Fic: A Fish Out Of Water - final part
Apr. 28th, 2005 12:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritWell, firstly I dedicate this final chapter to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloise_bright, without whom this fic really wouldn't have been written. *hugs* I am rather fond of this verse, huge thanks to everyone who's commented, it's always nice to know your indulgences aren't completely insane... LOL!
Previous parts here.
Chapter Eleven:
You know that thing you get in the whatsit when you’re doing something you really didn’t think you could? That buzz in the blood. Lean-something I think. Or is it Lenny. Anyway, it’s what gets you through a difficult moment, lets you focus completely on what has to be done – for example hitting the bullseye - and not get distracted by normally catastrophic events – like the fact that Will is downing your pint. Adrenaline, that’s the word. It gets you up and running when you thought you’d be keeling over and dying on the spot.
Right. Well, as I bolted from the bedroom like the proverbial hare, the emotional equivalent of adrenaline finally wore off and left me feeling distinctly rattled. I had been focused; focused on and genuinely concerned that Hamilton might have done some serious damage to my valet. I had acted accordingly, checking out said valet with the experienced eye, without letting such trivial problems – like floppy-haired Americans, oddly depressing interrupted clinches and a general bruised feelings of trust - get in the way.
The problem was that the moment the immediate threat had been disproved and Pryce turned out not to be at Death’s Door, it suddenly became rather hard to keep full concentration on the problem at hand, if you know what I mean. Yet again something started tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that a) Pryce really was quite easy on the eye, b) he had just helped me dig Will out of a very deep hole, c) he didn’t seem such a bad guy, in fact he had that slightly gentle air that so often used to hook and get me into trouble in the past, d) he had just taken his shirt off in my bedroom and it would be a very, very good thing not to dwell on that brief moment of seeing those agile hands deftly slipping loose button after button because d) Pryce also seemed relatively intelligent and therefore e) was highly likely to pick up on any unwanted overtures or glances because – just in case my life wasn’t awkward enough already - his brain was apparently tuned that way.
To my relief I found that I had fled with my half-full glass. One good swallow and I forced myself to try and get a grip. The fresh air of the garden helped too.
I made a rather tottery beeline for the corner I’d spotted earlier and began gathering a good bundle of leaves. The sun warmed the back of my neck; butterflies, birds and bees flittered about the place, as they tend to do; the heavy scent of grass and very pleased with themselves shrubs wafted past the nose. So, by the time I’d harvested all I needed, I genuinely felt a lot calmer than when I’d first crash-landed in this little Eden.
Next up was the kitchen. It felt a little weird to go rummaging through the cupboards and drawers by myself. It wasn’t that I’d never been a kitchen before or didn’t know how to use one; I had after all been living alone for years and keeping a perfectly decent house. It was more that, over here, you just knew that this was the domain of the staff. This was Pryce’s territory, from the arsenal of knives and sharp heavy implements, to the small shining collection of teaspoons.
Everything had been put where’d you expect, so it wasn’t long before the kettle was singing away and I was busying myself with leaves and spoons and bowls and few other secret ingredients I swore to my grandmother I would take with me to the grave. I won’t bore you with the method of preparation, but when I left the kitchen, it was with a small bowl and a little bit of oil. The location of gauze and bandages remained a mystery to me, so I trotted back to the bedroom with merely the raw ingredients of the poultice itself: a steaming gunky leafy boiled pasty sludge.
Pryce had put his shirt back on, though his jacket and waistcoat were still neatly folded over the back of the chair. He moved about the room trailing fluffed up cushions, dusted shelves and straightened books behind him. At the sound of my re-entry, he put these activities on hold and eyed the approaching bowl with wary curiosity.
“Might I enquire as to the nature of that mixture, sir?”
“Yes, Pryce, you may.” I brandished the herby chlorophyll-enriched salve. “This is for you. It’ll take the sting out of those knocks and help show them the door.”
“I assure you I am perfectly capable of working-”
“Oh hush, Pryce. This won’t take long and believe me this stuff works wonders.”
Pryce inclined his head and, after a little prompting, sat down at the writing table. I kept myself busy with giving the mixture a few pokes and turns while he yet again removed the shirt.
Even on second viewing, the bruises made you blink and there could be no doubts whatsoever that the poultice was sorely needed. That said, there was a moment when I wished I’d thought to ask Will to come back with me so he could have dealt with the slightly tricky task of application.
Slightly tricky, because the first part involved oil.
I’d had the routine firmly drilled into me; you have to apply a little oil first, otherwise the leaves stick and whilst at the time they may feel lovely, a few hours and a few less layers of skin later and you’ll be regretting it.
Then again, when you have an imagination that tends to run away with you, drizzling oil over your fingers and then running said digits across some shapely back is hardly a thing to guarantee an easy night either.
I considered things for a nonce before, with a flash of inspiration, pulling the crisp white handkerchief from my pocket. No doubt Pryce would crucify me later for showing such disrespect for his linen exertions, but I’d happily cross that bridge when I came to it. I applied the stuff with light brushes along the spine and over the ribs. With this achieved, the limp square of cotton was put to one side, and I grimly picked up my bowl of poultice.
“Do we have any gauze and bandages in these digs, Pryce?”
“Yes, sir. If it would be of assistance I could-”
“Stay right where you are.” I stuck my hand into the greeny grey concoction. “We’ll get this on, then you tell me where they are and I’ll go get them”
The brief silence sounded suspiciously sigh-like.
“I was going to say, sir, that if it would be of assistance, I could hand the items you require to you, since I took the opportunity during your absence of retrieving a small quantity in anticipation of such a necessity.”
Pryce moved a little to one side so I could see the collection of rolled white materials standing on the desk before him.
“Oh, right.” I gave the gloop another prod. “Okay, well, yes, just hand them back to me when I ask.”
“Very good, sir.”
The salve made the tips of my fingers tingle, both from the analgesic and from the not unnoticeable heat. Not exactly painful, more like a wasp sneezing on you than a cohort of needles launching a heavy assault, just enough to let me know the stuff was working.
