Second to my Last
Title Second to my Last
Author Eglantine_br
Rating G
“There you are, Archie,” Horatio said. “Just--just stay there, all right?.”
Foolish to say this, Archie was clearly too ill to go anywhere. He was small in the narrow bed, huddled and shivering with heat. He clenched his mouth at the touch of the cool cloth, enduring it like a punishment.
“ Too cold.”
“I know. I’m sorry. You have a fever.”
Horatio kept his voice very quiet. Part of him was listening for steps on the stairs. They could come at any time, he knew, to demand he go down to be locked in again with Hunter. This was not a cell. This was a part of the old manor that predated its use a prison. This was a birthing and dying room. Many houses had them of course. But Horatio had never known one to be placed upstairs though. The need to carry wood and water usually put such chambers on the ground. In Spain, perhaps things were done differently. In any case this room was not a cell. They could not be locked in. But perhaps- Horatio looked again at the door.
“Be right back,” He whispered. Archie’s eyes slid to focus tiredly on his own, just a flicker of blue, and they half closed again.
There was a lock on the door, set deep in the stone. He shot the bolt. It rasped, stiff with neglect. He regretted the sound. He was sure that Archie had had enough of locks to last a lifetime. But now at least they would be undisturbed. If they came to order him back down with Hunter they could shout at him through the door. He was not going anywhere tonight.
He pulled the little chair close to the bed.
“Let’s get you out of this now, It’s wet anyway.” he said. The shirt was soaked, with sweat, with the washbasin water, and with some vile God-know-what that Horatio didn’t want to consider. He eased Archie up to a wobbly sit against the headboard. Archie lifted his arms like a small child, and the shirt came away overhead.
Archie crumpled tight the minute it was free. His teeth were chattering now. Two years ago Horatio would have climbed into the bed to share his own heat. Holding him close, kissing him, would have been as natural as breathing. And he ached to touch Archie now, to share what comfort he had to give. He hesitated, finally settling for for drawing the bedding up, tucking it close.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “I thought you were- I thought-” He could not say that. He looked down, blinking hard against the ache of tears. The words slid to an ugly stop.
“You thought I was dead,” Archie’s voice was harsh and suddenly lucid.
“I’m so sorry Archie.”
“I think I was too.” Archie said.
Author Eglantine_br
Rating G
“There you are, Archie,” Horatio said. “Just--just stay there, all right?.”
Foolish to say this, Archie was clearly too ill to go anywhere. He was small in the narrow bed, huddled and shivering with heat. He clenched his mouth at the touch of the cool cloth, enduring it like a punishment.
“ Too cold.”
“I know. I’m sorry. You have a fever.”
Horatio kept his voice very quiet. Part of him was listening for steps on the stairs. They could come at any time, he knew, to demand he go down to be locked in again with Hunter. This was not a cell. This was a part of the old manor that predated its use a prison. This was a birthing and dying room. Many houses had them of course. But Horatio had never known one to be placed upstairs though. The need to carry wood and water usually put such chambers on the ground. In Spain, perhaps things were done differently. In any case this room was not a cell. They could not be locked in. But perhaps- Horatio looked again at the door.
“Be right back,” He whispered. Archie’s eyes slid to focus tiredly on his own, just a flicker of blue, and they half closed again.
There was a lock on the door, set deep in the stone. He shot the bolt. It rasped, stiff with neglect. He regretted the sound. He was sure that Archie had had enough of locks to last a lifetime. But now at least they would be undisturbed. If they came to order him back down with Hunter they could shout at him through the door. He was not going anywhere tonight.
He pulled the little chair close to the bed.
“Let’s get you out of this now, It’s wet anyway.” he said. The shirt was soaked, with sweat, with the washbasin water, and with some vile God-know-what that Horatio didn’t want to consider. He eased Archie up to a wobbly sit against the headboard. Archie lifted his arms like a small child, and the shirt came away overhead.
Archie crumpled tight the minute it was free. His teeth were chattering now. Two years ago Horatio would have climbed into the bed to share his own heat. Holding him close, kissing him, would have been as natural as breathing. And he ached to touch Archie now, to share what comfort he had to give. He hesitated, finally settling for for drawing the bedding up, tucking it close.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “I thought you were- I thought-” He could not say that. He looked down, blinking hard against the ache of tears. The words slid to an ugly stop.
“You thought I was dead,” Archie’s voice was harsh and suddenly lucid.
“I’m so sorry Archie.”
“I think I was too.” Archie said.