Post by wordy on May 22, 2013 11:21:40 GMT 10
Title: I’m Not A Robot
Rating: PG
Word Count: 924
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 2B
Summary: The beginning. Raoul finds that he has a support system, whether he likes it or not. Bonus!Flyndan.
A/N: Part of my Adjustments series, in which Raoul is a late-bloomer and comes into his Gift later in life than most.
“You don’t really look fit to be leading an army,” says Flyndan, crossing his arms. “We can’t have you falling from the saddle again. It’s bad for morale.”
“Is that so? Because from what I’ve heard around the barracks, it’s been doing plenty good for morale. And that was one time. I wish you’d bloody stop bringing it up.”
He means to keep a stiff upper lip, but suddenly the room sways, and Flyn’s grabbing his arm, holding him upright. Raoul feels the edge of the desk bump against the back of his thighs. He leans against it, raising a shaking hand to his forehead: it comes away sticky with sweat.
“You’re burning up,” Flyn says. He looks more irritated than concerned; Raoul can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he keeled over on the spot. Mild annoyance, probably.
“You’re going straight to the infirmary and you’re going to stay there, even if I have to tie you to a bed.” Flyn helps him stand, already dragging him towards the door.
“It’s just a fever—”
The two of them grapple. For all his muscle, Flyn’s a weedy fellow, and Raoul knows how to be unmovable when he needs to be. He plants his feet, only to be knocked off-balance when the door opens beside him.
“I came as soon as I could get away,” Buri says, then stops short at the sight of them. “Oh. It’s that bad, is it?”
Raoul narrows his eyes at her, then at Flyn. “You two have been talking.”
“Help me get him to Duke Baird,” Flyn tells her.
“I’m fine!”
Buri steps forward and grabs him by the elbow. “Stop being difficult, Raoul. You’re going to Baird, whether you like it or not.”
Flyndan disappears almost immediately once he determines that an escape from the infirmary is near-impossible. Duke Baird hides his amusement well, though Raoul can see the smile tugging at his mouth as the chief healer leans over and presses a cooling hand to his forehead. Raoul sinks into sleep.
When he wakes later to find himself still in the same bed, sconces burning, flickering, on the walls, Raoul crosses his arms and sulks in the dark. He still feels unnaturally warm, as though his body has decided to sweat off a layer of skin. It’s unnerving. He tosses off the thin sheet and sits up on the edge of the bed, only for his legs to fail him when the time to stand finally arrives. Cursing, he lies down again.
The creak of a door makes him jump, and he’s suddenly wide awake (had he nodded off?). Sitting up, he squints across the darkened infirmary. The sconces are still lit, but the room is bathed in shadow nonetheless. His head feels hot, his eyelids heavy. Just as the temptation of sleep begins to overwhelm him, a figure slips through the infirmary door; it isn’t until she’s halfway across the room that his brain makes sense of what he’s seeing.
“Buri?”
“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?” she says, perching on the bed beside him. With a firm hand, she pushes against his shoulder until his head hits the pillow.
He doesn’t remember that conversation, if it happened, but he’s glad that he’s no longer alone. The infirmary looks almost normal in the darkness, the other beds no longer just shapes, some even with sleeping occupants in them. He raises a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but it shakes, and he lets it curl closed across his stomach instead. When he looks up, Buri’s lips are pressed together, a crease between her eyebrows.
“I don’t need to be here,” he says.
“Baird says you do, and frankly, I trust his word over yours at the moment.”
The infirmary is for people who are sick, he doesn’t say. He’s seen men die in seconds, blood on their hands, metal through flesh. This is something else, though, a creeping kind of death. Waiting. Just waiting. He doesn’t want that: he wants the thrill, not the fear.
The last time he felt like this, a fire burning him up from the inside out, people had died. The Sweating Sickness had taken family, friends, his queen. Somehow, he had survived. But the memory of that fire is still there. It scares him.
He doesn’t say that either.
Buri sighs, quietly, and picks up the corner of the bed sheet to wipe his forehead. There’s no cool relief as with Baird’s touch, but he feels better, after. He tries to smile. “Be honest. How long have you and Flyn had your little embroidery circle going on?”
She doesn’t quite laugh, then shakes her head. “Someone has to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point. And you can’t, obviously.” She pats him on the hand, and stands up. The glow of light from the sconces shades her skin bronze. “When you care about someone, it means that you have to let them care about you. Even if you feel ten feet tall, your investment isn’t the same as theirs.”
After a moment: “Since when have you become some sort of wise woman?”
“Since everyone around me started playing the fool,” she says. “I deal with enough idiots as it is. I don’t need another one.”