I smeared the first dab over a small patch of discolouration on the upper back, just to the left of the shoulderbone. My plan was to get the job over and done with as quickly as possible and then get out and go riding over hill and vale-o. As a result, this initial touch was not the most gentle in the world and although Pryce didn’t say anything, there was a sudden nasty utter hush like he had momentarily stopped breathing, along with a rigid tension flashing down the spine.
“Sorry.”
I tried again, using a slightly smaller amount so it took less pressure to spread evenly over the skin.
“If this remedy is as effective as you say, sir, would it perhaps be wise for me to learn how to prepare it myself, in case of future need?”
“Absolutely not. This is the last time you get into a physical fight on my account.”
“I was referring to your need, sir, not mine.” Pryce swivelled his head and I felt his eyes on me. He sounded rather amused. “Although, and I hesitate to correct you, sir, I fully entered into physical confrontation with Mr Hamilton of my own volition. There is no need for you to feel any responsibility for the resulting scene and unfortunate encounter with his lordship.”
“Thanks, but – could you pass a… thanks - but if you remember it was me who started the whole thing when I gave that MacDonald a serious kicking.”
“Do you regret doing so, sir?”
“Well, no, but-”
“Good. In any case, sir, considering the history between myself and the Manners family, it was unlikely that any meeting, no matter how well planned, would go entirely smoothly.”
“I guess there is that.” My hand hovered over the worst of the bruises. Pryce was by now facing forwards again and all I could see was the back of his head, which was remarkably hard to read. “Look, I don’t want to pry but…”
“Sir?”
I played for time by smoothing a small portion over the edge of the bruise, my fingers grazing the gentle dip of the backbone.
He was a lot less soft than I had expected. Not even close, of course, to the trim packing of the body that Will had, but still more firm than I would have expected of a man whose hardest job was probably hefting heavy piles of laundry. There was a strong sweep along the shoulders, a smooth tidy tapering of the waist. Even the skin was a slight surprise, noticeably lacking in the sun-deprived pale waxiness that often marks out the very well-bred…
I employed the typical circular pressing motion to try and get the mixture to hold and blend in.
“Knox,” I said casually. “You don’t have to… but… What exactly happened between you two?”
“Nothing, sir.”
I took care to keep the tone neutral, “Right. Well-”
“Though possibly it might have, had things been different.”
The conversation halted briefly as I pressed too hard and Pryce flinched. This resulted in the usual quick exchange of apologies and dismissals and mental kicks to self to keep brain on track. Then we resumed.
“I was not trying to deceive you, sir, when I recounted my history to you,” Pryce said quietly. “But I admit I did leave that part of the story untold, though not in any way because of lack of trust in you. It was simply that I did not know myself the extent of Knox’s role in the events that unfolded that summer.”
“You trust me?”
“Of course, we were both very young at the time. At that age neither of us fully understood the nature of what nearly occurred, and, as is so often the case, one does tend to fear what one cannot explain.” Pryce’s voice had gone rather soft, a little higher. “It was only the once, sir. In hindsight it seems so slight and harmless. We were talking, and suddenly it was quiet and, though we pulled back, we both knew what would have taken place. We dealt with it by changing the subject, walking away very quickly, and the next thing I knew Manners was summoning me to his office. The accusation then levelled against me you know of. There was no opportunity to speak with Knox after that, let alone privately.”
“Oh.”
“Until he turned up at the front door today, sir, I had not spoken or seen him since that summer. And until a few hours ago, I had never heard his side of what happened.”
“Which was?”
A slight tremor went through him. For one terrible moment I wondered if he’d actually broken down, then with a rather guilty feeling of relief, I realised he was suppressing a laugh.
“I would remind you, sir, that the young can be painfully foolish. An often unfortunate trait given their tendency to also assume they ‘know all the answers’. Knox, at least, acknowledged that he was in need of council. Sadly, however, it transpired that he chose to seek this from his dear friend MacDonald.”
I stared. “MacDonald? You don’t mean-”
“Yes,” Pryce still sounded as though he was a shake of a duck’s tail away from letting slip a giggle. “Robert went and confided in Lindsey the full details of what had passed between us, in hopes,” and the tone sharpened with something close to scorn, “in hopes of some kindly advice and enlightenment.”
I noticed around this point that my hand was still resting quite happily against the curve of Pryce’s side, the warmth flooding my palm being what finally reminded me. I considered removing it but decided to postpone a little while longer so as to not interrupt the flow of the narrative. Pryce seemed to be getting into his stride.
“Even back then, there was no love lost between him and his stepsister. He had seen our confrontations and knew how… how both of us used every, every trick in the book in hopes of making the other waver.”
Pryce abruptly went very quiet.
I assumed the stepsister in question was Lilah. Not a pleasant thought. Even our fleeting conversation had left me with a very strong impression of the woman. I couldn’t imagine her as ever having been young, sweet and innocent. Young, clever and deceptively sweet-smiled, oh yes. She would have known the rules of the oldest game around when it comes to getting your own way. More specifically, she struck me as guaranteed to take it very badly if things didn’t pan out as she intended. And, if Pryce hadn’t been lying about that part of his history, I doubted she would have taken kindly to being informed, and probably informed smugly, that her chances of scoring a bulls-eye, so to speak, were decidedly slim. No girl likes finding out her efforts have been unappreciated. Hell hath no fury and all that.
My musings were interrupted when Pryce breathed in, indicating he was about to resume. When he spoke he sounded more like his old self.
“I think when Mr MacDonald told her, he simply wished to wound her sense of pride. It is unlikely he realised the full ramifications his actions could have. He does lack foresight. And one cannot be surprised that she then went and told her Uncle what she did. When you enter into conflict against such a lady, you know the stakes are high. ”
Cautiously I prised my hand off and thankfully Pryce didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you mind? About what he did?” I asked, a little uncertainly.
“If I may speak frankly, sir, I mind that MacDonald is still walking upright and breathing. Though, to be fair, that judgement stems mainly from his behaviour post the incident rather than during it.”
“I meant about Knox.”
“Sir?”
“Well, until now you thought he’d had some hand in what happened, right?”
There was a silence.
“No,” said Pryce eventually, in a low tone. “I never thought he would have done that. But I did believe he knew what was being said about me, and that he said nothing. Or worse, maybe he thought it was true and I’d been the one lying.”
“But a true friend sticks closer than ones nearest kin.”
