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The men, the few men that remained of Erebus and Terror, were still in need of him-Not of him, but of medical assistance, and the sole doctor, his own brother- that was brought alongside the Enterprise's crew was on the path of burnout would he not intervene on what he could.
It all felt like a fever, the debris of the men all in a limbo of decadency. Were they not quick enough to act in their behalves. It all ran through too fast and too slow, as if he had become stuck in a carrousel with the cloistered smell of laudanum, sweat, blood and healing rot.
Circling the Enterprise like a pig looking for a truffle, as if his head could detect the signs of a dying man or a worsening wound by smell alone, became his one strict routine.
He barely saw sunlight with his self imposed charge. Charge who did most to aid his brother and keep his duty as a mockery Doctor for the men, but was not much welcomed by the lieutenant on board, nor Captain Ross. The man had called for his temporary waiving as an assistant surgeon while his body regained his strength back and his mind took a step back for the first time in four. Five. Five years. But stubborn he was, he brushed off the man in a way a younger Harry would have never have.
It was clear like glass, the dichotomy between Ross' Men and Francis' Men. Without taking in recount the drastic amount between each group, his own crew were half than the enterprise men. The remaining men of Terror and Erebus could have given even the most deep chested men on land a shiver down their spine. They were certainly not a welcoming sight, they knew it, he himself knew it. But that didn't matter. Best be an atrocious sight and alive than a pretty corpse.
Not that any of their dead ever made pretty corpses.
“I can take it from here, go rest” Said Robert by four in the morning, basically shoving him out of a sleeping Mister Blanky's corner and ripping the rags and bandages from his hands.
“I'm not tired, Robert. Don't you look at me like that”
“I saw you fall asleep on your feet, twice now ” He shielded the men from Harry, expanding his arms and blocking his way once he tried to go back “I'll manage, most of them are asleep anyhow. Go shut your eyes, too.”
They stared at each other. Robert could grab a few hours to rest as well, but he wasn't about to leave the men all on their own.
His brother looked so much older, he realised, like if life had gone and shaken him off the all juvenile wonder his eyes once held. As if he had not had a good night's sleep in ages. They hadn't made time to speak properly, Harry had completely avoided it, a sick part of his heart did not want to back down and listen to his younger brother speak to him ever again.
To devoid himself from the responsibilities that came with loving his brother and those back home.
Finally, he pressed the rags back into his baby brother's hands, lingering a second to his palm before muttering a quiet thank you and heading back to the curtained nook he was assigned. He made the turn through the lower decks, zig zagging his way as to not step or bump on any of the sick and wounded that were heaped and hanging around , and into officers' country up the hallway before his assigned cabin. Robert's cabin. Before he gained the time to knock the wood panel next to the entrance, he heard a voice calling him in, guessing his footsteps.
The insides of said cabin had a fair similarity to the stewards quarters on Erebus, small, tight fitted for one, more so for two. Apart from the wooden boned cot, the little standing space was refashioned for himself with sacks of hay, sheets, cover and pillows to soften his rest. It was the most comfortable bed he could ever had asked for after their travesty.
Still Robert's kindness made him have the hurtest of reactions, to drive a man out of his berth to house strangers. The guilt ate him alive, it was like it had latched under his skin into his blood itself along with the lead and the scurvy.
He took his shoes off and stepped into the cabin.
Mister Collins had not slept by the looks of it. Even in his newly instalment in a cot instead of a medical hammock, he seemed unconvinced with the softness of the sheets and the forgotten feeling of being boxed in. Yet Harry had not seen him this comfortable in years, the look of it made his most selfish wants resurface, to wrap him in all the soft things in the world so he would never feel anything ugly or hurt ever again, to take him away just the two of them away from everything.
Comfortable, but by far healthy, his cheeks had yet to gain back colour. That's a journey that was just starting, and he did not want to think how long it would take to ever be better, if it was even possible.
Collins lets his hand show itself, reaching for him from under the sheets into view. Harry kneels into the padded floor and grasps his hand back. His lips meet a soundless kiss into his torn knuckles.
