undergrounds | PLEASE BE STRONG I KNOW I'M NOT WRONG (Closed to Lancelot)

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faolan,
lancelot

PLEASE BE STRONG I KNOW I'M NOT WRONG (Closed to Lancelot)

Faolan has for the most part stayed out of the politics of the other factions. He has enough to worry about being at the till at Hillingdon. Trying to understand what the faction wants, trying to understand what sort of direction to take it in. He knows that he's going to have to take a step up sooner or later, and he knows that whatever he chooses to do, he cannot under any circumstances disobey the oath he took as Guardian.

The oath that they are hanging over his head as they use him as muscle to force him into peoples' homes, under whatever pretenses they can think of, to upend their lives for dark magical objects. Anyone they are seen to be using dark magic will be arrested, while the rest are written fine after fine for everything unearthed. Faolan doesn't like it, it makes him uncomfortable to be thrust into other people's lives like this, and the objects themselves, the people he's being forced to investigate, are making him uncomfortable in another way that he just can't put his finger on at the moment.

To top it all off, Willard has left, and with him left all the organizing of Hillingdon's paperwork to Faolan himself, or for Faolan to find someone else to delegate it to instead. And no one is exactly jumping at the chance. The combination of it all has left him in worse of a mood than usual, and he has no intention of returning home to his flat to drink himself into something even worse as he sits alone in the sad, empty little place.

Which is why he finds himself ringing Lancelot's bell. Really he should have told the other man that he was coming over. Asked if he was going to be interrupting anything. But one foot had led in front of the other and he had found himself there before he realized where he'd been headed.

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He sighs at that, letting Faolan fit his hand around the glass and move it toward him. It's a little embarrassing, to be helped this way, but he knows he can't fight Faolan on it. He's only trying to help, and it's true that Lancelot is still a little too unsteady to trust himself not to spill. His other hand loops over Faolan's to help guide the speed and he sips slowly, feeling a little tired all of a sudden.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and his eyes drop away instinctively -- even if all they're making out is blurs anyway. "It's kind of you to stay."

Faolan nods, keeping his hand on the glass as Lancelot sips from it before taking it back after he's done. Balancing it on his knee as he watches the other man's face and contemplates how to explain himself. What to say in response to such a thing.

"Yeah, well," he says, after a long moment. "Lily is a very good dog, but she doesn't know how to fetch you juice or water. I'm here, aren't I? I might as well make myself useful for you." He's hardly going to leave without hard reassurance that this is just a headache as well, for that matter.

"I'm sure she'd try, but perhaps not as effectively as you."

Lancelot shuffles to lay down again, trying to keen his even breathing and slow -- idly fussing to smooth out his t-shirt where's ridden up from all the blind wriggling about.

"You shouldn't keep her shut out. She'll be worried. Let her in and just keep her off the mattress. She'll calm down after a minute or two. Her bed is in here anyway. If you're going to stay in here and fuss over me we may as well all be in the same place."

Faolan's eyes follow the other man's movements, and he flicks his eyes away after a moment, realizing he's watching perhaps a little more intently than he should. The fact that Lancelot can't really notice him watching almost makes it worse, somehow.

"Yeah, alright," Faolan responds, glancing around to figure out where to put down the glass before spotting the shelf behind the bed. He braces a hand on the mattress beside the other man so that he can lean forward across him and rest the juice up on the shelf, along with the plate of biscuits he'd fetched earlier, before sitting upright again. "I'll let her in," he agrees, "so long as you promise to tell me if you need anything. And not to feel guilty about it when you do."

He squirms over onto his side, blinks at the dark vague shape of Faolan and frowns a little.

"I can promise to tell you, but I cannot promise not to feel guilty. I don't make promises I can't keep, Faolan."

His lips flick into a faint, wry sort of smile at that and Lancelot reaches out a hand to touch his arm.

"You're a good friend."

Faolan glances down at the hand on his arm and then back at Lancelot's face and the faint and gentle, wry smile there. He isn't sure that he's ever been called a good friend before, not in such an honest, earnest way as the other man has just done. He licks his lips slightly, uncertain of how to follow such a statement, before he simply nods.

"So long as you will offer me that much, then I suppose that we have ourselves a deal," he says. He's reluctant to slip out from the other man's touch, but he does, moving to stand and cross the room to get the door. To find Lily, of course, sitting there waiting for him just on the other side of it.

"Come on, then," he tells her, and opens the door wider to usher her in.

Lily surges in at the invitation, doing a quick lap of the room in case it might have changed in the few minutes she's been shut out. Lancelot can hear her paws padding around on the wooden floor, can easily imagine her checking every corner and nosing at things. She paces around the bed, picking the side Lancelot is closes to finally to stick her head over the edge and wag her tail at him. Hello! She has found him! Hello!

"Good girl," Lancelot offers quietly, and reaches out to gently ruffle her ears. "You found me, there's a good girl. Can you sit for me? Sit nicely, now."

