Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ross is sharp, but he can't get out of his dress uniform — he spins in front of the tight mirror, tugs buttons. Pulls, releases, and lifts his upper lip in a foxy grin.
Wrinkles his forehead.

— James? - Francis called carefully. He'd managed the short coat quicker than James had, and now he was hesitated with his tight vest.

— Damn buttons, — Ross replied, pressing his clenched fists to his thighs with a jerk.
He was pacing around like a cornered animal.

— Can I help you? — Crozier doesn't look directly at him — he watches from the corner of his eye — he knows that James doesn't like to make eye contact in his moments of weakness, even if they are alone with each other.

— I'll be fine," Ross shook his head sharply, his hair falling like a copper shadow over his face, — Buttons, —he repeated, tapping his fingertips on the button pattern, but the tight gloves made it muffled, — Just buttons, — the thing that made Francis turn to him was the sound of threads cracking.
A quiet-quiet knock.
The thump of a heel.

He ripped it off and tried to hide this.

— James, — Crozier repeated more firmly, stepping up.
He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.

— I'm fine, — the hiss resembled a growl, — Frank, — Ross smiled.
It had to be inviting.
But it came out crooked.

— If, — step closer.

— Will you undo the rest, Frа-а-аnk? — James rushed toward, pushing him with his tense body.
He pressed against, resting chin on his shoulder, his hands behind his back, bad, bad.
There was no inherent diabolical impulse in Ross's movement, just a distorted reflection of his heat.
His breath was feverish, hitting-biting skin-the rubbing was almost painful, bad, bad, bad.

— No, — it was Crozier's turn to refuse, to pull away gently.
To keep at a distance, but not to let go — not to push away, never.

— Don't want to help? — James groaned coldly.
He didn't break free; he grasped Francis's wrists, first firmly, then softer.
If the trembling in Crozier's palms was unnoticeable, then...

— Your hands... — a loud exhale.

— Look at me, — Ross raised his palms to his face, — I'm a wretched wreck, — he hunched over, — How can I hold the lives of others in them if I spill more champagne than I can drink? — chuckle, — What did the governor think of me?

— That before him is the bravest and most handsome man in the whole navy, — Francis assured, — Steadfast, — the touch gentle, — Once saved my life — how can I not trust these hands? — pulling off the gloves is more difficult.

Slowly and under a cornered gaze:
— Don't make fun of me.

— Who said such a thing? — Crozier asked before kissing the pale knuckles.

— I... — James gasped.

— You're here, — мore, — We're back — the expedition is over, — Francis wants to say more.

— Frank, — Ross's lips parted.

— And I won't lose you — again, — holding James hands was like petting a fluttering bird, — If you need a good shoulder, then, — Crozier didn't finish.

— Then I need your fingers, — Ross shuddered, pulling away, but not running away.
He stepped back and stretched out his cloak — not toward himself, toward Francis.

— Always at your service, — and Crozier did not refuse.

— Don't leave me, — James' voice trembled.

— Never, — Frances nodded.

Chapter Text

The sight of Ross hunched over in his nest was entertaining and worrying, and it might have been humorous if not for the burning under his collar and the seriousness with which James actually took it.
— I can't smell it, — he gripped the sheet tighter with whitened fingers, — Nothing, — his face drooped.

— Nothing? — Crozier moved a little closer and asked again.
A nest on the floor was not a good idea.

In response, Ross inhaled noisily and shook his head with a snort:
— Just warmth.

— No great loss, — Francis reached out and touched the tense shoulder, fighting with his natural annoyance.
He could feel the heat bubbling under his skin — the closeness stung even behind his ears.

— I have to, — Ross rolled onto his side, lying with his legs tucked under him.
His own long nightgown was placed under his rosy cheek.
Stolen from under the steward's nose.

— Greedy, — Crozier exhaled.

— How alpha, — James stammered, — How can an alpha help his omega if he can't find it by smell? He rolled over onto his back — I couldn't tell the nest from a pile of sheets and pillows, — he scratched the floor with his heels and arched defiantly.
He defiantly set his belly up.

— You can try again, — Francis suggested, rubbing the palm of his hand on his neck; slowly.
So — that he understands.
So — that he didn't get it wrong.
So — that he could huddle in the nest like before.

Swallowing, Ross rose, but did not try on his throat at once — he reached for Crozier's hand in a surprisingly demanding manner.
He was not refused.

Inhale.

