Yours is even more glowing, you know. It's overwhelming, sometimes. But I want to live up to it.
I make mistakes too, you know. And I think that's okay, as long as we haven't hurt each other on purpose, and we're open and honest with each other, as we have been. And, if I can be COMPLETELY honest? Our circumstances are so bizarre that most regular rules of courtship don't apply. Try to just think about me instead of what you "should" be doing. It's about me and you and nothing else.
I apologise. I assure you I am capable of proper English comportment.
In one of the good ones, we've found a beach. There are palm trees, and blue waters. I admit that you were wearing very little in that one. And then nothing at all.
In many of the good ones, we are somewhere other than here. Often London or Edinburgh.
The one where you come back with me to California. We'd drink fruity drinks and get a little sunburned and collect seashells afterthe Saturday matinee. You'd better bring extra towels if you want to get my swimsuit off, though. There's some places I don't want sand.
I'd like to see England properly, instead of like this. Or Ireland. My family came from there around your time actually, during the famine. It's its own country, now.
I do love your American accent, Tim. It's very charming.
That sounds so very perfect. I would bring a mountain of towels.
Tim, please do not be offended, but I admit due to your faith I had assumed you were of Irish descent. You know, the captain of our sister ship, The Terror, was an Irishman. He was a fine man, one I admired greatly. The last I saw him I still held hope that he would survive.
I'm not offended. He must have been very good at what he does to climb the ranks like that as an Irishman. By my time, we're more or less assimilated, at least in America. But it wasn't like that for my grandparents.
...have you looked into it much yet? They might know more now than they did when I was in school.
Thank you. If you like one of these days I shall imitate my father's for you.
Oh, he was. He did his very best by his men, I truly believe that.
No, I imagine it was not. But I am glad that such prejudices are less of a problem for you, personally.
I have in my possession a book from the library, on naval disasters. There is a chapter entitled "Franklin's Lost Expedition." I cannot seem to muster the will to read it. I know it is incredibly cowardly of me.
"Lost." I think that may say it all.
Forgive me, I do not mean to go morbing on about it. Please know that I am supremely grateful to be here, now.
I don't think it's cowardly. It feels uncomfortable reading about your life in a history book. I'm not notable enough to be there by name, but my boss is pretty infamous. It's tough even though my office didn't have as tragic of an ending.
I could read it first, if you want. I could judge how sensitive it is. Or try, at least. But it was the last few years of your life, it's fair to think about it. Even if it's morbid. You can talk to me about anything.
I meant because he's from Fife, but now that you mention it...
You make a good point as always. But it feels cowardly all the same.
I would not ask that of you. You do so much for me already. I try not to dwell on it, and I manage not to for the most part. I have my research to distract myself with, and films. But sometimes I find myself overwhelmed with terrible thoughts.
I dream of it often. Sometimes you are there. Those may be the worst.
If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not think of your father too much when I'm trying to flirt with you.
Okay. Just know that if you do ever want to talk about it, Iโm here. Itโs no burden to me. What you went through was long and terrible, I donโt think anyone would expect you to get over it in just six weeks.
Thank you. But it feels like I should have left it behind.
Oh, Tim. Such terrible things. Sometimes we are on the ice, and I know we are being stalked and I know I can do nothing to protect you. Other times you are with me in the tent and you are ill, and I am trying to hide you so that you won't be killed because you can no longer haul. I keep looking for anything to hide you behind or under but there is nothing and I can hear footsteps on the shale.
I do not sleep after such dreams, not without aid.
[ He hesitates to ask. Because...the rules are there for a good reason. But his heart aches to imagine Harry startling awake at night because of monsters on the ice, vengeful beasts and frightened men and the wailing sick that he can't help, whether it's Tim or someone else. He could soothe it, he thinks, hold him tightly to his chest until he calms. It would be an easy thing, sacrificing some sleep to offer him some peace. It would be a harder one, finding a boundary after. It's what shattered him with the fickle prince. His door was always open, so the cruelty found its way in. ]
Have you tried sleeping with another person?
I had a lot of nightmares after I was strangled. But it was better when I had someone there.
Of course you did, Tim, that's only natural. And I'm very glad you've had someone there.
I am alright, Tim. I awaken and read for a while, and that is usually enough. If not, I take a tincture. I am probably sleeping much better still than I have in some months. Please, do not concern yourself with it.
I'll concern myself with whatever I want to. If you have to drug yourself to sleep through the night, that's worth worrying about and you won't convince me otherwise.
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