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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"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.

"Fine," he says with something of a sigh, "just stood up to quickly."

He rights himself, slowly releases Faolan and holds up his hands to prove he's steadier.

"There, see? I can walk. Although I might eat you if we don't head to the kitchen soon."

His smile flicks up playfully and he gestures ahead, begins to head through -- if a little slowly.

Faolan frowns at the other man and resists the urge to chide him again for pushing himself, settling instead on watching him closely as he makes his way slowly out the door and through the flat.

"Sit," he commands the other man, lest he get any ideas otherwise, and gestures towards a chair as he makes his way into the kitchen himself. "And let me do the work here. Just tell me what to do, where to fetch things. Enjoy it while it lasts," he adds, throwing the comment over his shoulder with the quirking of a smile, before turning to the cabinets again. Now where did Lancelot say that he had kept Lily's dog food...?

Lancelot drops himself into the chair, defeated, and watches Faolan glance around the kitchen as Lily circles his feet. Hello, Faolan! Hello! Are you here to help? She pads over to Lancelot, who is sitting, then jogs back to Faolan and studies him intently.

"Top left cupboard," he supplies finally, "there's a bag of dry food there, should be open already."

Faolan follows directions to find the right cupboard and the dog food inside. He even finds the scoop he's seen Lancelot use to feed her many times before, although he still turns to question the other man besides.

"How much does she usually get?" he asks, looking around to spot Lily's bowl on the floor where it usually sits. At least he's got that much down, he thinks to himself wryly.

"One scoop is fine, although I'm sure she'd say two is how many she needs."

Lily fusses around Faolan's ankles excitedly, barely restraining the urge to jump at him -- although the way she's half crouched says she's thinking about it.

"I recommend picking up the bowl and putting the food into it, rather than scooping into it on the floor. Otherwise she'll be in your way. She'll dive on it regardless."

Faolan glances down to Lily, where she's dancing around at his feet and smiles at her, watching her enthusiasm levels rise as he scoops a cup of food out of the bag. He glances to Lancelot at the advice and nods, reaching for her bowl to put the food in it out of Lily's reach before setting it back on the floor again. And letting her set to it, as though she hadn't seen food in days (when Faolan knows the case is otherwise).

"Well that's one of you taken care of," he says, as he puts the scoop away and washes his hands, before turning back to Lancelot. "What about you? One scoop or two?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, a slight smirk playing across his features.

"One, I think, no need to test my stomach too much before I am sure I can even hold food down."

He leans over the breakfast table a little, rests his head on folded arms as he watches Faolan quietly.

"Soup cans should be in a cupboard above and to the right of the sink."

Since he imagines that is the next question, after all, unless Faolan plans to make good on his dog food threat.

Faolan quirks a smile as the other man goes along with his attempt at humor -- he had a feeling he would, knowing Lancelot's sense of humor itself -- before he turns to look in the cupboard he's directed towards.

"Do you have a preference?" he asks, poking around inside once he's located the soups. Lancelot of course, being a sensible shopper, has several to choose from, including some that Faolan knows right off the bat he's not going to be making for someone with a questionable stomach.

"Plain tomato is fine -- and... thank you. Really."

Lancelot offers a sleepy, sheepish sort of smile to Faolan as he rummages.

"For staying, and caring. For feeding us both. For forgiving me."

Even if Faolan might think there's little to forgive, or that staying is nothing, Lancelot still doesn't want to take it for granted. He wants Faolan to know he's grateful.

It takes Faolan a moment to remember what in the world Lancelot could mean by that, forgiving him. After all the fuss, he's nearly forgotten the magic that Lancelot had used on him. Standing on the balls of his feet for a moment to reach the right can, he curses Lancelot for his height before he rocks back with the tomato soup in hand. Glancing back at Lancelot once he has. Catching that soft, sleepy smile that Lancelot is offering him and filing the image of him sitting there watching him away in the corner of his mind, to be able to call upon later, even as he looks away now.

"You're welcome," he says softly. Because it's the best thing he can think of saying in that moment, knowing that insisting there's nothing to forgive, that Lancelot would have just done the same, the other man already knows all that. Because anything else he might say besides might be too much.

He steps forward, setting the soup can on the counter. "Here," he says. "I can put it in a pan, heat it on a burner if you like. It's not exactly cooking, but it might wind up tasting better that way than if I microwave." He shrugs. "Microwave is faster though, if you're hungry. Your call. Do you want anything else? Toast?" That's supposed to be good on an uneasy stomach too, right? He's back to the fussing, he knows. It makes him feel better, though.

"See how far I get with the soup first. Pans are in the bottom cupboard to the left of the oven, wooden spoons in the to drawer to the right."

He holds out a hand to Lily as she finishes her food, begins to sniff around in case she missed any and study Faolan curiously. What is he doing in the kitchen? He is not normally doing things in the kitchen! Is it something for dogs?

"Lily, give him some space," he says softly, and she comes over at the sound of her name -- lets Lancelot gently gather her to sit beside him and rub her chest to keep her still.

Faolan turns to glance at the other man as he digs out the pan, watching him hold Lily back from him and coaxing her to sit quietly by his side instead. He offers a soft smile as he straightens to set the pan on the counter, fishing out a wooden spoon and sets about getting the soup ready to heat.

Once it's started, he turns back to Lancelot with another soft smile, stirring slightly as he comments, "See? Haven't burned down your kitchen yet, have I?"

"Give yourself time."

Lily leans into Lancelot's legs, letting him massage at her chest and shoulders as he watches Faolan work.

"Have you eaten? Please, help yourself to something too if you're hungry. I have no intention of seeing you go hungry because you focused all your energy on looking after me."

Which he suspects Faolan would do, too.

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