July 8th: Never Sleep Again
July 8: Never Sleep Again
“Here.”
The cup seemed to manifest at his elbow between one instant and the next, much like the man carrying it. Merrick blinked eyes gritty with weariness at the vision before him, tall and lean and still in his physician’s greens, red hair pulled messily back in a long queue. He wore a few days worth of rusty stubble on his jaw and a fiercely worried look in his eyes. Laboriously, Merrick transferred his attention to the earthenware cup, one of Natanael’s unbreakable monstrosities, exuding a plume of gently fragrant steam.
“What is it?” It took him entirely too long to remember how to pronounce three single-syllable words.
“A mild sedative.” Spoken with more than a trace element of asperity. “It will help you sleep.”
“I cannot sleep.” Merrick replied, through clenched teeth. “Not while -- “
“No -- you cannot maintain your current state of awareness, not without a more immediate degree of threat.” Kieran pushed the cup more solidly before him. “You’re accomplishing nothing but exhausting yourself to no purpose, and you must know that. Natanael is as safe as it’s possible to make him right now.”
Merrick hissed in irritation. “It isn’t as though I can just turn it off, you know! I -- “
“Hence the bloody sedative. Drink.”
It was a tea of some sort -- an herbal tisane, fragrant and vaguely familiar from childhood fevers and aches, sweetened with honey to gentle the bitterness. “There. Happy?”
Kieran collected the mug and smiled benignly down at him. “Exceedingly.”
Ten minutes later, the sitting room door opened and Natanael poked his head in; Kieran looked up from the process of dragging Merrick’s senseless body to sopha closest to the fireplace. “Give me a hand, would you? He’s heavier than he looks.”
“Certainly.” Between them, they got him levered up, with a pair of pillows under his head and neck and a heavy woolen blanket for his comfort. “What did you put in that tea, anyway? I thought it would take longer to work.”
“Chamomile and hops, tincture of valerian, and concentrated syrup of skullcap.” Dryly. “He may be a touch hungover in the morning, but at least he’ll rest tonight.”
“Here.”
The cup seemed to manifest at his elbow between one instant and the next, much like the man carrying it. Merrick blinked eyes gritty with weariness at the vision before him, tall and lean and still in his physician’s greens, red hair pulled messily back in a long queue. He wore a few days worth of rusty stubble on his jaw and a fiercely worried look in his eyes. Laboriously, Merrick transferred his attention to the earthenware cup, one of Natanael’s unbreakable monstrosities, exuding a plume of gently fragrant steam.
“What is it?” It took him entirely too long to remember how to pronounce three single-syllable words.
“A mild sedative.” Spoken with more than a trace element of asperity. “It will help you sleep.”
“I cannot sleep.” Merrick replied, through clenched teeth. “Not while -- “
“No -- you cannot maintain your current state of awareness, not without a more immediate degree of threat.” Kieran pushed the cup more solidly before him. “You’re accomplishing nothing but exhausting yourself to no purpose, and you must know that. Natanael is as safe as it’s possible to make him right now.”
Merrick hissed in irritation. “It isn’t as though I can just turn it off, you know! I -- “
“Hence the bloody sedative. Drink.”
It was a tea of some sort -- an herbal tisane, fragrant and vaguely familiar from childhood fevers and aches, sweetened with honey to gentle the bitterness. “There. Happy?”
Kieran collected the mug and smiled benignly down at him. “Exceedingly.”
Ten minutes later, the sitting room door opened and Natanael poked his head in; Kieran looked up from the process of dragging Merrick’s senseless body to sopha closest to the fireplace. “Give me a hand, would you? He’s heavier than he looks.”
“Certainly.” Between them, they got him levered up, with a pair of pillows under his head and neck and a heavy woolen blanket for his comfort. “What did you put in that tea, anyway? I thought it would take longer to work.”
“Chamomile and hops, tincture of valerian, and concentrated syrup of skullcap.” Dryly. “He may be a touch hungover in the morning, but at least he’ll rest tonight.”