“As, in the end, he did.” Pryce let out the smallest of sighs and half shook his head, like he was shaking something off. Maybe he was; I don’t know, he had sounded kind of satisfied – or is the phrase I’m looking for ‘at peace’? – with this final mark in the tale. “Is there any more, sir?”
“No, pass me one more strip… that’s it… now we just need to add the bandages.”
“This is very kind of you, sir.”
“Speak nothing of it, it’s the least I could do.”
I wiped my fingers clean on the tea towel I’d brought through with me. I could still feel the shape of him along my palm; the soft rise of the shoulderblades under smooth warm skin. It was an odd feeling. It made me feel rather sad more than anything else. It would be me who ended up with the valet with enough emotional baggage to sink a freighter. Between the two of us, I really wasn’t sure who was meant to be helping who. As I rose to put the bowl on the side, though, I decided that I didn’t mind. In some strange way it was comforting. Like, despite appearances, I’d found myself amongst equals. I could almost imagine belonging here.
Pryce started and, following his gaze, I spied the clock and the hour.
“Oh I do apologise, sir, I’ve made you late for your engagement with Master Davis-”
“Forget it,” I said, edging once more towards the kitchen.
“Most unprofessional,” Pryce muttered with another shake of his head. He smoothly reinserted himself into his shirt, the fingers yet again doing their thing with the buttons.
Have I mentioned the things that man can do with buttons? Really, it has to be seen to be believed. Venus emerging from her shell could pick up a few tips on the way of making an entry.
“If you wish to change into your riding suit right-away, sir, and I will attend to the clearing up of this…” He trailed off and waved a hand, indicating the small pile of debris the poultice had left behind.
Pryce has this particular tone of voice that somehow bypasses the conscious mind and instead goes straight to the nervous system and the joints, so when he suggests something, you do it straightaway and only wake up to your actions two seconds later. So I was halfway through picking up my laid-out shirt before I remembered what I had been going to say.
“Shirt, Pryce!”
“Sir?”
“Your shirt, Pryce, take it off.”
There followed a brief slightly muddled trading of words where Pryce, to his eternal credit, never batted an eyelid, retaining the perfect composure of a stuffed frog. What I’d meant, of course, was that we’d forgotten to put on the bandages. But… well, you know that phrase ‘digging yourself into a well’? Or is it a pit, or hole? Anyway. It always makes it a hundred times worse when you know you’re digging yourself into such a decompression, and it took a few attempts before I finally managed to make Pryce understand what I was driving at. This then resulted in a short haggle, wherein Pryce offered to attend to them himself after he’d seen me safely out the house, and I pledged to stand firm and not budge a muscle until he’d got himself nicely tied up.
At which point Pryce used The Voice, and shortly afterwards I was stuffing myself into my riding suit and the bandages were on the To Do Later list.
“Oh, I forgot to say earlier, Pryce,” I said as I straightened the collar, “thank you.”
“Sir?” Pryce aborted dusting off my cap so he could shoot me a quizzical look.
“With Will,” I said. “For helping us get one over Manners. Thank you.”
“I am glad you find pleasure in the concluding state of affairs, sir, but I really cannot claim sole credit. It was Mr Knox who voluntarily offered to share his experimental audio recordings. He did say he would not have done so had the option of relocating to America not turned out to be a viable one, however I suspect there may possibly have been genuine goodwill involved.”
“True,” I said after I had translated and abridged his words. “But you still came and told us. And considering that Manners could’ve found a way to worm out of it, you took a sizable risk for m- us,” I corrected smoothly. “It was above and beyond the call of duty, Pryce. You’re a credit to the profession.”
“It is very kind of you to say so, sir, I endeavour to give satisfaction.”
“Oh, you did,” I said warmly, a smile spreading over my face as the memory replayed itself in full and glorious colour. “That look on Manner’s face... Talk about turning the tables. I swear his jaw hit the floor when you came out with that Montel business.”
“I was most happy to be able to assist Master Davis, sir. I find him a most agreeable and deserving young man.”
“Me too, Pryce, me too! He may have some, many, quite a few actually, flaws, but Will is a good soul, if you know what I mean. He’s really tried, Pryce.” The memory of Will glowing like a setting sun gave me a nice tingly buzz, I was almost moved to do a little jig. “It was David against Goliath, or the poet against the blood-sucking lawyer in this case. But still, what a clash. What a fight! And we won!” I beamed at Pryce who was regarding me with a subtle fond expression. “He was top of the world with rainbows draped about his shoulders this morning, Pryce. Honestly, I could kiss you.”
“Be my guest, sir.”
Remember that thing I said about the voice that bypasses the brain? That was the voice, just then, clear as a bell. I have asked Pryce since then, in the nicest possible way, just why he decided to spring that on me at that moment.
Apparently, or so I eventually managed to wheedle out of him, he had had one hell of a day, which somehow managed to end happily: the sky was blue, the birds singing, a heady scent of summer wafting around. Quite frankly that kind of luck can make a man feel slightly reckless, and by that juncture he felt all he needed was a little something sweet to properly round things off. And considering Knox had already kissed him out of the blue without even asking, Pryce thought the valet equivalent of ‘oh what the heck’. Because, and he’d had to repeat this to me several times, he’d kind of liked me from our very first private conversation, when I’d managed to put my foot in it regarding his family history with every new breath I drew. Whereas I’d found it blood-chillingly humiliating, he found it ‘rather endearing’.
Pryce also told me that, in his mind, he had expected that moment of recklessness to be the high point of his day, something he could look back and smile at, something he could say ‘well, now I really have done everything’. His expectations of my taking him up on his offer were, to say the least, low.
Which explained why – when two seconds later and my brain caught up – I drew back, my arms still wonderfully full with rumpled cotton and rucked buttons, and found Pryce staring at me with frank shock. My left hand had a loose grip around the back of his neck, so that for a few seconds we were practically nose to nose.
“Oh.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
“Indeed.”
Admittedly the words lose a certain something when put down in simple black and white. It was the type of conversation where a lot is said with the eyes and tone of the voice. It’s hard to write that kind of thing, but perhaps a very rough idea would be:
“Oh.”
“Ah, this is kind of awkward.”
“Yes… well… still, here we are.”
