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Preparing the captain’s morning tea, Thomas was halfway through separating tea leaves into portions when he heard a clamour from the front of the forecastle, and though he ignored it for a moment, once he heard Crozier’s voice shout over the anxious clamor, he could tell from tone of voice that something was wrong. 

He set down the tray quickly and hurried out from the captain’s quarters, and weaved in and out through the ruckus to get to the front, where Crozier caught his eye, expression grim. 

“Jopson!” he yelled over the noise. “Lend me a hand here!”

Crozier was halfway down the stairs, carrying the end of a stretcher, and Thomas ran to grab the other side of it from a Marine who’s grip was slipping. Men shouted and called through the din as he and Crozier pushed through, carrying on a stretcher a delirious Edward Little, who was crying out in pain, hands over his eyes. They rushed him through the forecastle to the sickbay, where Dr. McDonald had already begun to set up beds for a few other men, though none seemed as pained as Edward. 

They set him down on the bed and gently rolled him from the stretcher, though it proved difficult as he writhed in agony, clutching at his face and weeping. McDonald rushed to his side right away, leaving Peddie to deal with the incoming men.

“What’s happened?” he asked, voice tense. Crozier took off his gloves and Welsh wig, mouth set tight as he looked down at Edward. Thomas lingered to the side, frightened. 

“Snow blindness and frostbite. He’d gotten stuck in a storm during last night’s watch, and we only just found him and the other men a few minutes ago. He’d been out there for a while, got separated from the rest. The others fared far better than he did…”

“Good Lord…” Thomas hissed quietly, but McDonald nodded and quickly turned to his cabinet, pulling out a small cup and a few bottles.

“Lieutenant Little,” he asked, but had no reply. “Are you aware of where you are right now?”

“I… Sickbay…” Edward managed to grit out. McDonald nodded, face pulled in worry and concentration. 

“You’ve got a bad case of snow blindness. I am going to give you a tonic that will help the pain, but you must hold as still as you can.”

Edward’s jaw clenched as he shook and shuddered, in pain and in chill, and he barely could open his mouth to give an answer. McDonald’s eyebrows pushed together, and he turned to Thomas. Crozier had left to help with any other men coming into the sickbay, and Thomas was left to help McDonald.

“Mr. Jopson, I need your assistance. Hold him still at his shoulders, and I shall try and open his mouth.”

“Sir,” Thomas said, and moved to the front of the bed. He grabbed Edward’s shoulders, pushing them downwards, and tried to be as gentle as he could as Edward convulsed. McDonald pried his jaw open and poured the tonic down his throat, then turned once more to his cabinet, sorting through bottles and boxes.

Thomas continued to hold Edward’s shoulders, his face tight with fear and upset as the man beneath him drew in shaky breaths in between great shudders. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, and his face was red and burnt, feverish to the touch. He was frozen through, and even holding onto him gave Thomas a chill. He couldn’t imagine how cold Edward himself was. Thomas grabbed for blankets scattered around the sickbay, piling them on the lieutenant.

“My eyes… I can’t see…” Edward moaned, hands clenched at his side. Thomas tried to rub his shoulders, to give him some sense of warmth.

“You’re in good hands, Lieutenant Little. Dr. McDonald is going to help you, and the tonic will as well. The pain will abate soon.”

McDonald returned with a tin and a saturated cloth. Opening the tin ans pulling back the blankets slightly, he spread ointment over Edward’s face, heavily on the places where the frostbite was the worst. He applied it around the eyes as well, then placed the cloth over Edward’s eyes. Edward let out a hiss of breath, shoulders coming down ever so slightly, and Thomas kept his hand on his arm, soothing. 

“I’ve put some salve on your frostbite, and the cloth is simply damp with water. I’ll need to soak your fingers in hot water for a bit as well, and I’ll change the cloth on your eyes ever so often to keep it fresh, but it ought to soothe you. If the pain in your eyes gets any worse or is unbearable, tell myself or Dr. Peddie, alright? That goes for if you do not regain feeling in your extremities soon as well. The pain should be beginning to weaken because of the tonic. Now, I’m going to tie some cloth around your eyes to keep you in darkness. Mr. Jopson, would you lift up his head?”

Thomas nodded and lifted up Edward just enough that McDonald could get a rag under his head and tie the two ends together, then gently set him back down. McDonald took Edward’s hands and began to apply salve to them as well, wrapping them in warm cloth and doing the same for his toes. He placed several strips of fabric on the man’s face as well, trying to warm him.  Thomas kept running his hand over Edward’s shoulder, not entirely sure of what to do but try and soothe the man and quell his violent shakes. 

“Jopson,” Edward muttered faintly, and Thomas’ hand stilled.

“Yes sir? What is it?” he asked. Edward mumbled again, but too quiet to hear. Thomas leaned down, putting his ear close to the lieutenant’s mouth. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Water. Please.” Edward said softly. 

“Of course,” Thomas replied, grabbing a glass and filling it with the pitcher McDonald kept on top of the cabinet. Edward had stopped his shaking, for the most part, but still could not open his mouth very far, so Thomas gently parted the man’s lips and poured water into his mouth ever so carefully. When he was done, Edward closed his mouth, exhaustion seeping into him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then fell unconscious.

The next few hours passed quickly and hurriedly, with Thomas running back and forth from room to room, and lingering in the sick bay whenever he wasn’t occupied with a request from Crozier or polishing silver or dishes for the lunch meal. Each time he stepped in, Dr. McDonald would give him a few tasks to help the men, things like refilling water and cleaning out cups, changing bandages. A rare lull, when many of the men were asleep and McDonald finally was able to sit and take a moment to collect himself, Thomas stationed himself next to Edward. His face was still, eyes closed under the bandage, and he breathed softly. The frostbite was bright red on his cheeks and nose, blisters beginning to form, but he had regained color in his face and was warming up slowly. Thomas fixed the blankets laying on top of him, adjusted his collar, changed his bandages and the cloth overtop of his eyes, and when there was truly nothing to do Thomas sat at his side, fidgeting with the hem of his coat. His eyes traced the outline of Edward’s profile, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. 

