Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/279968.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      My_Chemical_Romance, Comics_RPF
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way
  Character:
      Frank_Iero, Gerard_Way, Grant_Morrison, Mikey_Way
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Character, Historical, Amnesia, Medical_Inaccuracies, evil
      relatives, sex_tears, Melodrama, implied_physical_abuse_(nonsexual),
      Unresolved_Sexual_Tension
  Series:
      Part 1 of amnesiaverse
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-19 Words: 16553
****** I will bring a mirror ******
by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone
Summary
     Written for prompt number five of the
     [[info]]
yobrothatssick challenge: One foggy, wet afternoon, a mysterious young man
collapses on the doorstep of Lord Morrison's manor. He does not remember his
name or how he came to be there, but he does not seem that unfamiliar to
Gerard, Lord Morrison's ward...
Notes
     Many thanks to the mods of [[info]]yobrothatssick for running an
     exceedingly great challenge and to [[info]]tabula_x_rasa for her
     excellent beta work and keeping us from using archaic words of which
     only a handful of people would know the meaning.
Gerard pulls his coat further around him and scowls at the fog. He knows he's
being ridiculous, but the fog forced him to cut his ride short and the thought
of going back inside where, inevitably, he will encounter Grant is more than he
wants to deal with at the moment.
It had started out as such a nice party, too. Whatever else you can say about
Grant - and most people can say plenty - he's an excellent host. Invitations to
his soirées are prized, and Gerard is automatically one of the golden few by
virtue of being Lord Morrison's ward.
Ward. He snorts, disgusted. He took a first in Classics at Oxford. He's
attained his majority and traveled the Continent. He's not a child anymore.
He's not technically Grant’s ward anymore either, but the bulk of his
inheritance is entailed until he attains the age of twenty-five so he might as
well be one, and Grant clearly thinks of him as one, which is the most galling
thing. Even more galling than the tight pack of ladies and the odd gentleman
that had surrounded Grant the night before, simpering and laughing brittlely -
smiles so false, Gerard wasn't sure how their faces didn't break from the
strain.
Then there were the young ladies of marriageable age, clearly invited for
Gerard's benefit, since Grant is nothing if not a confirmed bachelor. Gerard
scowls and tugs at his lapels again.
Grant clearly doesn't understand.
The house finally comes into view out of the mist. It's large and imposing
enough on a bright, clear day. On such a dark, foggy day as this, it looks like
something out a terrifying Gothic novel.
Gerard takes the steps up to the door two at a time. His hand is on the door
when he hears a groan coming from his right. He freezes, slowly turning his
head to look in that direction. It takes him a moment to pick out the figure
collapsed on the far side of the portico.
"Dear God," Gerard breathes. Is that someone...dead? No, they’d groaned. But
where did they come from? Who are they? It couldn't be a party guest, could it?
He wouldn't have thought Grant would have an overnight guest without even -
Gerard stops himself, coloring dull red. Not his business, and besides.... He
creeps closer, eyes locked on the small crumpled figure, but he still jumps
when it lets out a weak moan.
Gerard leans down and looks for the person's face, but it's covered by a cloak,
facing down. Gerard's hand jerks back when another weak moan comes from under
the folds of wool.
"I'll get help. Hold on," he whispers and jumps up, running to the door and
throwing it open. He pulls the bell, perhaps too hard, then again. Two servants
emerge from different directions coming toward him.
"Outside," he stammers, pointing. "Person - hurt - I don't -" He creeps along
behind the butler and footman as they hurry onto the porch, and peeks around
the door jamb.
He hears footsteps coming down the hall and hears Grant exclaim. Just as Grant
reaches the door, Gerard jumps out of the path of the returning servants
carrying the stranger and stumbles. Grant catches him. "Steady," he murmurs.
"Who is this?"
"I don't know!" Gerard cries. "They were just collapsed on the porch when I
returned from riding."
"He," Grant corrects, stepping across the hall and smoothing fabric and hair
away from the figure's face. "A boy about your age, perhaps? Do you know?"
Gerard shakes his head automatically, and Grant tells the servants to take him
upstairs, calling for another footman to fetch the doctor. Gerard bites his lip
and trails after the procession up the stairs.
Grant tells a maid standing and gawking in the hall to bring some hot water and
cloths up to the guest room closest to Gerard's room. She scurries off to do as
she's told.
The butler and footman get the stranger onto the bed. He moans again, but
doesn't open his eyes. The footman gets his cloak off while the butler removes
his shoes. At that moment, the maid enters the room. Grant takes the basin of
water and the linen cloths from her himself, sits on the edge of the bed, dips
a rag in the water and wipes gently at the stranger's face and neck.
