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whoopssteddiefeels · 1 year

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Penny in the Air

Robin is a lot of things: judgey, hyperactive, anxious, impulsive, talkative, loud- there’s a list okay, and she’s very familiar with it. High up the list is that she is very, very gay (if possible, she’s pretty sure she’s actually getting gayer. She blames Steve for this, as she’s pretty sure it has to do with being able to finally talk about her crushes to someone other than her reflection.)

The point is, she’s gay, so she’s not surprised that she notices first. The Steve-Eddie thing. Because it is, in fact, a thing at this point.

She knows Eddie is gay- knows it like the sky is blue and David Bowie rocks- because of, y’know, the way he is (if she had any doubt, the way he leaned in while calling Steve “big boy”, ew, killed it dead.) Her research suggests this is “gaydar,” but its very unfair, she thinks, that so far it has only detected exactly (2) gays, both men, making it pretty much useless. It has given her exactly 0 information on Vickie.

She empathizes with Eddie’s position. Feels it pang under her sternum when his eyes go soft watching Steve talk emphatically, hair flopping around in that ridiculous way it does. Knows how it must catch in his throat when his hand suddenly retracts halfway to Steve’s shoulder, going to his own hair to cover the aborted movement. Tries hard to not over-identify with the sharp tug he gives there, trying to snap himself out of it (fails because she did literally exactly that when Vickie was in the video store the previous day, almost as if he had seen and copied the mechanism).

The part of the puzzle she can’t figure out is Steve. She’s annoyingly aware that he likes (groan) boobies, thanks Fast Times, and he isn’t treating Eddie like a girl whose number he’s trying to score. That being said, whenever the older boy appears, Steve lights up like a damn Christmas tree. Affection doesn’t have to be romantic; she knows this- wants to hit several of the kiddos over the head with it whenever they allude to her dating Steve- but empathy for Eddie is tinting her judgement, and once you put on the gay rose-tinted glasses it’s hard to unsee the possibility. It certainly seems like flirting. Rearranging his hair every three seconds, drawing Eddie’s eyes to the mane that is his pride and joy. Getting what she can only describe as unnecessarily close when he squeezes by Eddie in the video store aisles or whoever’s living room they’re sprawled in, hands brushing a shoulder, back, or one time his hip under the pretense of maintaining balance. The soft blush whenever Eddie flirts hard in a way he knows can be passed off as a joke. The honest megawatt smile Steve gets whenever Eddie starts in on his usual antics is infinitely more endearing than the smolder he’s learned to use like a weapon.

She usually knows exactly what Steve is thinking or feeling before he does. They’ve got that whole platonic soul mate telepathy thing, and he’s easily the center of her social world. So, since she can’t tell what he’s thinking (other than the obvious but unhelpful “Eddie, yay!”), she’s 99.9% sure, from experience, ok, that it means he isn’t thinking. Like at all. So, what she’s witnessing is instinctive, his body just moving into Eddie’s space because it feels correct, and he hasn’t paused to think about it.

He’s walking that line of comfortable and affectionate that is ambiguously intimate. Could be platonic, could be more. It would be frustrating for anyone with a crush, but she knows from bitter experience with straight-girl crushes that Eddie must be going insane. And yes, Robin and Eddie are friends, but not close enough for her to open a conversation with “So you’re obviously gay and into Steve, my best friend who I talk to every second of every day, and no he hasn’t mentioned it, and neither have I. What’s up with that?” Similarly, she can’t quite figure out how to bring it up to Steve without accidentally outing Eddie in the process.

That’s the main reason she’s keeping her mouth uncharacteristically shut on the subject. She is not, however, above the occasional raised eyebrow, ok, especially as Eddie’s flirting slowly becomes ridiculously obvious. The man is literally leaning on the counter, chin on his hand, mooning up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve has his hip propped on the opposite side, leaning into the shared space. How are either of them this oblivious, seriously.

~*~

She’s there when the penny finally drops.

They’re not even watching a romantic movie, it’s fucking Life of Brian, all three of them calling out their favorite lines along with the actors, throwing things and generally goofing off. If she takes the armchair to force the boys together on the couch, she doesn’t think anyone can blame her. If she’s feeling a little smug that they both sit in the middle, right next to each other, instead of taking opposite ends, she keeps it to herself. She might not want to stick her foot right in the middle of that mess, but she’s not above setting booby traps.