— Damn it,— James slid his nose higher, licking his wrist, — Nothing, — he pulled up, poking his nose above the lowered collar.

Inhale.

— Shh, — Francis had to hold Ross by the edge of his open vest, pulling him hard.
Toward.

— Warm, — the wet breath cooled his pulse, and the hint of a bite made his heart beat faster, — Wet now, — James tried again, letting out a mixture of a muffled laugh and a moan, then flicked his tongue under Francis's ear.
He didn't smell it.

— For the best, — Crozier muttered; he remembered how, in a similar situation — in the past, Ross's sense of smell had been interrupted by penguin stench — but the lack of a distinct scent didn't stop him from doing his duty.

— Edward said he could find his omega and her nest by just one smell, — James coughed.

— Thats why it become so important to you?

— How can I consider myself worthy alpha if I can't give the omega what he deserves? — Ross pulled away.

— Deserves? — Francis asked again.

— More blankets, a better place to nest, time, an alpha able to appreciate fully, and a home where nothing gets in the way, — James's lips pressed into an uneven line.

— Home, then.

— I, — Ross sneered.

— I remember Ann saying that "home is where the heart is," — Crozier catches James on a long-standing confession.
An oath.

— I, — Ross now looked completely cornered, — I can, — he bordered on questioning, — I can, —a feline-like sharp jump.
More pathetic than even the beta was capable of, but making up for it with clumsy willingness and a bite on the Frenice's shoulder.

— If you're not sure, — Francis began.

— Shut up, old man, — James pressed his forehead against his — breathed deeply through his nose, and started sneezing.
So badly that he had to turn away.

— Another time?

— No, — Ross barked.
Convincingly. Enough for a new rush of heat.

Crozier counted James try.

Chapter Text

The first thing James did after learning the truth was bury his face in the seal's fur and inhale noisily:
— I should have known, — he rubbed his cheek, — How Iong ago?

— Since I was born, — echoed Francis.
The sight of Ross studying each spot with all the care and admiration made his heart skip a beat, either in an impulse to tear the pelt from his hands or, the opposite, to press it to his chest.

— Good at hiding, — James stretched out.

— Didn't James Clark Ross himself figure it out before I did? — Crozier leaned forward.

— Maybe, Frank, I knew from the beginning — from our first meeting, — Ross interpreted in his own way, but immediately pulled back his fur, — If I give it up now, — he straightened sharply.
Confused, but not yet embarrassed.

— That's right, — Francis nodded, swallowing.

— Should I put the fur down so you can have it? — at the first words, James was awkward, even tense.

— No.

— But then, — Ross stammered.
His cheeks under his sideburns flashed a spicy blush — alluring, and Crozier couldn't resist:
— Right, — he repeated, and touched.

James didn't pull away, just tilted his head sideways:
— Are you sure?

— James.

— I hope you know what you're getting yourself into.

— I'm sure I do.

— You'll have to put up with me for the rest of your life," Ross warned him.

— On land and on the water," Francis agreed.

— And on the ice," added James, "If you take me under water, I won't resist.

— That's what sirens do.

— There's not much of a difference.

— I'm a little fat for a siren.

— Fine for a silkie

— So, — Crozier began.

— Frank! — I didn't mean it, — Ross recoiled, pulling Francis palm behind him, his skin under his fingers dry and cold.

— It's all right, — Crozier didn't like the change.

— I suppose it would take half my life to prove to you that it should, — James caught Francis's wrist, — To be alive and well, — he clutched, pressing it tighter against his cheek.
All the aristocratic breed receded from his face.

— Like a seal? — badly; Ross shouldn't feel guilty, not with his hands, not because of him — Crozier tried to stroke.
To lead away from the very thought.

— Like a seal, — James stared at the pelt that covered his knees, — Ross's seal, — and his smile was faint, with a tiny dimple at the edge, but his grip was the same.
He lifted the fur so that Francis could pick it up-just like in the old legends.
The sight is ridiculous, uncomfortable, but James doesn't let go — he lashes out.
Ross moved his head to shake off the strands stuck to his forehead.
He was either daring himself to jump off the bed or throw himself into Francis arms.
Thinking.

— Is something wrong? — Crozier asked.

— Later, old man, — James took a deep breath and hunched over, — Give me a minute, — he wrinkled his nose.

- James?

— Just a little longer, — Ross twitched, leaning sharply to the side as he managed to escape the touch, — That's it, — he checked the hide first, then turned his face to Francis woundedly, — I almost ruined it.

