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Winter Comforts
Tardif was cold.
These blasted winters ached something fierce in his bones, something of his childhood that had hollowed him out from the inside and made his gristle stiffen and creak from the meager chill. It happened every winter, the moment the leaves turned from green to red to brown, the moment the first tufts of white graced the rotten lands, when the lakes iced and the roads slicked and the birds ceased.
Worst of all was the frigid air that he could never seem to escape from, certainly not within the confines of the rickety, uninsulated barracks.
At night.
Beneath his threadbare sheets.
He should have counted himself lucky, perhaps, that the night’s blizzard had waited to hit until he, Boudica, Junia, and William had returned to the Hamlet before it struck with howling winds and frozen pipes and brittle bones.
For Light’s sake, Tardif had nearly opted to sleep in his leathers, if they hadn’t been soaked through and torn at the seams by their most recent outing to the cove; the last thing he needed was to lay reeking in the filth of the ocean while still shivering in the stinging cold. As it stood, Tardif only had his years' old underclothes to keep him remotely warm beneath the moth-eaten sheets.
Snores echoed around him, surrounded by the men of the Hamlet laid out in their various bunks -- a good number of the beds were now empty, thanks to the darkest dungeon.
He shifted, irritated, then turned on his side, seeking a modicum of warmth, only to try a different position a moment later. The pale glow of the nearly-full moon peeked past the slivers of the shoddy wood planks, some so spaced apart that the Heir had hung up sheets like tapestries to keep the pests out, which made up the bare walls of the barracks. The sheets fluttered and billowed with the angry wind that bit at his toes when they dared slip past his thin bedding. Really, it wasn’t the worst shithole Tardif had slept in, not by a long shot, but it was the only place he had stayed long enough to feel the dampening effects of winter.
After a prolonged minute, he gave up on finding comfort in his own bed, looking instead to the one nearest him.
William’s outline mountained the sheets in the bed next to his, rising and falling softly with the cadence of a restless sleep. Next to him at the foot of the bed was Laika, thick and furry and warm- looking; quite frankly, not unlike her owner , Tardif mused with annoyance.
“You have to be careful of hypothermia,” William told them over the freezing gore of the cove. Salt, slime, and sludge coated the crystalline walls and floor in a blue slush, halting their movement in fear of falling or setting off unseen traps; the expedition was slow-going because of it, and if the four of them didn’t run out of food first, then they would run out of torches. “It’s a silent killer. The moment your body temperature falls below a certain level, you go into a state of shock and barely even register your life slipping away.”
The ex-lawman’s words echoed in Tardif’s mind like a warning, all matter-of-fact as if he’d dealt with it a million times over, which he’d probably had.
“How do we fight the elements and stave off the cold, then?” Junia had whispered.
“Simple. Body heat.”
It wasn’t said with a smirk, with humor or with anything else to warrant the snort that Tardif gave the other man, but he couldn’t stop himself. Body heat? Tardif would sooner sleep with the siren than any of the sods in the expedition.
Or so he thought before he fell into the brackish tide pool. They had used the last of their antivenom to cure him of disease, but that did nothing for the icy water seeping into his bones.
Tardif glanced to the empty beds surrounding him once more, wondering if that would be his by the morrow when the blizzard passed, and snorted; dead in the middle of night, silently gone without anyone the wiser. A moment’s deliberation of chattering teeth, irritating goosebumps, and mounting insanity was all it took for Tardif to sit up and walk over.
Laika was awake immediately, perched at William’s feet with her ears up. She didn’t growl, which surprised Tardif -- he didn’t like dogs, though Laika was the exception since she could tear through a person’s throat as good as any other warrior he knew.
They seemed to have a mutual understanding for man and beast, an earned respect and a far cry of their days spent growling at one another with William between them like a peace keeper. No, ever since Tardif had saved William from the clutches of death’s door and carried the lawman on his back to the Hamlet some months ago, Laika all but herding him possessively the entire trip home, the mutt had backed off of Tardif when he would approach.
Not that he often sought William’s company, but when he did, it was nice to not be harried. In fact, Laika’s tail even twitched gladly at his approach for a moment, but without her on alert, William didn’t stir; at least not until --
“Move.”