Robin couldn’t tell you exactly when Steve’s arm went around Eddie’s shoulder; it was somewhere between Eddie practically climbing into Steve’s lap for a “Biggus Dickus” re-enactment, the closeness and flirting safely enveloped in humor, and Steve attempting to force Eddie to “haggle” for the bag of chips. When she glances over from the safety of her armchair, Steve’s arm is trapped behind Eddie’s head, draped over his shoulder on the opposite side. Eddie, usually a constant ball of fidgety motion, is frozen stiff like he’s trying not to scare off a nervous rabbit. Even in the blue light coming off the screen she can see the flush coloring his usually nocturnal-pale cheeks.

The thing is, Steve had just discussed this move with her. Told her to invite Vickie to movie night, recommended light, easily joked off roughhousing and settling an arm around her in a way specifically gaged to judge the reaction. Which means he knows. No way he hasn’t finally figured out what his lizard brain has clearly been screaming for months (seriously, she deserves a medal. Someone tell her future girlfriends about her stamina), not with the way he’s twirling a soft brown curl around and around his finger. He must know Eddie can feel that. And oh. Steve is not-so-subtly glancing to his right, trying to gage that reaction like they discussed, to see if this is ok.

Yup. Robin needs to be literally anywhere else. She tries to be subtle (insert laugh here), muttering “bathroom” and legging it out of the room, seeking the safety of the kitchen. She wasn’t worried though- odds are she could start playing trumpet and those two wouldn’t hear it past the tension of the moment.

~*~

In addition to gay, Robin is also easily bored. She hums along to “Always look on the bright side of life,” drifting in from the living room, crunching on some peppery crackers she found in a cabinet in a way that vaguely matches the song’s rhythm. She would just leave the boys to whatever they were going to do (yuck, don’t think about it), but unfortunately the two people most likely to give her a ride home were occupied (seriously, no thinking about it). She’d held out for as long as she could, really, but if the movie was ending, surely she had given them enough time?

Hoping she wasn’t going to regret it, she peaked out of the kitchen, and was relieved to see that 1) everyone still had clothes on and 2) Steve and Eddie were cuddling. Fucking finally.

“SO, BOYS,” she boomed (remember loud is on the list of things she is), trying not to enjoy the way two ridiculous heads of hair jumped and then shifted away from one another anxiously. “Who finally lost the longest game of gay chicken I’ve ever seen?”

Steve’s head makes an audible thump as it drops against the back of the couch, hands coming up to rub at his face as she rounds the furniture to face them, feeling deliciously smug. Eddie gave up any pretense and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, sweater and hair completely hiding his face.

“Shut up Robin, go away,” Steve groans.

“Nope! This has been the slowest burn of all time, you guys were killing me. I have to balance it out by being just as insufferable.” she chirped, doing her best Steve impression, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked.

“Technically, I would say we both won gay chicken since neither of us pulled back. No chickens here. Roosters only, in fact.” Eddie surfaces with a smug little smile, dimples on full display.

“Oh you’re definitely a cock Munson, I’ll give you that,”

“Don’t make me flip you the bird-”

“That’s a bit of ostritch-”

“Well toucan play at that game-”

“I’m so happy I like tits-“

“Why me?” Steve grumbled at the same time Eddie dropped his teasing tone to ask, “Wait what?”

“Me? Lesbian. You? Obviously gay. Steve has been flirting back at you for months you dingus.”

“I’ve been what?” Steve sits up straight, suddenly laser focused on Robin. “I have not. I only realized, like, a week ago-”

He was seriously going to be the death of her.

“Steve. Stephen. My guy. What would you say if I told you a girl had been giving me a hair show, the unnecessary squeeze-by, and big eyes? Consistently. For weeks.”

Eddie starts laughing. Then cackling. Steve went an even deeper shade of red, though she could tell this one was more indignant ruby than embarrassed scarlet.

“Thank you,” Eddie wheezed out, fighting down another fit, picking himself up from where he had slid down the couch. “Oh my god, thank you for fucking noticing that. He was wasn’t he? I thought it was just in my head, y’know, and Gareth always said I tend to imagine signs that aren’t there.”

“Oh I know, you think you have a hard time, girls are so physically affectionate platonically, it’s impossible to tell-”

“Ok. Done with this conversation!” Steve interrupted, standing up between the two of them, hands furiously combing through his hair.