“Right. Erm, actually, I have no problem with that... And you haven’t knocked me for six yet, that’s a good sign, right?”
“Indeed.”
The disbelief finally left his face and when I kissed him for a second time I felt his arm go tightly round me. His free hand went to the nape of my neck, his fingers sending delicious shivers through the skin as they ran through my hair. He tasted rich and of whiskey, but the best part was when I moved to the jawline and felt the curve of his smile, a real smile, beneath my lips and his unsteady breath skittering over my cheek.
I did pause a little when I realised I was pulling none too gently on his back. I didn’t want to make Hamilton’s marks any worse. Instead I moved my activities to the front. The buttons, which had looked so appealing when he had worked them, turned out to be horribly tricky. For a moment I was torn between wanting to get the job done – and hence just letting the buttons go to hell and use brute force – and not wanting to kill the mood by risking Pryce’s valet instinct making him call a halt to the proceedings so he could rescue the damaged clothing.
The decision was made for me when Pryce’s hand slipped against my skin for the first time, trailing a delicate yet searing touch over the belly, my own shirt riding up. Yes, at that point, most thoughts went out my head.
By the time Pryce had returned for a less gentle kiss, hips canting forward for a decidedly intimate touch, I’d already let buttons be damned and was re-familiarising myself with the wonderful feel of firm heated flesh under the palm, the way I could feel his heartbeat against my own skin when I pulled him close, the way his skin went goosepimply when I touched him just there, just so. My brain was very fuzzy, but I felt a moan go through the frame, I still don’t know whose it was, but there it was. It wasn’t the last, and then there was that unique warm heady smell laced with sweat and soap and a sharper tang of polish and wax.
There was Pryce.
There was me.
There was Pryce proving that he really did have the most wonderful hands.
There was me proving my theory that you only need to know which points to press in order to finally crack even the most cold polite English exterior.
And if you want more details, you’re reading the wrong memoir. What happened is between me and Pryce.
I’m not going to say it was great, because it was actually quite terrifying. Later, when he looked up at me, really looked, blue eyes burning, my hand seeming so large and potentially damaging as it cupped his face, I’ll admit there was moment of panic.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been hung upside-down over a cliff with only a rope attached to your feet, and then seen someone approach with a sharp knife and a gleam in the eye. If you have, then it was a little like that.
Because I realised then that I was possibly letting myself in for real trouble. I mean, there’s liking someone. And then there’s really liking someone. I was experienced enough to know there’s a world of difference between the two. And, just for that instant, I saw the cliff, felt the first bite of metal against twine, and was reminded that one of life’s most frightening realisations is realising that possibly, maybe, you could come to feel differently about this one.
But, take away that moment of pure terror, and yes, I guess you could say it was perfect.
*~*~*~*
The next day, when I met Will, he took one look at me and lit up a new cigarette.
“Christ almighty, Liam, you don’t hang about, do you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bollocks you do. The ride yesterday was fantastic, by the way, thanks for asking.”
I blushed, genuinely remorseful and guilty.
“Sorry, I forgot. And by the time I remembered it was too late to call and-”
“No worries, I got an invite to Miss Chase’s place. She wants to commission a poem for some Lord-or-other she’s trying to sweeten.”
“Oh. Good.”
Will blew a circle of smoke into the dusk air. He shook his head and grinned.
“Honestly, you are so predictable, Liam. So, after all your temper tantrums and flouncing, was he actually worth it?”
“Go bury yourself in a cesspit, Will.”
“Ah, so that’s the way it goes.”
“Forget the cesspit, there’s a lake nearby, go for a swim. I’ll provide the brick.”
Will gave me a considering look.
“You realise you can’t fire him, now? You are stuck.”
“Why’d I want to fire him?”
“Ah, lo, the ape speaks!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Now where’ve I heard that before.”
“No, Will, I mean it. Look, it’s just… It’s fine, I know what I’m doing.”
He gave me another long stare, then took a thoughtful pull of the cigarette.
“You’ve only known him, what, twenty-four hours?”
“It’s a little more than that, and don’t start on like it’s the end of the world.”
“Considering I know you better than you do, and considering I remember your track record, I’m going to be diplomatically silent.”
I shrugged, if Will wanted to get all ruffled over something perfectly harmless, then that was his decision.
“An English valet. An English well-educated valet. A non-blonde well-educated English valet. Didn’t see that one coming. You really are one odd fish, Liam.”
FIN
Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
eloise_bright, without whom this fic really wouldn't have been written. *hugs* I am rather fond of this verse, huge thanks to everyone who's commented, it's always nice to know your indulgences aren't completely insane... LOL!Previous parts here.
Chapter Eleven:
You know that thing you get in the whatsit when you’re doing something you really didn’t think you could? That buzz in the blood. Lean-something I think. Or is it Lenny. Anyway, it’s what gets you through a difficult moment, lets you focus completely on what has to be done – for example hitting the bullseye - and not get distracted by normally catastrophic events – like the fact that Will is downing your pint. Adrenaline, that’s the word. It gets you up and running when you thought you’d be keeling over and dying on the spot.
Right. Well, as I bolted from the bedroom like the proverbial hare, the emotional equivalent of adrenaline finally wore off and left me feeling distinctly rattled. I had been focused; focused on and genuinely concerned that Hamilton might have done some serious damage to my valet. I had acted accordingly, checking out said valet with the experienced eye, without letting such trivial problems – like floppy-haired Americans, oddly depressing interrupted clinches and a general bruised feelings of trust - get in the way.
The problem was that the moment the immediate threat had been disproved and Pryce turned out not to be at Death’s Door, it suddenly became rather hard to keep full concentration on the problem at hand, if you know what I mean. Yet again something started tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that a) Pryce really was quite easy on the eye, b) he had just helped me dig Will out of a very deep hole, c) he didn’t seem such a bad guy, in fact he had that slightly gentle air that so often used to hook and get me into trouble in the past, d) he had just taken his shirt off in my bedroom and it would be a very, very good thing not to dwell on that brief moment of seeing those agile hands deftly slipping loose button after button because d) Pryce also seemed relatively intelligent and therefore e) was highly likely to pick up on any unwanted overtures or glances because – just in case my life wasn’t awkward enough already - his brain was apparently tuned that way.
