Story - Embrace ch. 13

[maderr]

Aspen

(chapter thirteen)

Stregoni was used to being woken in all sorts of ways – screams, pounding upon his door, his mother shaking him hard. Every crude way of waking a person had been inflicted upon him for as long as he could remember.

What he couldn't remember was being woken gently. The closest he got was waking up groggily on his own, usually to the clatter and racket of the houses around him as people prepared for their days, and servants ran about doing the earliest chores.

Usually, he was slow to wake, despite – or maybe because of – the rough ways in which he was always woken. His parents were much better about it, Stregoni envied them.

Today, however, he was immediately wide awake.

It took him several minutes to figure out that's what was so strange. He was completely alert. Not even remotely groggy.

What had woken him?

Not the sunlight, though that was enough to make him feel horrendously guilty – he was always up with the sun, if not well before. He could not remember the last time he had slept in so late, minus those occasions where he was still awake when the sun rose.

The location? He realized he was still in Gille's room – on Gille's bed, because Aubrey had put him there and he'd been too tired to leave it again once Aubrey vanished. That was certainly enough to rattle him awake…but that wasn't what actually woke him.

Stregoni sat up slowly, absently lifting a hand to his cheek – and then it suddenly struck him why he'd woken

Someone had touched him, or it had seemed like someone had touched him. Softly, like a caress.

He turned slowly toward Gille, wondering if he was about to be shoved from the bed, or taunted, or simply ignored.

Nothing of the kind, it seemed. Gille was still fast asleep.

Stregoni touched his own cheek again, frowning in thought. Had he dreamed it? He would have sworn…but that was not Gille's style, and anyway he had no reason to touch. Gille was in no condition to do those things that were the only reason he ever touched Stregoni.

A dream, then. A phantom touch he'd wanted badly enough to be real, he'd forced himself awake.

Idiot.

Sighing, Stregoni shoved back the chaotic mess that his hair had become and reached out to feel Gille's pulse, check the bruise and faint scars that were all that remained of the wound that should have been fatal.

Gille's skin was still paler than it should be, but he'd gain his full color in another day or so. His skin was warm to the touch, but not feverish. Soft, he could not help but notice. Gille always had such soft skin.

A knock on the door made him jump, and flinch guiltily back. Scrambling off the bed, he left the bedroom, crossed the sitting room, and opened the door to reveal a servant bearing a heavy tray. "Doctor, I hope I didn't wake you."

"No," Stregoni said. "Who ordered that?"

"Lord Aubrey said I should take up breakfast and see if anyone was awake yet. He said you likely would be, Doctor. Shall I set it on that table?"

"Um—yes. Thank you." Stregoni moved out of the way, standing quietly until the servant was done fussing with the tray, then absently thanked him before he was left once more alone.

He moved numbly to the table, realizing for the first time that Brey – and likely everyone now – knew about his feelings for Gille.

Gille would probably not take to it well – or perhaps he'd be vastly amused. It would certainly be just one more way to mock him for it. Stregoni winced and moved to the table, slumping down in a chair and preparing his tea with no enthusiasm. His stomach was far too knotted for food to appeal.

The idea of going back to bed was tempting, but that just made him think about the fact he'd just spent the entire night in Gille's bed, next to Gille, and he was just grateful that he'd woken up first. He shuddered to think what might have happened otherwise.

Without even realizing it, his hand strayed once more to his cheek, and he stared miserably at his tea before finally attempting a sip.

He set it aside immediately, suspicions confirmed. He was simply too nervous and unsettled to eat.

What was everyone else up to? He should go check on Carmilla, and if the weather was improved, he should go check on Tony. The poor thing probably hated having his parents gone for so long, even if it was the best medicine.

Sighing, he rubbed his temples, willing himself not to get a headache on top of the knots in his stomach.

Dropping his hands, he picked his tea up again and forced himself to take another sip, and then another. If he could get down a full cup of tea, he stood a chance at eating a proper breakfast. He would need it, whether he wanted it or not – his day was going to be a long one.

