Chapter Text
Just over a week later, seven o’clock found James Fitzjames in Conference Room B, combing through his notes on banquet planning. “As soon as we get the RSVPs we should start working on the seating chart,” said James. He’d stayed past the time he would usually have gone home on a weekday to talk to Francis, and he wanted to get through this meeting in a timely manner.
“A seating chart?” Francis leaned back in his chair, looking at James with such a dubious expression that James had to fight the urge to squirm. “We’re going to assign seats?”
“At least some of them. I thought we could divide the more prominent guests between the tables and ensure the presence of at least one librarian or volunteer at that table who knows the person and can be responsible for keeping conversation flowing over dinner.”
Francis was silent. He looked good these days. He’d taken two weeks of time off after the meeting with John Franklin, and James had wondered if he was planning to quit, especially given the dark circles under Mr. Jopson’s eyes during his absence.
And then Francis had come back to work, clear-eyed, skin glowing, posture improved. It had taken James a few days to realize what the difference was: he was sober. For real. He smelled like woodsy soap instead of whiskey. And here James had thought he’d had a crush on him before.
James realized Francis was still looking at him, expecting him to elaborate. “I just want everyone to have a nice time,” added James lamely.
“Except for the staff and volunteers who are playing the bon vivant? Not all of us have your gift for ass-kissing.”
“I’ll assign you to the Rosses.” James had, in fact, already paired each VIP with someone they’d actually get along with. He himself would be sitting with the Barrows.
“Fine,” said Francis.
The door to the conference room opened and Thomas Jopson poked his head in. “So sorry to interrupt - someone is asking if we have projectors to lend?”
“There should be one,” said Francis. “It’s in the circ workroom, in the metal cabinet on the shelf under the colored paper in a black case. You have to open up the case when you’re checking it out because the barcode is on the bottom of the damn thing. Two-week loan period.”
“Thank you! I’ll let you get back to your meeting.” Jopson bobbed his head obsequiously and ducked out.
The first time James had seen Francis and Jopson staffing the circulation desk together, they'd been laughing at some inside joke and alternating sips from the same can of Diet Dr. Pepper. For the longest time James had assumed they were sleeping together, but now he didn’t think so. Simply sleeping with a subordinate would be far too ordinary for Francis Crozier, and also if they were sleeping together they’d probably try to make it less obvious.
“What were you saying, James?” said Francis.
James cleared his throat. “I also contacted several potential caterers to get estimates. By far the cheapest is a place called Goldener’s.”
“Well, that’s that decision made then.”
“Have you heard of them before? Or been there?”
“No,” Francis admitted.
“I thought maybe you and I could go there to try the food. Just to be certain it’s suitable before we place the order for the banquet.” In James’ experience, things that seemed too good to be true often were.
“If you insist.”
James looked down at his calendar. “Would dinner on Monday work? I know you don’t work then.”
Francis clicked around on his laptop, probably hoping a prior appointment would magically appear on his Outlook calendar. If he really wanted to, he could lie about being busy and send James alone. “Monday would be fine. Six o’clock? Just send me the address and I’ll be there.”
–
Goldener’s, inauspiciously, was in a strip mall in between a Papa John’s and a Fedex store, and when James arrived, his was the only car in the parking lot.
After he parked he pulled up the website on his phone and squinted at the pictures of food. He hadn’t looked closely at them before he called to ask about a quote for catering, but now something about them seemed strange.
Wait. Were they AI-generated?
James looked up at the sound of a car engine. Francis had pulled into the parking spot next to him, right on time.
James scrambled out of his car. “Hello, Francis.”
Francis was looking into the front window of Goldener’s. “Well, they’re at least unpretentious.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” The window was filthy, and the interior of the restaurant was entirely unadorned, one plastic folding table and chairs on red-brown tile.
When Francis opened the door and allowed James to enter ahead of him, the employee standing behind the cash register looked astonished to see them.
“We’d like to order food?” said James. His voice made the statement into a question without his permission.
“We only do carryout,” the employee warned.