To my relief I found that I had fled with my half-full glass. One good swallow and I forced myself to try and get a grip. The fresh air of the garden helped too.
I made a rather tottery beeline for the corner I’d spotted earlier and began gathering a good bundle of leaves. The sun warmed the back of my neck; butterflies, birds and bees flittered about the place, as they tend to do; the heavy scent of grass and very pleased with themselves shrubs wafted past the nose. So, by the time I’d harvested all I needed, I genuinely felt a lot calmer than when I’d first crash-landed in this little Eden.
Next up was the kitchen. It felt a little weird to go rummaging through the cupboards and drawers by myself. It wasn’t that I’d never been a kitchen before or didn’t know how to use one; I had after all been living alone for years and keeping a perfectly decent house. It was more that, over here, you just knew that this was the domain of the staff. This was Pryce’s territory, from the arsenal of knives and sharp heavy implements, to the small shining collection of teaspoons.
Everything had been put where’d you expect, so it wasn’t long before the kettle was singing away and I was busying myself with leaves and spoons and bowls and few other secret ingredients I swore to my grandmother I would take with me to the grave. I won’t bore you with the method of preparation, but when I left the kitchen, it was with a small bowl and a little bit of oil. The location of gauze and bandages remained a mystery to me, so I trotted back to the bedroom with merely the raw ingredients of the poultice itself: a steaming gunky leafy boiled pasty sludge.
Pryce had put his shirt back on, though his jacket and waistcoat were still neatly folded over the back of the chair. He moved about the room trailing fluffed up cushions, dusted shelves and straightened books behind him. At the sound of my re-entry, he put these activities on hold and eyed the approaching bowl with wary curiosity.
“Might I enquire as to the nature of that mixture, sir?”
“Yes, Pryce, you may.” I brandished the herby chlorophyll-enriched salve. “This is for you. It’ll take the sting out of those knocks and help show them the door.”
“I assure you I am perfectly capable of working-”
“Oh hush, Pryce. This won’t take long and believe me this stuff works wonders.”
Pryce inclined his head and, after a little prompting, sat down at the writing table. I kept myself busy with giving the mixture a few pokes and turns while he yet again removed the shirt.
Even on second viewing, the bruises made you blink and there could be no doubts whatsoever that the poultice was sorely needed. That said, there was a moment when I wished I’d thought to ask Will to come back with me so he could have dealt with the slightly tricky task of application.
Slightly tricky, because the first part involved oil.
I’d had the routine firmly drilled into me; you have to apply a little oil first, otherwise the leaves stick and whilst at the time they may feel lovely, a few hours and a few less layers of skin later and you’ll be regretting it.
Then again, when you have an imagination that tends to run away with you, drizzling oil over your fingers and then running said digits across some shapely back is hardly a thing to guarantee an easy night either.
I considered things for a nonce before, with a flash of inspiration, pulling the crisp white handkerchief from my pocket. No doubt Pryce would crucify me later for showing such disrespect for his linen exertions, but I’d happily cross that bridge when I came to it. I applied the stuff with light brushes along the spine and over the ribs. With this achieved, the limp square of cotton was put to one side, and I grimly picked up my bowl of poultice.
“Do we have any gauze and bandages in these digs, Pryce?”
“Yes, sir. If it would be of assistance I could-”
“Stay right where you are.” I stuck my hand into the greeny grey concoction. “We’ll get this on, then you tell me where they are and I’ll go get them”
The brief silence sounded suspiciously sigh-like.
“I was going to say, sir, that if it would be of assistance, I could hand the items you require to you, since I took the opportunity during your absence of retrieving a small quantity in anticipation of such a necessity.”
Pryce moved a little to one side so I could see the collection of rolled white materials standing on the desk before him.
“Oh, right.” I gave the gloop another prod. “Okay, well, yes, just hand them back to me when I ask.”
“Very good, sir.”
The salve made the tips of my fingers tingle, both from the analgesic and from the not unnoticeable heat. Not exactly painful, more like a wasp sneezing on you than a cohort of needles launching a heavy assault, just enough to let me know the stuff was working.
I smeared the first dab over a small patch of discolouration on the upper back, just to the left of the shoulderbone. My plan was to get the job over and done with as quickly as possible and then get out and go riding over hill and vale-o. As a result, this initial touch was not the most gentle in the world and although Pryce didn’t say anything, there was a sudden nasty utter hush like he had momentarily stopped breathing, along with a rigid tension flashing down the spine.
“Sorry.”
I tried again, using a slightly smaller amount so it took less pressure to spread evenly over the skin.
“If this remedy is as effective as you say, sir, would it perhaps be wise for me to learn how to prepare it myself, in case of future need?”
“Absolutely not. This is the last time you get into a physical fight on my account.”
“I was referring to your need, sir, not mine.” Pryce swivelled his head and I felt his eyes on me. He sounded rather amused. “Although, and I hesitate to correct you, sir, I fully entered into physical confrontation with Mr Hamilton of my own volition. There is no need for you to feel any responsibility for the resulting scene and unfortunate encounter with his lordship.”
“Thanks, but – could you pass a… thanks - but if you remember it was me who started the whole thing when I gave that MacDonald a serious kicking.”
“Do you regret doing so, sir?”
“Well, no, but-”
“Good. In any case, sir, considering the history between myself and the Manners family, it was unlikely that any meeting, no matter how well planned, would go entirely smoothly.”
“I guess there is that.” My hand hovered over the worst of the bruises. Pryce was by now facing forwards again and all I could see was the back of his head, which was remarkably hard to read. “Look, I don’t want to pry but…”
“Sir?”
I played for time by smoothing a small portion over the edge of the bruise, my fingers grazing the gentle dip of the backbone.
He was a lot less soft than I had expected. Not even close, of course, to the trim packing of the body that Will had, but still more firm than I would have expected of a man whose hardest job was probably hefting heavy piles of laundry. There was a strong sweep along the shoulders, a smooth tidy tapering of the waist. Even the skin was a slight surprise, noticeably lacking in the sun-deprived pale waxiness that often marks out the very well-bred…
I employed the typical circular pressing motion to try and get the mixture to hold and blend in.
“Knox,” I said casually. “You don’t have to… but… What exactly happened between you two?”