"Please go heat some more water. I'm sure the doctor will need it," Grant
instructs.
"Yes, sir," she murmurs and slips back out of the room. Grant gently lifts the
boy's head, clearly looking for injuries. He makes a concerned noise, but
Gerard's view is blocked. He's not sure he wants to see, anyway.
Gerard stands along the wall, well out of the way, wringing his hands. The maid
returns with fresh water and rags, and a few minutes later a footman leads the
doctor in.
Doctor Ellis asks several questions in quick succession. When Grant informs him
that Gerard was the one to find the stranger, he turns and asks Gerard to tell
him everything he remembers. Gerard discovers it's not much and stumbles over
his words, feeling foolish. Doctor Ellis just nods and turns back to the boy on
the bed. Gerard feels like perhaps he should leave the room, but nobody else
is, so he stays while Doctor Ellis examines the stranger and bandages his
wounds.
"This head wound is worrisome, but the rest of the scrapes and cuts are minor,
and there's nothing else to be done until he wakes at any rate. I wish he were
conscious; it would be best for someone to sit with him and monitor his
breathing, perhaps talk to him when he begins to come to. Send for me
immediately when he does," Doctor Ellis instructs Grant, who nods seriously.
Everyone leaves the room except for a footman, who is charged with getting the
boy into a pair of pajamas. When he's done, Grant and Gerard go back inside.
"It's lucky you were out riding," Grant murmurs, reaching out to adjust a
wrinkle in the bandage on the stranger’s temple. "It may have been hours before
anybody found him in this weather. And then it's possible it would have been
too late for him. If nothing else, the cold was enough to kill him." Gerard
shudders. And to think the only reason he went out was to clear his head
because he was upset about Grant. "We need to talk about that, though, Gerard.
Why were you out riding in this weather?" Grant fixes him with an
indecipherable look. "You could have ended up in the same state."
"Yes, of course. I just... needed to clear my head. That's all, I - Do you
think he'll be all right?"
"I don't know. I hope so. I suppose we'll find out when he wakes," Grant
answers.
Gerard studies his face. "He seems... I don't believe I know him, but then why
else would he be here? Grant, do you...."
"Hmm. We are far off the beaten track here, but I would expect I’d recognize a
neighbor even so,” Grant muses. "His clothes were of good quality. Unless he
stole them, it's likely he comes from a well-to-do family."
“A visitor?” Gerard offers.
“If that's the case, I have to wonder what he was doing out in the countryside
alone. Especially in this weather."
"Maybe he lost his horse?" Gerard offers. "It'd be easy enough to do in this
weather. An animal moving in a bush spooks the horse, he gets thrown off, and
then can't find it?"
Grant cuts him a look. "Which is precisely why you shouldn't have been out
riding." Gerard rolls his eyes, but Grant ignores him and continues, “But I
shall send a groom out to look for a wandering horse, just in case.” He
gestures for Gerard to precede him out of the room, and Gerard shakes his head.
“Doctor Ellis, he said someone should sit with him. I can - do that.”
Grant smiles, face softening a little. “Of course - especially the talking
part,” he adds, eyes twinkling. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He leaves the room, drawing the door nearly to, and Gerard fusses for several
minutes to pull a comfortable armchair close to the bed and arrange himself so
he can see the shallow rise and fall of the boy’s chest under the coverlets.
It’s only then that he remembers he’d been angry with Grant.
It’s impossible to stay angry with Grant.
He sighs. He wishes Mikey were here, but Mikey left for his final year of
school just two weeks ago and isn't expected back home for another month.
Mikey would, of course, tell him he's an idiot and Gerard would be forced to
agree and that would be that. Well, not quite that, but at least Gerard would
have someone to distract him from his foolish thoughts.
The boy takes a deep breath, a small whimper escaping from him. Gerard sits up
straight and watches his face, but he relaxes back into the pillows and his
face goes lax again.
Gerard sighs again and leans against the back of the chair. He should find
something to keep him occupied. He's been at loose ends since he returned from
the continent, especially with Mikey leaving mere weeks later. He hasn't felt
much desire to draw or read. Mostly he's been doing a lot of walking and
riding, which is out of character enough that one of the housemaids he's known
since he first came to the manor commented on it.
He's almost itching for his pencils now, nearly gets up to go retrieve them
from his room, when the boy groans again. Gerard sighs and sits back. He said
he'd stay and wait and he will. Gerard studies the boy's face. He's lovely, and
Gerard racks his brain, trying to remember where he could possibly have seen
him before, but he can't think of anything.
