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The bustle of an iced in ship went from unberably annoying to disconcerningly quiet from hour to hour. Men went out to build sheds and check over the ship or do scientific surveys, ran around on the ice and even played football and rugby, which then of course led to one or two bruised eyes or bloodied shins in sickbay. Apart from those moments it was only him, and Mr Goodsir - and when Dr Stanley was in a stretch of bad luck that blasted monkey there. The surgeon and naturalist was mercifully quiet himself when he was working on something, though he fussed over injured and sick men like a nursemaid, rather than a medical man.
Still, it was better than night, or what clocks showed was true night, or inclement weather, when the entire crew crowded into the ship, and sometimes ended up growing restless and bored when a snowstorm dragged on. The increasingly disappearing daylight didn’t make it any better, especially for those men who had never ventured into the polar circles. Stanley had not expected to be affected by such things himself, but he had to admit that the cold and the darkness grated on him. It was different from the swamp-like humidity and blood soaked heat of Zhenjiang, surely better with the cold crisp air and the ability to escape the cold briefly where heat was unavoidable. He would have to suggest a more mild climate to his Commander, should the man ask him to join on some expedition again.
The officers’ quarters were apart from the main bustle of men, even on a bad day. Today was a good one, with most men, and even most officers, outside to stake out some spot on Beechey Island to erect a tent with a stage, both to offer space to gather for Franklin’s sermons, and for a Christmas play that would eventually be put on. The latter would improve morale in winter, especially if Fitzjames and Gore were involved. Their combined humour tended to work well to cheer the men.
Dr Stanley clutched his little doctor’s bag close and ducked through the halls of the ship, making his way towards the stern. It was warm and peaceful here, the creak of the ice and distant calls of the men barely drifting that far in. Their Captain was supervising the building of his makeshift chapel, and it was just the time to conduct a routine examination of the ship’s leader’s health.
He knocked on the cabin door and slid it open when he received a reply to come in.
Fitzjames was already sitting on the edge of his berth, dressed down to his sweater, the waistcoat and jacket folded neatly over the back of his chair. He smiled when he saw the doctor.
“On to check if your handiwork is still in order?” he asked with a grin, and Dr Stanley pulled the door closed with a click. It was such a narrow space for two men, and he had to duck as he stepped further inside, avoiding a ceiling beam. Neither of them was really short enough to ever fully avoid a risk of collisions with those.
“I am confident it is,” he replied.
He pulled the lamp on the bedside table closer and set down his bag on the chair.
“Your teeth first.”
It wasn’t unsual to examine an officer in the privacy of his own berth. He did so with Franklin, who was worried about his relative age and health being noticed too much by the men, and most of the Lieutenants. In Fitzjames’ case the discretion was somewhat more vital to the man’s career and presence aboard the ship.
Fitzjames obediently opened his mouth and stretched out his tongue, letting Dr Stanley take hold of his chin to guide his face closer to the light. James’ cheeks were as smooth as a boy’s under his fingers, still soft despite the harsh winds. Stanley took a good look at his tongue, then pulled at his upper lip to examine the gums for any sign of blood. James sat patiently as Stanley checked his mouth over for scurvy and other signs of disease, then moved on to his hairline. Nothing there, safe for the scent of lavender soap, noticable at the close proxmity.
“All good,” Stanley announced, letting go of James’ face.
He watched as James undid the button at the bottom of his sleeve and rolled it up, well practiced in these check ups by now. He held out his wrist as Stanley took out his pocketwatch and then pressed his fingers to James’ pulsepoint. His heart was steady and strong, as always, no sign of the rhythm being disturbed at all.
When he pulled away this time he turned towards the desk, eyes firmly on his bag as he searched for his listening horn - as if he couldn’t pull every instrument from his bag blindfolded. Behind him he heard the rustle of fabric and the soft dull sound of something being set down on the bed. He closed his eyes briefly and then turned around to see James’s torso fully bare. It was a strange thing, startling every time he saw it anew, always unexpected even though he knew… it was the reason James had asked him if he would like to come along on Erebus as the doctor, aware of James’ secret as he was.
Stanley’s eyes fell first on the upper arm, where a large patch of twisted white skin marred the muscle, the remnants of a bulletwound he’d tended to himself four years ago. From his gaze wandered to the ribs, where a matching, but smaller, scar graced James’ skin. And from there it was inevitable to let one’s gaze drift to the man’s chest.
It took Stanley aback every single time to see breasts where only flat muscle ought to be. Other than his perfecrly clean shaven cheeks there was nothing about Commander Fitzjames to suggest otherwise after all, and though Dr Stanley saw the man bared more than anyone, it was still not often enough to grow used to it.
An odd little smile flashed over James’ lips as he spread his arms slightly, allowing Stanley to take a look at him. There were the usual faint bruises on his elbows, courtesy of tossing around in one’s sleep in a narrow bunk, and on his hips, disappearing behind James’ waistband. Faint pink marks were visible on James’ chest and collarbone as well, possibly due to rough cotton used to keep his torso looking flatter. Stanley had never asked him about that; discussing the situation felt too close to revealing a secret he was determined to keep.
