both made too direct a challenge to the optimism of Sir John, which some days seemed to be the only thing keeping them all in possession of their sanity.

The knock on his door startled him as though he’d been caught in the middle of violating the Articles. He was not due on duty for several hours yet.

Gibson stood behind the door with a silver tray of bacon and the look of a condemned man.

“What is it?” asked Irving, though the sinking feeling in his gut knew exactly which topic was contorting the stewards face. One he did not care to revisit after his papers had done such a valiant job of dispelling the unsavoury subject from his thoughts.

Gibson opened his mouth to speak only the words did not seem to form and died on his tongue. Irving dreaded to think what he might have been planning to announce right there in the corridor where anyone might hear. He beckoned him inside and shut the door, leaving the two in excruciatingly close quarters.

“Sir, about yesterday. I need t-,”

“Please, Gibson, spare us both a conversation I am certain neither of us wishes to have. You have no need to fear I will speak to the captain of - of our interaction yesterday.”

Gibson's expression contained less humility than Irving would have thought appropriate - after all, he was sparing the man the lash despite having no real reason to do so.

“Sir I don’t know what to say - thank you.”

“Not that, Gibson - please do not thank me as though I were some kind of accomplice to your vice. I have exercised clemency for what I will assume was a moment of weakness. No man is immune to temptation.”

Gibson’s gaze scrutinised him as he spoke. He seemed to be calculating whether or not what he had planned to say was still worth voicing.

“Of course, Sir. Of course - a man such as yourself would never - that is, what I came to say, Cornelius - that is, Mr Hickey, Sir. He and I - our association was perhaps not entirely voluntary. On my side.”

The accusation startled Irving. It contradicted Jopson’s assessment of the situation entirely. He should have known better than to be taken in by what the steward had said. All that talk of a victimless crime, or a need for intimacy, all of it wishful thinking he had let himself fall prey to. Yet some instinct told him to press Gibson further.

“If that is the case then we should inform the captain immediately. Both of us.”

The way Gibson’s face fell told Irving all he needed to know. He had called the man’s bluff.

“Unless,” he offered him a way out, “Mr Hickey is innocent of, if not much else, the accusation you just implied.”

He could feel the cogs of Gibson’s mind turning as he tried to readjust to the unexpected attitude of the Lieutenant everyone thought of as an Anchorite. Self-preservation was an understandable goal at least.

“Mr Hickey is a persuasive man. Charming.”

“Gibson I would ask that you spare me from a recitation of Mr Hickey’s perceived virtues. I cannot imagine we would find any common ground there. I have said I will not tell Captain Crozier what I know provided that I have your assurance there will be no repeat of it.”

“Of course, Sir. There will not be.”

For the sake of his piece of mind, Irving allowed himself to believe the man’s pledge. He ushered Gibson from his room and felt confident he had heard the last of his and Mr Hickey’s perverted association.

Surely there are worse things than seeking intimacy. No, he shook the thought of Jopson’s words from his mind. Neither Hickey nor Gibson seemed too concerned over the state of their souls or their standing with God - it had not escaped his notice that Mr Hickey was never seen at any of Sir John’s divine services - but Irving valued his own above all else. Perhaps there were greater sins but that in itself was not absolution.

-0O0-

Sir John’s Sunday services were something Irving had come to look forward to. Most of the men in attendance, he knew, were motivated by their desire to appeal to Sir John and would be letting their minds wander the way schoolboys in his class used to at Sunday school. His classmates never seemed affected by the sermons that the preacher gave - they played afterwards seemingly without a care. Not Irving though, his soul had not been crafted to be a free spirit - even as a boy, he had always been bound by an unyielding conscience.

Perhaps he could understand the indifference of children with the world before them and nothing to fear but now, after what had happened with Lieutenant Gore and his party, surely prayer was a refuge every man on Terror or Erebus should be taking solace in.

That evening, Sir John dined with the Officers on Terror, along with Commander Fitzjames. Irving made sure to praise the sermon even if there was no way to fully avoid seeming slightly sycophantic. And in any case, Sir John’s smile as he thanked him for the compliment. The few times Irving had seen Franklin since Gore’s death it had been unnerving to see him so out of sorts - his usual joviality was still there on the service but overlaid by an obvious tension that gave his attempts at friendliness an air of the uncanny.

