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“I don't blame you for being suspicious, but you haven't been given all the information to make the right decisions. You've been kept in the dark,” Tozer kept his voice low as he spoke, his body edging in closer as Little stared at the blankets and furs on the ground.
Edward looked stricken and he shook his head. “Sergeant, the Captains know what they're doing,” he started, before sinking into silence as Tozer's words took root in his mind, doubts tugging at the loose ends of his imagined arguments.
“After all we've been through, you should know I wouldn't tell you this unless I could trust you. Just listen, hear us out,” Tozer set a hand upon Little's arm and squeezed. “It's a proposal, not a full-blooded mutiny.”
Edward squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, letting the tone of Tozer's voice seduce his senses. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
*
The steam from Tozer's breath hung in the crisp air for a moment, before dissipating away. He adjusted the strap and glanced back, patting Private Hammond on the shoulder, nodding at the men behind them, and then to Edward as he polished his tinted glasses.
“All set, men?” Edward asked cheerfully as he put on the glasses, relieved at no longer having to squint with the reduced glare.
The sledge parties set off in high spirits, cheers echoing on the ice as they went their separate ways.
Edward's team soon settled into the rhythm, walking on with dour determination, interspersed now and then with a grumble or two about food. Tozer and Hammond took turns on patrol, swapping to help drag the gear. Edward had vague thoughts of wild animal attacks, but they saw nothing, not even a bird. Fishing his pocket-watch from an inner pocket, Edward looked up at the pale blue sky with its wan yellow sun, before checking the time.
“All right, set up camp and fix some supper, men. I've heard enough bellyaching for today,” Edward said jovially as he hooked his harness back on the sledge, rummaging around for the box of instruments.
“Come on, look lively,” Tozer cried out, clapping his hands at Manson who was staring open-mouthed at the horizon.
“Feels so big,” Manson wondered out loud.
Tozer gave him a wink and a small shove in the back. “That's what the doxies always said to me, mate.”
Amidst the laughter, Edward couldn't conceal his grin, despite determinedly making a show of examining his notebook. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tozer looking at him, so he burrowed his chin further down into the book and pushed his smile into a more neutral expression, asking innocently, “Does it usually take this long to get a tent up, Sergeant?”
As Manson shoved some poles into the snow, Tozer shook up the canvas and thought better of taking the question as an innuendo, despite Little's evident struggle to keep a straight face. “No, sir. Be up in no time.”
“Good man,” Little let his smile shine over his face, then turned to inspect the little fire being stoked under the portable stove. The tiny, orange flames seemed so out of place here, a blaze of bright colour challenging the milky yellow sun and standing out amongst the spectral whites and blues of the ice, snow, and sky.
The notebook was soon filled with more entries as Little took magnetic readings, atmospheric pressure, and temperature. Tozer watched him as the lieutenant charted the sun's position low in the sky, making calculations in his neat script.
“I can't fathom how you do all that,” he said in awe.
“To be fair, it's mostly transcribing numbers off a scale. There's a set formula for calculations and allowing for some adjustments,” Little answered modestly, adding with a small laugh. “It's just a matter of practice makes perfect. At least, I hope so. Lieutenant Irving can always check my sums when we get back.”
Later that night, Little shivered and huddled into the blankets, curling his legs into the soft warmth of the sheepskin rug. Still, a bed is a bed, thought Little to himself. There was a rustle of fabric behind him as Tozer closed the gap between them, pulling a coat over them as he matched Little's position, one arm wrapped over Edward's shoulder.
“Bloody hate the cold, sir,” Tozer muttered sleepily.
“It's not like you and the lads had a choice to be here, is it?" Little sighed, adding dreamily, "You're warm as toast, Tozer.”
Tozer moaned softly. “I could murder some toast right now. Dripping honey over it, too.”
Little clicked his chattering teeth in annoyance. “Damnation, I forgot to get Gibson to raid the store for honey and marmalade. When we get back to the ship, I'll treat you.”
Mumbling softly to himself, Tozer drifted into sleep, saying, “I'll be dreaming of your honey now.”
As Tozer's breathing grew slower, Little relaxed into his body heat, and settled into an almost blissful sleep, marred only by Tozer's snoring filtering into his dreams.
*
“So, anyway. Young and Evans have this project going. They're trying to plot every point in the world that all the Terrors have been to,” Tozer paused to wipe food from his lips before continuing. “They basically kidnapped Jopson and wouldn't let him up from the table until he'd pointed out every last league of Crozier's Antarctic voyage. Including all that noodling about in the South Atlantic for the magnetic measurements.”
“Noodling!” Manson laughed.
“Which is where Mr. Farr comes in,” Tozer picked up again, tousling Farr's Welsh wig. “Jopson points at Cape Town and mentions something about an absconding sailor, then he points at some tiny island in the middle of nowhere and says how strange that said absconding sailor didn't try again. Then he points to Hobart-town, and simply looks at Farr with that creepy smile on his face.”
Little looked at Farr expectantly, waiting for the punchline.
Farr shrugged non-committally, “I accidentally got lost on shore a few times.”
“Jumped ship is what I heard,” laughed Tozer, giving him a nudge. “Twice.”
“Like I said,” Farr slowly started, waving his hand as laughter erupted in the group.
Edward caught Tozer's eye and laughed with him. “I take it, this time you're here with us for the duration?”
The question may have directed at Farr, but it was Tozer's nod of assent that Edward sought.
*
Whispered conversations cut through the silence aboard Terror as Edward descended to the stark quiet of the orlop.
He'd seen Tozer return from Erebus to hold a meeting with the few remaining Marines, their huddled-together bodies tense as they spoke. He couldn't hear what Tozer was saying to them, but he had his arms around the shoulders of a man on each side and they similarly joined arms with their fellows. Once he'd finished speaking, they drifted apart, and Tozer stared into the cookstove for a moment, crossed arms clutching himself tightly. As some crewmen gathered nearby, he tore himself away and went below, with Edward finding himself following.
Tozer was leaning against a crate, half-hidden in shadow, hugging himself once again. As Edward softly approached, he saw Tozer's eyes squeezed shut and he hesitated, wondering if he should leave. The choice was taken away from him as Tozer opened his eyes and saw him, quickly coming to attention, a fleeting expression of alarm crossing his face.
Edward held a hand out, his voice soft and quiet. "At ease. I don't wish to intrude, but I just wanted to say that you were outstanding back there. You saved so many men."
"Should've saved more," Tozer fought to keep his voice even, trying not to direct his bitterness towards Little.
Edward nodded in understanding, one hand tentatively reaching out to Tozer's shoulder. "It wasn't meant to be," he said before falling silent.
He found himself enveloping Tozer as he moved into Edward's shoulder, Tozer's strong arms wrapping around Edward's waist as they fell into the shadows. Edward felt Tozer's facial hair brush against his muttonchops as he raised his head, their lips pressing together desperately as they stumbled into a kiss.
*
The tent was tattered this time, and the furs smelt rank. There was shale, not ice this time.
Edward slept fitfully, dreaming of a time when there was honey, when there was toast, when there was civilisation.
A hand drew warm and slow across his aching, shivering body and he clutched gratefully at it, knowing that Solomon would meld his form to his own, sharing the heat from his still strong body.
Edward had made his bed, now he was lying in it.