19 Works in Episode: s01e09 The C the C the Open C
Listing Works
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Hodgson gives his speech to Goodsir, and remains, afterwards, to make an offering of himself.
Goodsir accepts, and then regrets it.
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“There’s time.” Francis said to him after his strength had truly given up on James. He was propped up and lying motionless in one of their small dinghy packed with the last of the supplies and other sickly men who were just like him unable to walk, only staring ahead into the nothingness that was slowly but surely corrupting their minds and biting their tongue to stop screaming out loud from pain. The sun blinded his eyes but didn’t bring much warmth in this freezing climate, yet James was sweating through his shirt from the fever raging in his body.
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OR: A fix it fic post episode 8 or 9. They will have more time. -
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Hickey kisses him again, but this one is superficial, sparing him to pant whimpering under Hickey like an animal in the snare. He keeps his half-lidded gaze on Goodsir’s, the cloudy sky glaring behind him, Goodsir’s body laid bare and pinned down for him. The blade sits light, moving up and down with the rapid heaving of Goodsir’s chest.
“What should we do with him, Men?” Hickey asks his Mutineers.
Hickey punishes Goodsir for not joining their feast.
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Dundy, after the burial of James
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Des Voeux is the first to finish eating his portion of Gibson. Hickey at the head of the table smiles with saintly beneficence, chewing slowly, eyes cold; Des Voeux nods back in perfunctory thanks and casts a glance around the table at the downcast faces still polishing off their own meat. He wants, now that his belly is briefly full, to have some fun. Des Voeux’s bladder is full, too, and in refusing to join them Goodsir has committed an obvious slight that begs an obvious response.
Des Voeux relieves himself in Goodsir.
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Far to the north, a star has fallen in the uncharted wilderness, ready for anyone to find and claim it.
The Royal Fleet sent out its two most well equipped sky ships, HMS Erebus and HMS Terror, to go and bring it back for Queen and country.
The ships were last seen crossing the mountain range surrounding the northern wilds.
Both ships then disappeared.
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“What a surprise for you to join us, Mr. Little! If we’d known to expect you we’d have saved you a spot at the table. You can sit with your friend Mr. Hodgson. He’ll be glad for some company, I imagine.”
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“Help me get him to a boat,” says Fitzjames, looking up at them and jamming his hands under Crozier’s arms as Jopson moves to take some of his weight. Crozier lurches forward away from them, scattering rocks under his boots.
“It’s nothing.”
“Francis, you’ve-”
“Help me get back onto my feet.” -
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The first mile he’d spent looking back over his shoulder, and the second mile with his eyes pointedly forward, open and unblinking to the point of tears. By the time they stop and make their camp his face is wind-roughened and gone stiff as if from salt air, if only they had the sea at their disposal.
au where the mutineers grab bridgens instead of goodsir.
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When night falls, Tozer creeps out of Hickey's tent and into Hodgson's
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A Northern Elopement by oysterpearl (willowbilly)
Fandoms: The Terror (TV 2018), The Breathing Hole | Aglu
06 Jun 2021
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Collins, gazing down into his beloved's wide, concerned eyes—thinking of how well he looks since Collins did not barge in on him and disturb his rest—can only mumble something of it all being, “Dreamlike, a tad.”
The doctors hadn't stood by during his dive. Goodsir smiles again, worry remaining in the creases around his eyes, and Collins makes himself smile, too, shrugging it off, and seems convince him. But Goodsir is wanted, and Collins takes the opportunity for escape before Goodsir can turn back and ask him anything anymore.
Collins is in love with Goodsir; perhaps this would be fine, were he to permit himself trust it. Perhaps it changes what is to come.
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“Have you come to give Mr. Gibson parting words?” Goodsir asks, knowing even so that Hickey has not. “If so, I shall step out to give you privacy, with the agreement that my remaining time will resume when you’re finished.”
Still bent towards Gibson’s face, Hickey shakes his head. His eyes slide to Goodsir, creased at the corners as if to laugh at him. “Oh, there’s no need, Mr. Goodsir. I would hate to trouble you. Besides, I’ve already told Billy all he needs to hear from me.” -
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“Lieutenant,” says Crozier, setting his pen down and turning in his chair so that he and Henry are facing each other.
Henry nods. “Sir.”
A silence passes between the two of them. The wind whistles outside, yawning over the rocks and whipping the cords of the tent. Finally, Crozier straightens, asks, “Are you here because you’ve something to report, or something you need?”
“No, sir,” Henry replies, letting the flap of the tent fall behind him. “I only wished to speak with you.”
“About what?”
“Not a report, sir. About James.” -
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Hickey's lips might have been cold, but his tongue promised warmth, along with so much else, and it was better than sleeping in an ice ditch, at any rate.
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When Henry Peglar dies, John Bridgens takes up his notebook and walks out into the cold.
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Sophia stands in the snow and thinks.
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Fitzjames couldn't hold out. At least in this, with him, he neither wants nor needs to.
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At Jopson's sickbed, Crozier sings him back to sleep.
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The cot is too narrow for two grown men, presses them together so that even clothed, their edges blur.