"I’ve never seen you before," he says aloud. "I have a good memory for faces. I
wish I knew why you were here."
The strange boy is, of course, no help whatsoever. Gerard frowns at his
sleeping face for another few moments before exclaiming, “Oh!” Much too loudly,
but the boy doesn’t even twitch, of course, and Gerard jumps to his feet and
hurries to the bench at the foot of the bed. The footman has set the boy’s
sodden and dirty clothing in a neat little pile, presumably for a maid to
remove, and Gerard busies himself with searching the pockets for anything that
might serve as identification.
Gerard finds a coin purse with a small amount of money in it attached to the
belt and a scrap of paper in a pocket, but the cold and wet long since seeped
into the paper and smeared the ink beyond recognition. Deep in a pocket inside
the cloak, Gerard finds a beautiful pocket watch. Gerard presses the button and
it pops open. It’s not keeping time. Gerard wonders if it started out that way,
or if it happened recently. The initials “F.I.” are engraved opposite the watch
face, but a close inspection reveals nothing else even remotely useful.
“F.I.? Are those your initials? This looks old, though. Perhaps it’s a family
piece?” Gerard asks the boy.
There’s no response. He sighs, places the items on the beside table, and sits
back down. After a while, he finds himself drifting, eyes refusing to stay
open. He jerks awake with every noise the boy makes, but that makes him feel
better about falling asleep. At least he’s still managing to pay attention.
He loses track of time after that. He knows it was late mid-afternoon when he
went out for his ride. It must be getting close to dinner time. This is
confirmed when a maid comes in with a tray for him, saying Lord Morrison sent
her. Gerard smiles.
Once he’s eaten and the tray has been cleared away, he goes back to watching
the boy. Aside from clearly being in a certain amount of pain, given the
periodic noises he makes, his breathing is easy enough. Gerard finds the rhythm
of his chest rising and falling mesmerizing and starts falling asleep again.
He startles awake later for seemingly no reason. There are no noises and the
boy’s chest is still rising and falling steadily, but when Gerard looks in his
face, he notices that his eyes are now open.
“Oh!” Gerard exclaims and immediately rings the bell. “Can you speak? What’s
your name? Do you need anything? We had a doctor examine you earlier. He said
to send for him as soon as you woke.”
The boy blinks at him a few times, opens his mouth - of course, he’s babbling -
and croaks, “I... don’t know.”
A footman opens the door and Gerard says, “Please send for the doctor and tell
Lord Morrison that our guest is awake.” The words come out far more calmly than
he feels.
The boy tries to sit up, but moans, falling back onto the pillows.
“No, don’t move, I’m sorry,” Gerard apologizes uselessly, wringing his hands.
The boy groans again, lifting his hands to his head. Gerard leans forward,
placing a hand on the boy’s arm and squeezing. Just then the door opens. Gerard
looks over his shoulder to see Grant.
“He’s awake?” Grant asks.
“Ugh,” the boy says, his eyes squeezed closed. “No. I’m some other thing. Awake
is more pleasant than this. It must be.”
Grant chuckles. “I imagine you have a sore head and are feeling quite under the
weather. Can I ask your name?”
There’s a long pause. The boy opens and closes his mouth several times. He
sucks in a breath. “I can’t... I can’t remember. It’s... gone.” He sounds
genuinely terrified. Gerard squeezes his arm again.
“We’ve sent for the doctor,” Grant says soothingly. “He should be here shortly.
We’ll get everything sorted out.”
Gerard wonders if now would be a bad or good time to tell them that the boy’s
pockets held nothing to identify him. It doesn’t matter, because at that moment
the butler ushers in the doctor. Gerard tries to move to get out of the way of
the doctor, but the boy grabs onto his hand and won’t let go. Gerard settles
back into his chair and hopes the doctor doesn’t ask him to move.
He doesn’t. He just moves to the other side of the bed and starts the exam. He
asks the boy many questions, and each one seems to agitate the boy more. His
grip is weak, but every with question from the doctor that he can’t answer, his
fingers flex on Gerard’s arm. He can’t remember his name, how he came to be at
the manor, or, indeed, anything of any substance about himself.
“It’s right there,” the boy says through gritted teeth. “I can feel it. I just
cannot get to it.”
The doctor frowns. He’s clearly at a loss, but says the boy should not leave
bed for an indeterminate amount of time and if his fever worsens to send for
him again, as bloodletting may be in order. Gerard shudders and hopes that’s
not necessary. The doctor doses him with something to help with the pain and
leaves, muttering about writing up case notes and contacting a colleague. The
boy is asleep again, hand still clinging to Gerard’s arm.
