Chapter Text
Thomas Jopson never thought of himself as a troublemaker. He'd always been a good boy; he had to be good, or otherwise his mother would fly into a rage. So from a young age he'd taught himself to be perfect, to be on his best behavior so no one would be angered.
This behavior carried on throughout his life, especially under the wing of Captain Francis Crozier. He was a teenager then and terribly small for his age. Crozier loved him like he was his own son and Thomas reciprocated by calling him 'Papa' and showing him all the affection a child would give their parent. In time he grew and flourished, full of love and tenderness, but something was missing ever still.
Thomas Jopson was an omega, but he'd never come into heat. He'd never even been awestruck by a handsome Alpha. He'd never known the love, the passion, or the aching that came with his rank. This, of course, he never questioned. Anything from serious illness in childhood to neglect could cause omegan stunting. Tommy never seemed perturbed.
Especially where his adoptive father was concerned.
Papa knew everything, and who was he to be skeptical of the man who raised him, saved him, loved him?
It was unthinkable.
`~~~~~~
"Well, I've got some good news." Crozier announced over breakfast. Thomas stood beside him and filled his cup.
"You're embracing the values of the teatotaller?" James Fitzjames gave him the teasing response. "No, tell me."
"Effective today, since the ice is broken sufficiently, we shall be returning home." He muttered something in Irish and raised his glass in a toast. "A year stuck in the ice has convinced myself along with Franklin that it would be best to go back to England."
"Really, Papa?" Thomas asked. "Are you disheartened?"
"Tommy my dear, sit with us. Eat." Crozier commanded. "No my lad, I'm not saddened. It is for the best. The crew will be elated when I give them word."
"This is grand news indeed, especially for the crewmen-" James smiled at Thomas as he watched the lad dine, happy to be close to him and Francis. "Because if word is correct, we may have another crewman soon."
Both Crozier and Thomas fell silent, gazes turning upon Fitzjames.
"Mama?" Jopson squeaked out the word, eyes wide with panic. Crozier finished off what was left in his cup, whispering an ancient swear.
"Really, both of you?" James scolded. "It's not I who is with child, but the stoker."
"Torrington's having a baby?" Thomas asked. He caught Francis' gaze, and couldn't help but chuckle when the older man began to laugh. "He's so little, though."
"That's a sight to imagine." Crozier wiped a hilarity-induced tear from his eye. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh. Who's-?"
"Hartnell. John."
"Well, I'm happy for them." Thomas straightened his back. "Hopefully its not born at sea."
James looked overhead of his adopted child, wistful smile on his face. Many years ago he'd been told he could never have children - rare for an omega - so he delighted at treating Jopson as his own.
"Mama." The young omega's voice broke his dissociation. "Could I be excused? There are many things to do-"
"Take it up with the Captain." Came his murmured response.
"Of course, Tommy. I hope you had enough to eat." Crozier smiled as his boy arose. "Oh, a leanbh? Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Oh-" Thomas' eyes widened with realization. "You'll have to forgive me, Papa. Time gets away from you here..."
"You're fine, son." Crozier stood and went straight to rifling through a cabinet, pulling out a small bottle of liquid. "Your tonic."
"Thank you." Thomas took the bottle from Crozier, grimacing momentarily. Papa made him drink it for his health, and so far it had done its job; Jopson was a specimen of perfect health. The taste of the liquid was not that unpleasant, the aftertaste was enough to kill a polar bear. "Could I ask you, what's in this?"
"Botanicals and such, herbs. Dash of cognac for morale." Crozier replied. "I know it must taste awful, but its necessary for you. You were quite ill as a child."
"Was he, now?" Fitzjames asked his mate. "He's recovered under your loving care nicely."
"And yours, too."
"Thank you both." Thomas gave them a small smile. "If you don't need me, may I be off?"
"Yes, sweetheart." James dismissed him with a warm smile. He then began to pick what was left on his plate. He gave a small sigh. Moments went by since Thomas' departure, and everything was quiet.
"Mo stór, what is the matter?" Francis finally asked. "Did I say something to offend you? Is it about the cognac?"
"No, Francis." Fitzjames' voice seemed quavery. "Not the cognac."
"Surely, you can't be upset about the stoker, can you? My god-"
"No. I'm sure my irrationality shall soon pass. You know how omegas can be." James finally looked at his mate, forcing a smile. "I love you, Francis."