William jolted awake at Tardif prodding him in the shoulder, arms swinging dangerously but with a sleep-clouded aim that the Bounty Hunter easily sidestepped. “Who -- ?”
“I’m cold,” was Tardif’s only answer to the sputtering man beneath him, watching the clarity seep into the Houndmaster’s wide brown eyes, goggy, then familiar but no less confused as to why Tardif had jostled him awake. He took a breath then squinted up at Tardif, as if he hadn’t just explained as eloquently as possible that he was cold. Very cold, now that Tardif was out of the bundled cocoon of his own shitty bed, and William had posed the solution that plagued Tardif’s mind some hours earlier. Body heat.
“... Tardif? ”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest as he glared down at William, both in irritation and in a failed attempt to warm his freezing hands. It wasn’t often that the Hamlet’s adventurers saw Tardif without his helmet and cowl, without his full armor and mean disposition as he uppercut their enemies, so he nodded. “Yes, now move , you laggard.”
Instead of doing that, like Tardif would have appreciated, William just shook his head, as if still in a dream, and his voice was cracked with sleep when he continued to ask, “What are you doing here?”
Tardif snorted derisively at that, rolling his eyes. “Getting warm.”
“But -- here ?”
Was it that hard to comprehend that Tardif direly needed a heat source in the midst of this blasted blizzard, and what better fount of warmth than a man who slept with a dog? A man infamous among their camp for being akin to a human radiator? A man who himself had suggested body heat as a cure to Tardif’s cove-related ailments? Hours ago, Tardif thought it deplorable, meant for the weak, but now, with freezing skin and numb extremities, Tardif had never felt weaker.
“Yes. Where else?”
A low chuckle, then, as William rubbed the sleep from his eyes, ran a broad hand down his face and into his straw moustache, as if hunting for understanding still. “The fire, perhaps.”
He said it as if it were obvious, and that only pressed Tardif’s ire further -- they were going in circles, and he no longer had the patience for this, instead opting to physically shove William over. “It’s out . Besides, this was your idea. Now quit talking and move. ” He grunted, using a rough hand to scoot the lawman to the opposite edge of the bed, which really should have been harder to do, but the other man went willingly in his confusion. Even Laika accommodated Tardif’s rude treatment of her owner.
The shove gave him enough room to crawl his way into the sheets, sighing with content as the warmth immediately enveloped him, coating him in full-body tremors. Just as he had thought, William’s bed was a fire in and of itself compared to Tardif’s own, lonely mattress, and Tardif all but burrowed into the heat of the Houndmaster’s presence.
Tardif was nearly a head taller than the other man, but for such a small space beneath the sheets, he and William fit together like a jagged jigsaw, though the Bounty Hunter would never say as much. His toes peaked out beneath the sheets but were met with Laika’s side instead of frigid air, the fur nearly tickling his feet if not for the pleasant body heat the mongrel provided to them as well.
William himself remained stiff and quiet and gave the shared air between them a few loud sniffs, as if trying to determine if Tardif were drunk, which made Tardif roll his eyes again.
He wasn’t . He was painfully, irritatingly sober, what with the blizzard freezing out the tavern kegs and all, which gave Tardif no outlet to relax, to unwind, to warm up after the icy dredge through the maggot-infested cove. William had been there, hurt and grimey all the same as the rest of them, but surprisingly strong and steady on his feet. The mission had failed long before they needed to make camp for the night -- with Boudica becoming afflicted and Junia hauntingly giggling at the abuse she received from the Hellion -- but Tardif couldn’t be more pleased now.
Distantly, Tardif recalled the Uca Major who had slammed that damned massive claw at Tardif while he had already been stunned, remembered feeling both powerless and furious as William took the blow in his stead. Didn’t miss the way William had clutched at his side for the rest of their retreat, Junia too far gone to be a reliable healer.
A silence fell over them, probably uncomfortable on William’s part, but Tardif couldn’t bring himself to care, not as lost as he was on the brink of hypothermia.
For the first time all day, he was warm.
The Houndmaster wasn’t a friend , per se -- Tardif didn’t have many of those, if any at all -- but he was… trusted. Respected. Admired , perhaps, if Tardif bothered to think such petty thoughts. Certainly, Tardif didn’t find himself crawling into William’s bed by accident, as opposed to anyone else’s, especially not after his suggestion earlier that day that Tardif had shrugged off as ridiculous. If Tardif’s lowly standards for ‘ friend ’ were someone he could trust not to slit his throat as he slept next to them for warmth, then so be it. Perhaps he and William were friends , then.