Grant stands and steps closer, close enough to brush a hand through Gerard’s
hair. Gerard swallows and holds very still.
“You appear to be caught,” Grant says low and amused. “Do go to bed soon,
Gerard.”
Gerard nods and then Grant’s hand is gone, the door being pulled shut behind
him. Gerard isn’t certain how much time passes, but the boy starts tossing and
turning and murmuring in his sleep. Gerard doesn’t want to shake him awake, so
he moves partly onto the bed, strokes his hands over the boy’s face and arms,
pets his hair, pushing it behind his ear and murmuring assurances that he’s
safe with them.
The boy sucks in a deep breath and turns his head, eyes blinking open to stare
blearily into Gerard’s face. Suddenly, he leans forward and brushes his lips
against Gerard’s before pulling back and laying his head back against the
pillow with a deep sigh. Gerard gasps, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice.
“Safe,” he whispers, and falls back asleep. Gerard moves back into his chair
and stares. He can’t quite bring himself to move his hand off the boy’s arm,
though. Not yet. He doesn’t know what to think. What he needs is to talk to
Mikey. But Mikey is away at school and that is, now more than ever, entirely
too far away. Finally, it appears as if the boy has settled down for the night.
He’s not even making any of the pained noises from earlier. Clearly whatever
the doctor gave him has started working in earnest.
Gerard gets up and goes back to his room. At least he can write to Mikey. That
will help a little.
*
My Dear Brother,
I woke with every intention of writing to you after my ride, but I find that a
great many things have transpired in that time period that should make this an
ever so much more interesting letter. I promised I’d tell you about Grant’s
latest soiree, I know - and I shall, Mikey - just not quite yet. I find myself
not at ease about quite a few things, and ventured out to ride this morning to
clear my head. The events of the day are quite honestly much more interesting
than my sorry state.
To cut to the chase, a boy appeared on our doorstep this morning, feverish and
battered and quite unconscious when I found him. You may accuse me of reading
too many of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales, but I promise you it is entirely true. I
write this now from a chair at his bedside. I feel I mustn’t leave him, though
he is quite unconscious once more - from strong medicine this time and not from
fever. The doctor has been and gone, reassuring us that he shall likely live,
though much less comforting about the other matter.
The other matter - the most fantastical part of the whole tale, but one which I
promise is also quite true - is that the boy has no memory, not even of his own
name, or of either of ours, nor how he came to be found at our door. The doctor
surmises it is due to fever or injury - perhaps both - but cannot provide us
with any assurances it will return.
Quite enough excitement for one day, hm? There’s so much more I wish to discuss
with you, Mikey. I wish very much that you were here, but I am grateful your
new school is so much closer and that I will see you soon. Until then, I
suppose playing nursemaid to our mysterious visitor will have to serve to
distract me.
...It’s not at all nice to laugh, Mikey. I pulled the boy off the moor,
practically. I suppose I feel a vested interest in his recovery.
I will certainly keep you advised of our houseguest’s progress. Write soonest.
Your Devoted Brother,
Gerard
*
Waking is unpleasant the following morning. Gerard struggled to fall asleep,
even after all the excitement of the previous day. He rings for coffee
immediately and drinks it as he dresses, nearly causing disastrous spills
twice. He keeps drinking it between articles of clothing—between buttons,
even—anyway.
When he finishes dressing, he makes his way toward the boy’s room. He knocks
lightly on the door and enters when he hears a faint, “Come in?”
He sees Grant sitting in a chair next to the bed, a newspaper open in his lap.
“Good morning,” Gerard greets him.
“Good morning, Gerard,” Grant responds and smiles at Gerard in such a way that
his stomach swoops and he has to put effort into keeping his hands from
clenching. He turns his focus to the boy on the bed.
“Good morning,” Gerard says, looking in his face. “You look somewhat improved.
How are you feeling?”
The boy shakes his head. “Everything hurts less. I think. Or I’ve become
accustomed to the pain.”
“We shall hope it’s the former,” Gerard says with a frown. The boy just shrugs.
“If you are up, it is surely nearing breakfast time. Shall we take it here with
our guest?” Grant asks him.
“You needn’t—” the boy starts. Gerard interrupts.
“Yes, that sounds lovely.” He smiles at Grant and sits in the chair next to the
bed not currently occupied by Grant.
Grant rings the bell and when a servant answers, asks for breakfast be brought
to them. “Now, where were we?” he says to the boy.
“Some grand to-do in London, I think,” the boy answers.