“Alright,” said James, exchanging a glance with Francis. “Do you have disposable silverware you can give us?”
The employee yanked open a few drawers and produced one set of plastic silverware wrapped in plastic. “I’ve only got the one,” he said, somewhat apologetically.
“You can have it,” said Francis to James. “I’ve got a spork in the car.”
“Great!” said James, making a valiant attempt to seem enthusiastic about their prospects.
Francis ordered beef bourguignon with vegetables and James ordered herb roasted chicken with kale salad. It was, indeed, very cheap.
The cashier disappeared into the kitchen. James and Francis stood in silence, side-by-side, wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. Briefly James wondered if the cashier assumed they were on a date, and what a horrific date experience this would be.
A few minutes later the cashier returned with two styrofoam containers. James and Francis both thanked him and went back outside.
James stood and watched as Francis unlocked his car and retrieved a green plastic spork - sturdy, the kind of thing someone would take camping. “Do you carry that around with you everywhere?” said James.
“Mr. Jopson gave it to me a few Christmases ago,” said Francis reproachfully. “It comes in handy.”
The two of them sat down on the crumbling curb out front of the restaurant. James balanced his styrofoam container on his knees and opened it to discover literally the saddest piece of chicken he’d ever seen, and he’d been through an unseasoned-chicken-breast-and-brown-rice phase himself in college. The kale salad was limp and brown around the edges.
James stole a glance at Francis’s food and saw slop that would have embarrassed even the most shameless elementary-school cafeteria worker.
Francis used his spork to transfer some meat and vegetables into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “I wonder if it’s really horse?”
James was still trying unsuccessfully to use his plastic fork and knife to saw a piece off of his chicken. Finally he managed a bite. “Mine isn’t very good either.”
A delivery driver went out of the Papa John’s next door, carrying a stack of pizza boxes that smelled downright mouthwatering, and threw a pitying glance down at James and Francis as she passed them.
“Well,” said Francis. “I’m glad you suggested trying this ahead of time so we know not to order it for the party. But I’m not glad I have to eat it myself.”
“I do know some things about party planning,” said James.
Francis looked over at him, his blue eyes dark in the evening light. “I know you do.”
When they’d first met, and James had seen Francis sparring with John Franklin during staff meetings, he’d wondered why on earth someone as unwilling to get along with people as Francis Crozier had chosen a career that involved working with the public. And then he’d seen Francis with patrons, and realized that he was actually quite good at it. He was patient helping old people use the computer, interpreting the unintelligible questions of children, helping people fill out applications for public assistance, dealing with patrons who broke the rules. James was not that kind of librarian, and he admired Francis for it.
James stabbed a piece of his kale salad, brought it to his mouth, and suppressed a gag at the bitterness. The silence between them stretched unbearably long. “So, why did you become a librarian?” James said finally.
Francis stared out at the parking lot. “I was an academic first. My PhD is in geophysics. I spent a while studying magnetism, and then how sea ice moves and forms in the Arctic. But after a while I realized I didn’t want to do that forever. The actual work involved in being a professor - department politics, writing grant proposals - wasn’t what interested me. And it was depressing me anyway, studying a system in decline. And I’d been volunteering at the public library, and enjoyed working there, so…” Francis gestured vaguely. “Now here I am.” He looked back at James. “What about you?”
“I majored in art history. But my aunt was a librarian when I was growing up, so I knew what the job involved. And… I like the culture, I guess. More accepting of certain things, in terms of gender and sexuality, than some other fields. Though I suppose that’s probably not on your radar.”
Francis barked out a short laugh. “It’s not as obvious as I think it is, is it? I’m bisexual. And I like the culture of librarianship too. Physics is better now than it used to be, but…”
“Oh,” said James, so surprised he even stopped tasting the bitterness of his salad. Francis Crozier, bisexual? Francis was one of the butchest librarians James knew, even including the woman in his MLIS graduating class who’d met her wife at a local Harley Davidson enthusiast meetup.