Dr. McDonald passed Thomas as he sat, going by him then coming back, holding a small bottle and a small tin cup.

“Mr. Jopson,” he asked, holding the items out. “I’ve got to run over to Erebus to speak with Mr. Goodsir. Would you mind terribly giving Lieutenant Little his medicine in a few minutes? Dr. Peddie is tending to the other patients, but since you’re here…”

Thomas took the bottle and cup from his hands and nodded. Edward stirred ever so slightly.

“Of course, sir. How much ought I give him?” he asked, holding the bottle up and letting the liquid slide from side to side.

McDonald held up his hand, curling his fingers in but protruding his thumb to the side.

“Fill the cup to about the length of the first segment of your thumb. A little more or a little less won’t hurt him, it’s just to keep the pain manageable.”

Thomas nodded again, looking down at his thumb and holding it against the cup.

“Understood, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

McDonald gathered his coat in his arms, walking around the sickbay to grab a few things here and there, and when he was satisfied, turned to go to the door. He held out his wrist for a moment, looking at his watch, then looked back up at Thomas.

“You can give it to him now, if you wouldn’t mind waking him up. If there are any problems, Dr. Peddie is nearby, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I truly appreciate you, Mr. Jopson.”

Thomas shook his head.

“It’s nothing at all, Dr. McDonald. Happy to help. Have a safe trip over.” McDonald bobbed his head then turned and left, leaving the sick bay and leaving Thomas holding the bottle and cup. He poured the tonic into the cup, only a small amount as Dr. McDonald had instructed, then looked down at Edward, who was still sleeping peacefully. 

He had almost hoped that somehow, miraculously, he would have woken up by himself as Dr. McDonald was speaking, but the man lay still, only the slightest divot between his eyebrows. Thomas reached his hand out and touched Edward’s shoulder, warm from sleep, and gently shook him.

“Lieutenant Little,” he asked quietly, then repeated with a little more volume and force. It was no use. The man was dead to the world- exhaustion painted his face, and he looked so tired that Thomas felt it almost cruel to wake him. Instead, he set the cup down beside him on the floor, and sat back in the chair, watching Edward’s eyes move under his lids, and listening to the ragged but steady sound of his breathing.

Thomas had begun nodding off when he was awoken by a cry of anguish, and immediately his nerves set to ice, and he rushed over to Edward’s bedside. The man was writhing, clutching his eyes, the violent movements making his frost-bitten skin open where it was cracked.

“Lieutenant Little, peace,” Thomas gasped, gently but forcefully prying Edward’s hands from his face, but Edward jumped mightily at the sudden contact.

“Who is this?” He asked fearfully, pain and delirium soaking through his words.

“Sir, it’s Thomas Jopson. You’re in the sickbay, you’re alright, you’re alright.” Thomas tried to soothe, but Edward grit his teeth together and sucked in a sob.

“My eyes, there’s glass… they hurt so much,” he whimpered. Thomas felt a sting of pain go through his chest; Edward was not the most cheerful fellow, but he certainly had never heard anything like the tone of voice he had used come out of the stoic Lieutenant’s mouth before.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant, I was meant to give you medicine, but you were sleeping. Here,” he said, grabbing the cup, “Try to open your mouth and this will stop the pain. I’m so sorry, sir, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Edward gritted out, then managed to keep his mouth open long enough for Thomas to pour the tonic in, then swallow with great effort as he shook and spasmed.

Thomas ran his hand up and down over Edward’s arm as the tonic began to take effect, his spasms becoming lessened. He took the damp cloth off of Edward’s eyes with an apology, then wet it again with cool water, and turned to place it back on the lieutenant’s eyes, but noticed a track of tears falling down the side of his face from his clenched eyes. Thomas wiped them gently with the cloth, then placed it back on his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you sir?” He asked, a tad desperately. “Anything at all?”

“Will I be able to see again?” Edward asked in a tight and pained voice. Thomas took a sharp intake of breath, the question completely and utterly catching him off guard.

“Of course you will, sir,” he said, mustering the most confident tone he could. “You’ll be better in no time at all. Snow blindness is not a sentence in the slightest.”

His reply seemed to relax Edward a bit, his body letting out some of its tension. “Good,” he mumbled, trailing off, and before Thomas had realized it, the lieutenant had let sleep take him once more.

Some time later, Dr. McDonald returned to Terror ’s sickbay, shaking off his heavy overcoat. He went to Edward’s bedside, looking over the man, then turning to Jopson.

“Anything of note?” He asked, his face still pink from the trek over, snow dripping off of him. Thomas nodded.

“He awoke in great pain, but I gave him the tonic, and it set him to sleep. He’s been unconscious for some time now, sir. I apologize for not giving him the tonic when you said, it is just that he looked so tired I did not wish to wake him…and he did not wake when I attempted to…”

“That’s alright, Mr. Jopson, you did your best. Thank you for taking care of him. Now, I’ll watch over him, and you may return to your duties.”

Thomas nodded, standing but reluctant to leave Edward. He adjusted his coat, walking toward the door, but then paused and turned back to McDonald.

“Sir, if I may ask… Lieutenant Little will regain his sight, surely?”

Dr. McDonald paused, looking up at Thomas.

“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Jopson. He ought to, vision loss is only permanent in the most serious of cases. There is always a chance, of course, and with him even more so, he was out in the snow a long time… but I believe he will pull through.”

Thomas took in a breath, then bobbed his head.

“Thank you, sir. I believe so too.” He replied, then turned and left the sickbay.