“Ah, yes,” Grant replies, and apparently continues reading where he left off.
“I don’t get the morning papers read to me,” Gerard comments the next time
there is a pause in Grant’s reading. He means it to be a joke, he really does.
But Grant shoots him an opaque look, and the boy colors a bit.
“I asked Lord Morrison if I could have a paper when he checked on me this
morning,” he says apologetically. “But the type hurts my eyes. He’s been kind
enough to sit with me and read.”
“It’s very kind,” Gerard hurries to assure him, looking contritely at Grant as
well.
“It’s not working, though,” the boy continues grouchily. “Everything sounds so
familiar, yet I cannot remember anything. If nothing else, I dearly wish to
know why I have found myself here, where no one knows me. Your name and Lord
Morrison’s name sound rather familiar to me, yet he has told me he is a poet,
so perhaps -”
“He is, at that,” Gerard says. He can’t help the fond little smile that curves
his lips. “Quite a famous one. I am not famous in the least, but perhaps you
know someone who shares my name. I wish we could help you -”
“As do I, but the doctor said you must rest,” Grant interrupts. “After you’ve
eaten, Gerard and I will let you do just that.”
The boy frowns, but subsides back into the pillows. Grant turns from the news
to the serial and begins to read that instead, and breakfast arrives soon
after. The boy barely makes it through his bowl of oatmeal and his cup of tea
before he’s drooping, and Grant calls for a footman to carry the breakfast tray
back downstairs. Gerard follows Grant down the stairs in mutual silence.
*
“Gerard,” Grant says as Gerard sits his empty cup back in its saucer. Neither
of them has offered any conversation other than requests to pass things since
they sat down in the dining room, and Gerard has the sinking suspicion Grant
has been formulating his conversational approach - to what, Gerard does not
know - this entire time.
“Yes?” he replies cautiously.
“I had scarcely considered I’d ever have to ask you - that is, I hope I’ve
fostered in you, these past two years, the knowledge that I wish only the best
for you.” He hesitates, and Gerard squirms. Finally Grant continues, “In all
the holidays you’ve spent here, until now, I’d steadfastly believed you to be -
well, happy. As happy as you could be under the circumstances. Now I greatly
fear I am failing you somehow. Is it - what is -” He doesn’t seem able to
finish the sentence, and Gerard’s stomach twists guiltily.
“You have been a most attentive guardian,” Gerard says quietly. “But now that I
am returned from my tour.... I find myself at loose ends, I suppose. The other
night - the party - all the young ladies in attendance were - and I - I do not
wish to marry, Grant.”
“I certainly didn’t wish to pressure you, Gerard. You’re still very young, you
needn’t make any such decisions yet.”
“I mean never, Grant. You never have,” Gerard counters unsteadily, and Grant
meets his eyes for just a moment before they both look away.
“No, I never have,” Grant replies after a moment. “When you take control of
your inheritance, Gerard, you’ll not need to worry over funds. You needn’t
marry, ever, if that’s not what you want. I just - perhaps next time we
entertain you’ll extend some invitations of your own? Anyone you want, Gerard.”
He smiles encouragingly, and Gerard ducks his head, struggling to control a
sudden blush.
“All right,” Gerard mumbles, shooting Grant a quick smile and pushing back from
the table. He can’t help but think of the pretty boy sleeping upstairs, the boy
who had kissed him last night, even if just in a fever-daze. He’ll just look in
the door on his way back to his room. Maybe....
*
The boy had slept through the morning, that first day, but Gerard had joined
him in the afternoon, bringing a stack of books with him. Over the next few
days, they’d established a pattern - they both liked Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels
and Gerard’s books of mythology. Philosophy made him fall asleep, and poetry
was scarcely better - though he admitted with the latter it was mostly the
repetitive rhythms of the lines and not the actual subject matter. Gerard had
also said to him, sometime during the second afternoon, “We need to give you a
name.”
“I have a name,” the boy had answered, frowning.
“I know,” Gerard had insisted, nudging the boy’s wrist with his fingers. “And I
wish we knew it. But I’d like to call you something. It seems unfriendly, or -”
He had smiled. “You and Lord Morrison have been excellent hosts. More than a
nameless boy who showed up on your doorstep deserves. I’d just - rather my own
name. And if it never returns....”
“It will,” Gerard had jumped to assure him. “You just need to rest. I can go,
and -”
“No, stay. It’s easier not to be afraid,” the boy had admitted in hushed tones,
“with someone near.”
Gerard couldn’t help himself; he’d taken hold of the boy’s hand, just like the
first night, and not let go until he’d fallen asleep.