His sudden, newfounded friend-turned human-heater cleared his throat, ran a hand through his blond locks, and started, hesitantly, “And how exactly was this my idea?”
They had to retreat, Tardif remembered. They were out of food, out of bandages, out of torches, out of their minds and more, all traded for pitiful loot that they couldn’t afford to carry in exchange for their health and sanity now. It was useless, and if they tried to stay the night, they’d freeze, unless of course --
“Body heat,” the Bounty Hunter mumbled, knowing he was close enough that William could hear him; there was something… intoxicating about having a warm body against him that he didn’t have to pay for, didn’t have to coax or bribe into his arms.
William lifted a busy eyebrow at that, and his voice was a mixture of teasing and skeptical. “I thought you were above huddling for warmth.”
“I’m not above smothering you with a pillow, lawman,” he tried to growl in response.
“ Tardif… ”
Whatever William had to say, Tardif didn’t care to hear it.
Especially if those words were ‘ get out of my bed ’ or anything similar, as perhaps they should have been. Tardif didn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with rejection right now, especially not from a… a trusted friend. A trusted friend who was staring at him with thickly drawn brows, who was chewing his lip and staying unnaturally still.
Tardif didn’t want to deal with it, so he shut his eyes and shivered, strangely vulnerable and trying not to be.
“I said no talking.”
It might not have been as commanding as Tardif had intended -- more of a pathetic plea than an actual demand, but he cleared his throat, buried his head, squeezed his already closed eyes tighter in embarrassment. Whatever William had to say, he quietly begged the lawman to save it for the morning; they could go back to being whatever they were when Tardif wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia.
“Well, I just -- ” William started, stopped, huffed a soft laugh that Tardif felt on his face. He quivered again, not used to feeling someone so close while he was out of armor, and knew the lawman must have felt his shaking. “I just have one question, is all.”
“ One question,” confirmed Tardif, feeling charitable for someone who just forced himself into another’s bed. “Ask it, then leave me be.”
William took a breath, then seemed to bide his time, which Tardif might have minded if he wasn’t so bundled in the other man’s close proximity. Winter had just begun, barely into the first few days of below freezing weather, and there would be many moons to go before the beginnings of spring hinted at the barracks. That would mean months of sniffling noses, numb fingers, chapped skin and bleeding knuckles. Of fighting for warmth by whatever means necessary, if William allowed.
“You know you can borrow Laika if you’re cold, right?” Truth be told, Tardif didn’t know, hadn’t ever cared to consider stealing the mutt, but it seemed an apt way of warming up without William’s closeness. Strangely, he immediately rejected the idea in favor of this , but made a vague neutral noise when he realized the blond man was still waiting for an answer. Tardif thought that was the end of it until William continued a moment later, haltingly, painstakingly. “Then… why me ?”
“You’ve already asked your one question. Now silence.”
William listened, not relaxing exactly, but at the very least quieting himself of any further questions Tardif didn’t care to answer. ‘ Why me?’ It was echoing in Tardif’s mind now, because honestly, Tardif wasn’t sure why this felt okay when he would rarely even let others even help with his wounds unless they were absolutely dire.
From his adolescence, Tardif resented being touched, but hated being cold even more. Unbidden, memories nagged at his drowsy, broken mind, memories of standing outside his master’s small smithy in the winter and holding his hands out.
He remembered his naked arms shaking from the cold, from the strain and the pain of his botched iron swords, still incandescent with embers, smote once against his skin, twice if Tardif flinched. He remembered the scorching pain that filled his arms as his flesh melded, warped, welted and scarred, blinded in agony and mind as white as the snow that he would bury his arms in after. The ice he coated his arms to his shoulders in after would blister him instantly, ugly things that he couldn’t let stand in the way of his apprenticeship, lest he be punished again for carelessly ruining his master’s work.
Forcing himself back to the present, Tardif opened his eyes, momentarily stilled at the sheer… proximity of the lawman.