Thomas spent the next several hours running around the ship, preparing for the lunch meal and dodging men juggling their duties and irritable officers, made even more so due to missing breakfast. He hadn’t even gone past the kitchen, let alone near the sickbay, and yet Edward Little remained on his mind as he conferred with Mr. Diggle about the menu and ran about setting the table with silver and crystal. One of Crozier’s dress shirts needed mending, and he was missing one of the napkins, but soon enough the officers began flooding in through the captain’s cabin and sat themselves around the table. Thomas had to add another seat, as Commander Fitzjames had shown up unexpectedly with great enthusiasm and a mind to chat with the men of the Terror , and had run to the storage room to gather extra silverware. His breath was short and he felt faint, but hurried up the ladder to the kitchen and forecastle, and then into the captain’s quarters, but right as he reached the door, a blackness appeared in his vision and a loud buzzing in his head, and he fainted on the floor.

He awoke as several officers were attempting to lift him up, speaking rather worriedly, and his vision swam. Lieutenant Hodgson had grabbed his arm and was heaving him up, but as Crozier saw that his eyes had opened, he spoke.

“Let the lad sit and rest a bit,” he said, and Hodgson, who hadn’t noticed Thomas’ awakening, turned to him with surprise.

“Sorry about that,” he said, and set Thomas back down on the ground, where he remained horrifically embarrassed and still rather disoriented.

“I’m terribly sorry, sirs, I did not mean to faint, I…” Thomas said, but was cut off by Fitzjames.

“Nonsense. We are all in a rather precarious state at present. You’re quite alright, Jopson.”

Thomas swallowed, his face growing hot with shame.

“Sirs, please go sit back down. I’m fine, but your food ought to get cold.”

The officers looked at each other, but eventually headed back into the captain’s quarters, and before long there arose spirited conversation and laughter. Only Crozier remained behind, and kneeled in front of Thomas, his eyebrows pushed together.

“It does no good for a man to push himself past his limit, Jopson. There is only one course for this meal, so I suggest you go to your cabin and rest. You’ll need your strength to deal with these men later,” he said, voice low and gravelly. Thomas felt a surge of embarrassment coupled with exhaustion and fondness for his captain.

“Thank you sir,” he replied quietly. “Is there anything that’s needed before?” 

Crozier shook his head.

“Go rest, Jopson.” he said simply, then returned to his quarters. Thomas shakily lifted himself off the floor and headed towards his cabin, feeling rather tired and shameful, and really feeling nothing but exhaustion as he fell upon his bed and almost immediately fell asleep.

Thomas awoke a few hours later, some time before the evening meal, and felt a great tiredness upon him, though he no longer felt faint. The rest had done him well, and he combed his hair and straightened his uniform before stepping out of his cabin and heading to the captain’s cabin, serving drinks to Crozier and the other men who were gathering for dinner, talking amongst themselves. Irving and Hodgson were engaged in a good-natured but highly competitive game of cards, as they had long since tired of parlor games during the expedition. Crozier was sitting in the corner, sipping at a small glass of whiskey, and patting Neptune’s great head as he spoke with Blanky. Thomas tidied the large table in the middle of the cabin and dressed it for dinner, thanking his past self for arranging the glasses and plates in the cabinet for easy access. And then, the food was ready, so Thomas darted out of the room after directing the officers to their seats, a few wayward men coming in last minute. He served the courses, refilled drinks, and stood at attention behind the men as they ate and talked. The tiredness had settled into his bones now, and his stomach hurt in hunger. Yet his mind was only on Edward Little, as he stared at the lieutenant’s empty seat, and wondered how he was fairing. 

The very subject was brought up, Hodgson saying something worriedly as he glanced at the vacancy next to him.

“I say,” he began, taking a sip of his drink. “Has anyone checked on old Little? He seemed in quite the spot, poor fellow.”

The officers said amongst themselves that they had not, but Crozier lifted his hand slightly.

“Mr. Jopson looked over him a bit,” he announced, and all eyes turned to Thomas, who colored. He waited a moment to speak, unsure about replying to the officers, but eventually the questioning glances became too much.

“He was asleep most of the time, sirs.” he belayed, tone even and professional. “He… Well, he did seem to be in some pain, but Dr. McDonald gave him a tonic. He will recover soon, though, the doctor says.”

The men murmured, nodding to each other. 

“He’s a tough one, that Little.” Blanky mused. “Like a stoic little cockroach.” 

“We’ll have to keep him in our thoughts and prayers,” Irving replied, nodding. “Snow-blindness is a rather bothersome sufferance, and frostbite even worse.”

The officers quickly changed subjects, speaking of the ice and provisions, and of general updates, and Thomas blended back into the wood, peeling out only to pour another cup or serve another course.

By the end of the meal and it’s cleaning-up, he was exhausted and starving. He served up the after-dinner tea, with the men winding down, but Crozier cleared his throat as he headed towards the outskirts of the room.

“Jopson, you’ll keep us updated on Lieutenant Little, won’t you?” He asked, voice slightly lowered. Thomas nodded.

“Of course, sir. I’ll tell you what I know.”

“It’s a great deal about this ship, what you know,” Crozier replied, laughing a bit. “More than any other of us in this room. I’ll depend on you less until Little gets back on his feet, but until then, look after the lad?”

Thomas nodded again, and Crozier patted his shoulder before turning back to the men, occasionally adding in an interjection. Thomas recognized the time as his long-awaited moment of break, and slipped out of the room. He headed to the kitchen first, where Mr. Diggle had kept a plate of food warm for him, long after all the other men of the ship were done eating, then took it to the sickbay. He poked his head in, and saw Dr. McDonald tending to one of the men laying in a hammock, looking calm and weary.

“Excuse me, sir,” he asked, catching the doctor’s attention.

“Mr. Jopson, do come in.” McDonald said, placing a compress on the man’s forehead. It was one of the ABs, Thomas recognized, who had gone out with Little on the watch.