Robin only grinned wider at Eddie. “So, Munson, care to give me a ride home?”

“You know, Buckley, I would be delighted.”

“Hey now-” Steve tried to interject as the two of them moved towards the door.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

“Don’t mention it, fair lady. Your chariot awaits.”

“Wait, hang on, Eddie-” Steve’s tone shifted from confused to plaintive as she stepped out into the night. And she resolutely pretended to not hear Eddie’s reply before he closed the door behind them.

“Sit tight, big boy, I’ll be right back!”

#steddie #steddie fluff #Robin Buckley #Robin POV #steve harrington/ eddie munsion #fic #ficlet #sometimes i write things #fluff #Am I the only one who remember Life of Brian? Biggus Dickus was iconic #I too am a tired lesbian #platonic stobin #gratuitous bird puns #i just think my writing style sounds like Robin so I wanted to try something #letterkenny reference if you squint real hard

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heartofstanding · 7 months

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the body broken (excerpt) who wants siblings feels? I have sibling feels. this is from a wip that is on hiatus because I'm not sure whether I'm going to change the setting (it's currently set in Christmas 1403 but might be shifted to a month or two earlier or later) that focuses on Hal's first post-Shrewsbury reunions with his family.

At the top of the stairs, Hal stopped and leant against the wall to catch his breath. He felt very weak and tired – and sick in his heart. Why have I come here, he wondered and then told himself, his brothers and his sister. What if they, like their father, did not want to see him? He should not have come. He should have listened to Bradmore and stayed in Kenilworth. Courtenay squeezed his elbow gently.

‘It’s not far, your grace,’ Stanley said. ‘Just at the end of the corridor.’

Hal nodded. ‘In a moment.’

Bradmore was speaking but not to Hal, telling one of his assistants to go ahead and make the bed ready for him. Hal turned his head towards Courtenay.

‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he said.

Courtenay’s hand squeezed again. ‘I will be with you,’ he said, ‘whatever happens.’

Hal smiled at him. He thought of the days spent at Kenilworth, dozing in the gardens or by the banks of the mere. It would have been better had they stayed there. He couldn’t leave now – it was enough to make him want to weep, the idea of waking up tomorrow and travelling again, and the insult of it would be clear to his father.

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘I am very glad of it.’

One of the doors on the side of the corridor opened, and then suddenly, John was there. He seemed no different from the last time Hal had seen him, his body stocky, his hair dark and cut short around his temples, his nose aquiline. Even his clothes were the same. The yellow velvet gown embroidered with blue cornflowers and curling leaves. He was frowning at something and then he stopped, looked up and saw Hal. Hal stepped back, treading on Courtenay’s foot.

‘Harry?’ John said.

Next, he was running, checking himself at the last before his arms were around Hal, hugging him. Hal felt Courtenay’s hand on his back, pushing him forward, and he grabbed John tightly, pressing his face against his dark hair.

‘Harry,’ John said. He pulled back, not quite letting go of Hal. ‘Are you – alright?’

His sharp eyes lingered on the scar and then turned up to Hal’s again, full of worry. Hal smiled – he felt thin, he felt as if he wanted to hug John and not let go. He had resigned himself, when the wound was fresh, that he would never see any of his brothers again. But John was there before him, not letting go.

‘Better than I was,’ Hal said. ‘But tired.’

‘His grace needs rest,’ Bradmore said. ‘It has been a long journey.’

‘Right, of course,’ John said. But he seemed reluctant.

‘You need not go,’ Courtenay said. Hal gave him a grateful look.

‘If you are quiet,’ Bradmore said, ‘my lord.’

‘John is very good at being quiet,’ Hal said, and felt John’s fingers dig in. ‘Of course he can stay.’

---

The bells were ringing for Matins when Hal woke. John was squirming out from under his arm – obviously trying very hard not to wake him but having failed to notice his endeavour was doomed. Hal sat up, pushing his hair back from his face, he needed to have it cut. It was still very dark, no light making its way past the shuttered windows.

‘Sorry,’ John said. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Hal said. ‘I need a piss.’

‘I was going to Matins,’ John said.

Hal frowned. He didn’t think John was that pious – his morning prayers had always waited until daylight, at least. Still, he meant what he said and used the close stool before washing his hands. His mouth felt very dry and he went looking for last night’s wine, sipping at it. John was still sitting cross-legged in the centre of the bed.