 Captain Crozier was behaving true to form. His closer than close relationship with his drinks cabinet was an open secret on both ships, and it made him a difficult dining companion. Yet, as uncomfortable as it could be when he and Commander Fitzjames were exchanging jibes, there was part of Irving that enjoyed it. They bickered like characters in a novel. It felt like an English society function and for the length of one of Fitzjames’ anecdotes they could all forget where they were.

In the corner of the room, Jopson stood poised to refill their glasses the second they were emptied. People often commented on his ability to blend into the background - it was common wisdom that the mark of a good steward was invisibility and Jopson knew exactly how to smile and nod gratefully every time he was complimented on embodying it. The praise always struck Irvin as odd though, or at least disingenuous. For him, Jopson never did seem to blend in with the wallpaper - no, Jopson drew the eye. Even if Irving did feel a pang of guilt for acknowledging it even to himself - it felt too much like he was criticising the man’s work, which was exemplary - there was no denying that Jopson’s presence could always be felt. He was - striking? Perhaps. His mind could never seem to settle on the right descriptor.  Irving had once voiced his observation to Lieutenant Fairholme during the first days of their journey but the other man had not seemed to know what Irving was alluding to - something Irving attributed to Fairholme simply not having yet spent enough time aboard Terror to have been able to observe what he meant.

After Sir John and his men had taken their leave, Lieutenant Hodgson bounded over to Irving with an enthusiastic grin.

“Are we still on for this evening?”

It took a moment for Irving to understand what he meant.

“Oh yes - yes of course. Let me fetch my things and I will meet you on the deck?”

They had planned to go on deck to see the aurora and try their hand at capturing its likeness with Irving’s art supplies. He had always found solace in drawing and in painting, something about the slowness of it, the precision, allowed for the quieting of his endless stream of thoughts and anxieties. At school his art teacher had assured him he had a knack for it although, to Irving, art had never been a particularly artistic exercise. It was mathematical. Mechanical. It was about breaking down objects or scenes into their component parts, into abstract shapes, and building them back up again. He saw the beauty in nature as much as any man did, he assumed but its composition brought out the scientist in him.

Irving stopped in his tracks when, next to George who was smiling and beckoning him over, stood a sheepish looking Jopson.

“I invited Jopson here to join us,” George cheerfully explained. Irving liked his fellow Lieutenant a lot. Really everyone liked George. Despite the peculiarities of his speech at times and his general air of eccentricity, he seemed to Irving to have a way of putting the men he led at ease. Disciplining those under his command had never come easily to Irving, so part of his admiration for George came from his perception that no one could ever bring themselves to disobey him lest they let him down. The loyalty was earned though. There was a kindness innate in George. Irving did not need it explaining to him that Jopson had been invited because he seemed worried all evening. He knew immediately there would be no mention of their Captain tonight from either lieutenant - their unspoken mission was to give Jopson a respite, however brief.

“Good evening, Sir.” Jopson gave him a sheepish smile that acted to apologise for the intrusion. Irving passed out his supplies amongst the three of them. Hodgson chattered enough to preclude any possible awkwardness between Irving and Jopson from taking root. They sat in a line; Jopson, Hodgson, then Irving - and an easy silence fell over them as they each fought against the freezing temperatures to retain enough dexterity to capture the scenery before them. They had chosen a good night to do this. The green and pink ribbons twisted across the sky above them, and Irving lost himself in mimicking their lines on his page. Despite everything that had befallen them, there was still evidence of God, thought Irving, in the awe this landscape evoked.

Both Irving and Jopson were so engrossed in their art by the time Hodgson declared, “I believe I am done, gentleman,” that they were startled. He handed his supplies, including his rendering of the sky, back to Irving and promptly retired to his cabin.

Irving kept a perfectly neutral expression as he eyed Hodgson’s creation.

“May I see it, Sir?” asked Jopson as soon as Hodgson was out of sight. Irving turned the page and instantly the steward’s face mirrored his in its stoic neutrality.

“If you will forgive me, I now feel a little better about my own efforts.” Jopson slowly rotated his work until Irving had full view.

“Oh -,” Irving’s response came out involuntarily.

“Not so many art teachers around where I grew up. Think there’s a chance it shows.” Jopson smiled a little self-consciously at first, but then the apologetic expression on Irving’s face as he searched for anything complimentary to say coaxed a genuine laugh from the steward. Irving realised it was the first time he had ever heard that sound. He wanted to hear it again.