Thomas made his way into the sickbay, standing rather awkwardly with his plate of food. McDonald didn’t seem to mind, instead continued with his duties.

“I hope you’re not feeling poorly,” he said, not looking up. “Is there anything the matter?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Not at all, sir. Only, I was going to ask if I could sit with Lieutenant Little for a bit. Watch over him. The officers seem rather concerned about the man.”

“Of course, I’d be glad for you to.” McDonald replied, turning to Thomas with a soft smile. “That’s very good of you. Might I ask you to give him another dose of medicine, once you are done with your meal? He has already eaten, and is due another measure of the stuff.”

“Certainly, sir. That wouldn't be a problem.” 

“Excellent. The tonic is on top of the box next to him. I appreciate your help once again, Mr. Jopson.”

Thomas nodded, and sat down on the floor beside the bed, eating rather quickly. The food was barely warm, and was quite flavorless, but it could have been served at Westminster by the gladness he felt of having it. He slowed as he grew full, polishing off the plate, then setting it down on the ground next to him. He stood up and uncorked the bottle, filling a cup with a knuckle’s worth of medicine, then approached the sleeping lieutenant. He looked better, but there were splotches of red, dotted with small blisters that scattered across his cheeks. Blessedly, he hadn’t suffered deep frostbite, but it still seemed painful. His fingers had been wrapped in bandages, and he was rather bundled up. Thomas winced, but moved closer.

“Lieutenant Little?” he asked, and to his surprise, Edward stirred.

“Mr. Jopson, is that you?” he asked. His voice was quiet and hoarse, sounding tired but blessedly not pained.

 “It is indeed, sir,” Thomas replied softly, his heart feeling a bit warm at the recognition. “I’m to give you another serving of tonic, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Edward nodded slightly, opening his mouth as Thomas poured the medicine down his throat. He swallowed with pain and wet his cracked lips.

“Water, please?” he croaked. 

“Of course,” Thomas said, walking over to the medicine cabinet to fill the cup with the decanter of water kept on top. He returned to Edward’s side and poured the water gently into his mouth, who seemed to relax a bit.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Thomas asked carefully. Edward was silent for a moment before replying, teeth still chattering a bit.

“Better,” he replied, voice still quiet, but less scratchy. “My eyes hurt. Cold.”

Thomas nodded, wiping a bit of water that made it’s way down Edward’s chin off with his sleeve. 

“I’m sure. But the tonic is helping, and you’ll soon feel better in no time at all.” Edward gave a movement of his head to this, but then soon enough his breathing slowed as he fell back asleep, exhausted by the short interaction. Thomas did not leave quite yet; instead, for some reason, he kept watch over Edward until the first watch bell sounded, and Dr. McDonald had begun to yawn mightily.

“Time to turn in,” McDonald announced, heading over to Thomas and leaning down to clap him on the shoulder. “You get some rest too. Lieutenant Little will be watched over well during the night. You needn’t worry a bit.”

Thomas caught himself yawning as well, and stood up from the floor. He bid McDonald and a bleary Dr. Peddie goodnight, but before he left the room he looked at Edward one last time. He was still asleep and though he seemed tense, he also seemed at ease. Thomas stepped out of the sickbay and headed down the hall through the forecastle to his own cabin, then past it to the captain’s cabin. He knocked softly on the door, and opened it when Crozier beckoned him in.

“Good God, Jopson, you look dead on your feet,” he said, combing his hair. The room was empty; all the officers retiring to their quarters for the night, and Crozier doing much the same. He had already changed into his sleepwear.

“Sir, is there anything I can do for you?” Thomas asked. “I apologize for my absence.”

Crozier shook his head, setting the comb down. 

“Nonsense. I can get dressed for bed myself. It’s only a luxury to have help, anyhow. Thank you for your diligence, lad, but if I need anything I shall ring you. Goodnight, Jopson.”

Thomas bobbed his head.

“Goodnight, sir.” he replied, then left the room.

Thomas slept hard from the moment his head hit the pillow to the moment the morning bell rang, clear in the bright morning. He rose from his bed sleepily, but splashed his face with water and dressed, combing his hair and buttoning his uniform, and checking over his appearance in the small mirror on the wall. He headed down to the captain’s quarters, knocking before entering, and finding Crozier sitting at his desk, head in hand and leaning over his logbook. He was dressed, Thomas realized with a bit of relief, save for his coat. The captain didn’t notice his entrance, so Thomas knocked gently on the doorframe, giving a small smile when he looked up.

“Good morning, Jopson,” Crozier said, closing the logbook and putting down his pen. 

“Good morning, sir.” Thomas replied as Crozier stood, heading to the sink basin and retrieving Crozier’s shaving supplies. “I’ve come to help you dress, but it seems you didn’t need my help this morning. It’s no trouble doing so, sir, it’s my job.”

Crozier squinted at the razor, hand coming up to roam over his jaw. 

“I thought I had done a rather good job of shaving,” he mused. “Don’t tell me I’ve missed a great patch right on my chin.”

Thomas smiled, shaking his head.

“No, sir. You did an excellent job. Your sides are a bit crooked, is all. Won’t take but a moment.”

Thomas shaped the sides of Crozier’s hair, making sure they were quite shaped well on his cheeks, then wiped the blade on a cloth, folding the two together and putting them away neatly.

“There,” he said, and Crozier peered into the looking-glass, turning his head this way and that.

“I’ll be damned, they were rather crooked.” he announced. “Thank you, Jopson. Would you go make sure the breakfast preparations are ready? I imagine a horde of hungry officers ought to be crawling in any time now.”

Thomas nodded, but took Crozier’s coat in hand.

“Can’t forget your coat, sir.” he said as Crozier pulled one arm through, then the other. 

“I’d be the laughingstock of the crew, in only shirtsleeves to breakfast. Wouldn’t James get a great deal of humor out of that.” 