*
My Dear Brother,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. You will be pleased to know that
the boy is doing better. His fever has gone down and he’s in less pain.
Unfortunately, he does not have his memory back yet, but we remain hopeful. He
says that many things are familiar to him, but he can’t recall specifics. His
accent and dress indicate that he’s from in or around London and that he comes
from a family of some means, but there was nothing else to identify him by. He
is a mystery.
...and yes, I must keep calling him the boy. He doesn’t want to answer to
anything but his proper name, which I suppose I can understand. He’s quite
determined to remember. I hope he can.
As for your other questions, the soiree was uncomfortable for many reasons, not
the least of which was that Grant invited several ladies of marriageable age
specifically for my benefit. Which clearly everyone knew. Except you know that
the amount I benefit from such interactions is minimal at best. One in
particular was very nice and I would not object to having her as a friend, but
I would not want to convey the wrong idea about my intentions.
That issue, at least, has been sorted between Grant and myself. I informed him
of my desire to remain a bachelor and he said that of course I needn’t marry,
and to invite whomever I choose to the next party, which is a relief.
Everything else makes me feel foolish to think about, and even more foolish to
write out, though you know the root of it all. There was a large crowd of
women, and even a few men, flirting openly. I could barely look in that
direction. It was an unpleasant night, all told.
And now I shall say goodbye, because the boy appears to be waking and he is
sometimes disoriented immediately upon waking.
Do stop laughing like that. It’s unbecoming. Especially when it’s at my
expense.
Write soon. I cannot wait to hear about the exciting exploits of your friend
Pete. Truly.
Your Devoted Brother,
Gerard
*
On the fifth day the boy is with them, the doctor visits and gives him leave to
get out of his bed and sit with them in the parlor. Clothes that fit him
perfectly are produced from somewhere - Grant has clearly been working behind
the scenes - and they have afternoon tea together like proper gentlemen. It
feels a bit artificial after spending so many days interacting so casually but
the boy appears to be pleased to be out of bed, if the beaming smile on his
face is anything to go by. Gerard can’t help but beam back. He glances up and
catches Grant smiling at both of them.
The boy is clearly drooping by the time they finish their scones. They finish
up and move away from the table, shifting to the couches at the other end of
the room. Grant opens a book and starts reading aloud again. It’s an exciting
book, but the boy drifts off within minutes anyway. When Grant notices, he
finishes the sentence and looks up at Gerard.
“Would you like me to continue?” Grant asks quietly.
“Yes,” Gerard answers immediately, then cuts a look at the boy. “But he
wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
Grant gestures to the stack of notebooks on the table near his chair. “I can
read from one of these, if you like.”
“Please,” Gerard says. Grant chooses a book from the middle of the stack and
opens it. Gerard can see Grant’s familiar handwriting on the page and it
suddenly feels very special that Grant is reading one of his poems to Gerard
directly from the book in which it was written.
He watches Grant’s mouth as he forms the words and rhythms. He knows this poem
is new and he wants to pay attention to the words, but it’s difficult for him
to not be distracted by other things. He finally closes his eyes and listens.
This strategy doesn’t work for long. A line from the poem sends him down a
flight of fancy that takes him back to his childhood, closing his eyes and
telling Mikey stories in the dark until their mother scolded them and made them
sleep. Gerard opens his eyes and looks at Grant. Grant’s voice is nothing like
his mother’s, or even his father’s. And despite the fact that he was appointed
Gerard and Mikey’s guardian when their parents died, Gerard categorically does
not think of him as a father.
When Grant stops reading, Gerard calls up an enthusiastic grin - it’s not
difficult, Grant is astoundingly talented - and forces himself to discuss the
poem for several minutes. Grant listens intently, nodding at several comments,
and Gerard flushes at the obvious regard for his opinion. Grant does this -
overwhelms him with regard one moment and cossets him the next. The boy begins
to stir, and Gerard turns away to perch on the edge of his chaise.
The boy startles when he sees Gerard sitting at his hip. “I apologize,” Gerard
says with a little laugh. “You must feel excessively like Sleeping Beauty at
the moment.”
“Sleeping Beauty?” the boy repeats muzzily.
Gerard blushes a bit. It wasn’t that he was calling the boy beautiful - though
he is, truly - it was that - “Waking from a deep sleep to find someone watching
- I mean -” There is no good way to extricate himself from this analogy. “I’m
sorry if I startled you,” he finishes.
The boy lays a hand over Gerard’s. “It’s not an unpleasant surprise,” he says.
Gerard blushes even deeper. “Good.”