— It has withstood many trials, — reassured Crozier, for some reason a burning palm finally finding James's hand under the seal fleece, — It will endure more.

And Ross gave it back:
— I'll keep that in mind

But his palm didn't move an inch, his fingers stiffened.

— But it's not to be tested, — Francis was missing something.
A little proof.

— What a pity, — James gave in, ducking forward and resting his chin on Crozier's shoulder.
Keeping his hands to himself didn't help him.
One careless move and Ross was in the same trap.
Stuck.

The sealskin bound them again.

— And you have something to confess, don't you? — Francis patted James on the back.

— Have you ever heard of a kelpie?

Chapter Text

— I think the captain wants to get under my skirts, — Ross ducked Crozier under his elbow.
Falsely scared, at his ear.
Just enough to sound like a simple exhalation.

— Miss Ross, asking for my protection? — Francis played along.
James in a dress is indeed a tempting sight.
Especially when they're away from the other celebrants.

— Maybe, — tighter; begging under fingers, the coarse lace slipped over the dense fabric of the parade uniform.

— You can count on me, — Crozier tried to pull James closer, but he jammed his heels into the ice, — Miss Ross?

— What a bastard.

— Is he here?

— Yes, — James swallowed noisily, — I can already feel his hands on me.

— In mine, you're safe, Miss Ross.

— I can't believe it.

— I assure you.

— Prove it, kind sir.

— Do you want to leave?

— Maybe, — James repeated, too aloof-so much so that sincere concern flashed across his face and guilt curled coldly in his own chest-Frank.

— Quarters?

— No, — Ross twisted and recoiled, frozen in front of Crozier.
Picked up his top skirt and lowered his head.

— James, — Sailor Francis' mind interprets the gesture in two ways at once.

— I'm trying to flirt with you, — Ross's arms were now crossed over his chest.

— No captain?

— Just you.

— James.

— I wanted to cheer you up, — Ross shrugged, — And the captain's uniform looked good on you, too bad I had to give it back to the owner.

— I remember the skirts on stage had a lieutenant near them.

— I can tell the looks-the captain looked the most closely.

— Can he earn your forgiveness, Miss Ross?

— After the dance, —the foxy squint underlined by a nod (James had no intention of giving Crozier cause for worry or doubt-just agreement), — Or two, and I hope the captain will watch his hands.

— Until after the ball.

— True, he has more power in his quarters.

— Will Miss Ross allow it? — Francis gallantly offered his palm.

— Yes, — James accepted it in a high curtsy, — Lead on, Captain.

— If you insist, Miss Ross.

— And how could you think such a thing of Parry? — James met the hand on his waist with a purr," Is the captain really that jealous?

Chapter Text

— I'll accept, — James wrinkled his nose demonstratively, — Just because I appreciate the work you've done, — he didn't put the small cage on the table, but held it tighter to his chest.
The trapped rat didn't try to bite his thin fingers, but fluttered into a corner.
She saw a bird's claws.

— It was hiding among the theatrical props, — Crozier remarked.

— Indeed, better to chew on costumes than canned goods, — Ross began fiddling with the tiny clip.

— A true prince.

— Are all Irish people so careless with their tongues? — James inquired squeezing the cage bars.
A ripple ran down his face.
Feathers rustled under his high collar.

— James.

— Not everyone who resembling owl prefers rats, — the fluff on Ross's right cheek resembled fuzzy freckles, — And not all sailors are happy with "horse barrels" — the cage door clicked open.

— If, — Francis retreated.

— But I'm pleased, — embarrassment mingled with small speckles, — Next time, bring me something bigger, — James turned his face, distracted, and missed the rat that had jumped out of the crumpled cage.

— James, your officer's dinner, — Crozier didn't want to interrupt him, but he didn't want to upset him either.
A compromise was found in a simple gesture of pointing.

— What? — Ross blinked.

— Damn it, — the deafening flap of wings hid the thump of metal against wood-through the fog of rushed turning, James threw a look at Francis like he had missed the rat.
A flick, and the claws, surrounded by lush feathers, left long streaks on the floor of the cabin.
A quick swipe.
Ross swayed stiffly and fell backward.

— It sneaked away, — Francis bent down and picked up the cage.

— I'll rip your soul out, old man, — James hissed as he arched his legs.
One of his wings rested unpleasantly on the table leg, and his tail spread under his thighs.

— When the time comes, — Crozier corrected.