“How are you?” The second master faintly asks while Harry presses his forehead in a revere custom to the dorse of his hand.
A swift of wind cuts in between an open bit in the wood, whistling a high and eery screech. The men looked around, grasping tighter onto each other before breaking away to breath.
“Better now. Better” He tries a smile as he raises his eyes to Henry, it comes out crooked and tight and his eyes begin to burn as Collins gifts him a warm smile back. It gets worse as the man dares to cup his face in his hand, his hard worn hands, that had kept him warm on the unforgiving nights the only comfort he could find came from touch alone.
It was just the two of them he realised, there were men cluttering the decks and cabins, but inside, where Collins laid. It was just the two of them. He took a big drowned gasp before he felt an explosion of pressure liberate itself from behind his eyes, like a waterfall the bitterness that had cladded his back and head, pours down his cheeks and without a second to miss- A pair of arms comes to securely hold him upright in an awkward angle, his tears staining Henry's neck in salt.
He can hear the worry of the man, sweetly shushing him. The second master urged him to rise and get into the bed so he could wrap him up with his arms properly. Finally, once he was clustered, practically fused into Collins, in the most loveliest and comfortable of embraces yet to calm down-
“Don't worry. For I'm happy. I'm happy” He laughs at himself, hoping the sight of his madness doesn't frighten his very own heart.
“How?” Henry worries, swiping away a renewed trail of tears with his thumb.
“My lovely sir, you. You are here” He manages a wet and hiccuped laugh, and with the relief of his burden still he cries. Collins kisses his wet skin from it's birth down to his lips and hums a joined laugh “I love you”
Both pull away with minimal success, as if frightened, sobered up, with eyes wide and gaping mouths with spit still smeared in each others lips.
For the first time in an awfully long time, Harry saw Collins glow, and for a moment they were back in Erebus- Before Becheey Island, before King William, before Nunavut- Back when the two idly made time pass in conversation, at first when their friendship was yet a blossom and the love had yet to settle. His eyes were squinted with a smile, shining eyes, an unforgettable smile, the very same he had given him the first time Henry took him up the Foretop as the sun went down the horizon in a pink and orange explosion.
It had been a Harry's idea, a silly pretence to save their conversation from ending.
I've always wondered how it feels to go up there
Next thing he knew, the second master had cheered him through each step of the rigging and shrouds up the foremast onto the Foretop. The way up was a laughing matter, he had been so glad the only one that saw him trembling like a leaf mid way was Henry, who had improvised the safety measure of tying Harry to himself by the hip with a rope. In the middle of it, the doctor had completely froze as his eyes spied his feet and realised the fall it meant were he to slip.
The wonder he had left, was entirely devoured by fear for a good couple of minutes while his fists went white as he held onto the ropes and his feet felt slippery. Stupid idea. The presence of a body pressing against his back made him open his eyes, Henry had covered him, held him still and warm until he stopped trembling his bones off and he had looked at him and smiled as he asked if he could go on.
It feels the same. That must be it, he thinks. The feeling of being covered in warmth, someone holding you still so one does not fall to the abyss, and so on urges you to keep going, for at the top is a beautiful sundown that is worth sharing between two. The glow.
Harry kisses him again, again and again until his face feels bruised and light-headed, his lips had not lost the chapped of the cold, nor they had lost the taste of bloody gums. Still Collins presses himself deeper, sneaking his hands into his too long hair and down his too skinny bone traced back, and sucks in his lower lip with happy hum.
By the end of it he feels ten times lighter, as if he had dispensed ten litres of stagnant water from his insides and Henry had smeared a healing pomade all over his skin with kisses. Once they are both breathless and quiet, Henry presses a kiss on his temple and bids him goodnight.
Robert returns to his cabin in search of a clothes change, he encounters such scene of Mister Collins and his brother curled up like orphans in a cold winter night, pleasantly glued to each other and snoring a symphony aloud-- He gently backs away with a smile on his lips.