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

Entry tags:

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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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.

Faolan reaches a hand up to rub at where Lancelot had nudged him, before glancing up to see where he was going for. "Yeah, hold on," he says, shifting forward to fetch the juice and biscuits from the shelf behind Lancelot. Trying not to think too much about how close he's leaning in to the other man, nor the fact that he's leaning over him, sitting together on his bed. No, better not think about any of that at all.

"Here," he says, handing the other man the glass of juice again, balancing to keep the plate of biscuits within easy reach, if the other man should want any of those as well. "It's probably a little warm by now, but still good. Do you want to keep the light off?" It's still light enough outside that they're not sitting together in the pitch black, but the sun will be setting soon.

His eyes track Faolan as he leans over to grab the drink and food, lips flicking into another smile as he holds out the glass toward him. His hands are still not entirely steady, but they're better -- and he feels more stable as he takes it to sip at slowly.

"Please," he says in answer to the question. "My sight's come back but my head still hurts."

He rests the glass limply against his knee, reaches out for one of the biscuits to nibble at. If he can keep some food down, even better.

Faolan nods in response to the request to keep the lights out for now. He figured as much, that it wouldn't be such an easy fix, especially with how long the other man had said the headaches were lasting. He'd assumed Lancelot's sight was back, from the aim of that shove and from the way his eyes seemed a lot better focused than they'd had been before, but it's good to hear so from the other man himself.

He plays with the plate in his hands slightly, nodding to them as Lancelot takes one. "I can get you something more than this, if you can handle that. You should eat more than a biscuit all day. Toast, or something." He glances down at Lily. He should probably think about feeding her sometime as well for that matter.

"Are you going to play chef for me?"

Lancelot lofts an eyebrow at the idea, takes another small bite of his biscuit.

"There might be some soup in the cupboards I could heat up, or some rice. Something plain and easy on my stomach."

He shifts a little, holding out the apple juice to Faolan -- as if he means him to take it so he can get up and look. Which is not the same as 'letting Faolan get him something', but who's counting?

"Ah," Faolan says, reaching forwards towards the glass, closing his hand around it -- and Lancelot's hand -- and gently guiding it back towards the other man. "No, you won't. You're staying out of the kitchen for the night, and you're letting me do the work for you."

He tilts his head towards the other man, looking him straight in the eyes as he does, studying the way that there's still a slight tension to his expression -- the headache, Faolan can read it now -- that wouldn't normally be there. "So yes, I'll play chef for you."

He moves to release the other man's hand again, sitting back slightly. Suddenly rather embarrassed by how forceful his fussing has become -- but it's all for the sake of the other man's health. Surely he realizes that? "That is... If you're hungry," he adds, rather lamely.

He looks a little abashed a that, letting Faolan press the fruit juice back toward him and hold it in his hand.

"Are you sure?" he hedges, taking another slow (and small) bite of his biscuit as he studies Faolan. "I am hungry, but... you need not go to so much effort. I can probably heat some soup, at least. Lily --"

Lancelot gently tries to persuade her stop trying to climb up to get the biscuit out of his hand, which she is curious about. She doesn't have a biscuit. She would like one!

Faolan inclines his head towards the other man, raising his eyebrows at him slightly. "'So much effort'?" he repeats back at him. "I hope you're not expecting a full dinner out of me, since if that's the truth then you're sorely out of luck. But I have two hands, haven't I? I know how to heat up a can of soup just the same as you do."

He glances aside at Lily, as Lancelot fights with her to keep her off the bed and out of the little food he's got there with him. "Maybe I can get this one something to eat besides," he adds, before looking back to Lancelot himself.

"Just for tonight," he says, his eyes softening slightly, some of the concern he'd had for the other man earlier seeping back in despite himself. "Let me do the work."

"You still don't have to," he protests, but it's a little defeated. If Faolan wants to heat him some soup there isn't much he can do to stop him, nor much reason why he should. Lily fusses around him some more and he sighs, shifting his biscuit to his other hand so he can scritch at her to try and calm her down.

"There's a bag of Aatu in one of the top cupboards. That's what she has. It has a plastic scoop inside it."

"But I'd like to," he insists gently. He watches the other man for a moment longer, before sitting forward on the bed. "And you're welcome to supervise me if you like. Though it's just soup. I promise I'm not about to burn down your kitchen or anything."

"Besides." He flicks a quiet smile at the other man, reaching out to put a hand on his knee beside him and squeezing it gently, in attempt to reassure Lancelot that he's really not trying to bully him into anything. That he only has his best interests in mind. "If you were to wind up in the hospital for pushing yourself too hard cooking," Faolan says, trying to keep his expression wry, "then I will make sure all your friends know about it and you'll never get to live it down. Just so we're clear on that, yeah?"

"Then I'll supervise," Lancelot says, and he moves to stand up -- wobbles a little as the change in height makes things spin and reaches out for Faolan to steady himself. Lily fussing around his ankles hardly helps, either, and he doesn't want to step on her as he tries to adjust. She carries on, merrily unaware, and bounces happily now that he's up. Yes! Yes this is good! Yes, he has been in bed too long! She is happy he is moving!

Faolan moves to stand himself and brace the other man himself as he wobbles beside him. He doesn't chide him to remember to take it easy -- he figures the way he had needed to reach out for his support would be reminder enough. But he does give him a moment to adjust to standing before he even thinks about trying to help him out the door towards the kitchen.

"No need for heroics tonight, remember?" he chides the other man, softly, slipping an arm easily around his waist. "Don't push yourself too hard. That's what I'm here for. Order me around, if you like." He quirks something of a smile at the other man. "I might actually listen, for a change."

He tightens his arm around Lancelot's waist, hoping he's given him enough time to right himself. "Alright?" he asks.

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