‘I’ve been going every morning,’ John said. ‘To pray for you.’

At once, Hal went to the bed and held John tightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

John buried his face in Hal’s shoulder, shaking. ‘We kept asking Father about visiting you. He said no.’

‘I know it wasn’t your choice,’ Hal said. ‘And I’m fine. Just tired.’

‘Do you think I need to keep going?’ John said. He leant back and scrubbed at his eyes. ‘See, I made God a promise that I would until you were well again. Are you well again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hal said.

‘Then I should go,’ John said. ‘Humphrey made a promise to go on pilgrimage – I told him Father wouldn’t let him go alone so he manage to get Thomas to agree to go with him…’

‘Where are they going?’

‘Canterbury,’ John said.

‘Oh,’ Hal said.

‘Humphrey wanted to go to Italy,’ John said. ‘But Father said they had to stay in England and that God would understand.’

Hal rolled his eyes and ruffled John’s hair. ‘Of course he did. You better go if you’re not to be late. You can come back when it’s done.’

‘Only – Humphrey will be there,’ John said. ‘He’ll want to know where I’m going and if I tell him, he’ll insist on coming with me.’

‘He can come,’ Hal said. ‘But I’ll probably be asleep so tell him he has to be quiet.’

‘Right,’ John said. ‘Only – I wanted to…’

‘John,’ Hal said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time yet. We’ll have time enough to talk.’

---

Hal slept again and then woke hazily, feeling the bed either side of him. Someone lifted his arm and tucked himself under it – Hal glanced down, saw Humphrey’s dark, messy hair.

‘Harry,’ Humphrey whispered, sounding content.

‘Shh,’ John hissed. ‘Sleeping.’

When Hal woke again, it was later in the day. There was sunlight around the shuttered windows and John and Humphrey were playing chess on the floor by the fire. The pallets and other bedding had been packed away and Bradmore’s assistants were mixing unguents at a table. Hal looked around for Courtenay but could not see him.

‘Harry?’ Humphrey said.

‘I’m awake,’ Hal said and pushed himself out of bed to prove it.

Humphrey and John both jumped to their feet and Humphrey rushed at him, flinging his arms around Hal and pressing his face into Hal’s chest. Hal stumbled back a step but held Humphrey tight, closing his eyes tightly against the burning of tears in them.

‘Humphrey,’ John said, disgusted. ‘I told you.’

‘It’s alright,’ Hal said. ‘He’s fine.’

‘But—’

‘It’s fine,’ Hal said firmly. He pushed Humphrey back a little. He’d changed more than John, he’d grown taller and wider, his clothes new. He was wearing a blue gown embroidered with golden stars, his hair was curling over his forehead and he was crying. Hal bent his head and kissed him.

‘It’s alright,’ Hal said. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

Humphrey nodded, hiccuped. ‘Does – does it hurt?’ he asked quietly. ‘Your face.’

‘Humphrey,’ John hissed.

‘No,’ Hal said. ‘Not anymore – well, not all the time.’

‘Is it hurting now?’

‘No,’ Hal said. He ruffled Humphrey’s hair, smiled. ‘Come on, who was winning?’

‘John, of course,’ Humphrey said. He took Hal’s arm, began to lead him over to the chessboard. ‘Can you help me?’

John made a disgusted noise and leant back on the reeds. Hal sat, cross-legged, next to the board and looked at it. Well, he could get Humphrey out of the situation he was in but it wasn’t worth upsetting John. And it was, he thought, best to pretend to be normal. As if nothing had changed.

‘I think he’s beaten you already,’ Hal said. ‘Why don’t we play dice instead?’

‘Alright,’ John said. ‘I’ll get some.’

‘Do you know where Courtenay is?’ Hal asked.

‘Mass,’ Humphrey said. ‘But that was – some time ago.’

‘Father wants to see him,’ John said. ‘Him and Bradmore.’

‘What for?’

‘To see how you are?’ John said.

Humphrey began clearing away the chess pieces and John came back with the dice. He shook them in his hand and then let them roll.

---

The bathwater was unbearably hot and distinctly green from the herbs that had been strewn in it. The smell was indescribable, the brown fennel was distinct but everything else was a muddle of sweet or bitter or floral. With the bath covered over and enclosed on every side with thick clothes, Hal sweated, his fingers curling around the edge of the bath. It was meant to cure whatever disease, grievance or pain troubled him and make him whole but mostly Hal thought he would emerge exhausted, sweaty and pink, ready for another bath before being rolled into his bath.