“It’s alright, Sir - I’m harbouring no secret desires to pursue a career in art when we get back to England.”

“Let us hope that is also the case for Lieutenant Hodgson.”

Jopson laughed again. Irving never wanted to hear any other sound.

“Go on then, Sir. Let me see yours.”

Jopson’s eyes widened comically at the reveal as Irving stammered that it was far from complete.

“I like to draw. And I paint quite often,” Irving explained, seeming, inexplicably to Jopson, embarrassed by his talent.

They fell back into silence after a moment; this time simply content watching the lights dance in each other's company.

“You know, Sir - I have had the sense you were avoiding me lately.”

Maybe it was the wine Irving had drunk at dinner or the gin flask he had been sipping from since they had come up on deck - alcohol, even small amounts, had always had an emboldening effect on him - but he found himself able to keep from wilting under the implication Jopson had left unsaid. You have been avoiding me - since I convinced you to spare the sodomites the lash. Although, he acknowledged to himself, that would not be the way Jopson would be inclined to describe it.

“I may have been - somewhat. Yes. I apologise, Jopson - it was unprofessional.”

“Please, there is no need to apologise. We need not say anything more on the subject.”

“I am pleased Lieutenant Hodgson invited you to join us.”

“Thank you, Sir. So am I. I see why you find this therapeutic. It is nice to take a moment to appreciate the beauty here, no matter our circumstances.”

“I am glad to hear it. You have a lot to shoulder - taking care of the captain as you do. And all you do does not go unnoticed - he is blessed to receive your-,” he searched his mind for another word but ultimately there were not any, “- your devotion.” 

Jopson dropped his gaze to his feet, “Captain Crozier is a good man,” he was emphatic; a man reciting a mantra.

“Of course.” Irving could have supplied no other response. They fell back into silence.

-0O0-

Despite his waking efforts to purge thoughts of desire from his mind, night after night Irving awoke from the same dream. In the same state of shameful arousal.

Each time the scene played out like it had the first time. He was led down the ladder to the engine room by the rat-faced Hickey. The Caulker’s Mate was sometimes distorted. Sometimes not. Sometimes he only had to follow him a few steps. Other nights he was led around the length of the ship, covering all its unnatural, dream-scape geography. But always, they found their way to the same spot and always, at the bottom of the ladder, waited not Hickey, but Thomas Jopson, as wide-eyed and inviting as he was in waking hours.

Each time Irving would reach out to touch him in every way he knew he should not want to.

-0O0-

Henry Peglar pulled on his slops next to him with more ease than Irving had ever been able to muster. Granted, the Captain of the Foretop had far more need of and chance to hone his agility than the Third Lieutenant but that did not stop Irving from feeling graceless as his fumbling caused Jopson to take light hold of his arm and help him on with his sleeve. It was not an unfamiliar task for a steward to perform for an officer so Irving gave no thought to why his body tensed beneath him.

“I wonder if you have seen the captain today, Sir?” Jopson asked in an unconvincingly casual tone.  “I like to think I have a good read on the captain‘s mood most days. It is, after all, my purpose to attend to him - only -,” he paused, waiting for Irving to signal that he may continue, may tread gently into impertinence. Any thaw in formality that had occurred between them several nights before seemingly frozen over in the light of day. Irving’s slight nod granted Jopson permission to continue - not acknowledging that for another man of Jopson’s status he would not have encouraged the conversation further, so maybe it had not frozen over completely.

“He seemed out of sorts this morning. He asked me if I had ever learned to hunt as a boy. Only, he knows I did.” The comment caught Irving off guard. Of course, Crozier would know things about a man who was practically sewn to his side, and had been for expeditions before this one. Still - it was strange to picture them conversing freely, in the privacy of the captain’s quarters. Irving felt an unpleasant sensation well in the pit of his stomach that he refused to acknowledge by naming.

“Is it so odd that he should forget that?”

“It did not seem so much as he forgot, Sir. Because before I could answer, he shook his head quite firmly and walked away without meeting my eye. It was like he had changed his mind or talked himself out of something.” Irving could not offer any insight into the captain’s strange behaviour.

The journey to Erebus and back was made frequently by many of the men. Information had to pass from ship to ship, captain to captain. The short walk entailed a strange mixture of the mundane day-to-day and the sublimely terror-inducing. Of standard stock reports and the threat of the creature out there in the void. Irving wondered if the only hostage to their insanity was the inability to reconcile the extremes long enough to perceive the full spectre of their reality.