He had just started to eat when he heard movement from the bedroom, and only then realized he was making himself far too cozy in Gille's room, eating breakfast like he belonged there.

Ignoring the ache that thought left in his chest, Stregoni pushed his food away and made his way to the bedroom.

"What are you doing up?" He demanded, the doctor and the lover in him both furious. "Get back in that damned bed."

Gille paused where he was slowly and laboriously going through his wardrobe. "I"m fine," he said, then went back to pulling out clothes.

"Like hell you're fine!" Stregoni snapped, stomping across the room to grab Gille's arm, pulling him away from the wardrobe. "You're a bloody idiot, that's what you are. Get back in bed this instant or I'll put you there!"

"Oh?" Gille asked softly, looking entirely too smug and aumused for a man who was obviously weak and tired and straining himself. "Do, please."

Stregoni glared. "Bastard," he hissed. "You will not undo all the work that was done to save your inconsiderate, ungrateful, ass. Get. Back. In. Bed. I am the medical expert present, and I say you are not fit to leave your bed. Get back in it!"

Gille laughed. "No."

"Damn it, Gille, that was not a request. It was an order."

"I cannot," Gille replied, pulling off his shirt and slowly pulling on another. He was far too pale, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow. His hair was a mess, tumbling about everywhere.

Stregoni balled his hands into fists to avoid reaching out to smooth the messy strands back. "Why not?" he demanded.

"I have an appointment," Gille said shortly. "It will not keep."

"With whom?" Stregoni said. "I think they will understand if you say that you cannot make it for fear of almost getting yourself killed a second time."

Gille did not bother to look at him as he fought with his breeches. Stregoni glared, too worried and furious to be distracted. When he was finally dressed, Gille finally looked up again. "My appointments are none of your business," he said coldly. "I thank you for tending me, Doctor. I am quite well."

"Like hell!" Stregoni bellowed. "Get back in bed!"

Instead, Gille stalked toward him.

"Get away from me," Stregoni snarled, but he'd barely gotten the words out when Gille's hands landed heavily on his shoulders, and dragged him forward, crushing him against Gille's chest.

Then Gille was kissing him, deep and hard and long, and for a moment Stregoni lost track of his thoughts.

They returned full force, however, when he saw up close just how not well Gille really was.

"You need to rest," he whispered.

"It's none of your business," Gille said, voice as cold as the snow outside. "I'll thank you to stop mother-henning me. I outgrew a nanny years ago." He pushed Stregoni away, and strode to the door.

Stregoni saw red. Not even truly realizing what he did, he reached out and grabbed the nearest object -- a heavy dark blue vase filled with (Syrian Mallow?). It shattered against the door, just ahead of Gille, startling him into stillness.

Gille whipped around, eyes filled with fury, and Stregoni let him have it.

"I thought you were dead," he bellowed. "You were bleeding too heavily, there was already too much blood lost, and if not for Ruthven you would be dead, you selfish, ungrateful ass. All I've done is worry about you, all you do is manipulate me -- and it's none of my business?" He grabbed something else to throw, not even certain what it was, and kept throwing and shouting until suddenly Gille was in front of him, and kissing him again, and Stregoni wanted to struggle and beat the bastard senseless -- but Gille was not yet fit, and he could not forget that."

"Stay out of it, Carrot," Gille whispered, their mouths not quite touching.

Then he was gone, and Stregoni was left alone. Again. Confused and miserable. Again.

"Damn it," he said, and buried his face in his hands, sinking to sit on the floor. "Why can't I hate you?"

What in the hell did 'stay out of it' mean? Was that supposed to make sense? Stay out of what? Gille's business? Gille's life?

He reached up to touch his cheek again, remembering the soft caress from his dream.

Standing up, he brushed his clothes off and then strode through the mess he'd made to the door, kicking away a shard of porcelain.

What had he really expected? For Gille to have…had a change of heart because he'd nearly died?

That would imply Gille had a heart, and Stregoni was beginning to seriously doubt that.