Thomas nodded again, then slipped out of the room, setting the table as quickly as possible, then running over to the kitchen. He returned with a steaming pot of tea, pouring it into the teacups of the officers just as they began to come in. Over the voyage, he’d manage to turn meals into a tight operation, whether the officers noticed or not. (He reckoned they did not, most seemed to believe hot cups of tea appeared from thin air.)

He took any requests then went to the kitchen, taking as many plates of food as he could carry at a time, laying them on the table, then standing quietly behind the table as the officers ate heartily and spoke with spirit. The spot next to Hodgson remained empty.

The meal had finished and Thomas was left to clear the table and give the dishes to Mr. Diggle, and get his own breakfast. He took a tin of Goldner’s and a fork, but then turned to Mr. Diggle.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but have you any extra flour, or perhaps pot barley? A porridge would be nice for Lieutenant Little, as he’s still on the mend and not able to join for meals.”

Mr Diggle knelt down to look at his stores, then pulled out two small sacks. 

“You’re lucky I forewent the oatmeal this mornin’,” he replied, pouring barley into a pot, then water after. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Wait there,” he said, and Thomas gave him a warm smile and thanked him. As he said, it was ready soon enough, and Mr. Diggle spooned a healthy amount of porridge into a bowl, then passed it to Thomas.

“Here’s to hoping the lieutenant gets well soon,” he said, turning back to the pots on the stove. “Good man.”

Thomas smiled down at the hot bowl in his hands. There were a few dried cranberries tossed into the porridge, and it had a lovely smell to it, sweet with sugar. 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Diggle. I appreciate your kindness.” Thomas replied, then whisked away to the sickbay.

He bid good morning to the doctors and nodded to the awake men laying in hammocks, then went over to Edward’s bedside. It was hard to tell whether he was sleeping or not, the lieutenant’s eyes covered in a cloth, but as Thomas sat the bowl down on a crate next to him, Edward stirred.

“Doctor?” he asked, voice hoarse and weak but haler. Thomas shook his head.

“No, sir. Jopson. I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

Edward sat up slightly, hissing as he moved too much. Thomas helped him sit up comfortably, propping up a few pillows behind him and rearranging his blankets, making sure any and all warmth remained trapped beneath them.

“How are you feeling, sir? You seem better, if I might say.”

Edward grunted in reply.

“I suppose,” he said. “Hungry. Tired. Tired of not being able to see.”

“I’m sure. I can fix one thing right now, though the other two will take time. But you’ll feel better soon, I’m sure of it.”

Edward sighed tiredly, not in annoyance but rather a sigh of letting go of tension.

“What’s on the menu?” he asked, his head leaning back. He groaned when frostbite brushed against linen. Thomas took up the bowl and spoon and sat on the bed, spooning a bite.

“A porridge, sir. With cranberries and sugar. I’m rather jealous, I admit. It’ll do you well to eat something warm.”

There was a moment of silence before Edward spoke, his head lolling slightly to face Thomas.

“Try it?” he asked, voice tired but good natured. “Make sure it’s good and all.”

Thomas was surprised, but took a small spoonful, blew on it to cool it, then lifted the spoon to his mouth. It was no fine porridge, but the sugar made it a lovely flavor, and the cranberries added a nice texture and tartness.

“It’s very good, sir.” Thomas reported. Edward smiled slightly. “Might I give it to you?”

“Please do,” Edward replied. “It smells lovely.”

Thomas gently fed him the porridge, slowly and carefully, but Edward ate it heartily. He was down to the last spoonful, scraping the side of the bowl, when Edward shook his head.

“Full,” he said, voice slow and tired. “I wish to sleep. You have it.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You ought to finish it…” he started, but before he could finish his sentence, Edward’s breaths slowed and he fell asleep. Thomas paused for a moment, caught by such a gentle moment, then took the final bite of the porridge. It was sweet on his tongue, and filled his insides with warmth.

Two days later they moved Edward from the sick bay to his own cabin, allowing him more privacy as he healed and needed less supervision. Thomas was tasked with giving him a serving of the tonic two times a day, and at least twice a day one of the doctors would come in and check on the lieutenant, changing bandages or applying salve to his frostbitten skin. Soon enough he began to feel better, stay awake longer, and seemed in higher spirits, but Edward’s vision still remained damaged. Any light burnt to look at, and so Dr. McDonald kept a cloth wrapped tight around his eyes. In the days that passed, Thomas would keep him company for hours at a time, reading through books and old newspapers, recounting stories of the wardroom, or speaking of updates of the ice. It filled Edward with a warmth and he looked forward to the sound of Thomas’ footsteps outside of his cabin, and his soft knock upon the door, knowing that simple companionship awaited, and that time would pass in a most enjoyable fashion. Thomas enjoyed it as well, finding solace in easy conversation with Edward. They both found each other easy to speak with, and it filled the eternal polar night with light.

Thomas knocked on the doorframe of the cabin, sliding the thin door open and then closing it behind him as he stepped into the narrow berth, holding a tray with a plate of food, a glass of water, and a small metal cup. Edward lay flat on his back, curled in a bit, and lifted his head at the sound of Thomas placing the tray down.

“Good morning, sir,” Thomas said, taking the plate off the tray and putting a spoon in it. It looked like some kind of stew, but one could never be too sure, especially with the Goldner’s tins.

“Good morning,” Edward said. His voice was rather thin and hoarse, but more tired than pained. “What have you got for me today?”

“Roast duck, sir, and lamb. A roast hog as well,” Thomas replied, smiling slightly at Edward as he helped him sit up, arranging his pillow behind him somewhat comfortably. 

“My goodness,” Edward replied, turning his head to where he assumed Thomas was. The cloth still remained looped around his eyes. “All of that? Well, I ought to get ill more often. Maybe next time I’ll get a national holiday too.”

