#crozier knew exactly what he was doing good man frankie

[boilyerheid]

I saw angst and I was summoned.

22 for Joplittle in the angst prompt list

There's a polite knock on the door which Edward is too nervous to turn and acknowledge, but the creaking door of the church anteroom opens regardless. He's been bullied in here by his brothers to collect his thoughts before the ceremony, left with a flask of whisky and instructed to get a hold of himself before he shows them all up before the assembled mass of friends, family, and the well to-do of society.

Miss Jane Irving is a paternal cousin of John's, and it will be nice to be family with his dear friend in the truest sense - though the Irving family's piety and overall staid nature are quite in contrast with the outdoorsy, adventure-seeking Little clan. It's a good match even despite her being Scotch, according to his parents, and will quite cement their youngest's reputation - putting to bed rumours about what happened during the Franklin Expedition's lost years in the ice and Edward's 'trouble' afterwards.

Edward has only met her twice, under supervision of their parents. They discussed opera and he picked his thumbnail bloody while forcing himself not to flee. She's nice, he thinks. Hopes.

"Captain Crozier asks if you need any help in here, Commander Little." The voice makes his heart sink right into his boots even as it thrills him. Edward hasn't heard it since he was forcibly removed from the Captain's house by his family, mired in potential scandal. He turns to see Jopson (his Thomas, his Tommy) standing in the doorway beside the hanging minister's robes and assorted storage boxes. The man is white as a sheet at seeing Edward in his wedding suit, though manners keep him rooted to the spot (Jopson was stripped of the lieutenancy immediately upon their return, of course, and has returned to his former station of service). "He suggests you take a drink, should you need a little courage."

Oh Christ, why did Crozier bring Jopson to attend him here? The Captain wasn't ignorant to what they did in his house, how they were as they helped each other recover after the shale, and he certainly didn't miss the way Thomas crumpled in his arms in the doorway as Edward was carted off for treatment of his 'nervous trouble', never to return (the mind goes unnatural after such hardships, his family had explained in polite, sympathetic company. After such bravery and sacrifice for the Empire, there can be no shame in needing help to return to oneself properly, can there?). Why has he inflicted this pain on them both?

"I'm well-provided for on that front," he raises William's silver flask and shakes it with an queer sort of smile - he can feel the corners of his mouth curling up, but it feels far more unnatural than holding Thomas in his arms ever did. "It's good to see you, Jopson. I've miss-"

"It's good to see you too, sir. I'm glad to see you healthy." The pinching around Thomas's mouth and sallowness of his complexion almost suggests he's nauseous, and Edward's instinct is to reach for him - touch his arm, guide him to sit, stroke his hair and ask how he can help him feel better - but that would be cruel now, to both of them. "The house has been quite empty without you."

"Jopson, I never wanted to-"

"They're ready for you now, sir," Jopson cuts him off like he can't bear to hear the words, and Edward shuts his mouth sadly. The last thing he wants to do is cause this man more pain, after everything, but he wishes... oh, how he wishes he could take him in his arms one more time. That he could kiss him, touch him, that it would be Thomas he'd pledge to love until the day he died in front of their friends and family. In front of the whole world.

"I. Right. Thank you, Jopson," he nods and swallows hard, looking down at his hands where they're clenched around the half-empty flask tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Perhaps Thomas wants him to be equally dismissive, so they can pretend it's all going to be alright while it's all so dreadfully wrong.

They used to do that, when they first connected on the ice. Sit in the Great Cabin after the others had retired and imagine in low voices what they'd do when they returned to England. Edward had promised Thomas a cottage by the sea, the night they first kissed - somewhere they would be safe together and never cold again. Even on the shale, when Thomas was close to death, Edward had kissed his swollen knuckles and told him about how good things would be back home. How he'd make them a house of their own, a cosy little home they could share for the rest of their days.

It's hard to believe he's dismissing that man like a mere attendant, now. Of all the things they've been through, that is somehow the most abhorrent.

"Which part of me wasn't enough?" Thomas's voice is shaking when he speaks up, and the confusion that slams into Edward is instantaneous and sickening. Does he not think Edward tried to come back to him? (Did he try, after the first desperate protestations that he was doing nothing untoward? He's never been a confident man, has always functioned best when being told what to do, and his family were so insistent and the doctors were so sure...) "Aside the obvious?"

"I-. No part, Thomas, none at all. The world... Happiness is simply not permitted to men like us." Edward stumbles over his words at the sight of Thomas's brimming eyes, the way he'd clearly intended to say nothing but had spoken up at the last second because he couldn't let it go unsaid. "It wasn't voluntary, Tom, none of this is. If I could-. If I could-"

"I know. If we could." Thomas pulls one of those horrible smiles then - the kind Edward recognises from within wind-beaten canvas, showing bloody teeth and a loss of hope that things could ever be alright again. No, dammit, he swore to God himself that if they got out of there, he'd never let- "They're ready for you, sir. Congratulations."

"Jopson-." Edward has never been a man who makes decisions easily, but the crack in Thomas's voice and his swift exit taps into something far more primal to his damned soul than dithering. He's out of his seat in a moment, skidding after Jopson on the time-worn stone floor. "Thomas, wait. Wait!"

He catches Thomas before he can reach the chapel proper, and grabs his arm with all the strength he can muster. Thomas turns - to tell him to go to hell, to plead with him to leave him be - but Edward pulls him into a kiss before he can say anything at all. It's raw, so much that Edward can almost taste the iron of their spilled blood and the salt of tears shed just the same, but it's the only beautiful thing he's felt in the year since they were parted. He intends to make sure such a travesty never occurs again.

"Come on," he sounds more confident when they break apart breathlessly than he's sure he ever has before in his miserable life, and Thomas looks at him with pink cheeks and wide eyes. "Let's get out of here."

"Edward, your-"

"I don't care," he promises. And despite the unsteadiness of his hands and the fizzing in his chest, he finds he really doesn't. Bugger his family, bugger polite society, bugger the whole wretched lot of them and England besides - all that gives his life meaning is right here in his arms, and he won't be parted from it again unless they hang him for love. "Come with me?"

"But where will we go?" The disbelieving smile creeping across Thomas's face is genuine, this time, and it makes Edward's heart sing to see it. Not hymns, not for their kind, but they don't need hymns where they're going.

"It doesn't matter," he takes Thomas's face in his hands then, kissing him like he can make up for all the time they've lost, and promising all the time they have to come. "Not so long as I'm with you."