— Come here, — Ross stretched out, spreading an inner wings pattern.

— Who would have thought the midshipman would turn out to be an important bird, — Francis obeyed.

— Who'd have thought the other midshipman would want to make a contract with him, — James teased, — Though I'd prefer a 'friendly arrangement, — he smiled.
Quite human.

— If the ice doesn't get ahead of you, — Crozier extended his hand and leaned in.

— Ice will have to hurry, — the folds of James's wings caught his cheeks.

The world melted before his eyes — better than the surrounding sheen of his true appearance.
Ross's upturned face disappeared beneath the pale waves.
The familiar smile to the deep dimple on his cheek froze an owl's grin.

— James, stop it, — Francis closed his eyes.

— Like this? — Ross called out.
His grip slipped.

— Like this, — Crozier agreed.
The old — worried — James was back.

— Get used to it, Frank, one day, you'll have to put up with me like this forever, — Ross lifted himself up.

— Some other time, — Francis brushed him off; a heavy lump rose in his throat.

— Some other time, — James repeated after him, "But you can't get away from duty.

— Duty? — Crozier asked quietly.

— You owe me a rat, — Ross reminded him, — Catch it for me. I don't want to miss a well-deserved dinner.

— Now?

— Now. I'll show you the stars in return, — James licked his lips.
The rat has to be pulled into the cage by force — Francis only needs to be asked.

Chapter Text

— Frank, — James's breath is hoarse, tickling naked shoulder, — Don't go away, — he reaches out; the skin under his cheek is smooth — the freckles under his lips are shallow.
Palm pressed against belly.
Fed.
Good.

Francis's fingers slowly, tracing his hand, found his wrist.
Weakly.
He needs time.
Here.

— Don't go away, — Ross's eyelids heaved, — Never, — he snuggled tighter, giving himself up to sleep.
Empty, like the endless ice of a frozen sea, crisscrossed by sled tracks.

— James? — Anne's voice is soft, — A nightmare? — she chooses her words, pondering each one before saying it.
Ann has changed since they returned home.
The years of waiting have left their marks on her pretty face.

— Cold, — Ross shook his head — in the darkness, her nightgown from his shoulder resembled a mourning gown — James leaned up on his elbow, — Francis, would you, — the request cut short.
The place at his side was empty.

— Darling, — Ann pulled up and kissed James on his prickly cheek, then touched his cheekbone.

— Frank? — tried Ross — Anne, he can't be alone — he began to wriggle out of his blanket and his wife's hug — one part of his mind felt sorry for her, while the other remembered the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the drops of tears on the coat's fur and the shape of the button clenched in fist.

— He's gone, — Anne reached for him.

— I'll get him back, — James exhaled, sitting up, shaking the blanket off his lap, — On bad days, he goes down to the fireplace — I shouldn't have reminded him, — Ann's arm ring slumped over his shoulders again, preventing him from standing up.
Pulled him back.

— My love, please, — she said under his ear.

— We won't disappear if you let go, — Ross gently patted Ann's closed, pale, palms, — It's over, — the first step is difficult, almost painful.
The floor beneath his feet is flat, but to tired eyes it feels like a tilted deck.
A bitter clod rises to his throat.
He needs support.
They need support.

— Let's go, — James half-turned, offering his palm to Anne, — Let me prove it, — his fingers trembling.

— My love, — Anne repeated, in her obedience, there was no of the former agility, no open refusal.
Only a constrained nod, and the warmth of the hand that carefully corrected his gown.
A hand that lifted the candle.

— Anne, darling, — Ross leads her; at the door of the empty children's room, he habitually pulls her to him, asking her to slow down.
The children have been staying with Lady Franklin for a long time.
Too long.

— I miss them, — Ann catches James' words with a kiss at the top of the steps.

— I know, darling, I know, — her own cheeks are wet.

— Maybe if the kids were home, Francis would feel better, — Ross, squinting his eyes searching for the line of light under the living room door.
Anne didn't answer, taking him under her elbow at the bottom of the steps.

— Slowly, my love, — it was her turn to lead.
So gently, as if they were dancing.

— We can't leave Francis, — James gasped, pushing the door open with his whole shoulder.
In the living room, besides the extinguished fireplace, they found forgotten cups.
Three.
Two empty and one full.
Now in the company of a low candle.

— He's gone, — the small palm of her hand circled under the spot where the push would leave a new bruise.
With a shake of her head, Anne covered her face with one palm.

