10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] turn toward the sun (Lot No. 249 - Arthur Conan Doyle)

Summary:

Smiling, Smith asked, "Would you care to join me for a late eve drink, Lee?" 

Notes:

Work Text:

Monkhouse Lee looked rather bedraggled, when he opened the door. Abercrombie Smith had never seen him so worn down, not even when he almost drowned, and he frowned, heart twisting. "Are you rather alright?" he asked, looking the young man over. Lee was pale, far too pale, and he was holding onto the door-frame like it was the only thing holding him up.

"Oh, Smith," said Lee, swallowing heavily. "You're okay? You're really... I just... are you really okay?"

"Of course I am," said Smith, holding himself straight. He took a step forth and Lee stepped back; it was not his intent, but he took the opportunity to make his way into Lee's room, the shelter he'd retreated to when his own rooms in the Tower was no longer safe for him. It was rather dark and dreary at the moment, but Smith thought that might be a trick of the mind. A true trick of the mind, mind you, and not the horrible, horrible manner of events that had befallen them.

Lee's lip almost quivered. Then he took a deep breath and sat down on a chair. "I've been so worried," he said, pressing his hands to his face, bending forwards. Smith hovered over him, unsure if he was allowed to touch and yet unable to walk away, or to just watch his misery. 

"I'm fine," he said, crouching down. After a moment he placed his hand on Lee's knee; he felt the bones move under hi hand, the muscles tense and then relax, even through the trousers. "Truly, it was far simpler than I had feared. In the end, the man is a coward, Lee. He dared not even attempt to fight when faced with an equal." 

Lee looked at him, eyes wide. He was singularly a handsome man, and Smith had had that thought a dozen times by now. It was not unfamiliar, now, and he breathed in deeply. "IT is really over?" asked Lee in a faint voice, putting his hand on Smith's, and Smith nodded. He hoped Lee did not notice how Smith's breath caught in his throat at the touch, how his heart skipped a beat, how his chest swelled—now was hardly the appropriate time, he scolded himself. And anyway, this was not about him.  

"It is over, Lee," said Smith, and Lee's smile bloomed. It—Smith could hardly breathe for a minute, so dazzled was he by this appearance, and so consumed was he by the beauty. Lee grinned wide and true, eyes sparkling in the low light, and he squeezed Smith's hand tightly. Monkhouse Lee, Smith thought, was dangerous. 

Doubtlessly far more dangerous than Bellingham. 

Swallowing heavily, Abercrombie Smith wet his dry lips, his tongue feeling heavy as stone. "I thought you ought to know as soon as possible," he said, low, barely able to string together two coherent thoughts. And he was coming down from the fright now, too; the fright of confronting Bellingham, of putting everything on the line. He could have gone to jail, he thought. Or worse. He could have died. 

But he did not have any regrets—there was nothing else he could have done. Bellingham needed to be stopped before he crossed that final line, and Smith only considered it a loss that he had not realized the true danger sooner, that he had not been more open to the reality. A failure on his part. One that he won't commit again. 

"Thank you," said Lee, and squeezed Smith's hand again. Lee's hand was warm and soft, and Smith rather thought it was painfully obvious of him, these feelings of his. But Lee said, "Oh, truly, Smith, I don't know what I would have done..." 

"It is no matter," said Smith, shaking his head. On his knees, he looked up at Lee and searched his face, studied his expression. It was an expression that he never more wished to see on Lee, an expression of utter terror and helplessness. Lee had not known what to do, had seemed so lost when Smith had told him he thought it was a woman, of all things, that Bellingham had in his rooms. Smith had gotten his hopes up, and then crushed them, and even now he could not forget the look on Lee's face. 

Smith would not stand for it, he decided. Would not ever stand for Lee being so frightened again, not as long as he was around to do something about it. 

He had already decided that at some point, he realized then, and just not noticed. 

Foolish of him, that, too. 

"I apologize," said Smith now. He kept looking into Lee's eyes, could not possibly tear his gaze away. "I should have believed you, should have taken your warning to heart." 

"It's hardly your fault, Smith," said Lee, shaking his head. He pressed his lips tight, and Smith's stomach swooped hot, a desire to remove that expression from him. Lee ought to be smiling; a young, pretty, healthy man as he ought not to have any unhappiness to speak of. Lee sighed. "Oh, really, I'm sorry for getting you dragged into all this nastiness. If you had been hurt—" 

"If you had been hurt," interrupted Smith, turning his hand around to tangle their fingers. "If you had been hurt again, I would never have forgiven myself. No, I could not stand idly by, Lee. You ought to know this about me." 

