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Febuwhump day 8: "why won't it stop?"
Master list here.
This is a follow-up to the rather harrowing solitary confinement one, based on![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosanicus's deliciously terrible suggestion in the comments that the hallucinations don't stop after Erich is rescued. In spite of that, this is mostly comfort, though comfort with a heavy angst lean.
Day 8: "why won't it stop?"
Biggles/EvS, 1000 wds
Biggles stirred from sleep to find that the bed next to him was cold. He sat up, blinking in the dim street light coming in through the thin curtains of Erich's bedroom at the Kensington flat. It was much smaller than his own, austerely bare compared to the intimate clutter of his own collection of books, memorabilia, and other objects amassed over a lifetime. Though the Kensington bedroom was becoming more familiar, he still had an occasional moment of disorientation upon waking, thinking himself in a hotel room or on assignment in the field; then awareness trickled back in.
Erich was not in the bed, but there were no lights on; the flat was dark and silent. Swallowing tension, Biggles rose into the chilly air. Erich's dressing gown was missing from its hook by the door. Biggles slipped into his own, brought over from Mount Street when he had begun sleeping over occasionally -- and nearly every night, these days. As he did so, he thought he heard a soft voice say something in the sitting room, murmuring, speaking almost to itself.
"Erich?" he said softly as he padded into the sitting room.
Erich jerked and turned. There was a little more light since these windows had no curtains at all. As far as Biggles could tell, Erich was sitting on a chair in the dark, doing nothing.
"I'm sorry," Erich said. He rose swiftly to his feet. Despite his thinness -- he had just been starting to put the weight back on from Sakhalin; now he had lost most of it again -- he still had his usual lithe grace. "Shall I put on a kettle, or make coffee?"
Biggles took his hand. It was ice cold, and trembling a little. "I'd prefer you to come back to bed."
He was aware of Erich's tension, and was prepared to let go, but then Erich settled a little in his grasp, and Biggles relaxed too. When Biggles drew him in, Erich came with a little sigh and rested his head on Biggles's shoulder. He began to relax, though small tremors still ran through him.
Biggles didn't ask who or what Erich had been talking to. He had some idea. He'd seen the way Erich glanced at a particular corner of the room, as if it was haunted.
"I'm unlikely to be good company," Erich said into the collar of Biggles's dressing gown.
"That's all right, I shared bunks with Ginger sometimes during the war. And worse, Algy. He kicks to defend his territory, I can tell you that."
Erich huffed a small laugh, not very happy but not insincere. Biggles smiled into his hair. "Come to bed," he said quietly. "Try to rest."
Nights were the hardest time, Biggles knew, when one had been through the kind of thing Erich had. It had been difficult seeing him the first few days after they rescued him. He had finally lost most of his thinness and greyness from Sakhalin, and now he was terribly thin again, twitchy and jumpy. But he was starting to relax, to become less haunted-looking and put on a little weight. Biggles sleeping over had made a difference, at least Biggles liked to think so. And even if not, if the recovery was entirely due to Erich's own natural resilience, then Biggles still had the benefit of Erich's lean shape pressed against him all night long, Erich's breathing against his neck, Erich rolling him over to kiss him in the morning -- and that, he felt, was worth a few unexpected awakenings in the night.
As they stripped off their dressing gowns in the dark of the bedroom, Erich said, "You must think me a terrible bore."
"Never. Healing is a depressingly dull business, as I know all too well. But the patient isn't. Or so Algy tells me, at least on his good days." This made Erich's smile a little more genuine, and Biggles put an arm around him and drew him to the bed. "Come lie down. If you can't sleep, we can talk a little, perhaps even get up and have that drink you offered. But do try to sleep, it'll be good for you."
He soon had Erich under the covers with him, held against him, and Biggles smoothed his fingers through Erich's fine hair, starting to be just long enough to curl behind his ears in a way that Biggles privately adored. Face to face on the pillows, it was too dark to see each other clearly, but he could see the glimmer when Erich blinked.
"Would it help to have a light on?" Biggles asked quietly, and Erich inhaled sharply. He had stopped shivering, but now a tremor ran through him.
"No -- no, not that."
"Not that," Biggles repeatedly quietly. "Do you mind if we talk for a little while, then? I didn't have a chance earlier, at dinner, to tell you about what we found in the smugglers' briefcase we retrieved from that cave up at Applecross, you know, the one Algy had to wade in the mud to find?"
Biggles paused, and Erich gave a little nod. Biggles could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I'm always in favor of a story that begins with Lacey wading in mud."
"It was the sheer devil of a time finding a place to land, I can tell you ..."
He went on talking about their case, stroking his fingers through Erich's hair in a slow, soothing cadence. He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his voice, the touch, or simply Erich's own exhaustion, but Biggles felt him relaxing and going slowly limp, twitching a little, until finally his breathing assumed the regular cadence of sleep. Letting his words trail off, Biggles leaned into him, half asleep himself already, and felt Erich snuggle closer in a kind of instinctive trust he could never have shown while he was awake.
This is a follow-up to the rather harrowing solitary confinement one, based on
rosanicus's deliciously terrible suggestion in the comments that the hallucinations don't stop after Erich is rescued. In spite of that, this is mostly comfort, though comfort with a heavy angst lean.Day 8: "why won't it stop?"
