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Whumptober Day 6: Healed Wrong (Biggles)
No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY’RE INJURED
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | “It’s not my blood.”
Set somewhere late in canon, Biggles & EvS gen.
"And Fritz writes that he is enjoying his university studies. He says that he wishes to be a pilot, though it is only a passing fancy, I expect, so don't get your hopes up too much."
The small smile of startled pleasure on Bigglesworth's face distracted Erich sufficiently that he failed to notice an uneven join in the pavement and came down hard on his bad leg. His soft hiss of breath at the stab of pain from knee to hip did not go unnoticed, and as he wobbled, Bigglesworth reached out a quick hand to his arm -- not catching him exactly, but giving him a brief steadying touch to get his balance.
"Are you all right?"
"A misstep." It hurt more than usual when he put his foot down, but he clenched his jaw; he could walk it out, and if he'd done himself any damage, he would know later in his rooms. He had no wish to spoil the afternoon. "As I was saying, the letter from Fritz --"
But Bigglesworth was not to be put off so easily. "I am delighted to hear that Fritz is doing well," he said. "But I was wondering -- and I shall desist immediately if you don't want to talk about it, but I know men at the Royal Aero Club, injured in the war, who have had a great deal of success with modern treatments for old wounds. The advances in surgery since our day are truly remarkable. I won't speak to anyone without your permission, of course --"
"Good," Erich said sharply, his pleasant mood evaporating. "Don't."
There was a time when this might have provoked a defensive flare in return, and Erich found himself bracing for it, but instead Bigglesworth only smiled crookedly. "Then I won't," he said. "It pains me to see you in pain, that's all. I wish I could help."
And that caught him like a punch in a place he hadn't braced at all. Bigglesworth had always had a way of sneaking past his defenses like that, it was one of the most infuriating things about him -- but it was the openness that was different, these days; the way that he seemed to disarm their arguments not with debate, but with a softer, unguarded friendliness that only now made Erich realize what had been missing between them all those years.
And so Erich found himself answering with the same unguarded honesty. "There isn't much that can be done. An old wound, that's all, long since healed as well as it ever will. We all have a lot of them."
"This is true. But I should like to help heal this one, if I could -- so let me know if there's anything I can do, if there is anyone I might speak to."
"I will," Erich said. Oddly, he found that he meant it; and then he did something he never did normally in public, and reached down to knead at the knotted muscle around the old break. He did it at home, in private, but he was so used to working around it in public, the rest of his body knotting up to avoid the hurt, that it was a little startling how much it did help to press a fist into the tightened muscle until it stopped aching quite so much.
"What did you say Fritz is studying?" Bigglesworth asked in a perfectly normal, conversational tone, as if they weren't stopped on a streetcorner so Erich could rub at his bad leg. "I don't suppose piloting is a university career, even these days."
"He is looking into medicine, actually," Erich said. He found himself smiling a little. "Entirely his idea, nothing to do with me. He said that he would like to help people." He straightened up, his leg taking his weight more easily now that the muscle was more relaxed. "In a world with policemen who are also pilots, perhaps a pilot doctor isn't out of the question."
"I shall be very happy to give him flying lessons if he chooses," Bigglesworth said as they resumed walking, speaking matter-of-factly as if it was a completely sensible suggestion.
Erich laughed softly, almost startling himself with the sound. It was so -- easy, these days, and that was something he never had imagined, could never have imagined, that he and Bigglesworth might have this easiness between them someday. Arguments headed off into friendly conversation, honesty in place of defensiveness, quiet laughter instead of anger.
Something could break and heal crooked, but it was still possible for it to break again, and heal better; he would have to remember that.
"I'll tell Fritz of your offer," he said, and received another of those quick, startled smiles. "I think he'll be very happy to hear it."
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | “It’s not my blood.”
Set somewhere late in canon, Biggles & EvS gen.
"And Fritz writes that he is enjoying his university studies. He says that he wishes to be a pilot, though it is only a passing fancy, I expect, so don't get your hopes up too much."
The small smile of startled pleasure on Bigglesworth's face distracted Erich sufficiently that he failed to notice an uneven join in the pavement and came down hard on his bad leg. His soft hiss of breath at the stab of pain from knee to hip did not go unnoticed, and as he wobbled, Bigglesworth reached out a quick hand to his arm -- not catching him exactly, but giving him a brief steadying touch to get his balance.
"Are you all right?"
"A misstep." It hurt more than usual when he put his foot down, but he clenched his jaw; he could walk it out, and if he'd done himself any damage, he would know later in his rooms. He had no wish to spoil the afternoon. "As I was saying, the letter from Fritz --"
But Bigglesworth was not to be put off so easily. "I am delighted to hear that Fritz is doing well," he said. "But I was wondering -- and I shall desist immediately if you don't want to talk about it, but I know men at the Royal Aero Club, injured in the war, who have had a great deal of success with modern treatments for old wounds. The advances in surgery since our day are truly remarkable. I won't speak to anyone without your permission, of course --"
"Good," Erich said sharply, his pleasant mood evaporating. "Don't."
There was a time when this might have provoked a defensive flare in return, and Erich found himself bracing for it, but instead Bigglesworth only smiled crookedly. "Then I won't," he said. "It pains me to see you in pain, that's all. I wish I could help."
And that caught him like a punch in a place he hadn't braced at all. Bigglesworth had always had a way of sneaking past his defenses like that, it was one of the most infuriating things about him -- but it was the openness that was different, these days; the way that he seemed to disarm their arguments not with debate, but with a softer, unguarded friendliness that only now made Erich realize what had been missing between them all those years.
And so Erich found himself answering with the same unguarded honesty. "There isn't much that can be done. An old wound, that's all, long since healed as well as it ever will. We all have a lot of them."
"This is true. But I should like to help heal this one, if I could -- so let me know if there's anything I can do, if there is anyone I might speak to."
"I will," Erich said. Oddly, he found that he meant it; and then he did something he never did normally in public, and reached down to knead at the knotted muscle around the old break. He did it at home, in private, but he was so used to working around it in public, the rest of his body knotting up to avoid the hurt, that it was a little startling how much it did help to press a fist into the tightened muscle until it stopped aching quite so much.
"What did you say Fritz is studying?" Bigglesworth asked in a perfectly normal, conversational tone, as if they weren't stopped on a streetcorner so Erich could rub at his bad leg. "I don't suppose piloting is a university career, even these days."
"He is looking into medicine, actually," Erich said. He found himself smiling a little. "Entirely his idea, nothing to do with me. He said that he would like to help people." He straightened up, his leg taking his weight more easily now that the muscle was more relaxed. "In a world with policemen who are also pilots, perhaps a pilot doctor isn't out of the question."
"I shall be very happy to give him flying lessons if he chooses," Bigglesworth said as they resumed walking, speaking matter-of-factly as if it was a completely sensible suggestion.
Erich laughed softly, almost startling himself with the sound. It was so -- easy, these days, and that was something he never had imagined, could never have imagined, that he and Bigglesworth might have this easiness between them someday. Arguments headed off into friendly conversation, honesty in place of defensiveness, quiet laughter instead of anger.
Something could break and heal crooked, but it was still possible for it to break again, and heal better; he would have to remember that.
"I'll tell Fritz of your offer," he said, and received another of those quick, startled smiles. "I think he'll be very happy to hear it."
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And I love that Fritz is going to be a flying doctor!
So much healing here <333
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Yay!
I really enjoyed this scene.
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Something could break and heal crooked, but it was still possible for it to break again, and heal better; he would have to remember that.
*inhuman howling noises*
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