Courtenay was reading to him – Boethius, it sounded like – on the other side of the curtain but Hal was barely paying attention, mopping at his running nose. He groaned and tried to lift himself above the water but his body was too heavy and his hands slipped on the edge of the bath. Courtenay stopped reading.

‘Are you alright?’

Hal laughed; how was he supposed to answer that?

The curtains cracked open and Courtenay stuck his head through, face immediately flushing and hair beginning to dampen with the steam. Hal leant over to get a breath of the fresher air, feeling it briefly cool the sweat on his forehead.

‘The water’s hot,’ he said.

Courtenay wrinkled his nose and patted Hal’s sweaty hair. ‘I can tell.’

‘It’s fine, though,’ Hal said.

‘Despite the smell?’

Hal sniffed. ‘Given long enough, you stop noticing it.’

‘I see,’ Courtenay said.

His eyes sparked with amusement and he opened his mouth, only to jerk away as the door opened with a crash and Thomas’s voice began to fill the room. Hal leant back with a sigh, letting his chest sink further under the scalding water. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to withstand Thomas. He had half been bracing for Humphrey’s return – John, at least, understood the concept of quiet rest – but Thomas was the bigger trial.

‘Where is he?’ Thomas demanded. ‘Where is my brother?’

Hal heard Stanley’s quiet, reasonable voice murmuring something that hopefully would calm Thomas and get him to return in a day’s time.

‘I don’t care if he’s in the bath,’ Thomas said. ‘I haven’t seen him since – since February.’

Hal rolled his eyes and then stiffened, hearing feet stride towards the bath. He began to sit up properly, pushing his hair away from his face. His fingers touched the scar by accident, feeling the hard lines of it. He took a breath.

‘I also don’t care that you’re the archdeacon of Northampton,’ Thomas said. ‘Or even if you were the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Pope. If you try to stop me, I’ll thrash you.’

‘Calm down,’ Hal said. ‘You’re several months too late to be rushing to my deathbed.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have been if I’d been allowed to,’ Thomas said. ‘You know that.’

Hal did. He let his head fall back against the sponge cushioning the edge of the bath.

‘How’s your son?’ he said. ‘Has John forgiven you for naming it after him?’

‘Of course not,’ Thomas said. ‘He’s still plotting his revenge. Can I see you?’

‘I’m in the bath.’

‘I’ve known what your cock looks like since we were toddlers.’

Hal groaned and covered his face. He felt acutely aware of Courtenay’s presence, no doubt hearting Thomas talk in such squalid, familiar terms whether he wanted to or not. It didn’t matter that Courtenay had also seen Hal’s cock – it felt too familiar, as if he was being reduced to his body and all its baseness and frailty.

‘Richard?’

‘I think he does mean to thrash me if I try to stop him,’ Courtenay said. ‘I’m too vain to risk my beauty for you.’

Hal smiled despite himself. ‘Thomas – it’s not pretty. My face I mean, not Richard.’

‘John said,’ Thomas said. ‘Just – Harry, please.’

‘Fine,’ Hal said and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

The curtains were pulled open, he could feel the cool air and his skin prickled with it. Thomas took a sharp breath in and then Hal felt Thomas’s blunt, calloused fingers on his face, just shy of the scar.

‘It’s not as bad as I’d thought it’d be,’ Thomas said. ‘I clearly am the better-looking one now but I’m almost disappointed your brain isn’t hanging out of your eye and your eye out of your nose.’

‘Thomas.’

‘Well, I am,’ Thomas said. ‘You just look like you with an ugly blot on your face.’

‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Thomas said. ‘I am.’

Hal snorted and opened his eyes. Thomas was bent over him, standing very close, and his face was lax with what looked like relief. The damp curtains were still gaping open but Courtenay had withdrawn. Hal shifted in the tub, his body too heavy, lax and overwarm.

‘Still, even if I am the most handsome, I’d wager a fair many women would think you very rakish and daring,’ Thomas said. ‘You might get a little John of your own soon enough.’

Hal felt himself go still and cold, even with the heat of the water. He didn’t want to think about sex or women pitying him or thinking him things he weren’t. He made himself laugh, at hair too late, and reach out and shove Thomas back.

‘You keep your mouth shut,’ he said. ‘If you wish to divert John’s revenge, I won’t be involved. But how is the baby?’

‘He’s alright,’ Thomas said. ‘Well, he still wets himself but that’s normal. He’s here, if you want to see him.’

‘That’s not a good idea.’

Thomas frowned at him. ‘He’s a baby, he’s not going to care about your face. Well, he might but that’s because he’s a baby and is distressed by beards and hennins. Your face isn’t that bad.’

‘Father would disagree.’

‘Father’s got dung for brains.’ Thomas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you going to get out of there? I don’t mean this in a bad way but it doesn’t exactly smell pleasant in here.’

---

Thomas retreated while Hal was helped out of the bath, washed with clean water scented only with torn-up chamomile and mint, dressed in a woollen shirt and returned to his bed. Thomas took Courtenay’s chair and sat down, looking almost too big for it. Courtenay was by the window, reading some thick book Hal didn’t recognise, his face coloured blue with the light coming through the stained glass.

‘Shall I go?’ Courtenay said.

Hal said no at the same moment that Thomas said yes. Courtenay looked between for a moment, a small line etched between his brows, before his gaze settled on Hal. Thomas seemed to bristle, Hal shot him a glare and then smiled at Courtenay.

‘Go,’ Hal said. ‘You don’t need to be cooped up in an invalid’s room.’

Courtenay took his leave and went. Hal stared at the door shut behind him, hands picking at the blankets covering him. He felt unaccountably nervous and knew he had no reason to be. This was Thomas and Thomas had already made it plain he didn’t care about the injury.

‘How are you, really?’ Thomas said. ‘John didn’t say much. Does it still hurt?’

Hal shrugged. ‘Not often.’

‘And the rest of you?’

‘Tired,’ Hal said. ‘We left too late and came with too much haste and not enough rest.’

Thomas didn’t look convinced so Hal smiled.

‘I was much better at Kenilworth.’

‘You should’ve stayed there then,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m glad you’re here but if the journey was that hard on your health, you should’ve stayed away.’

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘But I wanted to see everyone.’

‘Even her?’

Hal shrugged. Jehanne was an unknowable, unimportant entity. She had seemed somehow both overeager and distant when he had met her for the first time and he hadn’t seen her since. He doubted she liked him much, especially if she had heard nothing of him except what his father would say or Humphrey’s overzealous praise. He sighed and leant back on the pillows, letting his eyes drift shut. He would have to face Jehanne soon enough but for now she seemed unimportant.

‘We used to do everything together,’ Thomas said. ‘When did that stop?

‘When Mama died,’ Hal said.

‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘That’s not true. I went with you to Leicester, we were in Grandfather’s household together…’

‘I went there first, on my own.’

Thomas frowned. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I was so angry – but I remember being.’

‘I still have the bruises.’

Thomas scoffed and leant back in the chair, making it creak. ‘But it doesn’t make sense. It was always us – we were always together. And then things changed – yes, it started with Mama dying and Father being spectacularly stupid about sending you to Lancaster but it didn’t stop there.’

‘When Father was exiled,’ Hal said. ‘I stayed with – with the old king and you went to France.’

‘Yes,’ Thomas said. ‘And when Father came back, you were suddenly the Prince of Wales and I was still me – he wouldn’t even let me to go fight with him. He took Humphrey but not me.’

Hal opened his eyes, saw Thomas’s eyes were half-lidded, a tear snaking down his cheek.

‘He didn’t want to risk you,’ Hal said. ‘He’s always loved you better.’

Thomas was shaking his head. ‘I hate him. He was useless – worse than useless. He wouldn’t tell us anything, wouldn’t let us see you. He didn’t even want me to know you were here. Said you needed your rest, as if he didn’t trust me with you – John told me, though.’

Hal hoped John wouldn’t get into trouble for it.

‘It’s alright, Thomas,’ Hal said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You better not,’ Thomas said stiffly. ‘I hated thinking of you alone – I should’ve been there and if not me, John. Or Humphrey, except he’d panic too much to be any comfort.’

‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Hal said. ‘I don’t remember much about it – and Grandmother came to see me. And Courtenay was there.’

Thomas stared at him and then shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have been alone.’

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘But I’m too tired to care about should and shouldn’t. A lot of things happened that shouldn’t have happened and we can’t change them because it’s too late, it’s over – all you can do is go forward.’

‘But I’m still angry.’

‘That’ll pass too,’ Hal said.

Thomas said nothing for a moment and Hal closed his eyes again, thinking he was falling asleep and telling himself that Thomas would not mind. The pillows were very comfortable and his body felt warm and lax.

‘I’m sorry about Hotspur,’ Thomas said at last. ‘I know you liked him. I did too.’

‘Yes,’ Hal said. ‘I did.’

‘Go to sleep,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll fetch Philippa to see you in a little while, she’s been fretting.’

---

They all had supper together, sitting on the floor of John’s room since Hal was sick of his, and squabbling over the dishes. Hal found himself both exhausted and enlivened by it – it was enough to lean back on his hands and watch and listen to them but he was not able to participate as fully as he had once done and how he would’ve liked to do. Philippa kept offering him bites of food which he took to be polite and because it was too much effort to select portions for himself – he missed the simplicity of eating with Courtenay on the lawn of Kenilworth, sun turning Courtenay’s hair golden.

He missed Blanche too, moreover. She had left the following year to marry the German prince their father had chosen for her and without her, there seemed to be something pivotal missing. It was why, he suspected, that Philippa was pressed shyly between him and Humphrey and insisting on laving him with attention and morsels of food. He wrapped his arm around her and listened to John call Thomas stupid.

‘Do you want to go to bed, Harry?’ she whispered.

‘No, I’m right,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘Me too.’

He supposed Blanche would not know about his wounding, or if she did, it would only be from a letter from their father that said, the Prince of Wales has recovered from his injury. Hal could not fault Henry for that – it would’ve only distressed Blanche unnecessarily.

Philippa offered him the bowl of candied cherries, he took one and passed the bowl onto John. As he chewed on the cherry, he wondered if their father had been right all along to keep his brothers from seeing him. He had spoken glibly to Thomas of not remembering the days immediately after his wounding but he remembered enough to know he was glad not to remember more. He knew that Courtenay had been scarred by the experience of watching Hal in those days so it was good that his brothers had been spared that, at least. Perhaps it would have been better that they had not been told at all until Hal had healed enough that his survival was no longer a question.

‘I can’t eat any more,’ Humphrey said and lay down on his back. ‘I don’t think I can get up either.’

‘Well, you’re not staying here,’ John said. ‘This is my room.’

‘We could swap rooms?’

‘I don’t want to,’ John said.

‘Please?’

‘You don’t really want to either,’ John said. ‘You just want to be near Harry.’

‘So do you!’

‘So? I was given this room. You can’t have it.’

Hal bent his head. It was the sort of argument that he had always sorted out with ease before but now he didn’t know how to find a compromise. His mind kept working in circles – he couldn’t make either of them happy, he was tired, his stomach felt heavy with the food he’d eaten, John would want his space and deserved it but Humphrey was so pathetically sad when he didn’t get his way and they both wanted and deserved more time with him. His head was beginning to ache, he pushed his hand over his brow and winced at the stickiness the cherries had left on his fingers.

‘We could share?’

‘It’s my room, I don’t want you in it—’

‘Will you both be quiet?’ Hal snapped.

They were quiet but it wasn’t settled – he could feel them staring at him, alarmed, and knew that John and Humphrey would soon start blaming each other for his outburst. He didn’t want to deal with it.

‘And please – sort this out without me,’ he said. ‘Both of you are being horrid little shits.’

‘I’ll sort it, Harry,’ Thomas said, face white. ‘I think – it’s time for bed, right? Humphrey, you’re sleeping with me.’

‘But—’ Humphrey started and then stopped when both Hal and Thomas looked at him.

‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘And John? Stay in your own room.’

‘I wasn’t going to—’

‘I’m going to bed,’ Hal said.

He left and went back to his room, standing with his back against the door and feeling the cool wood through the layers of wool and fur he was wearing. He waited for a while, half expecting Philippa or one of his brothers to insist on seeing him. But they did not.

#sometimes i write things #i reworked the thomas scene and posted the edited version on her before it's in my wip wednesday tag #(which takes the view thomas came back from ireland in november heard hal was injured and immediately hotfooted it to him)#lancasterlings #the bath hal is in is in john russell's book of nurture as a medicinal bath

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