— To the garden, — Ross corrected, — I'll wait.

***

— You shouldn't have gone out in the garden at night — just a little longer and I would have followed you.

— In a gown alone? — Francis shifted a little, closer.

— In a gown alone, — James said with a yawn.

— You'd be cold, — Crozier pulled the quilt under Ross's chin.

— Better me than you — Anne won't lose us again, never.

— Greedy, — Francis laughed.

— Maybe, — James snorted and tightly hugged the empty blanket tightly.

Chapter Text

— I should have known, — John Ross said, grabbing the edge of James's high collar and pulling.

— About what? — younger Ross faltered in his step; he'd made the mistake of getting so close.
With the same success it was possible to poke a sleeping polar bear with a gun.

— About your fiancée, — another pull, — Port wench, — John added as the cloth came down to reveal a noticeable mark on pale neck, — Got it from her mother.

— Ann, — James gasped, — Ann is a respectable lady.

— Sure, — John nodded, — Next time ask her to brag about you lower.

— And I'll give her some tips, — younger Ross slapped the older man sharply on the wrist, twisted around, and stepped back.
Not too obviously yet.
He'd promised her — him.

— She's more experienced than you.

— That's enough.

— Or what? You gonna protect her skirt?

— Always, — James exhaled noisily through his teeth, then admitted defeat.
So quickly and quietly that John Ross choked and missed the moment to make another remark.

Younger Ross left the office as a defeated man, but with his last word and his head held high.
And he burst into Francis's rented room as a righteously angry, heated storm.

— Frank! — James started foxily softly, — I was talking to 'him' today, — he woundedly approached the armchair.

— I assume that sir was displeased with something? — Crozier mimicked Ross's habit — any mention of "sir" name put a shadow of annoyance and displeasure on James's face.
Even said in a joking manner.

— By you, — Ross corrected.

— Did he have a reason? — Francis asked, putting the book aside.

— Here, — James tilted his head and pulled down his collar.

— I'm sorry, — began Crozier.
He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or to be prepared for the worst.

— He asked me to give something to my wife, — he squinted familiarly, — But Anne knows the proper way to 'brag about me', — Ross's palms paused and squeezed Francis's knees, — So, I'll have to remind you.

— Oh, really?

— I enjoy knowing who I belong to, — James leaned lower, — Only, let the marks stay between us, and on you too.

— James...

— I'll pick the place myself, — Crozier had to put book in front of him to dampen Ross fox's spunk.

It only worked for a moment.
— Can I? — James stopped.

— If even a single button survived, — Francis thought no longer.
A bad example is an infectious

Chapter Text

— Are we going to argue about which one of us is the ivy? — Ross laughed through the kiss, burning his skin with his warm breath, — A horrible ivy wrapped around a beautiful tree? — he couldn't reach any farther.
Hammock wouldn't let him

— James.

— Francis, — Ross parried, — You're not ivy — you're the most beautiful tree.

— I'm being argued with by the most handsome and dashing explorer in the entire navy, — Crozier looked up and faced James purebred shining.

— A strong one, — Ross continued.

— James.

— Sturdy.

— James, please.

— Without your roots, — touch of weathered lips is soft, — I would be lost.

— James, I beg you.

— Even if you, Frank, were an ivy — then, I'd give you my life, — Ross inhaled noisily, satisfied with the Francis embarrassment, — So you could grow taller than the captain.

— James!

— Up to the Admiral, — Ross squinted plotfully.

— But, — Crozier tried to free his hand, but James' grip is strong, — And you're not ivy.

— Of course, — Ross nodded, — But then why are we so close? — You'd let me, — he released, suspiciously easy, — Put myself around you, wouldn't you?

— Anything, — Francis admitted.

— Anything, then.

— No, — he warned very late; Ross had already gotten dangerously close to the edge of the hammock.
One motion, and...
And the idea of hanging two hammocks over each other didn't seem practically good.

— Would it be bad if we both turned out to be ivy? — after waiting a bit, James lifted himself up over Crozier.

— We'll still have Ed.

— His hammock won't fit in here, — Ross rolling his eyes.

— He won't be offended.

— My tree. Or a bush or a flower or a moss, — James leaned down and pressed his forehead to Francis's, — I won't let go.

— You'll regret it someday, — Crozier smiled faintly, ruffling Ross's hair.
From ear to temple.

— Never, — James murmured, — There's enough of us — for two.

— Of course, — but Francis's fingers found a gray strand.