Faolan stays at the door for a moment, watching Lily nose around the room, watching her nose at Lancelot and watching the other man reaching out to her and quietly urging for her to sit for him. He steps forward and, after a hesitant moment, returns to perch where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed before. Reaching a hand out to stroke through Lily's fur as well.

"Good girl, Lily," he tells her, softly, letting Lancelot know that she's done as he's asked and being rewarded with a doe-eyed doggy glance in his direction and a little tail wag besides. "I think that someone has been worried for you," he tells Lancelot, glancing at the other man as he does. Speaking as much for himself as he is for Lily as he says so.

"Samoyeds are pack dogs. A pack should stay together, that is safest."

As if agreeing she stands long enough to move closer, sits beside Faolan and shoves her face into his lap for attention. Since he is going to be in the way she will do this, and now she can subtly see Lancelot and be closer! Faolan will never know, she is clever! Her tail swishes happily while her ears prick in Lancelot's direction, eyes flitting over to him every so often. She wants to be in the bed. Will they stop her being on the bed? They want her to sit. Can she sit on the bed?

Faolan will certainly stop her from sitting on Lancelot and from trying to help too much, but he hasn't been given orders one way or the other about what to do about Lily, other than to 'help with her'. And he's never really 'helped' with Lily before, truth be told. That's always been Lancelot's area alone. But he'll give it a go, for the other man's sake.

He pets her head in his lap. "Be a good girl, Lily," he reminds her, and hopes that she understands what that means better than he does himself, in the moment, before turning back to Lancelot. Pack. Well, they certainly care for each other, to be sure. "You should try and get some rest," he says. "See if it feels better after that. I can turn out the light, if it would help at all." He frowns some more. "Where is it? Your headache? Does it hurt more in any particular spot?" he asks, knowing that he's fussing, but trying to think of something, anything he can do that might actually help, here.

"Everywhere," Lancelot grumbles, and he lets his eyes slip closer again with a sigh -- vaguely reaching out to ruffle Lily's ears haphazardly. "But I suppose I could rest a little. My vision is beginning to come back but at the moment you're a dark blob among other dark blobs. No offence intended, I assure you you're a nice shadowy shape."

He huffs a little, drops his hand from Lily and curls himself up slightly as if to get more comfortable.

Faolan quirks something of a smile at the other man's grumbling. He must be feeling a little better, if he's being like that about it. Or maybe Faolan's just slowly working his way in around Lancelot's defenses and his desire to pretend that he's fine, really he is, no matter what. Who can say for certain.

"Well, I suppose it's better to be a nice shadowy shape than not," Faolan responds. He watches Lancelot squirm and shift to get comfortable and drops a hand to his forehead again despite himself. "You still feel warm," he says, his fingers pressed against Lancelot's skin as he does.

"Apple juice doesn't reduce temperature."

Lancelot opens his eyes again slowly, studying the vague shadowy shape of Faolan before smiling a little as he closes them once more.

"Cold hands might, though."

Faolan's hand feels cold, anyway, although he supposes that may be the difference in temperature alone -- that it may simply be he's so much warmer that Faolan feels cold in comparison. It doesn't matter, it's nice regardless.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Faolan says. He should have gotten up and insisted that the other man take the ibuprofen regardless, but he'd said that it hadn't been helping with his head, so maybe it hadn't been reducing his temperature that well either.

He flushes slightly at the suggestion from Lancelot, although he doesn't move his hand away, simply shifting it on the other man's forehead instead. His hands are generally on the cooler side, and combined with the fact that Lancelot's face is warmer than usual, it's quite the contrast. "I could fetch a cool cloth for you again, if you'd like," he offers, brushing his hand through Lancelot's hair before resting it on his temple again. That would of course involve moving though, and Faolan isn't quite prepared to do so. Not just yet at least.

"Might be nice," Lancelot agrees, if a little sleepily. With his eyes closed and Faolan's cool hand soothing his forehead it's a struggle not to drift, although he supposes there's no particular reason not to. His fingers slow a little as they ruffle Lily's ears, hand dropping away to rest on the bed after a moment. "Why don't you go to bed, mm Lily? We can both have a nap. How's that?" She perks up at the sudden stop to her attention, shifting after a moment to try and inch around Faolan -- get closer to the edge of the bed and Lancelot. She is a good girl! They said so! She should go to bed! This is bed too, what he lays on. Can she be on the bed with him? Maybe that is what he means. She fusses a moment, then her front paws lift to rest on the edge of the mattress questioningly.

Faolan raises an eyebrow at Lily. Is that really what he told you to do, Lily? Is that really what he usually means, when he tells you to go to bed? He's not going to press the point too much, not when Lancelot himself seems to be more capable of doing so. But he does give her a look to remind her to behave, running his hand through Lancelot's hair once more before he moves to stand.

"I'll be back with that, then," he says, crossing to the door. "If you don't want her on the bed with you, you'd better speak now, though," he throws over his shoulder, before he steps out of the room to fetch and rewet that cloth from earlier, returning with it just as quickly as he can. He's not above fighting a dog to get his spot back if he has to.

