Chapter Text
Edwin had been bound to run out of steam eventually, Robin thought fondly, as they walked down the hallway towards Edwin’s bedroom. Robin wished he could take his beloved in his arms and to hold him tight as they both fell asleep, but it wasn’t possible just now, not with so many people staying at Cheetham Hall. Even if Edwin’s preferences were more or less an open secret within the magical community, at least amongst those who knew the Courcey family well enough, and Robin - well Robin had no idea what was made of him, but all the same it was best to play it safe. Right now, Edwin was safe. Nothing mattered more than that.
“You do look exhausted, darling,” Robin said, opening the door to Edwin’s bedroom.
“I feel dreadful,” Edwin confessed, seeming to shrink by the moment. Someone had found him shirt to put on, Robin didn’t know whose it was or where it had come from, but it was much too big on Edwin. Even tucked it to his trousers it was ridiculously loose and made him look like a child dressed in his father’s clothing. Why someone hadn’t come and collected one of the multiple shirts Edwin had in his room upstairs Robin didn’t know, but such was the situation. Everyone was in a bit of a state.
“A few more minutes and we’ll have you tucked up in bed. Unless you’d like a bath? You should probably bath. Cheetham mightn’t have much in the way of electricity, but the plumbing is top-notch.”
“Yes? I don’t know,” Edwin said, closing his eyes for a minute and resting his hips against the bed frame.
“Get rid of the last of the cold from the ice, you know? You can worry about shaving after you have a sleep. Did you eat anything downstairs? You should probably eat, too,” Robin continued as he found clean pyjamas and under garments for Edwin, knowing that Edwin had not eaten at all.
“Robin…”
“Bread and butter and a cup of tea? How does one call for the staff now? Is there a bell? Surely? It might be nice to get a warming pan for the bed, too, to make sure you’re warm enough. You can always push it aside. I wish I could stay, but - ”
“Robin.” Edwin sat down heavily on the bed.
Robin turned and looked, only to see Edwin slumped over, breathing heavily. “Darling? Are you quite all right?”
“I think…” Edwin started and inhaled with difficulty as though there was little available air. He looked up at Robin, eyes too bright, cheeks flushed. “I think something’s wrong.”
Robin felt his stomach drop, suddenly remembering visions he wished he’d never had. Edwin collapsing dead on the floor. Edwin sick in bed, drifting away from illness. Edwin dying…
“No. No no no. Edwin, it’s all right,” Robin said, rushing to Edwin and squeezing his skinny shoulders, able to feel Edwin taking quick, gasping breathes. “It’s going to be all right. Oh, shit. How do you call for the staff? We need - you need…”
“Robin…”
“It’s all right,” Robin said, though he wasn’t sure if he was saying it to himself or to Edwin, because it most certainly wasn’t all right. Edwin was struggling to breathe, he was coming over all clammy, he looked ashen… “How the hell does one call for help? And no, I’m not leaving you. You look - you look…”
Edwin looked up at Robin and held his gaze, his eyes desperate. “Robin, I’m scared.”
…
Jack was more than ready to go to bed. His leg wasn’t sore as such, but it was as cramped and stiff as possible, which made it bloody hard to get around. If he sat down now, he knew he wouldn’t be getting back up.
“Time to retire?” he said quietly to Alan.
“God, yes,” Alan replied. “What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
“You look - off.”
Jack bit his lip, an odd feeling coming over him as though his magic felt prickly, if such a thing were possible. “I think something might be.”
“Well, it’s been a night. You said the land isn’t happy with everything that’s happened, and you’ve got your magic back, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how badly you’re limping.”
“No, it’s none of that,” Jack said, shaking his head as the feeling of unease grew inside. “Something’s wrong. I - I think the house is trying to tell me that something’s wrong with Edwin.”
“Edwin? Didn’t you send him off to bed?”
“Worth a look in,” Jack said, trying to sound nonchalant when he felt anything but.
Without making any sort of farewells, Jack and Alan left what remained of the party, such as it was, though they only got as far as the staircase when Jack stopped and sighed and swore under his breath.
“Take this,” Jack said, handing Alan his cane. “And take my arm. It’s easier that way, I’ll hold the banister with my other hand. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure, no, I don’t like it, no, I don’t care who sees, and it’s this or I sit down and drag myself up on the seat of my trousers like a child. I can’t independently move my foot, I can barely lift my leg - ”
“Understood,” said Alan, gripping Jack’s upper arm.
Getting up the stairs was far from glamorous, but they made it, and back on flat ground with his cane in hand, Jack managed to limp down the hall to Edwin’s room. He knocked his cane against the door.
“Hope we’re not interrupting, just wondering if - oh!”
Jack stopped as the door flung open and a panicked-looking Robin stood before them.