The only man keen to volunteer to make the trip seemed to be Peglar, something which had not escaped Irving’s notice and piqued his curiosity as their small party stepped out onto the ice. Irving thought highly of Peglar; he seemed an intelligent man and diligent worker. They had conversed on a few occasions about the science of magnetism, and Irving had heard Peglar asking others about their own areas of expertise. A keenness to acquire knowledge was a fine quality, and not a bad anecdote to monotony.

“May I ask what makes you such a frequent visitor of Erebus?” He had meant it as a friendly conversation starter given how much easier the walk was when with idle chatter to distract from the groan of the ice, however Peglar seemed to tense at the question.

“I have a friend on there, Sir. A man I served with on HMS Beagle years ago.”

“Oh, I see,” Irving smiled earnestly, unaware of how carefully the Captain of the Foretop was treading now. “I presume it will be several hours before my business on Erebus is concluded; you should have plenty of time to catch up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Once they were aboard Erebus, Peglar headed off to find his friend as Irving was escorted by Hoar to Commander Fitzjames quarters and instructed to wait outside while Fitzjames finished speaking with Lieutenant Le Vesconte. There was still an air of grief that permeated through the ship following the death of Lieutenant Gore. Irving had not spent a lot of time with him but it was clear he had been well liked so his loss, to say nothing of its circumstances, was starkly felt. Yet despite that, Irving could not help but feel calmer on-board Erebus. On Terror, there was an unease that never quite loosened its grip on him. The air felt stranger. In contrast, there was an orderliness to Erebus that was a step closer to England. Sir John and Commander Fitzjames felt tethered to the civilisation of the Empire somehow. Privately, Irving had occasionally thought he had fared better on Erebus.

Behind the door left slightly ajar, Irving could hear their muffled voices; the unfamiliar back-and-forth rhythm to their conversation that reminded him that the two had been friends long before this expedition. An involuntary smirk pulled at the corner of Irving’s mouth at the thought of Crozier and Little speaking to each other so comfortably. Little still had the air of a chastised schoolboy standing before his headmaster whenever he and Crozier were in the same room - which in turn only irritated their Captain.

“Anything further, Lieutenant?” Irving’s attention landed back on the conversation as he heard Commander Fitzjames begin to wrap up his meeting.

“No, that - ah actually, I should mention that I spoke to Private Healey and Aylmore, as you requested, regarding the virtue of discretion.”

Fitzjames laughed. Irving felt his legs turn to lead.

“Thank you for taking care of that. I thought perhaps coming from me the ‘please respect the sanctity of the gunroom steward’s pantry’ talk may have put the fear of God into them.”

The two men’s transgression could have been anything. Drunkenness. Fighting. Only in the pit of his stomach Irving knew exactly what those men had been caught doing. What he could not fathom was how Commander Fitzjames and Lieutenant LeVesconte could sound so - amused.

“The fear of God may be more Sir John’s domain.”

Fitzjames laughed again - saying something in agreement that Irving could not quite make out as they parted ways.

Irving gave his report in what he hoped was a coherent manner all the while the interaction he had overheard repeated inside his head. Sir John clearly thought very highly of Fitzjames and yet the man was allowing, almost encouraging, two men to engage in mortal sin on board his ship. It disgusted him. It was a dereliction of duty. And yet, had Irving not been guilty of the same when he had allowed Jopson to convince him not to report Hickey and Gibson? Why had it seemed so reasonable when Jopson had spoken. Is it necessary to condemn the men over a desire for companionship? Is it so unforgivable for a man to be lonely? Would those words have carried the same weight if another man had spoken them - a man who did not appear in Irving’s dreams to remind him just how much of a sinner’s heart he harboured beneath all his piety?

As they made the journey back to Erebus, Irving tried to distract himself from his spiralling thoughts.

“How was your friend?” he asked Peglar, who was walking alongside him clutching a bundle of books tied quite haphazardly together with a bit of twine.

“He is well, Sir, all things considered. Thank you for asking. He has sent me away with new reading material, as usual.”

“You are an avid reader then?”

“Yes, Sir - although it is a fairly recent pass-time for me, so Bridgens likes to make recommendations. I understand these three,” he indicated the stack in his hands, “are comedies.”