William’s eyes were a lightened brown, a tempting color, as if they held their own inner gold that peaked through a tawny burlap sack, and they scanned Tardif’s face for some kind of acknowledgement or explanation for him being there. Tardif wasn’t sure if the other man would find any, still and neutral as he forced himself to be while his mind swam in the heady heat they shared. Anxious and unanchored as he’d ever been, embarrassingly so, the Bounty Hunter had never felt a warmth like this when falling asleep at the whorehouse or anywhere else.
“To answer your second question,” Tardif spoke, irritation and impatience lacing his words once more. He was here, here in William’s bed, the man’s mutt at Tardif’s feet, and the Bounty Hunter was finally warm. Really, he had everything he wanted, but was still wound tight for some reason, still waiting for that icy rejection. “Because you’re like a furnace.”
It wasn’t untrue, but nor was it the entire truth, and William seemed to sense as much, the blasted officer of the law -- he had a knack for seeing right through the likes of Tardif, it seemed. “That’s all?”
Tardif didn’t answer, not immediately, too focused on William’s shallow breathing and all-consuming warmth to come up with a believable lie. “...And because you’re safe.”
Speaking in barely more than a murmur now, Tardif waited for the backlash, for the hammer to fall and the boot to kick him back to his own bed, away from said safety found in William’s bed. Back to the freezing cold and the loathsome memories in this half-dream state that only seemed to plague him in the winter, but kept him just on the brink of insanity most nights. Waited for the scoff or the laughter that big, mean Tardif, the unshakeable Bounty Hunter who slaughtered for coin and slept like a baby after, could be brought so low and driven into the mud by the mere cold.
Humiliating.
Pathetic.
He nearly got up and withdrew to save himself a sliver of dignity in trade for relinquishing the sweet warmth, if not for the hand that reached out and stopped him in place. It surprised him and he opened his eyes, unsure of what he expected to see after barging into William’s bed, then making to retreat the moment William asked him why .
Those golden brown eyes, framed by wheat-colored eyebrows now knitted together, were imploring. Unsatisfied, and it was all Tardif could do to shrug helplessly.
“You’re body heat. It’s… nice.”
Silence.
Vulnerability.
Pathetic.
Irritated, helpless, shamed, Tardif sat up on his elbows and again attempted to escape the wonderful, comforting heat; what had he been thinking, assuming he could demand his way into William’s bed as if they were friends ? As if they were --
A firm hand brought him back down, back under the covers, then closer still. That hand was strong where Tardif was weak and cold and scarred, strong where Tardif faltered and fell and fled. These were strange waters, tides that beckoned to him but left him pleasantly drowning within it and entirely unsure -- of what he wanted, of what to do next. He had spent past nights with plenty of people, but usually he was paying them a hefty price.
William seemed confident in exactly what to do next, though, and was quiet, mellow and unhurried the way he liked to be as he brought Tardif close again, closer than they’d ever been before.
That warmth became all-consuming, enveloping, tucking against Tardif with ease.
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it all rushed out in an exhale when William adjusted their position -- in a far warmer way than a mere minute ago, as if slotting them together were the most natural thing to do in this situation. He shook, feeling William’s straw hair tickled against his face, their legs strewn together intimately like they’d done this a thousand times before. The Houndmaster’s breath was hot on Tardif’s neck when he eventually spoke up again.
“This is nice, Tardif.”
The shiver that his name on William’s lips, now nearly brushing Tardif’s bare neck, tore down his spine and his voice trembled, “You’re a dead man if you tell anyone of this later.”
“ Naturally ,” William just huffed a laugh, as if they wouldn’t be caught by the others in the morning regardless of what William did or didn’t say; Tardif would growl at anyone who thought to comment -- especially if that person were the rat Dismas.
Finally, after what felt like hours of letting his aching bones wind tighter and tighter beneath his punished skin, Tardif felt the tension soak out of him like a trickling creek amidst a temperate spring, yellow grass, foxtail bristles. They fit together, he and William -- not well, but better than before and well enough now that Tardif’s hand somehow knew to lay on William’s hip, thigh slotted between his.