In one of James’ first library jobs, his boss had assigned him to sort through a large donation of books related to food and pull out the cookbooks. He’d thought it would be a simple task. But then he encountered a book called Restaurants of the French Riviera where every chapter ended with a recipe - was that a cookbook? How about a book about garlic, with a long section of recipes at the back? What about Great Birthday Parties for Kids of All Ages and the three chapters of recipes for Birthday Snacks, Birthday Entrees, and Birthday Desserts?
Truth be told, he’d always had trouble with labels. For himself, for others. But it was a librarian’s job, wasn’t it? To give each book a label, a place in the world that said what it was and where it belonged, and arrange them in neat rows for the public’s perusal?
The setting sun lit the windows of their cars up orange. Francis made a surprised noise and spat the bite of food he was chewing back onto the styrofoam container.
“Are you alright?” said James.
“I bit down on something hard,” said Francis. “What in God’s name…?” He held something up between his thumb and forefinger, and James saw the glint of something metal.
“Wow,” said James. “That’s…”
“Not the way my mum made beef stew, for sure,” said Francis. He flicked the piece of metal across the parking lot, and they both watched it bounce a few times before coming to rest, gleaming. Then Francis turned back to James, and James saw that he was smiling. “Aren’t you going to keep eating? Maybe you’ll find something even more exciting in yours.”
–
Later that night, James’ phone lit up with a text from Francis. Are you also shitting your guts out right now?
–
In the early afternoon on the day of the banquet James and Francis arranged the tables and chairs according to their plan, made sure the projector and clicker and microphone all worked, and then went home to change and prepare themselves.
When James returned to the library, he breathed a sigh of relief. Francis was already back, Silna (their guest of honor) was chatting happily with Goodsir, and the caterers (not Goldener) had taken over the kitchen in the break room. Each table looked perfect, with the silverware and white tablecloths and centerpieces all set out. And James knew he looked amazing himself, in a deep magenta blouse and gold earrings with black pants and flats.
A ruggedly handsome man in a blazer and his equally gorgeous wife were talking to Francis. Francis caught his eye and waved him over.
“James, meet James,” said Francis, eyes twinkling. He was wearing a blue cable-knit sweater that perfectly set off the color of his eyes over a cream-colored collared shirt and dark blue striped tie. “This is James Clark Ross, my former colleague and current Professor of Physics, husband of Anne Ross, Professor of Data Science. And this is James Fitzjames, director of technical services and party planning savant.”
“Oh, thank you,” said James. “It’s nice to meet you.” He shook both Rosses’ hands. He’d heard James Clark Ross’s name before, and knew that he was a friend of Francis’s. He was also one of the most significant donors to the Friends of the Library organization.
“I’m shocked that there aren’t any drinks here, Frank,” said Ross. “Even a cash bar. Do you have a flask?”
James was floored. He didn’t know? Francis had been sober almost three months now.
Francis cleared his throat. “I’ve stopped drinking.”
“Oh,” said Ross, sounding about as awkward as James felt. “I’m really happy for you, Francis.”
“Thank you,” said Francis. “So, how’s the geomagnetism project going?”
Ross groaned. “Oh, awful.”
As James listened to Ross say a bunch of words he didn’t even know the meanings of, he grew slowly more alarmed that John Franklin wasn’t present. He should have been here. He should have been schmoozing.
“Francis, have you heard from John today?” James said when there was a lull in the conversation.
Francis looked surprised, then craned his neck to look around the room. “No? He should be here.” He looked down at his watch. It was now five o’clock. “He said he’d be here by four-thirty, and he’s supposed to introduce Silna’s talk at five-thirty.”
“Excuse me,” said James brightly to the Rosses, and stepped away from the crowd. When he was out of the party room he called John from his cell phone. Come on, John. He couldn’t have forgotten, could he?
James’ relief when his call was answered was destroyed instantly when he realized he wasn’t talking to John Franklin.
“Hello, James,” said a woman’s voice. “This is Jane - I meant to call you, but I just got so swept up in things -”
“What’s happening?” demanded James. “Where is John?”
“We’re at the hospital.”
“ What?”
“Yes, John got into a little fender-bender on the way to the library…”
“And he’s in the hospital??”