They discussed literature the rest of the way back to Terror. Irving resolved to put what he had overheard earlier out of his mind, after all, it was not his place to question Commander Fitzjames’ authority.

-0O0-

“Do you read, Jopson?”

The steward looked up from the shirt he was mending with a puzzled expression, “Of course, Sir.”

“Oh no -,” Irving corrected when he realised the misunderstanding, “I was not intending to ask about your ability - I only meant, that is, do you read much as a pastime? Novels and such?”

“I don’t suppose I do, Sir - not a lot of time for that in my schedule.” He indicated the threaded needle and shirt he was working on as proof.

“Of course. Of course. Apologise for disturbing you.” He felt quite foolish for having broached the topic.

“You aren’t disturbing me,” Jopson smiled a little too widely as if to reassure him, “I could mend this sort of tear in my sleep by now. Why do you ask about books, Sir?” The invitation to continue was clear, and Irving was flattered by the thought Jopson would find his company desirable.

He told Jopson about his conversation with Peglar and about how Bridgens lent the other man books he thought he would enjoy. Irving had been completely charmed by the simple intimacy of it. Jopson responded that although he did not know Bridgens well, on the occasions that they had spoken he had always given the impression of being a very learned man. Any reference to other aspects of Bridgens’ reputation were omitted - Jopson judged that Irving may not be as delighted by his closeness with Peglar if he were made aware of them.

“Perhaps we should read some plays,” Jopson suggested, “When I was in Antarctica with Captain Crozier and Captain Ross, we put on quite a few shows. It always made for a good distraction.”

Irving smiled at the thought of it, “I did not realise you had such a theatrical past, Jopson.”

“I spent most of my time making and repairing costumes. Not quite leading man material,” he laughed, “What about you?”

“Oh, the only experiences I ever had on stage were nativity plays. I was the angel Gabriel three years in a row - most probably because I was the only boy who took it seriously enough to remember all the lines.”

Jopson contemplated him, running his eyes over Irving, “You as an angel - it seems rather fitting somehow - delivering the news of salvation to the world.” 

They continued to talk long into the evening and mostly about nothing in particular. Irving even offered a handful of book recommendations which Jopson obligingly said he would look for in the library. They seemed to be tentatively approaching something which could be called friendship, and it made Irving feel all the worse whenever scenes from a certain recurring dream would appear in his mind. His subconscious created an eerily accurate likeness of the real thing. Sometimes, when the light hit the steward’s face at a certain angle or a smile twisted his mouth in a certain way, the resemblance to the expression Irving’s touch elicited each night was uncanny. Shame burned through him every time he sullied their fledgling friendship with his sordid desire for something more.

-0O0-

Irving was strolling with Jopson on deck when the screaming started. Chaos broke out as Captain Crozier ordered men to action. But it was too late. The Bear had ambushed them in the blind and within moments Sir John was lost to them.

Afterwards, something fundamental had shifted. If their outlook had been bleak before, now they truly felt the weight of it.

The service that was held for Sir John was as surreal as it was moving. Instead of writing his own tribute, Captain Crozier had decided to read out what Sir John had written for Lieutenant Gore’s memorial. It was eerie to hear the man’s own words repeated back to him as his own eulogy.

                                                  “In his flight, Jacob lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there because the sun was set. He thought it a terrible place. No house, no hearth. But that night, he dreamed: “A ladder set upon the earth, and the top of it reaching to the heavens...”

Irving tried to focus on Crozier’s words. He knew the verse well. The story of Jacob’s ladder had been a favourite of his teachers to tell when he was a boy. It had been a favourite of his too. The imagery was strikingly beautiful - a ladder of angels connecting earth with heaven. He envied Jacob the well-defined path to salvation. He should be focusing on Sir John, on Lieutenant Gore. Instead, his mind was once again pulled into the now-familiar spiral of guilt as he once again thought about his own dreams, how each night he climbed not upwards towards salvation but below deck in search of company he should be strong enough not to seek.

Dozens and dozens of men stood shoulder to shoulder on the ice as Crozier spoke of a grief that should have united them all, but Irving felt profoundly alone. The burden of responsibility of the men was heavy and made all the more so as they waited to see if Captain Crozier would buckle in Sir John’s place. Jopson seemed increasingly worried about his Captain. The steward was too loyal to speak a word of it, but Irving could read the worry in the lines of his face even when they spoke of things far removed from their duties.