He doesn’t know if she leaves then, or if she doesn’t, but when he opens his eyes in the morning the sunlight is streaming through the eastern windows and Buri is gone.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 924
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 2B
Summary: The beginning. Raoul finds that he has a support system, whether he likes it or not. Bonus!Flyndan.
A/N: Part of my Adjustments series, in which Raoul is a late-bloomer and comes into his Gift later in life than most.
“You don’t really look fit to be leading an army,” says Flyndan, crossing his arms. “We can’t have you falling from the saddle again. It’s bad for morale.”
“Is that so? Because from what I’ve heard around the barracks, it’s been doing plenty good for morale. And that was one time. I wish you’d bloody stop bringing it up.”
He means to keep a stiff upper lip, but suddenly the room sways, and Flyn’s grabbing his arm, holding him upright. Raoul feels the edge of the desk bump against the back of his thighs. He leans against it, raising a shaking hand to his forehead: it comes away sticky with sweat.
“You’re burning up,” Flyn says. He looks more irritated than concerned; Raoul can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he keeled over on the spot. Mild annoyance, probably.
“You’re going straight to the infirmary and you’re going to stay there, even if I have to tie you to a bed.” Flyn helps him stand, already dragging him towards the door.
“It’s just a fever—”
The two of them grapple. For all his muscle, Flyn’s a weedy fellow, and Raoul knows how to be unmovable when he needs to be. He plants his feet, only to be knocked off-balance when the door opens beside him.
“I came as soon as I could get away,” Buri says, then stops short at the sight of them. “Oh. It’s that bad, is it?”
Raoul narrows his eyes at her, then at Flyn. “You two have been talking.”
“Help me get him to Duke Baird,” Flyn tells her.
“I’m fine!”
Buri steps forward and grabs him by the elbow. “Stop being difficult, Raoul. You’re going to Baird, whether you like it or not.”
***
Flyndan disappears almost immediately once he determines that an escape from the infirmary is near-impossible. Duke Baird hides his amusement well, though Raoul can see the smile tugging at his mouth as the chief healer leans over and presses a cooling hand to his forehead. Raoul sinks into sleep.
When he wakes later to find himself still in the same bed, sconces burning, flickering, on the walls, Raoul crosses his arms and sulks in the dark. He still feels unnaturally warm, as though his body has decided to sweat off a layer of skin. It’s unnerving. He tosses off the thin sheet and sits up on the edge of the bed, only for his legs to fail him when the time to stand finally arrives. Cursing, he lies down again.
The creak of a door makes him jump, and he’s suddenly wide awake (had he nodded off?). Sitting up, he squints across the darkened infirmary. The sconces are still lit, but the room is bathed in shadow nonetheless. His head feels hot, his eyelids heavy. Just as the temptation of sleep begins to overwhelm him, a figure slips through the infirmary door; it isn’t until she’s halfway across the room that his brain makes sense of what he’s seeing.
“Buri?”
“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?” she says, perching on the bed beside him. With a firm hand, she pushes against his shoulder until his head hits the pillow.
He doesn’t remember that conversation, if it happened, but he’s glad that he’s no longer alone. The infirmary looks almost normal in the darkness, the other beds no longer just shapes, some even with sleeping occupants in them. He raises a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but it shakes, and he lets it curl closed across his stomach instead. When he looks up, Buri’s lips are pressed together, a crease between her eyebrows.
“I don’t need to be here,” he says.
“Baird says you do, and frankly, I trust his word over yours at the moment.”
The infirmary is for people who are sick, he doesn’t say. He’s seen men die in seconds, blood on their hands, metal through flesh. This is something else, though, a creeping kind of death. Waiting. Just waiting. He doesn’t want that: he wants the thrill, not the fear.
The last time he felt like this, a fire burning him up from the inside out, people had died. The Sweating Sickness had taken family, friends, his queen. Somehow, he had survived. But the memory of that fire is still there. It scares him.
He doesn’t say that either.
Buri sighs, quietly, and picks up the corner of the bed sheet to wipe his forehead. There’s no cool relief as with Baird’s touch, but he feels better, after. He tries to smile. “Be honest. How long have you and Flyn had your little embroidery circle going on?”
She doesn’t quite laugh, then shakes her head. “Someone has to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point. And you can’t, obviously.” She pats him on the hand, and stands up. The glow of light from the sconces shades her skin bronze. “When you care about someone, it means that you have to let them care about you. Even if you feel ten feet tall, your investment isn’t the same as theirs.”
After a moment: “Since when have you become some sort of wise woman?”
“Since everyone around me started playing the fool,” she says. “I deal with enough idiots as it is. I don’t need another one.”
He doesn’t know if she leaves then, or if she doesn’t, but when he opens his eyes in the morning the sunlight is streaming through the eastern windows and Buri is gone.