The barrack’s beds were small for Tardif by himself, let alone while squeezing in next to another man and his massive wolfhound, but instead of suffocating, it felt… cozy. His body sang in the proximity of the Houndmaster and he felt the fingers of insanity slip from his mind, taking the stress coiled at his neck muscles with it as the night crept on. Acutely aware of William’s breathing, of William’s hands and legs sprawled carelessly, Tardif remembered the lawman taking that blow from the Uca Major for him earlier. A flicker of annoyance hummed to life in his otherwise muted mind, a small bump in his cobblestone quietude that he listed lazily on, and Tardif grunted.
Acting without permission once more, Tardif raised a hand to William’s night tunic and quickly slid it underneath, thoughtless to anything that wasn’t the lawman’s air caught in his throat and parting the two men just slightly with a startled jolt from William.
Tardif didn’t know why he was surprised when William caught his meddlesome wrist with an iron grip and a halted breath -- he really should have expected a fist or worse for his efforts.
Really, he was more surprised at himself for being drawn to the wound in the first place.
He could have apologized, probably should have apologized if Tardif were being honest with himself, or perhaps he could have asked for permission or brushed it off as a lapse of his broken mind, wrought with cold and madness. Tardif could have ignored his own questionable actions entirely and settled for the warmth William was already allowing him but instead, he mumbled a single question:
“Does it still hurt?”
His voice was quiet, gruff in its usual way but for different reasons than Tardif’s normal impatience with the world. And he was impatient, yes , though with intentions that he intuitively recognized, but refused to acknowledge. The warmth between them had seeped even further than his skin and bones, had instead delved straight to Tardif’s core and pounded pleasantly.
William swallowed hard enough for Tardif to see his Adam’s apple bob, then nodded; his grip didn’t relax, nor did Tardif’s insistence.
It was a battle of wills, as it usually ended up being between the two men -- whether in battle, in the tavern, and apparently, now, in bed together. Their gazes met and it electrified Tardif when, after a long minute, William finally caved and let Tardif’s hands move as they so pleased. A heady victory stoked the embers in his belly, his apex , as he watched the lawman give in to his demanding touch.
Skin touched skin, the tension drawn between them like thread finally snapping, and Tardif savored the gasp he drew from William with his fingers a moment later.
Laika perked up at William’s sharp breath, as if to check whether or not her master was still safe in Tardif’s presence, but the Houndmaster just raised a shaking hand at her. “D-Down, girl,” William managed to get out, and the mongrel listened, laying back at their feet.
Just the thought, the realization that William was not only caving to him but wanting Tardif to touch him, it sent a possessive need surging through Tardif and drew out a growl from deep within his chest. William glanced back up at him, almost seemed to zero in on Tardif as if a hunter spotting a feral beast, and Tardif basked in that golden-gleamed gaze with an awakened greed. If William knew of the danger he stirred, the blasted lawman merely smirked in return.
Simple. Body heat.
Tardif’s ice cold fingers easily found the spot where William was injured, right beneath the other man’s breast, just below where he could feel William’s heart beating erratically. It was a good feeling, it was validation that he wasn’t the only one vulnerable -- whether that be emotionally or physically so.
Still, he was careful, more careful than he’d ever been, as he traced freezing fingertips over William’s hot skin.
“What are you -- ”
William’s words were caught in his throat, it seemed, when Tardif laid his entire hand flat against the tender area of the Houndmaster’s wound, hot against cold, eliciting a rare curse from William. Tardif waited for William to pull away or clock him, but he remained still.
“They feel broken,” Tardif murmured, gentle as he felt along the wound.
The other man didn’t answer, seemed at a loss of words beneath Tardif’s touch, as if he were holding the lawman’s senses hostage beneath his fingertips. Tardif liked the control, like the power while he was feeling so particularly weak himself after such a rough expedition, but more than that, he liked the sigh from William’s lips against Tardif’s own throat. Really, Tardif wasn’t one for intimacy, but this felt like the smallest measure of gratitude he could manage in the moment for stealing into William’s warmth.
In his profession, Tardif had cracked and broken his ribs enough times to know what relieved the pain, and the most immediate relief came in the form of icing the wound.
His hand acted as a cold compress, cooling the angry skin above William’s break or fracture, and the groan that Tardif was rewarded with was a visceral noise shot straight to his core and further. He forced himself not to focus too much on the sound, not with their vicinity preventing Tardif from hiding his body’s response to it -- which, barely sane, glimpsing death, skin like melting ice, Tardif was not equipped to deal with right now.