“Nothing, sir.”
I took care to keep the tone neutral, “Right. Well-”
“Though possibly it might have, had things been different.”
The conversation halted briefly as I pressed too hard and Pryce flinched. This resulted in the usual quick exchange of apologies and dismissals and mental kicks to self to keep brain on track. Then we resumed.
“I was not trying to deceive you, sir, when I recounted my history to you,” Pryce said quietly. “But I admit I did leave that part of the story untold, though not in any way because of lack of trust in you. It was simply that I did not know myself the extent of Knox’s role in the events that unfolded that summer.”
“You trust me?”
“Of course, we were both very young at the time. At that age neither of us fully understood the nature of what nearly occurred, and, as is so often the case, one does tend to fear what one cannot explain.” Pryce’s voice had gone rather soft, a little higher. “It was only the once, sir. In hindsight it seems so slight and harmless. We were talking, and suddenly it was quiet and, though we pulled back, we both knew what would have taken place. We dealt with it by changing the subject, walking away very quickly, and the next thing I knew Manners was summoning me to his office. The accusation then levelled against me you know of. There was no opportunity to speak with Knox after that, let alone privately.”
“Oh.”
“Until he turned up at the front door today, sir, I had not spoken or seen him since that summer. And until a few hours ago, I had never heard his side of what happened.”
“Which was?”
A slight tremor went through him. For one terrible moment I wondered if he’d actually broken down, then with a rather guilty feeling of relief, I realised he was suppressing a laugh.
“I would remind you, sir, that the young can be painfully foolish. An often unfortunate trait given their tendency to also assume they ‘know all the answers’. Knox, at least, acknowledged that he was in need of council. Sadly, however, it transpired that he chose to seek this from his dear friend MacDonald.”
I stared. “MacDonald? You don’t mean-”
“Yes,” Pryce still sounded as though he was a shake of a duck’s tail away from letting slip a giggle. “Robert went and confided in Lindsey the full details of what had passed between us, in hopes,” and the tone sharpened with something close to scorn, “in hopes of some kindly advice and enlightenment.”
I noticed around this point that my hand was still resting quite happily against the curve of Pryce’s side, the warmth flooding my palm being what finally reminded me. I considered removing it but decided to postpone a little while longer so as to not interrupt the flow of the narrative. Pryce seemed to be getting into his stride.
“Even back then, there was no love lost between him and his stepsister. He had seen our confrontations and knew how… how both of us used every, every trick in the book in hopes of making the other waver.”
Pryce abruptly went very quiet.
I assumed the stepsister in question was Lilah. Not a pleasant thought. Even our fleeting conversation had left me with a very strong impression of the woman. I couldn’t imagine her as ever having been young, sweet and innocent. Young, clever and deceptively sweet-smiled, oh yes. She would have known the rules of the oldest game around when it comes to getting your own way. More specifically, she struck me as guaranteed to take it very badly if things didn’t pan out as she intended. And, if Pryce hadn’t been lying about that part of his history, I doubted she would have taken kindly to being informed, and probably informed smugly, that her chances of scoring a bulls-eye, so to speak, were decidedly slim. No girl likes finding out her efforts have been unappreciated. Hell hath no fury and all that.
My musings were interrupted when Pryce breathed in, indicating he was about to resume. When he spoke he sounded more like his old self.
“I think when Mr MacDonald told her, he simply wished to wound her sense of pride. It is unlikely he realised the full ramifications his actions could have. He does lack foresight. And one cannot be surprised that she then went and told her Uncle what she did. When you enter into conflict against such a lady, you know the stakes are high. ”
Cautiously I prised my hand off and thankfully Pryce didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you mind? About what he did?” I asked, a little uncertainly.
“If I may speak frankly, sir, I mind that MacDonald is still walking upright and breathing. Though, to be fair, that judgement stems mainly from his behaviour post the incident rather than during it.”
“I meant about Knox.”
“Sir?”
“Well, until now you thought he’d had some hand in what happened, right?”
There was a silence.
“No,” said Pryce eventually, in a low tone. “I never thought he would have done that. But I did believe he knew what was being said about me, and that he said nothing. Or worse, maybe he thought it was true and I’d been the one lying.”
“But a true friend sticks closer than ones nearest kin.”
“As, in the end, he did.” Pryce let out the smallest of sighs and half shook his head, like he was shaking something off. Maybe he was; I don’t know, he had sounded kind of satisfied – or is the phrase I’m looking for ‘at peace’? – with this final mark in the tale. “Is there any more, sir?”
“No, pass me one more strip… that’s it… now we just need to add the bandages.”
“This is very kind of you, sir.”
“Speak nothing of it, it’s the least I could do.”
I wiped my fingers clean on the tea towel I’d brought through with me. I could still feel the shape of him along my palm; the soft rise of the shoulderblades under smooth warm skin. It was an odd feeling. It made me feel rather sad more than anything else. It would be me who ended up with the valet with enough emotional baggage to sink a freighter. Between the two of us, I really wasn’t sure who was meant to be helping who. As I rose to put the bowl on the side, though, I decided that I didn’t mind. In some strange way it was comforting. Like, despite appearances, I’d found myself amongst equals. I could almost imagine belonging here.
Pryce started and, following his gaze, I spied the clock and the hour.
“Oh I do apologise, sir, I’ve made you late for your engagement with Master Davis-”
“Forget it,” I said, edging once more towards the kitchen.
“Most unprofessional,” Pryce muttered with another shake of his head. He smoothly reinserted himself into his shirt, the fingers yet again doing their thing with the buttons.
Have I mentioned the things that man can do with buttons? Really, it has to be seen to be believed. Venus emerging from her shell could pick up a few tips on the way of making an entry.
“If you wish to change into your riding suit right-away, sir, and I will attend to the clearing up of this…” He trailed off and waved a hand, indicating the small pile of debris the poultice had left behind.
Pryce has this particular tone of voice that somehow bypasses the conscious mind and instead goes straight to the nervous system and the joints, so when he suggests something, you do it straightaway and only wake up to your actions two seconds later. So I was halfway through picking up my laid-out shirt before I remembered what I had been going to say.
“Shirt, Pryce!”
“Sir?”
“Your shirt, Pryce, take it off.”
