|
Shock (Courfeyrac): July, 1830
It's times like these that could teach a man to hate. I don't believe I've ever truly hated anyone or anything, until now. Curious how it clarifies things. Every wish and every desire has gone from me but one: to find whoever put a bullet in my Daniel, and repay him tenfold. Fortunately, by the time I was aware of this, we were well on our way home. Daniel is walking more or less steadily, but his face is dead white and he doesn't seem at all sure which way he's supposed to be going. I keep my arm around his waist; his good arm is around my shoulders. It's slow enough progress we make, but we get there eventually. Daniel looks at the door in confusion. "Should go home." "We are home," I say, out of breath. "Mine. Not taking you back to that pesthole you call a room." "Not that bad," he objects. "Yes, but the rats won't change that bandage for you. Come on." Somehow we get up the stairs. Daniel leans on my shoulder, catching his breath, while I get the door unlocked. "Sorry," he murmurs. Sorry. The man gets himself shot before my eyes, and he's sorry. "For what?" "Inconveniencing..." "Shut up, brother, do." Daniel shuts up, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed with his eyes closed, while I get rid of what's left of his shirt. "Lie down," I suggest, and he does that too, wincing. "Good man." He looks so thin, lying there half-naked. So fragile, so breakable. Damn them. "Stay with me," he murmurs. "To be sure." I lean over to kiss his forehead. "Someone has to keep an eye on you. Can't have you running off, getting into trouble." Daniel smiles faintly, his eyes still closed. "Mm." I pull the sheet up over him, carefully. "All right now?" But he's already asleep.
[ before | after ]
| 