“Thanks,” William finally spoke when the colors of pain on his face abated to something softer, something like comfort almost, something that spiked Tardif’s pulse with a fresh wave of irritation. This man was frequently a stalwart for the others, a bastion of level-headed poise that remained calm when the others would slip, and would manage to assuage even the most stressed adventurer by way of a jaunty whistle or sending his loveable mutt around camp. After being infallible, even amid their retreat, now William lay hurt because their remaining healer locked herself in the transepts and the Hamlet’s sanitarium was already understaffed.
They were opposite extremes of the law, he and William. It was well-known that they were two sides of the same coin of justice and violence, though how they enacted either was why they were set apart so firmly. Like oil to water, unable to mix for Tardif’s tendency of gratuitous carnage and William’s tendency to stop him short of it.
But when they did mix, with Tardif’s mark for death and William following through with a harrying hound, they were seamless -- which was why the whelp of an Heir kept sending them out on expeditions together.
Tardif just snorted in response, enjoying the sensation returning to his numb fingertips.
Perhaps he should be thanking the Houndmaster for letting him leech off his body heat, but Tardif couldn’t bring himself to speak further. He was overwhelmed, exhausted, and his whole body was aching with life it had been missing within his own bed. He didn’t want to think about how close he had come to hypothermia, not today nor all the times before while working as a blacksmith’s apprentice.
Eventually, the lawman’s breathing evened beneath Tardif’s hand, his body loosened and relaxed, and Tardif drifted off to the soft snores against his chest.
…
When morning finally came, Tardif was disoriented but Gods above, he was warm.
His body was like lead, heavy and heated, immoveable, formed to the shape of another person within the tiny bed. When he moved his toes, he felt fur, and though he hadn’t opened his eyes just yet, he could feel William’s breathing turn from rhythmic and measured to shallow and uneven, and Tardif knew the other man was awake.
Eventually, Tardif figured he couldn’t get away with laying in bed with William all day and opened his eyes, still unprepared to face what mess he had wrought in the night amid his stress and fear. Would William be just as baffled as he was by his own actions? Or would William immediately regret it, lash out with anger as Tardif might have if their positions were reversed? Distantly, Tardif registered his now-warm palm still gently cradling William’s side, feeling the way the lawman’s breaths were pinched with pain and cut shallow, and forced himself not to idly caress the spot with his thumb.
How did he go about this? What could he say in the morning of his shame and embarrassment?
“We should move,” he ultimately mumbled against the crown of straw at his chin, tickling his nose. His breath was stale and his voice cracked with the remnants of a deep slumber he didn’t know he was capable of anymore. “Before anyone sees.”
William laughed, then, and Tardif could feel the hitch of the Hound Master’s side clench from the strain of it, which made Tardif knit his brows in irritation, huffing as he waited for William to tell him what was so damn funny. At his feet, he felt the big wolfhound sit up and stretch, nearly off the bed entirely with how big she was, and Tardif immediately mourned the cold air biting at his toes without the mutt there to warm them.
“Everyone’s already gone.”
Shocked, Tardif opened his eyes and sat up, the ache of his sore muscles nearly overpowering from freezing half the night.
He was right -- the room was empty save for them, with some of the beds neatly made and some strewn about messily. Tardif was in disbelief, peering at the bright sun peeking through the slits in the ceiling above, trying and failing to gauge how late in the morning it was; the Bounty Hunter never slept in, and neither did the lawman at his side.
That meant everyone had already seen them nestled in the blankets together.
“ Wonderful ,” Tardif growled sarcastically.
Surely, he would never hear the end of this, of his reputation as an aloof, occasionally bloodthirsty hunter crumbling along with his dignity as he desperately bundled for warmth, and said as much to William, who merely snorted derisively.
“Tardif, you were wet and freezing from the cove last night. During a blizzard , no less,” stated William, and Tardif immediately felt defensive, until: “Many of us have been forced into compromising situations for survival. For Light’s sake, you could have died .” The Bounty Hunter had held off on considering that too deeply until now , when William stated it so matter-of-fact that Tardif felt a lump tight in his throat.