Biggles/EvS, 1000 wds
Biggles stirred from sleep to find that the bed next to him was cold. He sat up, blinking in the dim street light coming in through the thin curtains of Erich's bedroom at the Kensington flat. It was much smaller than his own, austerely bare compared to the intimate clutter of his own collection of books, memorabilia, and other objects amassed over a lifetime. Though the Kensington bedroom was becoming more familiar, he still had an occasional moment of disorientation upon waking, thinking himself in a hotel room or on assignment in the field; then awareness trickled back in.
Erich was not in the bed, but there were no lights on; the flat was dark and silent. Swallowing tension, Biggles rose into the chilly air. Erich's dressing gown was missing from its hook by the door. Biggles slipped into his own, brought over from Mount Street when he had begun sleeping over occasionally -- and nearly every night, these days. As he did so, he thought he heard a soft voice say something in the sitting room, murmuring, speaking almost to itself.
"Erich?" he said softly as he padded into the sitting room.
Erich jerked and turned. There was a little more light since these windows had no curtains at all. As far as Biggles could tell, Erich was sitting on a chair in the dark, doing nothing.
"I'm sorry," Erich said. He rose swiftly to his feet. Despite his thinness -- he had just been starting to put the weight back on from Sakhalin; now he had lost most of it again -- he still had his usual lithe grace. "Shall I put on a kettle, or make coffee?"
Biggles took his hand. It was ice cold, and trembling a little. "I'd prefer you to come back to bed."
He was aware of Erich's tension, and was prepared to let go, but then Erich settled a little in his grasp, and Biggles relaxed too. When Biggles drew him in, Erich came with a little sigh and rested his head on Biggles's shoulder. He began to relax, though small tremors still ran through him.
Biggles didn't ask who or what Erich had been talking to. He had some idea. He'd seen the way Erich glanced at a particular corner of the room, as if it was haunted.
"I'm unlikely to be good company," Erich said into the collar of Biggles's dressing gown.
"That's all right, I shared bunks with Ginger sometimes during the war. And worse, Algy. He kicks to defend his territory, I can tell you that."
Erich huffed a small laugh, not very happy but not insincere. Biggles smiled into his hair. "Come to bed," he said quietly. "Try to rest."
Nights were the hardest time, Biggles knew, when one had been through the kind of thing Erich had. It had been difficult seeing him the first few days after they rescued him. He had finally lost most of his thinness and greyness from Sakhalin, and now he was terribly thin again, twitchy and jumpy. But he was starting to relax, to become less haunted-looking and put on a little weight. Biggles sleeping over had made a difference, at least Biggles liked to think so. And even if not, if the recovery was entirely due to Erich's own natural resilience, then Biggles still had the benefit of Erich's lean shape pressed against him all night long, Erich's breathing against his neck, Erich rolling him over to kiss him in the morning -- and that, he felt, was worth a few unexpected awakenings in the night.
As they stripped off their dressing gowns in the dark of the bedroom, Erich said, "You must think me a terrible bore."
"Never. Healing is a depressingly dull business, as I know all too well. But the patient isn't. Or so Algy tells me, at least on his good days." This made Erich's smile a little more genuine, and Biggles put an arm around him and drew him to the bed. "Come lie down. If you can't sleep, we can talk a little, perhaps even get up and have that drink you offered. But do try to sleep, it'll be good for you."
He soon had Erich under the covers with him, held against him, and Biggles smoothed his fingers through Erich's fine hair, starting to be just long enough to curl behind his ears in a way that Biggles privately adored. Face to face on the pillows, it was too dark to see each other clearly, but he could see the glimmer when Erich blinked.
"Would it help to have a light on?" Biggles asked quietly, and Erich inhaled sharply. He had stopped shivering, but now a tremor ran through him.
"No -- no, not that."
"Not that," Biggles repeatedly quietly. "Do you mind if we talk for a little while, then? I didn't have a chance earlier, at dinner, to tell you about what we found in the smugglers' briefcase we retrieved from that cave up at Applecross, you know, the one Algy had to wade in the mud to find?"
Biggles paused, and Erich gave a little nod. Biggles could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I'm always in favor of a story that begins with Lacey wading in mud."
"It was the sheer devil of a time finding a place to land, I can tell you ..."
He went on talking about their case, stroking his fingers through Erich's hair in a slow, soothing cadence. He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his voice, the touch, or simply Erich's own exhaustion, but Biggles felt him relaxing and going slowly limp, twitching a little, until finally his breathing assumed the regular cadence of sleep. Letting his words trail off, Biggles leaned into him, half asleep himself already, and felt Erich snuggle closer in a kind of instinctive trust he could never have shown while he was awake.
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Erich huffed a small laugh, not very happy but not insincere.
This is such a perfect bit of description <333
And Erich's reaction to having the light on, oh my heart! But instead he has Biggles keeping him company in the dark and distracting him enough to sleep, this is all utterly glorious h/c and extremely RTMI.
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Ngggggght!
Not YET. But maybe eventually.
This was so lovely and comforting, and I'm glad Biggles and Erich have each other to hold and soothe. Petting and hugs are such lovely things they both need ♥!
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The fact he knows just what Erich needs at this point even if he doesn't know exactly what's happening - although he has his suspicions - is such lovely caretaking, along with telling him a story where Algy has a miserable time just to make him smile.
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