Dr Stanley nodded and James turned around to let him take a listen properly. At the press of the cold metal listening horn to skin the man flinched, but quickly settled into breathing deeply as the doctor listened to his lungs. There was no sign of a rattle or laboured breath, and Stanley glanced over James’ back as he moved the horn from position to position. From behind he looked no different from any other man, oddly enough. It felt safer to look at him then too, when James couldn’t stare back, when he couldn’t see where Stanley’s gaze moved.
He listened and his eyes fell on the bruises low on James’ hips. They looked faded, and oddly shaped. If Stanley were to place his hand over James’ hips from where he stood, his fingers would cover them fully.
That didn’t have to mean anything at all.
“Your lungs are clear. Nothing to worry about, and you know to come to me should the need arise.”
“Yes, thank you doctor.”
Stanley tore his eyes away from the bruises and sharply turned to his bag to stow away everything once more. The rustle of fabric returned and by the time he looked up James had already tucked his shirt into his trousers and was adjusting his collar.
In the tiny mirror hanging on the wall Stanley could see how, for a moment, James hesitated to tie his cravat and close the gap of his shirt. The triangle of skin revealed there bore one of those faint pink marks, ones that one might imagine had been left by a mouth. James pulled the fabric of his shirt closed, but not before brushing a fingertip over the blemished skin. Did Stanley see the ghost of a smile on those narrow lips? He could not be sure, in that incomplete reflection.
“Is there anything you are concerned about? With your health? Or other things?”
James actually took a moment to think about that. With anyone else he surely would have reassured them and waved the question off entirely.
“Looking forward to my first real winter without the sun,” he finally replied, smiling confidently. “I trust our polar veterans will see to it that neither we nor the crews will get a chance to grow all too miserable in that time.”
His gaze grew unfocused for just a second, his smile turned into half a smirk.
“We are sure to find enough entertainment among each other.”
Dr Stanley’s gaze dropped to where James’ hand was resting just below the know of his cravat.
“So long as the entertainment stays safe,” he said, ignoring the odd knot in his chest.
When James looked up Dr Stanley shrugged.
“Those football matches alone cause enough injury to keep me busy.”
James laughed.
“I will ask Dundy to keep them from growing too wild for you. Winter will see us all with enough work even so, I’m sure.”
*
The night was set apart from the day mainly by the dying down of the voices and sounds of men moving about. The few who remained on watch still walked the deck, but those noises were swallowed down by the creak of the ice and wind howling above them. Stanley ought to have been asleep himself, but his mind was too busy to let him drift off
The book in his lap had gone without active attention for a good ten minutes, none of the words sticking. His mind was far away, off home. Would his daughter be looking forward to Christmas already? She would not miss him, not with how rarely her father was there with her anyway. Next year he would make sure to be there, after sailing all the way across the world.
His own Christmas would be an interesting affair, the first spent locked in a ship like this, with the officers no doubt having their own gathering after Franklin’s sermons. Stanley had already overheard James and Lieutenant Gore discussing how to go about the matter of presents, since nobody really had much to gift, let alone something that was a surprise.
With this Stanley’s mind was firmly back on matters he had tried to avoid all day.
The smile he’d half imagined half seen on James’ lips, the marks on his skin that set his imagination to wander.
With a frustrated sigh Stanley snapped his book shut and set it aside. He ought to sleep. Really.
But when he closed his eyes he saw the expanse of slightly tanned skin, growing paler in the months away from real sun. He saw the flush that would look so fetching on James’ cheeks, the slight curl to his hair when it was damp with sweat. He’d never heard the man moan in anything but agonised pain, but it was not too hard to imagine that deep voice crack with pleasure.
The faded marks that might be those of a man’s lips had been all over James’ collarbones and chest, he’d touched where the traces had been left. The ghostly path of kisses that led down over skin that would never be exposed in decent company, never reveal that someone had tasted James’ skin there. Whoever had left them had gone lower, down the breastbone, perhaps feeling the brush of something soft against his cheek. Stanley had always assumed that James would hate being touched there, when he was so concerned with his breasts being hidden away. He had shied away from touch when Stanley had tried to clean the wound on his ribs. Perhaps that had just been sensitivity. It seemed James at the very least tolerated the touch, welcomed it perhaps. Were his breasts as sensitive as a woman’s? As ticklish as some men were?
A rough sailor’s hands had touched there, had explored what reactions could be coaxed from James.
Annoyingly Dr Stanley could feel heat gather in his stomach, his cock stirring at the turn his thoughts had taken. He could not stop himself.