There followed a brief slightly muddled trading of words where Pryce, to his eternal credit, never batted an eyelid, retaining the perfect composure of a stuffed frog. What I’d meant, of course, was that we’d forgotten to put on the bandages. But… well, you know that phrase ‘digging yourself into a well’? Or is it a pit, or hole? Anyway. It always makes it a hundred times worse when you know you’re digging yourself into such a decompression, and it took a few attempts before I finally managed to make Pryce understand what I was driving at. This then resulted in a short haggle, wherein Pryce offered to attend to them himself after he’d seen me safely out the house, and I pledged to stand firm and not budge a muscle until he’d got himself nicely tied up.
At which point Pryce used The Voice, and shortly afterwards I was stuffing myself into my riding suit and the bandages were on the To Do Later list.
“Oh, I forgot to say earlier, Pryce,” I said as I straightened the collar, “thank you.”
“Sir?” Pryce aborted dusting off my cap so he could shoot me a quizzical look.
“With Will,” I said. “For helping us get one over Manners. Thank you.”
“I am glad you find pleasure in the concluding state of affairs, sir, but I really cannot claim sole credit. It was Mr Knox who voluntarily offered to share his experimental audio recordings. He did say he would not have done so had the option of relocating to America not turned out to be a viable one, however I suspect there may possibly have been genuine goodwill involved.”
“True,” I said after I had translated and abridged his words. “But you still came and told us. And considering that Manners could’ve found a way to worm out of it, you took a sizable risk for m- us,” I corrected smoothly. “It was above and beyond the call of duty, Pryce. You’re a credit to the profession.”
“It is very kind of you to say so, sir, I endeavour to give satisfaction.”
“Oh, you did,” I said warmly, a smile spreading over my face as the memory replayed itself in full and glorious colour. “That look on Manner’s face... Talk about turning the tables. I swear his jaw hit the floor when you came out with that Montel business.”
“I was most happy to be able to assist Master Davis, sir. I find him a most agreeable and deserving young man.”
“Me too, Pryce, me too! He may have some, many, quite a few actually, flaws, but Will is a good soul, if you know what I mean. He’s really tried, Pryce.” The memory of Will glowing like a setting sun gave me a nice tingly buzz, I was almost moved to do a little jig. “It was David against Goliath, or the poet against the blood-sucking lawyer in this case. But still, what a clash. What a fight! And we won!” I beamed at Pryce who was regarding me with a subtle fond expression. “He was top of the world with rainbows draped about his shoulders this morning, Pryce. Honestly, I could kiss you.”
“Be my guest, sir.”
Remember that thing I said about the voice that bypasses the brain? That was the voice, just then, clear as a bell. I have asked Pryce since then, in the nicest possible way, just why he decided to spring that on me at that moment.
Apparently, or so I eventually managed to wheedle out of him, he had had one hell of a day, which somehow managed to end happily: the sky was blue, the birds singing, a heady scent of summer wafting around. Quite frankly that kind of luck can make a man feel slightly reckless, and by that juncture he felt all he needed was a little something sweet to properly round things off. And considering Knox had already kissed him out of the blue without even asking, Pryce thought the valet equivalent of ‘oh what the heck’. Because, and he’d had to repeat this to me several times, he’d kind of liked me from our very first private conversation, when I’d managed to put my foot in it regarding his family history with every new breath I drew. Whereas I’d found it blood-chillingly humiliating, he found it ‘rather endearing’.
Pryce also told me that, in his mind, he had expected that moment of recklessness to be the high point of his day, something he could look back and smile at, something he could say ‘well, now I really have done everything’. His expectations of my taking him up on his offer were, to say the least, low.
Which explained why – when two seconds later and my brain caught up – I drew back, my arms still wonderfully full with rumpled cotton and rucked buttons, and found Pryce staring at me with frank shock. My left hand had a loose grip around the back of his neck, so that for a few seconds we were practically nose to nose.
“Oh.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
“Indeed.”
Admittedly the words lose a certain something when put down in simple black and white. It was the type of conversation where a lot is said with the eyes and tone of the voice. It’s hard to write that kind of thing, but perhaps a very rough idea would be:
“Oh.”
“Ah, this is kind of awkward.”
“Yes… well… still, here we are.”
“Right. Erm, actually, I have no problem with that... And you haven’t knocked me for six yet, that’s a good sign, right?”
“Indeed.”
The disbelief finally left his face and when I kissed him for a second time I felt his arm go tightly round me. His free hand went to the nape of my neck, his fingers sending delicious shivers through the skin as they ran through my hair. He tasted rich and of whiskey, but the best part was when I moved to the jawline and felt the curve of his smile, a real smile, beneath my lips and his unsteady breath skittering over my cheek.
I did pause a little when I realised I was pulling none too gently on his back. I didn’t want to make Hamilton’s marks any worse. Instead I moved my activities to the front. The buttons, which had looked so appealing when he had worked them, turned out to be horribly tricky. For a moment I was torn between wanting to get the job done – and hence just letting the buttons go to hell and use brute force – and not wanting to kill the mood by risking Pryce’s valet instinct making him call a halt to the proceedings so he could rescue the damaged clothing.
The decision was made for me when Pryce’s hand slipped against my skin for the first time, trailing a delicate yet searing touch over the belly, my own shirt riding up. Yes, at that point, most thoughts went out my head.
By the time Pryce had returned for a less gentle kiss, hips canting forward for a decidedly intimate touch, I’d already let buttons be damned and was re-familiarising myself with the wonderful feel of firm heated flesh under the palm, the way I could feel his heartbeat against my own skin when I pulled him close, the way his skin went goosepimply when I touched him just there, just so. My brain was very fuzzy, but I felt a moan go through the frame, I still don’t know whose it was, but there it was. It wasn’t the last, and then there was that unique warm heady smell laced with sweat and soap and a sharper tang of polish and wax.
There was Pryce.
There was me.
There was Pryce proving that he really did have the most wonderful hands.
There was me proving my theory that you only need to know which points to press in order to finally crack even the most cold polite English exterior.
And if you want more details, you’re reading the wrong memoir. What happened is between me and Pryce.