“Well, after he called me to let me know what happened, he got out of the car and walked a little ways into the woods, and he ran into a bear.”
James was a little worried he was about to faint.
“He’s in surgery now. Oh, it’s just awful! I know how much he was looking forward to your little party. You can’t reschedule it, can you?”
“No, we can’t reschedule it!” James snapped. “Everyone is already here!” He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry to hear he’s in the hospital, and I hope everything goes well. But I need to go figure out what we’re going to do without him.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find out anything more.”
“Thank you, Jane. I’ll talk to you soon.”
James hung up. He counted slowly to ten in his head, eyes closed, and then went back into the reception room and beelined for Francis.
“Francis. I need to speak with you right now.”
Francis followed him out into the hall. “What’s wrong?”
“I called John and his wife picked up. John got attacked by a bear.”
“Mother fucker! ” said Francis, in the hushed voice of someone who would much rather be bellowing. “ Fuck, I’m so glad you were keeping an eye on the time and called.”
James took a deep breath. “You need to introduce Silna. I could do it if you really, really don’t want to, but I’d rather not, and technically you’re John’s second.”
“Do you have a copy of what he planned to say?”
“No. Maybe there’s one in his office?”
James followed at Francis’s shoulder as he unlocked the door of John’s office and flipped on the light switch. Francis efficiently yanked open the desk drawers and flipped through file folders, turning up nothing that resembled a speech, and for a moment James despaired until Francis sat down in John’s desk chair and typed in John’s username to the computer.
“You know his password??” said James.
Francis only made a noncommittal noise. But apparently he did. After logging in, Francis opened up Microsoft Word and pulled up the list of recent files.
“Ah. Here we are.” Francis hit print, waited for the sound of the printer coming to life, and then logged off John’s computer again.
Francis grabbed the still-warm speech off the printer and started reading it. Then he frowned, picked up a felt-tip pen, and started crossing words out.
“What are you doing?” said James. “John has been working on that speech for weeks!”
“Yes, well, if he was here he could quote the Bible all he wanted, but I’m not going to.”
“He quotes the Bible??”
Francis said nothing as he flipped the page. He was crossing out a lot. James felt like he was going to throw up.
“If you don’t go back to the party now people will wonder where we are,” said Francis without looking up. “I’ll meet you there.”
There was nothing he could do but trust Francis’s judgment. James took his leave.
–
At five twenty-five, Francis slipped back into the party room, caught James’ eye, and nodded. At five twenty-nine, everyone was seated and quiet. At five-thirty on the dot, Francis stepped behind the podium and tapped the microphone. He smiled. He looked good.
“Good evening, everyone.” His brogue was as steady and soothing to the ear as a cup of hot cocoa. “As you may have noticed, I am not John Franklin - unfortunately he couldn’t make it tonight. My name is Francis Crozier, Director of User Services, and on John’s behalf and on the behalf of all the staff here I would like to welcome you to the seventeenth annual volunteer appreciation holiday party. To all of our volunteers - thank you for the amazing work you do throughout the year. The library wouldn’t be nearly as nice as it is without all of you.” Francis smiled, put his hands together, and a polite round of applause went up from the assembled audience.
After the applause died down, Francis continued. “I hope you all have found the hors devours worth the trek through the cold to get here, but even if you haven’t, we have something even more special than usual planned for you this year. Silna, if you have not yet had the pleasure of reading her work, is the author of many fantastic books, including most recently To Speak Without Tongues: A Father and Daughter’s Journey Across the Ice, and my personal favorite, her 2016 work Arctic Philosophy in a Melting World, which taught me so much about Indigenous political and ethical thought . We have copies of all her books here - or at least we do when they’re not checked out - or, better yet, you could go purchase them at a local bookstore.”
Francis gestured to where Silna was sitting next to Goodsir. “Without further ado, please join me in welcoming to the microphone, Silna.”
Francis shook her hand as he handed over the microphone, and then returned to his table with the Rosses.