                                                  “For in this world dwell the Angels who keep us, and the departed, who though cleaved from the frame that carried them, yet live. Newest to their ranks, our bright Captain, Sir John.”

As Captain Crozier’s service drew to its conclusion, Irving felt the enormity of all that lay ahead of them now, and in that moment, all his obsessing about his personal sin seemed insignificant. What did the state of his singular soul matter now? He allowed himself, without reproach or denial, to wish that he could reach over and take hold of Jopson’s hand.

-0O0-

If Erebus had seemed sombre at the death of Lieutenant Gore, the effect was compounded and magnified by the loss of Sir John. The men walked about the ship undertaking their usual duties like automatons, they functioned as they always had because there was no alternative.

Irving had made the journey to Terror with a handful of men including Peglar who once again had been the only volunteer. This time his small party had twice the number of marines escorting them. The ice, the Bear, neither were any more dangerous than they always had been, but they felt it.

He gave his usual report to Captain Fitzjames, who was now alone in commanding Erebus with only Lieutenant LeVesconte by his side now that Captain Crozier had sent Lieutenant Fairholme out with an advanced party. Perhaps at one time Irving would have suggested he be transferred to Erebus to even out the officers. Now though that seemed intolerable. His only respite from the horrors now were the moments he spent in conversation with Jopson. Since Sir John’s death, Irving’s resolve to deny his affinity for the steward had weakened. He reasoned that he did not need to yield to any sinful desires - he could desire companionship for its own sake. Moreover, he was certain Jopson had become increasingly fond of him. He was spending more and more time lately sewn to Crozier’s side, as much a guard dog as a steward, yet their conversations, their walks on deck, had only increased, which made it all the more clear that Jopson was making the effort to seek out Irving’s company. How could Irving deny himself when it would mean denying Jopson a source of respite as much as himself.

Once Irving was finished with Captain Fitzjames, he set off to round up his men to leave. It had taken less time than usual since Fitzjames was not in the right spirit to entertain with his usual collection of anecdotes and had merely nodded at almost random intervals as Irving spoke which was fine as Irving had no desire to linger on Erebus any longer than necessary now.

He made his way to the stewards’ quarters first to retrieve Peglar from where he presumed, he would have gone to see his friend. As he approached, he noticed the door to the captain’s stewards’ pantry slightly ajar and the back of a man who was presumably Peglar facing Bridgens.

He watched as Bridgens reached forwards slowly and cupped Peglar’s face gently with his hand, the look in his eyes was one of total adoration.

This time there was no shock that overwhelmed Irving as the two of them shared a kiss. Instead, he took his leave quietly and headed to find the marines before returning for Peglar.

-0O0-

Irving stayed quiet as they made their way back from Erebus. He was sure Mr Peglar had not noticed him lingering as he said goodbye to Bridgens but all the same, he felt an awkwardness at having witnessed something so private. And it was because of the quiet that the faintest sound of a voice reached them.

Both Irving and Peglar stopped in their tracks when they heard it; a voice too quiet for them to discern if the voice spoke English or Netsilik but distinctly human but nevertheless distinctly human.

“What was that?” Irving demanded of no one in particular. The two marines reached for their guns. It took no leap of the imagination to know what would cause a man to cry out on this ice. If a hunting party had run into trouble they may need assistance.

“This way,” Irving beckoned the men in the direction of the sound, “Weapons at the ready. Stay close together.”

Moving as one, with Irving at the head, they moved across the ice to find the source of the sound, taking each step with caution.

A shot rang out. Against the backdrop of nothing but the groaning of the ice the noise took the men by surprise. They scattered instinctively to avoid the shot they had no idea the origin of the purpose of.

Irving lurched forward. The ice beneath him seemed to disappear and before could register it he was falling. He had thought by now he was well acquainted with the cold but now he was entombed by the ice on all sides. As he lost consciousness, he thought of Sir John and he heard a cry of Get him a line!

John was not following the Caulker's Mate. This time he was alone but that was no matter because he knew the way. He made his way through the familiar corridors lit brightly with their walls lined with flickering candles. He reached the ladder which every night so far had led him down. This time he would have to climb up instead, onto the deck and into the light.

As always, Thomas was waiting for him.

When he awoke his entire body was shivering violently. Consciousness slipped in and out as though he could not quite keep a grip on it. Awareness of being pulled, carried, hauled across the ice seemed to come and go.