A drawer slides open and shut across the room, and Gerard’s head shoots up.
Grant meets his eyes and smiles noncommittally. “I’ll just go check on dinner,”
he murmurs, nodding in their direction and slipping out the nearest door. The
boy squeezes his fingers, and Gerard looks up to catch the tail end of a
crooked little grin. He can’t help returning it.
“Ready for dinner?” Gerard asks.
“At least I won’t fall asleep in my soup tonight,” the boy replies.
“We shall endeavor not to let you,” Gerard replies gallantly. He stands and
takes the boy’s hand to help him stand up as well, then tucks it over his arm
and keeps hold of him for the walk to the dining room. He’s being helpful,
that’s all.
*
“Do you have ambitions to become a famous poet like Lord Morrison?” the boy
asks while they’re enjoying the sun streaming through the windows of a small
parlor on the west side of the house.
“I... I don’t know,” Gerard says. “I was already at university when he became
our guardian, and my parents never pushed me toward a career, yet I always
thought I’d do something. I’ve been drawing and painting since I was a child,
though I took classical studies at Oxford. I like writing. I’ve even tried my
hand at sculpting. I wasn’t very good.” Gerard laughs ruefully.
“Perhaps you don’t need to choose? Why shouldn’t you be all of those things?”
the boy asks.
Gerard opens his mouth and then closes it again, thinking. “Because if I do
that, then I will never be good at anything, but mediocre at many things.”
“Who’s to say that?” the boy presses.
“Perhaps you’re correct,” Gerard says. “It feels more complicated than that.”
“Things usually do.” The boy smiles kindly at him. “You draw?” Gerard nods.
“Would you show me?”
“If you like. I’ll have to go to my room to get some things, though.”
“I’ll wait,” the boy says with a smile.
“I’ll be back shortly, then,” Gerard says and makes his way back to his room.
He realizes as he’s walking that he hasn’t drawn or painted since he returned
from the continent. He frowns. Perhaps the boy is right. Perhaps he needs to do
things instead of dithering about the what.
He grabs a couple of sketchbooks and a couple of canvases and carries them back
to the parlor. He smiles when he finds the boy has fallen asleep and sets the
canvases and books down quietly. He goes to the writing desk against the wall
and finds a pencil in the drawer. He can draw until the boy wakes.
“I’m sorry,” the boy says a short time later, startling Gerard from his
drawing. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. I’m getting quite tired of
falling asleep all the time.”
Gerard gathers his sketchbooks and canvases and moves to sit next to the boy on
the sofa. “I’m sure the more your condition improves, the less frequently that
will happen.”
The boy sighs. “Yes, I’m sure. I wish it would happen faster. Show me your
art?”
Gerard lifts up one of the canvases to his knee and starts telling the boy
about it. It’s a landscape from Italy, and he stares with fascination as Gerard
describes the circumstances of his visit. Gerard finds himself scooting even
closer when he opens the sketchbooks, their legs and arms pressing together.
Gerard glances toward the boy’s face and meets his eyes looking back. He bites
his lip and turns back to the sketchbook.
When he looks again a few minutes later, he meets the boy’s eyes again. This
time, the boy smiles at him and leans forward, pressing his lips to Gerard’s.
Gerard kisses back; he can’t help chasing the boy’s lips even when he pulls
back.
“I’ve done that before, haven’t I?” he asks Gerard bashfully.
Gerard laughs breathlessly. “Your first night here. You were delirious with
fever. I didn’t mind.”
“Then I’m very lucky,” the boy replies, and Gerard kisses him again. It’s
nearly dinner time when they stop kissing.
“I rather think I’m the lucky one,” Gerard informs him, chasing the last thread
of their conversation.
The boy runs a thumb across Gerard’s cheek. “I’m going to be very angry if my
name is Montague or something. I want to do that again.”
Gerard laughs and kisses the boy briefly. “Well, my name’s not Capulet, so I
don’t think that will be a problem. Let’s go to dinner, Montague.”
It’s only later that Gerard realizes that the boy recalled something about
Shakespeare without talking or reading about Romeo and Juliet at any time since
he woke up in the manor. Perhaps he’s starting to remember.
Gerard spends the rest of the evening remembering the feel of those sweet,
enthusiastic kisses, smiling helplessly every time he meets the boy’s eyes, and
squirming under Grant’s curious regard.