“Thank you, Francis, for that kind introduction.” Silna was wearing a black skirt, thick tan sweater, and beaded earrings, and James was sitting close enough to the front to see that the smile dancing around her eyes. “I always find it worthwhile to visit the library. I would like to thank the library for inviting me, and put in a word to the rest of you for extending your generosity a little further: I have heard that a special fund has been set up towards replacing the roof, which is badly in need of it, and as I’m sure you can guess, if one doesn’t schedule a time to replace it, the roof will schedule itself.”
Nobody seemed quite sure how to react to that, but Silna only smiled and went on with her talk.
James had been a little bit worried that the audience would be bored, but he needn’t have been. Silna’s most recent book was about her and her father’s trips across Canada to visit Netsilik people who had been adopted as children to white families, and she told a few stories that hadn’t made it into the book, accompanied by travel pictures.
After the talk Silna took a few questions from the audience and then everyone sat down for dinner.
–
The caterers were the last ones to leave, taking the white tablecloths and centerpieces with them. Besides James and Francis, that is, who had stayed behind to stack up the chairs and fold up the tables. (James overheard Francis having a hell of a time convincing Jopson to leave and go celebrate with the other librarians rather than stay and help. And seen Jopson’s lips quirk into a smile for a fraction of a second before his calm professionalism returned, and he said “Have fun, sir.”)
“Well,” said Francis, hands on his hips as he surveyed the empty room. “We did it. Now we don’t have to think about party planning anymore.”
“Until next year,” said James.
Francis groaned.
“Francis,” James started. “I… I hope you didn’t find working with me too unbearable. For my part, I am glad I got to know you.”
“I’m glad I got to know you, too,” said Francis. “You really know what you’re doing, when it comes to throwing a party.”
“Thank you. And - you did a wonderful job with the speech.”
“Thank you. Some of what John wrote…” Francis shook his head. “I’m glad I was the one to give it. However unfortunate the circumstances might be. Did he really get attacked by a bear?”
“Jane said he got into a fender-bender, wandered off into the woods, and ran into a bear. And he was in surgery when I called, so it must have been pretty bad.”
Francis, absurdly, started laughing, which made James start laughing too. “God, I hope he doesn’t die,” said James.
“Me too. His wife would probably try to make us rename the library after him. And then we’d have to put together a search committee to find a new director.” Francis shook his head. “I’d rather fight a bear myself than put together a committee.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Hopefully not for a good long while.”
Francis was smiling, and James couldn’t tear his gaze from Francis’s face. They were standing so close, now, and Francis reached out to touch James’ elbow. His expression was so sincere James couldn’t stand it for one more second.
James leaned in and kissed him.
“ Oh,” Francis breathed, and James kissed him again. Francis’s arm was around his lower back, firm, and James slung his arms over Francis’s shoulders. “I didn’t realize my speech was that good,” said Francis, making no move to pull away.
James snickered into Francis’s shoulder. “It’s not just the speech. I… I’ve admired you for a while, Francis. Even when you were fighting with John in every meeting, I always knew you were the best librarian I’ve ever known. And the way you look in a sweater should frankly be criminal, I don’t know how I can be expected to get any work done at all with you-”
Francis cut him off by kissing him again. James shouldn’t have been surprised that Francis was a good kisser; he seemed like he should be, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear, with Francis’s arms around him and Francis’s hot mouth open against his. He wanted to do more than kiss.
“I don’t make a habit of sleeping with coworkers,” said James. “But if you don’t have any other plans for the rest of the evening...”
“Much as I would like to, I think tonight I’m too tired for anything athletic.”
“That’s fine! We could just do hand stuff,” said James, and then was immediately embarrassed. What was he, a high schooler?
But Francis put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I would be honored to do hand stuff with you, James.”
Then they both dissolved into a fit of laughter again, broken only when Francis kissed him so forcefully his back hit the wall. “Where are we doing this?” said Francis. “My house is hardly tidy enough to receive the handsomest librarian I know.”
“My office has a couch in it.” The next time John Franklin lingered too long on that couch distracting James from his actual work, it would give James some satisfaction to know that he’d stroked Francis off on that very cushion.