When he came to properly Dr McDonald was staring at him intensely. His expression was kind and, miraculously, not too concerned even if Irving was still shaking and the side of his face was burning. Several men he could not make out were gathered around where he lay. He could only discern a few words here and there above a general chatter. Had it only been him who had fallen? He was wrapped in blankets with no memory of his slops having been removed.

The prognosis from Dr McDonald was that Irving had escaped any serious harm. A ledge in the ice had broken his fall preventing anything more serious. One by one the concerned men had left and Irving had been informed no one else had been injured. Irving was still wholly too dazed to process what was being said in full. From what he could tell, there had been a party of Terror men out on the ice. Captain Crozier would explain tomorrow. Probably. For now, he just wanted to get back to his cabin.

As he was about to stand, Irving felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder from behind.

“If you will allow it, Sir - Dr McDonald thought it may be a good idea for someone to stay with you for a while.” Jopson’s voice was full of concern. He kept his hand still, and Irving could not bring himself to pull away.

Irving sat on the edge of his bed as Jopson poured two cups of tea. They stayed silent sitting in the close quarters of Irving's cabin that was only meant to house one. It felt intimate having the other man in his personal space. There was not much to see, he did not have many personal items around but still he felt revealed somehow, in the way his papers were piled on his desk, in open box of watercolours with so much of the blue and green used but the red barely touched, the pray beads by his bed.

“Will the Captain not me missing his steward?” Irving took the tea from Jopson and wrapped his hands around the warm cup.

“Not to worry, Sir - the captain seemed unbothered by my suggesting Gibson take over my duties while I stayed with you.”

“You’re suggesting? So not Dr McDonald’s?”

Jopson’s cheeks flushed faintly red at being caught out, “Well, I imagine the doctor would have suggested it had I not pre-empted him.”

“Of course.” Irving sipped his tea. Jopson’s devotion to the captain was well known so the thought that he had willingly volunteered to forgo his duties, even for a night, felt like confirmation to Irving that whatever intimacy he felt forging between them was not just wishful thinking on his part.

He winced as he leaned forward to set his cup down. He had almost forgotten the bruising along his side from the fall.

“I assumed you would not mind my company, Sir. I hope that does not seem impertinent - we have spent quite a lot of time conversing lately.” It was strange to hear Jopson be so direct; even though his words were still peppered with sirs and all the excessive manners of a man addressing a superior officer, the hand that had lingered on his shoulder earlier had told a different story. The affection that underlined their interactions told a different story.

“I enjoy your company very much.” The admission felt like confessing a sin but what surprised Irving was that along with that confession came all the relief he used to feel in church as a boy after admitting to everything he had done wrong. He felt forgiven, or perhaps that there was nothing to forgive in their affections.

In all the drama of his accident, Irving had not had time to dwell on what he had seen on Erebus between Bridgens and Peglar, and or the change that had occurred in him, whether it had been gradual or more like a light suddenly turned on - but there had been no part of him that felt compelled to punish them for their intimacy. After all, was hypocrisy not also a sin? He still dreamt about Jopson, only as they had spent more and more time together, Irving now realised, the shame he had felt over wanting him had faded.

Jopson was watching him intensely, studying Irving’s face for any sign that his friend was going to step back from this precipice and transfigure back into the pious lieutenant who was so very afraid. He had been terrified when he heard Irving had been hurt, but now the other man was in front of him, seemingly well aside from minor injuries, and Jopson’s relief was overwhelming, so much so that the risk seemed worth it - he pulled Irving into a hug.

It took him by surprise for a moment but then Irving has hugging him back - clinging to him.

“I dream about you,” Irving whispered his confession into the crook of Jopson’ neck. The other man held him tighter. “- almost every night.”

“Are they good dreams?”

“Good? I would not have said so when they started, but that has not stopped me from longing to stay inside them.”

Jopson stilled at the enormity of hearing Irving confess. He pulled back gently.

“I am sure you remember we once spoke about the need for companionship. You’ve had a terrible ordeal today,” he spoke barely above a whisper, “Do you trust that will not regret this? That you will not despise me for it?”

The last of his resolve crumbled and Irving surged forward to close the gap between them by crashing their lips together.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why there had not been a bigger shift. Should not the ice have groaned beneath Terror and swallowed them the instant Jopson’s lips touched his. They had crossed a line he had spent a lifetime holding himself back from so surely yielding should mean the end of the world.