"I do." Lee smiled, a little helplessly. He stared at their hands, and Smith's heart skipped a beat. "I do know that. You are—very impressive, Smith. I admire you greatly. And I do not wish to ever be the reason why you would be hurt." His gaze grew fierce. "You ought to know that, Smith." 

Smith could not say a word for a worryingly long time. Then he exhaled, and he smiled. "I do," he said, looking up at Lee the way one looked at the fondness of their hearts. "But I could do nothing else." 

Lee said nothing for some time. Smith did not blame him; he stayed there before him, holding his hand, only grateful that he was allowed this closeness. That he was allowed this comfort; both to offer it, and to receive it. 

He could scarcely bear thinking of it, what could have happened. Lee had been so close to death's door, and it had been that dastardly Bellingham's doing... it was unconscionable. Utterly unconscionable. Smith did not think himself a great man, but he thought he was a good man, and even without these feelings of his, he felt certain he'd still act decisively to deal with such an obvious threat. But without Lee's involvement, he might have been less impulsive, or might have chosen a longer, more thought out plan. 

But then, he thought also, with this kind of mystical, magical threat, clear and concise action was worth more than wallowing over the decision of what to do. Charging ahead before Bellingham realized how far Smith was willing to go and could take action to protect himself accordingly was the correct answer, he felt. 

But regardless, there was no denying a certain ferocity to which he'd responded, and he could lie this at the feet of Lee. 

Oh, but he did not regret it. 

"What will you do, tonight?" asked Smith, wetting his lips. He imagined Lee looking at it, spotting the motion, but in truth Lee's eyes were gazing into his own with such intensity he did not think Lee even noticed. "Will you return?"

"Oh, how I wish," said Lee, and shook his head. "But I could not bear to see him right now, and if he should still be there..."

"Then I will stay with you here, tonight," said Smith. Lee's mouth parted, and his eyes widened, and Smith's stomach swooped. He could not help a smile, could not help pushing himself up a little on his knees, his toes curling as he got closer. "I will not leave you alone tonight. Who knows if Bellingham will come searching for some petty vengeance? And for that matter, I do not much wish to sleep anywhere near him, either. So, if you do not mind, could I stay here with you tonight?"

"Of course." Lee smiled and huffed a little. He leaned back on his chair, and his hair swooped handsomely over his face, his eyes glittering. 

Smiling rather helplessly, Smith stood. His hand grazed Lee's shoulder, tracing the stitching of his clothes, and he said, "Thank you, Lee." 

"No need for such things," said Lee, shaking his head. He stood, too, and pulled a bit on the loose thread that Smith had already pulled on. Smith's cheeks would have colored at that, were he the kind of man whose cheeks did such. Instead, he cleared his throat and held his head high, waiting for judgment. But Lee only smiled at him.

And so Smith smiled at him, too. He did not know what tomorrow would bring; if Bellingham would choose to retaliate, to bring accusations against him. Did not know how Lee would see his actions, in the light of day. If he would consider Smith's resoluteness to be an act of barbarism. 

But Lee was alright. The mummy was no more. And Bellingham was once more reduced to an ordinary kind of evil—a terribly human one, but an ordinary evil nonetheless. 

Smiling, Smith asked, "Would you care to join me for a late eve drink, Lee?" 

And Lee smiled, too. "I would be most pleased," he said, and followed Smith out the door. It was late, terribly late, but with a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other, they could, if nothing else, sit on the grass and watch the water. And so they did, and spoke of nothing and everything, slowly sipping at their drinks as time slid away from them. 

Smith watched Lee in the night's darkness, studied him the way he studied his textbooks, and thought that this, at least, remained here. Unstained and unmatched, still in one piece. 

And he was so very relieved. So very reliveved that Bellinghman was a coward in the end, and a man that did not even dare attempt to fight.

"I am glad you're alright," said Smith in the night, and Lee grinned at him, bright with the success and the freedom from the fear that had been haunting him so damningly. Smith's stomach was nothing but butterflies, when Lee looked at him like that, and he could hardly think of a coherent answer. And so he simply grinned back, and laid down upon the grass, looking to the heavens. And Lee laid down, too, his body warm in the night's chill, and they stayed there until the call of slumber grew too fierce to be denied. 

And the next day, Lee followed Smith back to his quarters, and sat down beside him to study. Smith could barely read a word, so aware was he of Lee's presence.

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#Fandom: MISC - Books #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: Hurt/Comfort #Tag: Post-Canon #WC: 1000-5000