He knew the calluses of James’ hands, so much like any sailor’s, the rough spots similar but different to where Stanley’s own had been worn from using the tools of his own trade. Whoever James had trusted into his bed, he would have rough hands to mirror James’ own. Did he like that? Or was he just used to it as taking a lover among sailors was the only option for him? Somehow Stanley has assumed James would not do such a thing on his own ship, not when his secret was such a carefully hidden one.
Whoever he was, he’d grasped James hard by the hips, had held him down while fucking him, had been rough enough with him to leave marks. No woman Stanley had known had ever had such bruises. The men he’d seen with that sort of thing among sailors would not have thanked him for pointing them out.
Would James have stifled his cries? Would they have found a space where he could cry out, let that man punch sweet sounds out of him? If Stanley were to place his hand over where the other man had grasped James so hard, his hands would be sure to cover the bruises. He’d be able to press down against James, push him into the sheets, feel the scent of lavender if he buried his face in James’ soft hair. James, who was just that little bit shorter, who would be covered so completely by him, his voice soft, his cries incoherent. He’d be hot, the warmest thing in this icy hellscape, looking over his shoulder, lips swollen from biting them, begging for a kiss, begging Stephen to-
Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists until his nails bit into the skin Stanley forced himself to cut that thought off.
He ought not think of his Commander this way, could not afford to. He knew full well, if James had wanted- that he might one day turn to him, since he knew.
Maybe, if he was bored of the other man-
No.
None of that. He would stop thinking of James that way, and he would firmly ignore any speculation regarding some odd skin discoloration. It was only his own horrid yearning that made his imagination act up like this. No doctor should think into those directions, especially not from a cursory glance. If James knew, he surely would laugh it off, or worse, go quiet and turn away from him, mortified and hurt by the things Stanley thought up and imagined of him.
Stanley reached out to turn off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
*
Early January saw the return of some normalcy to the crews, and all lingering traces of Christmas spirit were draining away. Mr Goodsir had talked some of the men into accompanying him to Beechey, where he wanted to try and find tundra plant life of one sort or another. This at least left the sickbay quiet for once.
So when Dr Stanley entered the room to find someone already inside he was briefly taken aback.
“Ah, Dr Stanley!” James turned, his coattails flaring behind him with the motion. He’d been standing by the medicine cabinet, where the bandages and bottles of harmless tinctures were stored. “I have some questions about our supplies.”
He smiled and said nothing more until Dr Stanley had stepped fully into the room and pulled the door closed. Something of a delicate matter then. Or something nobody must know he was concerned with.
“I am sure we have anything a ship could possibly need,” Stanley said carefully. “Including such things usually found among passenger boats and the merchant marine.”
He had made sure to seek out information on what kind of medicine doctors took onto ships that could expect a lady to be aboard. Having been wholly unused to treating any such maladies since finishing medical school, Stanley had been nevertheless determined to do whatever he could to help James, should the need arise. He felt responsible for the man in ways he couldn’t for any other man who might as well go speak to Mr Goodsir.
James nodded, looking relieved.
“I might need some… herbs I believe. Ah. But you surely know best.”
Stanley stepped closer and stopped by the cabinet, looking at the bottles for a moment.
“For what purpose?”
James’ lips twitched in a self deprecating smile.
“This is highly personal, but only a hypothetical problem, for now. I am not concerned just now, you understand, but I would rest easier knowing you have something should the need arise-“
He shrugged, glancing over Stanley’s shoulder towards the door. Definitely something not merely delicate, but part of his little secret.
“Do you happen to have anything that could restore menses? In case I would really rather have them than not.”
James looked at Stanley expectantly. Stanley stared back.
Then comprehension hit, cramping his stomach and spreading like ice through him.
So it had been true, the things he’d seen not imagined. James really had a…still did.
Without letting a single unwanted emotion twist his expression, Stanley raised an eyebrow.
“I doubt it will actually come to that, but I would truly rather be safe than sorry, given that- well. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the details.”
‘I don’t, I do, who is the man you trust with this, who is the man you think could possibly be good for you, when it is I who-’
“I do have the sort of medicine you are asking for,” Stanley said instead, noting the immediate relief in James’ face. So perhaps he needed it more than he would admit to himself.
“And other ways to treat you, if issues should arise.”
“Thank you,” James said, looking so much more relaxed than he had seemed before. A tension drained from him that Stanley hadn’t even known was there.
He clapped Stanley on the shoulder, the liquid hot against the ice of Stanley’s body.
“I’m glad to have you with me here. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
Their sleeves brushed as James moved past Stanley, the relief palpable in the air. With James the past trace of warmth was gone from the room. The ice spilled from Stanley and filled the room in its absence.
His thoughts strayed back to where he’s kept them away from for months, to hands touching, grasping, lips tasting where he never serious would permit himself to-
With a clenched jaw Stanley turned away from the cabinet, and sat down behind his desk, pulling his notebook close sharply. He had several dozen men to keep track of, he would not permit his mind to skim over the names and wonder which of them had gotten what he knew would never be his at all.