“We got up here and he just - he fell apart,” said a frantic Robin. “I - I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to get him changed, he won’t say anything, he’s struggling to breathe, and - ”
“Let me see,” Jack said, though one glance at Edwin’s frame lying upon the bed told him everything he needed to know. Jack felt as though he’d been stabbed. Not this. He wouldn’t let anything like this happened to his friends, and especially not Edwin, not after the night he’d just had. Jack cursed himself. He should have known. He should have insisted Edwin was checked out earlier. Now it had been hours, and -
“Get the bandages off,” Jack said, limping over to the bed and pulling back the covers. Robin had changed Edwin into pyjama trousers, but his top half was naked, and now covered in sweat and shivering. The sight of it made Jack feel hot and shivery himself. He forced the feeling down. That wasn’t real. That was in the past. Right now he was fine. He was fine.
Jack grabbed the end of the bed with his spare hand to steady himself. Fat lot of help he was, he could scarcely stand as he watched as Robin and Alan removed the make-shift bandages from Edwin’s arms. Once revealed, the wounds were angry, red, and weeping blood. Jack swallowed hard and forced himself to remain composed. They had magic at their disposal. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier, too? Healing magic was messy and hard and it was not recommended one use it upon oneself, especially if the injury or illness were severe, though of course Edwin had done so anyway.
“Get a pen,” said Jack.
“A what?” Alan asked.
“A pen! This is Edwin’s room, don’t tell me there’s not a fucking pen!” Jack snapped, fear and exhaustion coming out as anger.
“All right, geez,” Alan said, “Give us a moment.”
Jack took a few breaths to compose himself. It wouldn’t do to fall apart.
“Found one and some paper,” said Alan by the small writing desk. “What do you want me to write?”
“Nothing,” said Jack, finding his old officer-resolve. “See that red line on Edwin’s left arm? About an inch and a half above his elbow? Draw all around that.”
“Draw on him?”
“Yes. That red line… that’s an infection that’s finding its way into the bloodstream.” As soon as the words came out, Jack almost regretted them by the look on Robin’s face, but there was no point in hiding the truth. Jack steeled himself against the reaction and watched as Alan drew around the red mark. “Good. Now go and find my mother and Violet and have them come here at once. Also, see if you can find the housekeeper or someone, we need Oliver back here from the village immediately.”
“Got it,” Alan said with a nod. He laid the pen on the bedside table then raced out of the room, seemingly glad to be gone.
“Blyth? Sit down before you faint.”
Robin took a step and a half back and slumped down against the wall with a noise that may have been a sob, but Jack wasn’t willing to look to find out. He looked again at Edwin, paler that usual, coated with sweat, his arms a literal bloody mess. Jack wasn’t sure if his white-knuckle grip on the end of the bed was to keep himself standing, or to remind himself that he was here at Cheetham, and not in some field hospital or hospital ship or hospital ward.
Help me help him, Jack begged silently of the land and suddenly felt magic surge within him, in a way it had not yet done so. Jack almost swooned under the power of it, only now he was stuck. He didn’t know any healing magic, and he didn’t dare blindly aim this at Edwin, not when he was so out of practice and Edwin was in such a perilous state. Jack heard footsteps in the hallway. Edwin moaned in anguish.
“Hold fast,” Jack said. “Cavalry’s coming.”
…
Alan knocked at the door and let himself in before there was a response. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife; Robin slumped against the far wall looked about to crack into a thousand pieces, Lady Cheetham, Violet and Jack standing around the bed, Lady Cheetham leading the… well, Alan didn’t know what was going on, but it was some sort of magic. Edwin just lay there, still sweating, still shivering, eyes darting around though he didn’t seem to be seeing much.
“Upper staff are a bit hard to find now the guests are all going to bed,” Alan reported, “But I found the housekeeper in the end. She said she’ll send a porter for Oliver at once.”
“My room,” Jack said, not acknowledging what Alan had just said or taking his eyes off Edwin. “Dressing table, second drawer on the left, bring four bandages. Please.”
“Right,” Alan said, and scuttled away again. Jack was terribly out of sorts, he was dead tired, of course, they all were, and his leg was giving him grief, but Alan also suspected there was something more, though now wasn’t the time to ask. He’d never gone searching about the drawers of Jack’s dressing table, or at least not the second one on the left; anything they’d previously needed were all kept on the right-hand side. The drawer, though only narrow, was filled with neatly rolled bandages. Alan was sure there was a very logical reason for this, though he himself was so tired that his brain could only register that this was a bit strange, but somehow also made sense. He returned to Edwin’s room with the bandages, and put them on the writing table as directed.
“And you’ll find a list there,” Lady Cheetham said, looking completely composed. “It will look nonsensical to you, but take it to Cook, and tell her it’s of the upmost importance, it takes precedence over everything else. Direct orders from me, she’ll recognise my handwriting. Sorry we’ve rather made you the gopher, Mr Ross.”
“All good,” Alan said, finding the list written in perfect looping cursive. She was right, a quick scan over the page and it could have been written in Polish for all the sense it made to Alan. “I’d be as useful as a wet paper bag otherwise. Right, I’ll be back,” he said, and ducked out again. He had never been much of one for sickbeds, it made him feel right uncomfortable, so if running around the house was what got him out of there and made him some level of helpful, he’d take it.