He feels the bed dip, then rise again as Faolan stands -- fumbles out hands to light on Lily and gently push at her.

"Not with me," he chides, and she drops down again. Flicks her eyes unhappily as she glances away after Faolan. Where is he going? Why is he not staying? Why can she not get on the bed? This is troubling, and she cannot decide what she wants to do. Yet with Faolan no longer there she at least has space to move, so she pushes her snout over the edge toward Lancelot again -- tail wagging questioningly. She cannot jump up, what should she do? Is she still a good girl? Will he still pet her?

It doesn't take Faolan too long to return from the bathroom, where he gently pushes Lily out of the way so that he can reclaim the spot he had settled himself into before. He reaches out to ruffle her ears reassuringly before motioning towards her bed.

"Go lie down, Lily," he instructs her gently, before turning back to Lancelot. "Here," he says, reaching out to brush Lancelot's hair out of his face before he places the cloth there in it's place. He keeps his hand pressed to the cloth to keep it in place, watching the other man for a long moment before speaking up at last. "How's that?" he asks.

Lily edges out of the way, tail thrashing faster again now Faolan is back, and watches intently as he places a cloth on Lancelot's forehead. He sighs contently at the feel of it, gets himself comfortable again and lets his eyes close in pleasure once more.

"Mmmm," he manages, which is close enough to an answer.

The corners of Faolan's mouth quirk upwards slightly in response to the other man's answer. Or lack thereof, for that matter. He may not have said anything aloud, not with words, but Lancelot's body language is telling him all that he needs to know right now. And Faolan's grateful that he's managed to be able to do at least this much for him, just now.

"Good," he says, softly, and moves to brush Lancelot's hair away from his face again -- it's very curly, and it has a habit of curling its way back no matter what Faolan does, here. "Now get some rest," he urges gently, his fingers unconsciously tangled in the other man's hair, half unaware that he's even been doing so. "I'll be here if you need anything, yeah?"

Lancelot does.

His head still hurts, but the cool cloth goes somewhere to easing things. The dark and quiet, the little bit of apple juice he drunk -- it all help. He ends up drifting for about an hour before he stirs again, awkwardly aware he's been asleep while Faolan has been his guest.

On the bright side, he opens his eyes and they focus properly. His headache begins to throb again right away, but he honestly is happy to tolerate that if he can see. Even if the first thing his eyes focus on is Faolan, who appears to still have his hand in his hair and to have not moved from his side. He feels fingers comb through it and his eyes half-lid again for a moment before he focuses again.

"Have you been taking care advice from Lily, petting me like that?"

Blinking himself a little more awake he begins to shuffle himself, trying to prop himself up a little better. Lily, hearing her name, looks up from where finally retreated to her bed (after ten or so minutes of giving Faolan concerned doggy eyes) and rushes to the bedside again.

"If you lick me I'll have something to say about it."

Faolan doesn't quite know why he's sat there, continually stroking the other man's hair while he's slept. He tells himself it's so that he can keep his hand close, to adjust the cloth on the other man's forehead when it starts slipping, and to flip it every now and then to press the cooler side that'd been exposed to the air across his heated skin. But it might also have something to do with the way that the other man seems to react to the touch, pressing closer and humming pleasantly every now and again.

He's faced then, of course, with a dilemma. He should really stop. He should really get up and leave then. What if Lancelot wakes up and notices him -- but of course if he rises then he'll move the bed and wake him up anyway, and he needs his sleep. So he stays poised where he is, gentle fingers stroking through the other man's hair. -- that is, until he does wake up.

If Faolan could have withdrawn his hand any faster he might have toppled himself off the bed in his surprise. A flush creeps up his face and neck and he turns away from the other man, lest Lancelot further catch him out. "I didn't," Faolan stutters, playing with the cloth between his hands. "I -- It wasn't..."

"I know you didn't lick me," he says gently, making it something of a chide. "It's all right, Faolan, I'm--"

And he shifts his weight to push up again, dragging himself up to lean against the headboard so he can sit.

"I'm grateful to have such a good nurse. You really didn't have to stay, you know. Still don't."

Faolan shoots the other man a withering look over his shoulder, hunched forward over the edge of the bed as he is. Of course he didn't lick the other man, thank you very much. He hadn't been thinking of the other man as a dog, when he'd been sitting there, running his fingers through his hair. He had been...

Well, it was no matter. He looks down at his hands in his lap again. Where he's going to keep them for the time being, if Lancelot is going to be like that. "Maybe I didn't have to. But here I am all the same." His eyes flick back up to Lancelot, sitting up where he is. It's an improvement, certainly, from anything he'd seen from the other man since his dash towards the bathroom earlier in the day.

"How do you feel?" he asks, the logical thing to do, to take the focus of their conversation off of him having been caught out like that especially.

"A little better. Hungry."

He offers Faolan a thin smile, still a little tired, and reaches out a hand to gently nudge at the man.

"Don't give me that look, Faolan, you know I meant nothing by it. Can you -- pass me something?"

Lancelot half twists a little, squints as he looks for where the biscuits and juice have been put on the shelf.

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