Thomas laughed at that, a lovely, hearty sound that filled Edward’s heart with an unexpected warmth. 

“Don’t be too greedy now, sir. A bank holiday, though, perhaps. Hold out your hands, now, here’s your water.”

Edward took the glass and drank half of it quickly, sighing after. He held out the glass, and Thomas took it, setting it to the side. 

“Alright, sir,” he started. “The question of breakfast arises. Would you like for me to serve you, or do you think you can manage it? Either is perfectly fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Edward held out his hands, gesturing for the plate.

“I believe I can feed myself, Mr. Jopson. It cannot be hard, even in my current state.”

“Of course. Here you are,” Thomas said, handing Edward the plate and pushing the spoon towards his thumb. Edward clumsily took the spoon, gripping it with a shaking hand, and went to scoop food. He hit the side of the plate, then went entirely off it. He finally managed, with no small effort, to get a spoonful of food, but as he raised it to his mouth, he completely missed his mouth, and the small bit of stew fell onto his shirt.

“Oh, dear God,” Edward said, tone exasperated, embarrassed. Thomas took the plate from him gently, pulling a chair close to his bedside.

“No need to be ashamed,” he comforted, “Open your mouth, if you please, sir.”

Edward did so, and Thomas gently fed him the stew. He wiped the side of Edward’s mouth with his thumb. 

“I’d be pressed to find one man on this ship that could perfectly eat a whole plate of food, cleanly, blindfolded such as you.”

Edward chewed and sighed, mood now one of melancholy. He finished the food in silence, Thomas putting the plate and spoon to the side, then pulling up his blankets.

“Your blisters are looking better,” Thomas announced. “They aren’t as red and angry. Are you feeling any better?”

Edward sighed again. 

“I suppose so. I feel a tingle in my fingers and toes, a rather strange sensation. And I feel it on my face sometimes, too, but I also feel a burning as well. Like a sunburn, of a sort.”

Thomas nodded.

“I’m sure it’s not comfortable.You’ve done an admirable job healing though, sir. You’re certainly on the mend.”

Edward was silent for a moment, then spoke, voice low in spirit. 

“I really wish for my eyes to get better,” he said. “I’m sick of not being able to see, and they pain me. Sharp pains shoot through them sometimes, and the doctor says it is normal, but I have never heard of anyone having vision loss for as long as I have. Though I have only seen few cases of snow blindness, they are usually better after the first two or three days. I’m…”

“You’re what, sir?”

Edward turned his head, mouth set in a frown. His hands wrung together, his thumb ghosting over the edge of his bandage, fiddling. 

“I’m frightened,” he finally said quietly. “That I shall never see again. What kind of first lieutenant would I be to this expedition if I cannot see? I’ve created enough trouble as it is already.”

“You hush. Sir.” Thomas added quickly, but with concerned anger. “You are not made an invalid because of injury. In fact, rather the opposite. You are dealing with great pain, and on top of it worrying about your duties. That is truly admirable. You shall see, soon enough I am sure of it, and this is truly as good a time as any to be ill. Very little is happening in the way of officer’s action at the moment, I assure you, sir. You only need focus on getting well.”

Edward paused for a moment, caught off guard by Thomas’ easy speaking and comfort. He nodded slightly.

“I suppose you’re right, Mr. Jopson. I thank you for your kind words.”

Thomas smiled, reaching behind him.

“You’ll also thank me for a dose of tonic, sir. You are rather due for one. Dr. McDonald spoke to me today and said that you’ll be reduced to one dose each morning, as you’re healing well. I also need to change your shirt. I don’t reckon that stain from the stew will come off without a good scrubbing.”

Thomas handed Edward the small cup of medicine and he took it, grimacing at the taste. 

“It never gets less nauseating, the flavor,” he said, swallowing again. “Would you hand me the water?”

Thomas did so, and as Edward sipped he heard Thomas rummaging around in his drawers. He then handed the glass to Thomas, who set it to the side and then pulled back Edward’s blankets a bit, shifting him.

“If you’ll lean forward a bit, sir,” he said, and Edward did so. His face flushed a bit as Thomas shucked off his undershirt then immediately slid on a fresh one. He adjusted it, pulling it down so that it wouldn’t be rucked up uncomfortably, then buttoned one of the front buttons, leaving the shirt still a bit open. His hands were light and nimble, but rather warm, the spots where his fingertips touched still retained the sensation of contact after he had moved away. Edward swallowed as Thomas leaned closer to adjust his other shirtsleeve, so close he could smell his barely noticeable cologne. He was glad for the blindfold.

“There you are, sir,” Thomas announced after a moment. Edward nodded.

“Thank you very much, Jopson. I appreciate you looking after me.”

“Of course, sir.” Thomas replied, gathering up the empty cups and plate, and putting them back on the tray. “I only wonder, since you seem rather bored… would you like a story?”

This question was unexpected and caught Edward quite off guard, but he found himself nodding.

“I would.”

The late morning was a quiet and melancholy time for Thomas, often spent mending clothes, polishing silver, or at particularly exhausting times, a quick cat nap tucked away in the corner of the captain’s cabin. Occasionally, he would serve tea to officers chatting over cards or planning over maps, but this morning the cabin was still as the ice, all officers having gone out to trek over to Erebus, as she had the better map collection and, as Thomas suspected, the officers grew tired of Terror, and wished for a change in scenery. He could not blame them; he himself often caught himself longing for the greenness of lush foliage, or some other interior rather than the moody dark of below-decks. Thomas was no stranger to being at sea for long spaces of time, but he certainly was unacquainted with standing still and waiting, trapped in the ice as they were.

Having a small moment to himself, Thomas lingered over the bookshelves around the cabin, reading their spines until he found one that satisfied him, then sat down near the window, opening the book and beginning to read. He had not noticed it as it occurred, but as he read a classic of Plato’s, his mind drifted to the image of Edward Little. The lieutenant had seemed rather depressed when Thomas had brought him his morning meal, and fearful of losing his sight. That had rather upset Thomas, though he did not show it. The pain and desperation, the fear… it had reminded him of a less favorable time. Though they had been on this voyage for some time, the air of professionalism had not fully dropped either, and to see such emotions laid bare from a stoic man was, well, it was rather heartbreaking. One did not enter Her Majesty’s Royal Navy and let their feelings hang clearly on their sleeves. A stiff upper lip was required at all times, a suppressing removal of feeling the standard. Though they were men on earth, they were instruments on water, operating neatly, and with no need for complications. 

But of course there were complications. It would be ridiculous to order otherwise. Men were men, and Thomas was reminded of this fact the moment Little’s voice trembled when he first asked of his sight. 

Little was a kind man. This Thomas knew. He was always helpful, made himself useful, thanked Thomas when he took his plate or filled his cup. He was strong and direct, yet considerate with orders. He also always folded his napkin back up after a meal. Thomas chewed on the inside of his lip, his mind roving over with thoughts of Edward Little. There was a clear image of his sleeping form in his mind, and Thomas realized absentmindedly that he found the man rather handsome. 

Even with a face and hands covered in frostbite, stung red and raw by the ice, and with tears tracing down his cheeks, Edward was kind. He greeted Thomas, addressed him by name, said please and thank you and treated Thomas like a person , rather than a part of the ship. Thomas had always appreciated these qualities in Edward, and yet now more than ever felt drawn to him, felt compelled to ease his pain and answer his every wish, to hand him water and brush his hair out of his face. He wished to speak with him, had adjusted to a comfortability he had not quite approached with any other crew member, but had strangely and wonderfully adopted as of late. He hadn’t quite marked the moment of the shift, just that it had begun much earlier, but he was terribly glad of it now. 

Thomas realized, slowly, that he did care a great deal about this man, and would just about do anything for him. He stared at the blurred pages in front of him for a moment, then realized that what he was coming into knowledge of was far too embarrassing and that he had no business dreaming of Edward like a schoolgirl, and promptly jumped up and began to clean Crozier’s bunk to put any fanciful notion of romance , or anything of the sort out of his head. 

Despite his attempt at distraction, which admittedly worked for a few hours cleaning every speck of dust, past, present, or future from the captain’s cabin, lunchtime rolled around. Thomas heard the lunch bell ring and was jolted out of his state of working meditation, pausing his scrubbing of the table. He set down the rag, placing it back in its bucket, and brought it out into the hallway, placing it to the side. Getting a headstart, he entered the lunch line fairly early, and picked out a plate and held it out. He’d grab a can of Goldner’s later, but as soon as he’d passed through the line, Thomas grabbed a spoon and headed to Edward’s cabin, the meal still steaming. 

He hesitated before knocking, somehow dreading seeing Edward but unable to avoid him, but then rapped quietly on the door. Edward answered with a muffled “Come in,”, and Thomas slid the door open, stepping into the cabin and closing the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Little,” he said. He figured this- if he acted professionally, there could be no attachment on either side. He could not feel anything more than a fellowship with this man; his station did not allow it, nor his status or his responsibilities. And if any were to find out, it would result in a disgrace and embarrassment for Little, being faced with the advances of a sodomite, and Thomas himself would rather not be at the end of a cat-o’-nine ever again. There was danger of flogging, of losing his station as lieutenant, even of hanging. There could be no confusion as to the nature of their feelings towards each other, as any misunderstanding could be dire. Edward did not, could not feel the same, and it was meaningless to try and encourage any further relationship. His fancies were just that; meaningless fancies, dreams of an unattainable thing. He would not let himself indulge in them. 

“Hello, Mr. Jopson,” Edward answered, sitting up in his bed. “I suppose you’ve brought me another feast for lunch again? Shall it be pheasant this time?”

“No, sir.” Thomas replied, hating each syllable he spoke, handing Edward the glass of water where it was set next to his bed. “Only Goldner’s.”

“Oh,” Edward paused. “Well, I guess that will do anyways. I am rather hungry, thank you for bringing me lunch.”

“Of course, sir.” Thomas said, keeping his eyes on the plate. Veal cutlets with tomato sauce. His very least favorite. 

He fed Edward the meal and gave him water, and with no large amount of small talk, he left with a nod and a quiet click of the door. 

His manner of serving continued with the least amount of conversation he could get away with, with the textbook speech of a steward. He pushed himself away from the lieutenant for two days, spending as little time in the cramped cabin as possible, citing the captain's requests and duties. It felt shameful and cruel, but tried to tamp it down by sewing cuffs and arranging tables, busying himself around the deck. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on this whim, not even for the sake of dreaming.

 On the eighth day since Edward had moved to his cabin, making it well over a week since he had returned from the lost watch, frozen and blind, Thomas knocked on the door to the lieutenant’s cabin, tray laden in his arms with Edward’s dinner meal, but heard two voices behind it rather than silence. He paused, listening to try and make out any words, but as he leaned closer, the door slid open. Dr. McDonald stood in the doorway, and Thomas immediately straightened his posture, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Sir,” he started. “I apologize for interrupting. I was bringing Lieutenant Little his dinner, but I can return, if need be.” 

“Ah, Mr. Jopson!” Dr. McDonald said, smiling slightly. “No need to leave. I am just about finished with checking his injuries. Do come in.”

Thomas nodded and entered the cabin, sliding past Dr. McDonald and standing in the corner, out of the way. He at first did not look at anything but the plate in front of him, but soon enough felt eyes upon him, and he glanced up, making quick eye contact with Edward before the lieutenant looked away.

“Lieutenant Little!” Thomas exclaimed, and Edward’s eyes widened. “Your sight! Has it returned?”