In under ten minutes, Alan was back at Edwin’s bedroom. The atmosphere had changed.
“I gave the note to Cook,” Alan said, noticing that the blankets were pulled up to Edwin’s chin and the bandages weren’t on the beside table, so he presumed they’d bandaged Edwin’s arms up again. “She read it and said to give her twenty minutes for the first part, but it’ll take an hour for the rest.”
Lady Cheetham nodded. “That’s quite all right. Well, with that sorted, Mr Ross, one last task for now: take his lordship here to bed and see that he’s tucked in, will you?”
“Polly,” Jack tried to protest, but the lightest touch from Alan on his arm, and Alan could feel Jack all but lean into him.
“Don’t worry, your ladyship, I’ll see to it that the younger master gets safely to bed.”
“Very good,” Lady Cheetham said, and even managed a smile. “Miss Debenham, off to bed with you too. Sir Robin and I will stay with Mr Courcey. I’d say good night, but given that the sun is already well over the horizon, I’ll bid you all a good sleep.”
“Yes, my lady,” Alan heard himself mumble as he went from the room, his grip tight on Jack’s arm. He was grateful that Jack’s room wasn’t far, as he wasn’t sure Jack could make it much further. Jack hobbled to the bed, and sat down heavily with a groan as Alan gently closed the door.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “You’re going to have to help. Well, you don’t have to, of course, but…”
“What do you need?” Alan said.
“I can’t get my shoes off,” Jack confessed, and leant his cane against the bedside table. “At least, not the one on my bad leg.”
“All right,” Alan said, collecting fresh pyjamas for his lover. If he was going to help Jack change, he needed something to change him into.
“Pull the laces out all together if you have to,” Jack continued. “But you need to get the shoe off without bending my foot. I’ll bath later once Oliver is back, but it’s probably best if I sleep with my leg bandaged up. The pressure helps when it’s… like this.”
“Of course. Bandages in the second drawer?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you needed that. To bandage your leg.”
“Only when it’s bad,” Jack said. “This bad. Or worse.”
“How bad can it get?” Alan asked, realising that this was something they were yet to discuss. Jack simply shrugged. Alan added a bandage to the little pile of belongings and placed them on the bed beside Jack before kneeling down in front of him. He’d undressed his lordship a few times now, but never in a situation like this. There was absolutely nothing erotic about this, though perhaps it was the most romantic thing Alan could think of doing as he carefully loosened the laces of Jack’s boots, his hair flopping over his face.
“Gosh, you’re lovely,” Jack breathed.
Alan looked up and flicked the hair out of his eyes to see Jack looking down at him. Their eyes met, and Alan couldn’t help but wonder how blue could look so warm. He quickly looked away and went back to the laces, feeling too exposed to be looked at in such a way when Jack was so vulnerable.
“I am sorry,” Jack said, as though he hadn’t made the precious statement at all. “I have paid staff for Christ’s sake. I have a valet. It is not your job - it’s not for you to undress me or help me like this. This isn’t - I don’t mean to use you like this.”
“I care about you, you know,” Alan said, slowing easing the shoe from Jack’s bad leg, and was quite proud of himself when Jack didn’t flinch at all. “I know you can afford to have people do anything for you, but if sometimes it needs to be me, or you want it to be me who takes care of you, to help with shoes or bandages or whatever it is… that’s all right. You don’t have to pay for everything. Sometimes you only have to ask, and I will help. And not because I have to, but because I like you, and I care, and I want to.”
Jack didn’t respond while Alan pulled off his other shoe, then carefully removed both socks. Alan could see the tension in the muscles and tendons of the foot on Jack’s bad leg, they were awfully taut and it looked bloody uncomfortable, but Alan didn’t say anything.
“Also, I noticed earlier,” Alan went on, standing up to remove Jack’s tie and the studs from his collar, “When you realised that Edwin had a infection…”
“He’s going to be fine,” Jack stated in his most cut-class voice, as though the accent somehow protected him.
“It’s what happened to you, isn’t it? You don’t use that word, you say ‘rot’ set in, but that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“I won’t lie, it reminded me of things I wish I didn’t have memories of.”
“You were bloody sick, weren’t you?”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. That was out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Jack.”
“Yes, I was. I was sick and alone and frightened and in a hell of a lot of pain. Happy?”
Alan put down the cufflinks he’d been removing on the bedside table and took Jack’s hands. He looked into those beautiful, tired blue eyes, and could see all the care that Jack tried to push down.
“You can talk to me, you know.”
“Can you hurry up and get me changed, please? Otherwise it’ll be midday, Oliver will be back, and I’ll still be sitting here in a state of half un-dress. It’s not like you don’t have experience, you know exactly what to do.”
Alan chuckled despite himself. There was no real menace in Jack’s words, and any other time they would have been the precursor to a very good evening. Alan tried to print them into his mind; they might come in handy for a Roman story. A lot of things Jack said did. Alan didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky.