#this probably isnt even canon compliant but i dont care hehehe

[harry-leroy]

Can I bend the rules for the AU fic list? If so, how about George and Dwight with 1 (sick/injured) and/or 3 (amnesia) Thank you! : D

Yes you totally can!! I’m so sorry that this took a million years to get around to - as you probably all know, I’m terrible about answering asks in a timely manner. But this was a lot of fun to write! It’s somewhere post S5 - not exactly sure where though hehehe. Leaving under a cut for some angsty things - but everything’s all good by the end:) So stay tuned for some good old fashioned hurt/comfort ❤️

When George awoke, his vision sparkled and thinned, tunneling as he stared upwards into ornate, gilded designs. He was exhausted, far too tired now to fall back asleep. Before he could say anything, he felt a cold cloth on his forehead. There was also a gentle tug at his wrist, but he could not be bothered to look around at anything other than the ceiling.

Dwight sighed in relief. George’s pulse was quite normal again. It had been a difficult few nights at Cardew battling a fever this high, and seemingly with no cause. The good doctor had assured Cary Warleggan that there was no need for fear as George battled his fever; he did not fear death would result in the fight. However, Dwight was concerned as to what led to the man’s suffering and delirium. He had begun to consider George as a friend, and a dearer one than he might have expected at that. It pained him to see any man suffer, but all the more because it was George Warleggan.

George began to hear sounds, the semblances of voices. He felt his breath catch and a chill break down his spine.

“George?” He saw a face that looked like Dwight’s right above him. He felt a hand on his forehead now. “George? Can you hear me?”

* * *

It was another several hours before George opened his eyes again. This time he felt considerably more rested, though still having to take a few minutes to register his surroundings as real and consequential rather than figments of his imagination. The voices returned, but this time he could attach people to them. Real people.

“Was he doing anything strenuous before his fever began?” Dwight asked, his voice quiet from where George was. “Did he seem alright? No mention of-“

“No,” Cary cut him off. “No mention of her. He’s rid of her now,”

Dwight took a moment and caught his place against Cary’s quick counter.

“Still,” he said. “A great amount of bank work? A problem with the mine?”

“Nothing more than usual,” Cary said. “What are you suggesting? That this was caused by something... in the head?”

“I’m not sure,” Dwight said, glancing at George. It was then the good doctor realized that George was awake, and looking quite curiously at them. “Oh, Sir George,”

As Dwight rushed to his patient’s side, George made a weak attempt to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Where am I?” He asked. “What’s happened?”

“You should lie back down, nephew,” Cary said, lingering behind Dwight at a much slower pace. “You’ve been unwell,”

“Unwell?” George looked at Dwight. “What does he mean?”

“There is nothing to worry about, rest assured,” Dwight said. “Just a fever. You seem to be on the mend,”

George made a small noise, something like an acknowledgement, and lied back down on the pillow.

“Um,” George began. “How long?...”

“A few days,” Dwight said. “You collapsed on the floor after supper on Thursday evening. I was sent for immediately,”

“And today is?” George asked.

“Monday,” Dwight said, placing another gentle hand on his patient’s forehead. “Your fever seems to have broken. I should like you to rest a day or two more before resuming your activities as normal, but you should make a full recovery,”

“Do you have a day in mind?” Cary asked.

“We shall see how he feels tomorrow,” Dwight said. “But I should like him to stay in bed today, in case something were to happen,”

The doctor then turned back to George, gently taking his wrist again to check his pulse. He did not seem overly concerned until his brows knitted, as if he had remembered something.

“Sir George,” Dwight began. “Do you recall how you were feeling on Thursday? Do you recall any of the day at all?”

George blinked, trying to access his memory, but frustratingly, to no avail. He merely shook his head.

“What is the last thing you remember?” Dwight asked, still keeping calm with his voice, which was a great comfort to both George and Cary.

It took George a moment to think before it came to him, almost as hazy as the images he had seen in his heated delirium.

“Valentine,” he said. “Saying goodnight,”

“So nothing of Thursday at all?” Dwight asked.

George did not say anything. He could not begin to think of what Thursday was even meant to look like. He very suddenly wanted to see his children, but he could not bring himself to speak and ask for them.

“Did he meet with anyone on Thursday?” Dwight asked Cary. “Any engagements? Did he seem off?”

“He looked alright to me,” Cary said. “His collapse was quite a surprise to say the least,”

Before Dwight could respond, George spoke.

“Where are my children?” he asked. He seemed unsure of himself, unsure of his surroundings. He seemed to be looking in the middle of nowhere.

“Oh, um,” Cary began, quite certain that George must have been out of his wits again. “Do you really want them now?-“

“I’m sure they are not far away,” Dwight assured his patient. “Would you like to see them?”

Cary gave Dwight a look, one of a slight indignation for letting his own command slip, but Dwight merely smiled politely, then turned back to his patient.

“Oh, could I?” George asked. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen them,”

“Of course,” said Dwight as Cary gave a small huff, beginning to retreat away. Dwight watched him go, nearly amused (now that George was feeling much better and sure to recover fully) that Cary was still so hesitant to let Dwight have free reign over his treatment of George. However, he could not say that he blamed the man after what George had been through in the past. If that had happened to any relation of his, he would have never trusted another doctor again.

Once the doctor and his patient were alone, Dwight felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned around and knelt down. George took an excited breath in, his eyes lighting up with a kind of clarity.

“It was my children, you see,” he said. “I was so worried. About Valentine. He’s to go off to school in a week’s time. It’s the first time he’s been away for that long since... well...,”

“Go on,” Dwight urged, his voice still calm.

“You see,” George took a gentle hold of Dwight’s forearm, as if that would help him have strength to remember what was on his mind. “I never understood it. With Geoffrey Charles. Sending him to Harrow. But that’s because he isn’t... mine. I should have... listened. To her,”

“I understand,” Dwight said.

“It was almost as if,” he began, showing a slight hesitation before beginning again, “as if she was saying that she was right. I wondered if she... was angry. Resentful,”

“She could never be resentful,” Dwight said. “She loved you. And were she here today, she would feel that same pain you feel in losing Valentine. But he will come home again. He will have made friends, and learned much, but he will always be yours,”

“And hers,” George said, almost as though it were an afterthought.

“Yes,” Dwight said. “You must be strong for him. I’m sure he is just as nervous,”

George nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “I will be. I must be,”

“Only after you’ve had a few more days to recover,” Dwight smiled. “Even though you are on the mend, I am still worried that your mental state was enough to bring you to this,”

“Was it that awful? My fever?” George asked, slightly worried that he had inconvenienced Dwight, no matter how silly that notion was.

“It is nothing you need to worry about,” Dwight said. “I am glad you told me what was on your mind,”

There was presently giggling that came from the closed door to the room. It opened to the sight of an exasperated Cary leaning over a tall boy and trying to hold the door. The boy ran in with as much excitement as Dwight had seen when George recovered from his last great illness, followed by Bessie carrying a little girl that was almost too big now to be carried. He smiled.

“Papa!”