“Perfect,” said Francis.
James took his hand, led him through the dark library into Technical Services, the motion-activated lights flickering on in their wake, and unlocked the door to his office. Even though they were the only people in the building, he locked the door behind them and closed the blinds.
They fell onto the couch side-by-side. The atmosphere might have been a mood-killer, James’ family photos and professional development literature looking down on them, but James didn’t see anything but Francis.
“Now get your cock out.” James reached over and grabbed the tube of hand lotion out of his desk drawer. “You know I really like you because this is expensive hand cream.”
“You keep hand lotion in your desk drawer?” said Francis, grinning as he unzipped his pants.
“Yes, my hands get chapped in the winter.” Slicking his palm up, James realized what Francis was implying. “What are you- Francis! It’s not because I’m masturbating at work!”
“I don’t know what you get up to all day - oh, James -” Whatever Francis was about to say next was lost as James wrapped a hand around his cock. Francis was still mostly soft, but that was more than fine by James.
James started out gentle, chasing more kisses from Francis’s lips. He was happy to take his time, enjoying the warmth of Francis’s thick shaft in his palm, the way Francis’s breathing caught against James’ lips. “Christ that feels good, fuck, yes, just like that James-”
James paused only to pull Francis’s hand (warm, insistent) away from his own crotch. “If you keep touching me like that I will make a mess of my trousers and I don’t want to cum before I’ve finished with you.” His voice sounded breathless.
“If you insist,” said Francis, and touched James’ cheek, tangled a hand in his hair to keep kissing him.
“Mmm, I do,” said James. Francis was fully hard now, each little twitch of his cock an unmitigated delight.
“I’m close,” Francis said, his hips bucking up into James’s hand.
James grabbed a tissue from the desk with his left hand. “Then cum for me, darling, that’s it.”
If such a thing were possible, James would have saved Francis’s strangled groan as he came (copiously) to have forever. As it was, he could only hope to hear it many more times in the future.
James tossed the tissue into his office trash can and went back to kissing Francis.
“My turn, now?” said Francis.
James’ hands fumbled for a moment on his zipper, but in a moment his eager prick was bared, then covered again almost immediately by Francis’s hand. The pink head of it protruded from Francis’s thick fist.
“You gorgeous man,” said Francis. “Will you let me use my mouth?”
“If you like,” managed James, and then Francis was bending over his lap, kissing the head of James’s cock and taking it into his mouth.
Oh, fuck. Oh, Francis had definitely done this before. James had to close his eyes before the image of the back of Francis’s head as Francis bent over to suck his cock made him shoot off humiliatingly quickly.
Francis’s strokes picked up speed as he suckled at the tip, and then he dove deeper, until James could literally feel the head of his cock bumping against Francis’s soft palate. “Oh - oh bloody hell Francis -”
Francis’s shoulders shook with stifled laughter as he swirled his tongue around the edge of the head. His other hand groped lower, massaging James’ balls. He pulled off a little, leaving the whole shaft shiny with spit as he stroked it with his hand to lavish further attention with his tongue onto the tip.
James’ hips bucked helplessly, and Francis held him down to the couch with one hand.
“Francis, Francis you’re going to make me cum.”
Francis pulled off for half a second, just long enough to say “that’s the idea” before diving back down.
“I mean I’m going to cum in your mouth if you don’t stop right now!”
Francis hummed something unintelligible, and James’s orgasm forced its way out, making him gasp as he ejaculated into Francis’s warm, wet mouth. Francis instantly started coughing as he pulled off and groped for a tissue to spit into, which made James wonder if he was really as experienced at this as he’d seemed.
“Are you alright?” asked James.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Francis’s voice was hoarse. “That was wonderful.”
“Oh good. I thought so too.” James waited for Francis to sit back down and then leaned over and kissed him again, more chastely this time. His fingers stroked over the ginger-blond strands of Francis’s hair.
“Would you ever consider fucking a coworker a second time?” asked Francis. “Because I’d really like to do this again sometime on a real bed.”