If only he could give up on Gille, but he sensed he'd sooner give up practicing medicine.

Skipping the breakfast he'd been ready to eat only minutes ago, he left Gille's room and walked slowly down the long hallway to Carmilla's room.

Inside, the room was dark. The curtains were pulled to keep out light, a fire kept steadily burning. The room was warm, but not stifling.

He pushed back the bed curtains to examine Carmilla, still fast asleep in her bed. She was far too pale and, he knew, far too weak. Whatever was wrong with her, it was beyond his ability to cure. Perhaps there would be some improvement upon his return.

Which reminded him he had best get going, before the snow got any worse.

Still, he lingered a moment, playing idly with one of the deep red carnations in a vase beside the bed. Carmilla lay still, not even shifting or murmuring. Ruthven was just as deeply asleep in Aubrey's room, and Gille should still be in the very same state.

Cursing softly, Stregoni reached out to check Carmilla's pulse, hating that her skin was far cooler than it should be, that she was so pale. Was there not a single problem around here he could fix?

With another curse, he made certain her blankets were settled comfortably and finally turned away, trudging to his own room to finish packing. Taking up his bag, he made his way downstairs.

He slowed as he saw Lord Sangre standing in the hallway, looking troubled. "Is everything all right, my lord?"

"No," Sangre said tersely. He hesitated, then gave a soft sigh. "You are going to Blackfield?"

"Yes, my lord."

Sangre nodded. "On your way back, head toward my brother's home. Gille…I think it would be best if someone went to check on him. I would do it myself, but I fear I would only make matters worse."

"I think, my lord," Stregoni said bitterly, "that I would make matters far worse than you. I accidentally wandered to his house before, and I have seldom seen him so angry."

"Be that as it may," Sangre replied, "I feel someone should look after the idiot, and it may as well be his precious doctor."

Stregoni almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that epithet, but laughing at Lord Sangre was never a good idea. "Yes, my lord," he said instead, and took up the cloak the butler brought him. "No doubt we will return in a few days, then." He hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. "How was Gille when he left?"

"Too pale, too weak, too stubborn," Lord Sangre replied. "Do not tarry overlong at Blackfield. Travel carefully." He strode off, not giving Stregoni a chance to reply.

Nodding a thanks to the butler, Stregoni pulled on his gloves, settled his scarf and hat, then took up his bag and headed out into the weather.

The trip to Blackfield was arduous, and by the time he reached it he was fit for little more than collapsing in the hallways. Servants came running, buzzing around him anxiously to see if he was okay, if he brought news, if lord and mistress were behind him—

Stregoni cut them all off, then struggled to his feet and make quick work of the questions, and finally managed to get in a request to see Tony.

"We got the boy cleaned up and resting proper like," said a maid as she led the way up the stairs and through the winding halls. "He's been sleeping more often than not, doesn't even realize his folks aren't here. We've been taking turns reading to him and such, when he's awake enough for it."

"Good," Stregoni murmured, as she stopped before Tony's door and bobbed a curtsy.

Letting himself inside, Stregoni strode across the room to the bed, where another maid sat beside the bed, a closed book in her lap. Tony slept peacefully, but he could see at a glance it was not as deep and still a sleep as that which afflicted Ruthven and Carmilla. "How is he?"

"Much better since his lordship came and kicked up that fuss," the maid said. "He scared the Blackfield's good and proper, put the shame to them, put that quack in his place, eh?"

Stregoni paused in checking Tony over, confused. "His lordship? Lord Sangre came out this way?"

"Eh? No, Doctor. I meant the other one – his nephew, isn't it? Begging your pardon for any rudeness. His lordship showed up icy as you please, had them shaking in their slippers right off." She smiled blandly. "Not that we would be eavesdropping on the conversations of our betters, now."

"Of course," Stregoni said, equally bland.

