Chapter Text
The smallest streak of sunlight managed to penetrate the space between the curtains, shining a pale light on George’s face. It lit up the red behind his eyelids, but he didn’t even squint. He felt as if his body was frozen in place, encased in a heavy stone that prevented him from doing anything but lie still and slowly gather his mind.
He became aware of the feeling of soft sheets under his fingertips and the smell of soup wafting from the nightstand. It was almost comforting, and it gave him enough reassurance to open his eyes. There was crust around the lids from being closed for so long, but with a few tired blinks the room around him came into focus. Sure enough there was a bowl of soup fuming beside the bed. Simple white walls framed the modest room, ruling out the possibility that he was in Turow. Then his gaze focused enough to make out the shadow at the foot of the bed, the shapes coming together to reveal none other than Ross Poldark staring intensely at him.
All at once George’s body sprang awake. Why Ross was in his room was beyond him, but the mere sight of the man reawakened a flame of anger inside him. He tried to sit up in the bed to look more intimidating, only to fall back to the sheets, stunned by the blinding pain in his abdomen. Ross was at his side in an instant, helping him back into a comfortable position.
“Be still! Lest the wounds open again.”
George winced in pain, his skull pounding relentlessly. He gingerly rested a hand on his stomach, only to find crude bandages wrapped tightly around his body. Flashes of what happened seeped into his memory; the duel in the park, a shot of blinding pain, Ross catching him…
“You should have left me to die, that was the agreement. I should have known you would break the laws.” He tried to put contempt and malice behind his words, but with his senses returning and his wounds becoming more and more noticeable, his voice came out soft and wavering. Ross scoffed at him,
“And I should have known a little gratitude was too much to ask for.” Ross did not seem all that offended by George’s ungratefulness though, too focused on checking the makeshift bandages around his stomach and neck. “Looks like the bleeding has stopped. You should eat something, I had the housekeeper bring you some soup. It will help.” Help with what, Ross never clarified, and George was pretty sure he was absolutely clueless. Nevertheless, he allowed Ross to adjust his head as gently as he could to sit up a bit straighter so he would not choke. Ross brought his wooden chair closer to the bed, taking the bowl of soup in his hand.
George watched Ross settle back in the chair, looking back and forth between him and the soup. He looked completely lost, not knowing whether he should give it to the man to figure out himself or if he should assist him. He finally decided on the latter, a stern look of hesitation and reluctance on his face as he spooned some of the broth and held it in front of George’s face.
When it became clear that Ross was not going to move any closer, George slowly leaned forward a bit and closed his lips over the spoon. The soup was simple and bland, obviously the work of a peasant woman with no style or experience in cuisine, but it was still warm and soothed his dry throat.
“Is it good?” Ross’ voice was gruff with embarrassment. When George nodded though, he became visibly more relaxed and more inclined to feed him another spoonful.
They worked their way through the soup in complete silence, George trying to relax and not get sick and Ross focused on not spilling anything while monitoring George’s condition. As they neared the end of it, George finally spoke up.
“So what exactly did you tell the maid, that you shot a man and he needs some soup?”
Ross glared at him, “I told her my wife was here, so there is no cause for suspicion.” If Ross did not know any better, he would say George was blushing now. Must have been the stuffiness of the room, or the heat of the soup returning color to his face.
“That is, until a man walks out of the room. Once again, you have acted without any thought to the consequences and without the faintest plan.”
The familiar prickling of annoyance that bubbled inside of Ross whenever George talked down to him started seeping into his mind, however it was not that intense seeing as his adversary was insulting him while laying injured in bed. He looked so frail and helpless, it made it easier to not to snap at him. “You’re in no condition to walk out of this room anytime soon, George. It will take at least three days I think.”
“Three days?!” George’s voice cracked with strain.
“It would be sooner, however you are a rather delicate man, so it will probably take longer,” he teased, not passing the opportunity to annoy the man back.
Now Ross was certain he saw a blush blooming across George’s cheeks. The blond raised his head higher, trying to keep what dignity he had intact, however it made the room spin quicker than he anticipated and the wound in his stomach screamed in protest. He fell back to the pilow and closed his eyes to try and stop the spinning. He heard Ross set the bowl back onto the nightstand before pulling the covers up to his shoulders.
“Perhaps if you rest enough you will be fit sooner.”
Ross’ voice was gentle, as if trying to lull him to sleep, but George was still angry, “Elizabeth will find out. What will you tell her?”
“I can write to her if you wish, but I doubt she will be very happy with you challenging me to a foolish duel.”
“Nor you for accepting it and nearly killing me.”
As much as Ross felt like strangling the man for his banter, the sight of him pale as a ghost with a bloody cravat tied around his neck stopped him in his tracks. He knew that Elizabeth would be furious if she found out, Demelza too. However he was not sure it was the threat of their disapproval that made him jump into action and save this infuriating man. There was something else, a feeling that stirred inside him when he saw George’s blood staining the grass that made him refuse to see him die. For now, he would call it guilt.
“That is why I strongly suggest acting like everything is alright, and never mentioning this ever happened. Not to Elizabeth, nor Demelza. Can you keep a secret George, if not for me then for your own pride?”
Ross counted to five, and when George still did not answer nor open his eyes, he checked his pulse at his wrist like he had seen Ennis do a thousand times. When he felt the faint beating of his heart, he felt slightly embarrassed at having checked at all, and decided he could finally step outside and take some air. George was asleep after all, and as much as he hated to admit it, deep down he knew he needed to think about this more and plan ahead, and figured a nice beer would help do just that.
When Ross left, George kept his eyes shut but let his mind wonder. What would Elizabeth say if she knew? Who would she be more concerned for, him or Ross? The fact the question even came to him filled him with contempt for the Poldark. He knew it was his promise of a future for Geoffrey Charles that pushed Elizabeth to marry him more than anything else, but still found himself disappointed and hurt when her eyes showed more life at the sound of Ross’ name than his. However, he supposed it went both ways. While he did care for Elizabeth greatly, in a way she was another representation of victory against Ross. By marrying her he had secured not only the love of Ross’ life, but control over the eldest and youngest remaining Poldarks and the Poldark manor itself. It was a huge blow to Ross, one he admitted he had enjoyed causing.
After all, Ross caused him so much pain, why could he not do the same?