I’m not going to say it was great, because it was actually quite terrifying. Later, when he looked up at me, really looked, blue eyes burning, my hand seeming so large and potentially damaging as it cupped his face, I’ll admit there was moment of panic.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been hung upside-down over a cliff with only a rope attached to your feet, and then seen someone approach with a sharp knife and a gleam in the eye. If you have, then it was a little like that.
Because I realised then that I was possibly letting myself in for real trouble. I mean, there’s liking someone. And then there’s really liking someone. I was experienced enough to know there’s a world of difference between the two. And, just for that instant, I saw the cliff, felt the first bite of metal against twine, and was reminded that one of life’s most frightening realisations is realising that possibly, maybe, you could come to feel differently about this one.
But, take away that moment of pure terror, and yes, I guess you could say it was perfect.
*~*~*~*
The next day, when I met Will, he took one look at me and lit up a new cigarette.
“Christ almighty, Liam, you don’t hang about, do you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bollocks you do. The ride yesterday was fantastic, by the way, thanks for asking.”
I blushed, genuinely remorseful and guilty.
“Sorry, I forgot. And by the time I remembered it was too late to call and-”
“No worries, I got an invite to Miss Chase’s place. She wants to commission a poem for some Lord-or-other she’s trying to sweeten.”
“Oh. Good.”
Will blew a circle of smoke into the dusk air. He shook his head and grinned.
“Honestly, you are so predictable, Liam. So, after all your temper tantrums and flouncing, was he actually worth it?”
“Go bury yourself in a cesspit, Will.”
“Ah, so that’s the way it goes.”
“Forget the cesspit, there’s a lake nearby, go for a swim. I’ll provide the brick.”
Will gave me a considering look.
“You realise you can’t fire him, now? You are stuck.”
“Why’d I want to fire him?”
“Ah, lo, the ape speaks!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Now where’ve I heard that before.”
“No, Will, I mean it. Look, it’s just… It’s fine, I know what I’m doing.”
He gave me another long stare, then took a thoughtful pull of the cigarette.
“You’ve only known him, what, twenty-four hours?”
“It’s a little more than that, and don’t start on like it’s the end of the world.”
“Considering I know you better than you do, and considering I remember your track record, I’m going to be diplomatically silent.”
I shrugged, if Will wanted to get all ruffled over something perfectly harmless, then that was his decision.
“An English valet. An English well-educated valet. A non-blonde well-educated English valet. Didn’t see that one coming. You really are one odd fish, Liam.”
FIN
Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2005-04-27 05:26 pm (UTC)How I do love this story, and this universe. It captures the essentials of Angel and Wes, but Liam and Pryce are your own creations. And I have to say, your writing of the final kiss was masterful. The utter terror that Liam experienced, as he knew that this wasn't just any kiss, this was the REAL THING - and it could all get very serious - that made me melt into a puddle of emotional goo. Give me this over smut any time *g*
And I can't wait to meet on Saturday so we can discuss the next story arc...
*huggles you tightly*
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Date: 2005-04-27 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-27 07:01 pm (UTC):::weeps with joy even harder::
Wow. So wow.
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Date: 2005-04-27 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 12:57 am (UTC)Brava!
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Date: 2005-04-28 01:52 am (UTC)As usual, less was more between these two. It was just wonderful. Thank you for sharing this 'verse. *sigh*
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Date: 2005-04-28 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 06:06 am (UTC)"A non-blonde well-educated English valet." Love it ;)
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Date: 2005-04-28 04:33 pm (UTC)Ohh, so can't wait for Saturday!! *bounce*
This story honestly wouldn't have made it past a few drabbles if it weren't for you, so thank you! It was, mostly, a real joy to write. And I have become very fond of Liam and Pryce, even if they utterly refused to obey the plotlines and character traits I'd planned for them. Oh well, I gues they must know what they're doing... :)
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Date: 2005-04-28 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 04:54 pm (UTC)*huggles* Thank you! I have grown very fond of this verse, and it was a pleasure to share it, and simply fantastic to know you've enjoyed it! *hugs*
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Date: 2005-04-28 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 09:21 pm (UTC)Because, and he’d had to repeat this to me several times, he’d kind of liked me from our very first private conversation
I love that line! It says so much :D
And:
And, just for that instant, I saw the cliff, felt the first bite of metal against twine, and was reminded that one of life’s most frightening realisations is realising that possibly, maybe, you could come to feel differently about this one.
But, take away that moment of pure terror, and yes, I guess you could say it was perfect.
Yes, perfect is the word :)
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Date: 2005-04-28 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-28 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-29 04:22 am (UTC)I'm so glad you liked Lindsey - he was one of the hardest characters to write for me, so yay! And I did have great fun in trying at least to mention a healthy handful of AtS names. Even though Hamilton was a very shortlived character on the show, I thought him kinda cool, so yes, he had to come in there somewhere. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, that I also love writing Liam and Will. Everyone should have a friend like that, I think. But, then again, if I had my way, everyone would have a Pryce all of their own too... LOL!
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Date: 2005-04-29 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-29 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-29 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-06 02:30 am (UTC)Thanks for a fabo fic.
*hugs*
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Date: 2005-05-06 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-06 12:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-06 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-19 08:23 pm (UTC)pause
Well, I guess
EnglandAlexis was worth it.I love this story more than I can say. It's definitely getting printed and reread. The ending is perfect and I adore Pryce's moment of folly and what it led to. Absolutely wonderful! Thank You!
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Date: 2005-05-20 05:06 am (UTC)And yep, I think England was worth it. How can you hate an island when it has both Giles and Wes in the same town for a few hours? *grin*
Thank you!
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Date: 2005-05-21 11:19 pm (UTC)“Be my guest, sir.”
I can honestly say, for once, I didn't expect them to actually kiss. :) Oh, but it made my heart skip when I got to that line.
And Liam's thing with the buttons...I think I may have a thing for Pryce and buttons now too. :)
So adorable. A lovely finish. :)
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Date: 2005-05-26 12:36 am (UTC)LOL! Oh, they very nearly didn't. Which was annoying as this was supposed to be my indulgence plot where nothing would get in the way of snuggles and huggles and smooches. But oh no, some kind of plot would try and take over. So huge thanks to my beta for helping me think up a way to get them to actually do something! And thank you, glad you enjoyed it! :)