She smiled. "As I was saying, the downstairs maids were cleaning at the time, supervised by the head footman like, and they heard the whole thing – accidentally, like. His lordship summoned William, and proceeded to question him on all sorts of medical things. No idea his lordship was so educated, but then again he made it clear you were a close and very dear friend of the family. I expect he picked up the wisdom from you, Doctor."

"Indeed," Stregoni said.

"Anyway, he asked question after question, and that no account quack couldn't answer. Was humiliated right good and proper, he was, all in front of the master and mistress. Then his lordship turned on them, and had them shaking like leaves for daring to hurt you and all. When he was finished, he offered them a chance to make reparations to you, Doctor. Did they?"

Stregoni nodded absently. "Are you quite certain it was Gille who was here?"

The maid laughed softly. "Oh, yes, Doctor. Beggin your pardon for any forwardness, but we'd all know that one on sight. Pretty as anything, his lordship. Long brown hair, the green eyes as delicate as porcelain." She sighed softly, hands clasped in her lap. "Aye, it was him, sure enough."

Sure enough, Stregoni thought faintly. What in the world? Why would Gille go to so much trouble…

No wonder William had been so furious with him – why he had poisoned the Pets, or attempted to. Stregoni had long been the target of Gille's ability to find the weakest spot and go for the kill. He could not imagine that William, weak and so obviously a charlatan, would have endured it for long.

"Are the master and mistress returning?" the maid asked.

"Eventually," Stregoni said. "Not any time soon, I should think."

The maid nodded. "Good. Begging your pardon, Doctor, for any impertinence. They're good, kind people, more often than not – but kindness can kill, eh?'

"Yes," Stregoni replied. "Kindness can kill. I have brought some teas and tincture that I think will help him, though I can see you all have done quite well on your own. Keep it up, and if he takes a turn, send for me at Lord Sangre's home."

He looked out the window, to see that night had fallen well and truly. Too late, then, to attempt any sort of travel. "I will have to leave in the morning. I do not suppose there is a bed I might steal for the night?"

"Of course, Doctor," the maid said, and stood up. Briskly she made certain Tony was comfortable, taking up the tins and bottles which Stregoni had set out, then led him from the room and down the hall to a room. "We'll have dinner sent up straight away. Anything else you would like, Doctor?"

Stregoni shook his head, and set his things down, suddenly extremely tired. "No, I thank you. Food would be greatly appreciated."

The maid bobbed a curtsy, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Moving to the bed, Stregoni flopped down on it, and fell almost instantly asleep, too tired even to dwell on Gille's strange behavior

Comments

[lady-ocean.livejournal.com]

Awww. I like Gille even more now. Though I do wonder what he's involved in that he doesn't want Stregoni to know about.
But the description of how he went to the Blackfield's and reamed them for what they did to Stregoni made me pleased.


And I want to know what woke Stregoni! You taunt us, and don't tell us!

As always, a very good update!

[skylark97.livejournal.com]

Aw, okay, I think I'm ready to forgive Gille his faults. ^____^ He's the gruff, possessive, can't-tell-his-feelings type. Although, I suspect that there's a little more to it than that. I do so love and adore the revelations though, that Gille stomped out to Blackfield to defend Stregoni's honor without Stregoni even knowing it. ^______^ <333 And I love Stregoni's shock at it. Their parting in the beginning...ack, it hurts so good. You just know that they're in love but getting in their own way and if they'd just stop being obstinate, things would go their way...<333 I loved it when Stregoni threw the vase. <3

*twirls you about* I just so love and utterly adore all of this!! *bounces*

[saaski-moql.livejournal.com]

I just had a sudden thought. Could Camilla be...half-vampire? Or something. Her father loved them both, so why not, and that would account for the sickness--she's just not being treated "right" not to mention the garlic from before, and Sangre would have kept it hidden, obviously.

Er. Pay me no mind.

[twilight-angel.livejournal.com]

Hey, quick critique before I continue reading. First off, this is great! Second, I think you left in one of your notes. When Stregoni throws a vase, you describe it as a heavy dark blue vase filled with (Syrian Mallow?). And now off to finish this wonderful story!