“Well. Thanks,” was all Tardif could manage in response past the foreign swell of vulnerability churning within him.
Brisk morning air filled the space between them now and William shivered from it, causing Tardif to lay back down with a fond huff. Suddenly, he couldn’t bring himself to care if the others had seen them -- what should it matter if it staved off the cold, kept them alive and…
...and comfortable . Rested. Surprisingly at peace for once.
Tardif came to terms with their strange, unexpected arrangement faster than he cared to admit, but neither did William complain when Tardif slotted them together again. It was easier now, easier to ignore the embarrassment at needing another person, at needing William and his mongrel to warm his bones. The blizzard was over from the sounds of it, thank the fucking Light, and both William and Tardif had things to do; William needed to see a healer to fix his busted ribs, and Tardif’s weapon was in dire need of an upgrade after splitting that Uca Major in twain.
Still, both parties seemed reluctant to move until eventually one of their stomach’s growled from hunger pangs -- most likely Tardif, since he’d been in no mind to eat last night.
The bitter cold beyond their cocoon of warmth filled Tardif with dread at meeting the day, but eventually William’s labored breathing won out over his comfort and he grudgingly twisted out of the covers. The fresh air clenched at his exposed skin with a harsh grasp and Tardif growled in irritation at the cold since his armor was in water-logged disrepair, which limited him to a tunic and shawl to stave off the frigid outdoors for now.
William also dressed, albeit slowly to accommodate his injury, and the two men readied themselves in silence until, as Tardif was kicking on his boots, William spoke up, slowly and hesitant. Timorous undertones of a sound that Tardif had never heard from the lawman’s normally firm voice prickled through, ensnaring the Bounty Hunter’s full attention.
“The Heir won’t be sending us on another expedition for at least a week.”
Tardif looked up at that, catching the Hound Master’s keen gaze before snapping his helmet into place. It might have been rude, but it at least hid whatever flash of emotion might have crossed Tardif’s face, since emotions weren’t exactly his forte. He let William’s words churn in his mind a moment, trying to unravel their meaning without assuming -- assuming what ? That William would want to do this again tonight? Tonight, when Tardif wasn’t on death’s door and touched of mind? Tonight, when Tardif would most likely be blitzed off his ass from overdue drink?
“And?” Tardif prompted impatiently.
“ And ,” William breathed a laugh, sounding as awkward as Tardif felt, but far more composed than the Bounty Hunter might have been otherwise. “The winter is long, with many more cold nights to come.” Tardif froze, back to digesting subtle intent, but the other man didn’t waver beneath Tardif’s attention, though he did clumsily fumble with his scarf -- whether from his injury or Tardif’s looming presence, the Bounty Hunter wasn’t sure.
Regardless, he stepped closer, reached up to William’s scarf, and fixed it for him. It wasn’t neat or elegant like the other man usually wore it, and was probably all wrong if Tardif were being honest, but William smiled gratefully anyway.
After all, they were both hunters in their own rights, and a good hunter didn’t merely wait for opportunities; he went out and made them.
“Perhaps the nights don’t have to be,” Tardif murmured, marveling at his own confidence at shirking his infamously standoffish, independent, sometimes lonely nature he had spent his life constructing. It might have been because William was magnetic in personality, it might have been because Tardif was on the brink of death and had no choice before, but he did now .
Now, when William was allowing him to choose simple comforts without judgment.
“I’d like that,” the Hound Master gave a straw-framed smile, then glanced to his mongrel waiting at the door for them, tail wagging with the belated start of the day. “And I’m sure Laika wouldn’t mind having an extra set of feet to warm.”
As they walked to the door, William gave her a pat on the head and Tardif, well, he wasn’t sure what to do, so he gave the mutt -- gave Laika, he mentally corrected himself -- a respectful nod in thanks. If the wolfhound could maul and maim as well as any respectable hunter, then easily switch to being soft and cuddly, then perhaps there was hope for Tardif as well.
While William ended up being stuck at the clinic for the remainder of the day, Tardif was surprised when Laika followed him around town instead, keeping him company throughout his post-expedition chores.
And when Dismas caught sight of them and burst out laughing, the filthy rat, Tardif was thrilled to have a companion who growled at others along with him.
Perhaps these were comforts the Bounty Hunter could let himself have for once.