But no, instead the hellfire let them be as instead the heat rose in his trousers. They pulled apart.

“Are you truly sure, Sir?”

“John, please. If this - if we -, just, call me John,” he laughed, the formality seeming so absurd.

“John,” he grinned, “I’m Thomas.”

John laughed, “I know, Thomas.”  

They kissed again, softer this time, as though they had all the time in the world to explore each other. Everything outside of their cabin ceased to exist. The dull ache from John’s injuries faded to nothing as the pleasure of an end to a lifetime of denial coursed through every part of him. It was more surreal than any dream to have Thomas’ hand sliding up his thighs as John ran his fingers through Thomas’ hair.

“Why don’t you tell me about these dreams?” Thomas’ lips were swollen and red, and John could not stop from staring at how obscene he looked with his hair dishevelled. He could not have found the words to describe the onslaught of obscene images he was picturing if their lives depended on it. “Or -,” Thomas intuited that coherent language might be too much for John in his present state, “Why don’t you show me?”

Slowly, Thomas reached forward and took hold of John’s hand. He brought it to rest on the hardness between his legs and John’s eyes widened in awe.

It took John a moment to register that Thomas was unbuttoning his trousers. Every inch of his flesh burned with want as he watched Thomas turn his attention to removing his own trousers before pulling John towards him and rocking his hips gently so that John’s cock pressed against his thigh.

A bead of liquid leaked pooled at the tip of his cock and began to leak as need overwhelmed him. John buried his head in Thomas’ neck and began move, pushing his throbbing cock against Thomas’ thigh. He kissed Thomas again as rocked back and forth desperately chasing the sensation he had spent so much of his life denying himself.

How many times had he awoken with his cock aching like it was now. How many times had he reach for the pray beads on his bedside table, taken them in his hand instead of himself and willed the sinful sensation away. He could not remember what was supposedly so sinful about it now; it felt divine.

He met Thomas’ eye. “Touch me?” he asked.

Thomas spat into his hand and reached inside John’s underwear. His palm closed loosely around John’s cock drawing out an involuntary whimper that made Thomas kiss him again as he stroked his cock so tenderly, so well, that John realised with utter mortification that his eyes were starting to brim with tears.

“Shh,” Thomas used the pad of his thumb to wipe John’s eyes, “Does it feel good?”

John could only give him a pathetic nod as he burned with embarrassment and arousal. Thomas pressed his cock forward into John’s hand which was still resting in his lap.

“Can I see you?” John asked.

Thomas stood and slowly removed his underwear. He stood exposed in front of John with his cock straining an obscene shade of purple. It was unbelievable, John thought, that Thomas was in this state because of him. So hard and desperate, because of him. He wanted to touch him. And, surprising himself with the boldness of the thought, he wanted to taste him.

He manoeuvred Thomas to sit on the edge of the bed, parting his thighs before sinking to his knees into front of him. Thomas was staring down at him with an expression of pure awe not quite believing what John was about to do, and before a lifetime of teaching about shame and sin could touch him, John wrapped his mouth around the tip of Thomas’ cock.

The moan that escaped from Thomas as he watched John moving up and down on his cock encouraged him to try and take him further. Thomas balled his fist in John’s hair and gently guided his movements until he felt a tell-tale tightening in his gut.

“John, wait - stop.”

John pulled away quickly, and Thomas pulled him in for a kiss just as he spilled their stomachs.

The sight of Thomas coming undone was the most arousing thing John had ever seen and his own need became urgent again.

“Please,” he begged as he started to move his cock against Thomas thigh again, faster this time, chasing his own release. When he finally reached his crisis with his head buried in Thomas’ chest, John’s whole body went weak, Thomas’ arms around him were the only thing keeping him upright.

Afterwards, they lay together in John’s bed as the day and with it the return to their reality drew closer. John would have to return to his duties, and Thomas would be back by Captain Crozier’s side.

“I hope regret is not creeping in, John.” He used the Christian name more hesitantly now, aware that it occupying the space in his sentence where he would have to reinsert Sir once they left the seclusion of the cabin.

“Things here are going to get worse.” John said. Thomas nodded. Neither of them needed to give voice to every grim possibility that still faced them, they were never out of any of the men’s minds for long. “But I am glad I will be by your side through it.”

John pulled him closer. It was the closest he could get to a promise that shame would not overwhelm him later. He felt with clarity that whatever happened now he wanted Thomas close by.