“It has indeed,” Dr. McDonald stepped in, putting away his instruments in a leather case. “Only a few hours ago did he say he was able to see light again, and it is slowly improving.” Thomas let out a relieved wobble of a laugh.

“That is very good news, sir.”

Edward nodded, though he looked somehow uncomfortable. He avoided eye contact with Thomas, only staring down at his bedsheets, nodding his head as Dr. McDonald gave him directions and his opinions on his eyes, then closing his eyes and leaning back as the doctor left. Thomas, previously distracted, remembered the tray in his hands, and brought it over to Edward, setting it on the bed next to him. 

Edward seemed entirely willing to ignore his presence in the room, something that he wished not to notice, and Thomas felt it. The man refused to look his way, and Thomas felt a pang of guilt. It seemed as if Edward had noticed his change in demeanor, and had adjusted accordingly. Thomas did not want this, selfishly, though all of his efforts meant to get to that point of professionalism and disconnect. He longed to speak to him in easy companionship, as equals, but he still would not let himself get too comfortable. Too close. That would spell danger for them both. He would not allow himself to even get close enough for imagination. 

“Here is your dinner, Lieutenant Little,” Thomas said quietly after a long, aching moment of silence, and Edward peeked open his eyes. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jopson,” he replied, reaching for the tray and setting it on his lap. He ate, hand shaky but able to bring the spoon up to his lips, and Jopson found himself standing in the corner, eyes tracing the pattern in a floorboard. Wood has very interesting shapes, he thought. It is very nice to look at. It is certainly not the color of Lieutenant Little’s eyes, not those ones shadowed by such lovely eyelashes-

Thomas sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw. He felt shame and guilt creeping hotly up his stomach, his throat feeling tight. To be in a room with Edward was to look upon the entire earth and be bound to one square meter, and he could not do it any longer. 

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” he said abruptly, voice rough. “I have something I need to attend to. I shall be back for your dishes in a bit.”

Thomas made for the door, turning away from Edward, but before he could open it he felt a hand grab his wrist. He spun round and saw that Edward had pulled himself out of bed, in a state of utter disarray, and was staring at him, eyes wide.

“Jopson,” he said, voice quiet but forceful. “Have I wronged you in some way?”

Thomas felt his blood run cold.

“No, sir. Of course not.” came his reply, stunted and short. Edward shook his head, his eyes roving the ground as he let go of Thomas’ wrist. He looked upset, frustrated.

“You say that, but… your manner around me has changed. For the past few days, you have not spoken more words than necessary to me, when before there was much conversation. I don’t understand, Jopson. Have I made you uncomfortable? Or do you resent having to watch over me? For that I apologize, but, please, tell me what has happened.”

“You have not made me uncomfortable. Not at all. I…” Thomas’ voice dropped down, almost to a whisper. “I worry that I have done so to you.”

Edward furrowed his brows, eyes bleary but still staring a hole straight through Thomas. It was like a ray of light shot right through his center, opening him up entirely, dissecting him and laying him bare. He shifted, hands clenching by his sides.

“I have overstepped. I adopted a more casual attitude when around you, and I did not give you the respect your title deserves. I was careless, sir. I apologize. I only wish to… I don’t wish to overstep.”

Edward shook his head, his eyes filled with anger, but sadness as well. 

“Jopson, you are one of the most devoted men I have ever met. I truly admire and appreciate your dedication to your job, and to the role you serve on this ship. Terror could not operate without you. Yet, I have found myself wishing you were to abandon your duties for longer than at mealtimes. Your company is the one I… well, that I look forward to each day.”

“Sir, you do not understand,” Thomas said desperately, trying to keep the curtain pulled between them, but it was slipping fast through his grip.

“My role is to act as part of the ship. To serve the captain, and by extension the officers. If I were to adopt casualty, then I could not do my job. And what I have done is failed to do my job by being unbecoming around you. It is inappropriate, for someone of my ranking and birth, to keep company with those of your own status.”

“That is not true!” Edward cried. “God damn rankings and birth! We’re all men out here, aren’t we?”

“Sir-” 

“And damn sir! You don’t owe me a bloody thing! Call me Edward, for the love of God!”

Edward’s chest heaved, his face suddenly going pale and he stumbled. Thomas rushed to catch him, grabbing his arms, and they ended up pressed together. Edward stared at him, eyes wide and unreadable, and Thomas felt terrified. He could not move.

“Won’t you?” Edward said quietly, almost a whisper. His voice shook.

There was silence, impenetrable, loaded silence, then Thomas swallowed, summoning up every ounce of courage he had.

“Edward,” he said, voice a faint breath. 

Edward colored, then moved his hands slowly from Thomas’ arms up to his face, gently brushing away the stray piece of hair, cupping his face so lightly Thomas could barely tell where his fingers met skin, his face warm, every movement feeling monumental.

“Thomas,” Edward replied, smiling ever so slightly, scared. Thomas could not stop himself from leaning forward slowly, and so tenderly pressing their lips together. 

It was barely a kiss, only a few seconds of contact, but Thomas felt as if all the air in the cabin had gone through the ship’s cracks. 

“I suppose I’ve made myself obvious,” Edward said, after a long moment of silence. and Thomas breathed out a laugh. 

“I as well. I had… I found myself growing fonder and fonder of you each day, sir. And then I grew far too fond of you, I realized, and… was frightened. I am sorry.”

Edward shook his head, running his hand over the side of Thomas’ neck. 

“I am sorry that I ever made you feel frightened. I enjoy your company more than anything, to be honest. It is what has made this whole ordeal bearable. Were it not for your stories and kind words, and your endless generosity, I would be wholly and entirely miserable. Truth be told, I have been enamoured by you for some time. It is embarrassing to say, but, there it is.”

Thomas smiled, taking Edward’s hand in his, ever so gently, like he was holding seawater in his hands. 

“Not at all,” he whispered, this thing between them too fragile for harsh movement. “And I by you.”