*
Breakfast the next morning goes as it has every morning since the boy has been
able to join them at the table, until the very end. They get up to leave the
table and the boy grabs onto his chair. Gerard can see his grip slipping and
moves toward him, but it’s Grant who catches the boy around the waist before he
can hit the floor. Gerard rushes to his side, slipping an arm around him. Grant
makes sure Gerard has a steady hold on him before stepping away. He doesn’t go
far, though. He tells the maid to send a footman to fetch the doctor and then
turns back to them, a look of concern on his face.
“Fainting is to be confined to plays, Montague,” Gerard murmurs, trying to keep
his voice steady and calm.
The boy laughs weakly, then coughs. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Gerard puts a hand to the boy’s cheek. “You feel awfully warm, so I’d say a
fever is what has come over you. We’ll get you back to bed and wait on the
doctor.” Gerard makes sure he has a firm grip and moves forward. The boy moves
with him, leaning heavily against his side. Gerard is glad that the bedroom
isn’t far and that Grant is following close behind. If the boy actually faints,
Gerard’s not sure how successful he’ll be at carrying him the rest of the way.
Gerard helps him up onto the bed, and he tugs until Gerard sits next to him.
Grant takes a seat in the chair he usually occupied when the boy was confined
to bed and they wait. The boy falls asleep against Gerard’s shoulder and Gerard
can’t help but reach out and smooth away the hair that falls in his face.
Gerard is sure that Doctor Ellis is coming as swiftly as possible, but the time
feels interminable. Gerard tries to keep still, though his whole body wants to
get up and pace or do something.
“Montague?” Grant asks quietly.
“A joke,” Gerard whispers. “Actually, he was referencing Shakespeare. Have you
seen him read Romeo and Juliet? Or anything that references Romeo and Juliet?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” Grant responds.
“Then that is most certainly something he remembered on his own,” Gerard says,
looking down the boy.
“That is a positive sign. Inform Doctor Ellis.”
Gerard just nods.
Finally Doctor Ellis arrives and Gerard gently shakes the boy awake.
“I’d have preferred not to be forced to see Lord Morrison’s face until our
scheduled appointment on Tuesday,” Doctor Ellis says as he examines the boy.
The boy laughs weakly and Gerard joins him. Grant and Doctor Ellis have a long-
standing farce of a rivalry, and he’s been using it to lighten the mood of his
visits ever since Grant became Gerard and Mikey’s guardian. Probably since
before then.
Grant, Gerard notices, has his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his
face. Gerard can see the little crinkles around his eyes that mean he’s
actually very amused.
“Sorry. If I’d known, I’d have tried much harder not to nearly collapse after
breakfast,” the boy whispers. Talking is clearly an effort. Gerard smooths his
hair out of his face while the doctor continues to examine him, listening to
his heart and lungs and pressing several spots on his neck and torso.
“You know now. Please see to it that I do not have to see Lord Morrison more
than absolutely necessary,” Doctor Ellis orders.
“I’ll do my best.” The boy smiles.
Doctor Ellis nods curtly. “You have clearly developed a fever again. This is
not completely unexpected, but I will ask your benefactors,” he looks from
Gerard to Grant, “to monitor how you feel closely. Should you have trouble
breathing, or should the fever worsen, send for me immediately.”
“Doctor Ellis?” Gerard asks. “He - ah - remembered something from a book
yesterday. Grant said I should tell you.”
Doctor Ellis glances quickly at Grant before answering. “His memory isn’t my
primary concern at the moment, Mr. Way. Though this fever is a sign his body is
still trying to mend itself. Son,” he addresses the boy, whose eyes have
slipped mostly shut and who is listing into Gerard’s side even more heavily, “I
was quite serious, I don’t want to see any of your faces for a few days.” He
pats the boy’s cheek, then looks straight into Gerard’s eyes. “Tend him
carefully. I feel the next twenty-four hours will be crucial. If he passes into
a state of unconsciousness from which he cannot be roused...” Doctor Ellis
stops.
“I understand,” Gerard whispers. His eyes go automatically to Grant, who is
watching the tableau by the bed with a troubled expression. He shakes himself
when Doctor Ellis gathers his things back into his bag and opens the door to
usher him back downstairs.
Gerard stays precisely where he is - where he can feel the boy’s breath against
his neck.
*
Gerard spends the rest of the morning with his arms wrapped around the boy. At
lunch, Grant sends up a tray of soup and bread for them, including a new novel.
Gerard helps the boy sit up and eat. His breathing sounds harsh and Gerard
can’t help but fret. The boy assures him it’s not his lungs that are the
problem, but merely his nose being blocked.
“You needn’t play nursemaid to me,” the boy protests weakly.
“Nonsense, Montague,” Gerard says as he helps the boy get situated comfortably
when he’s done eating. “Shall I read to you? My voice isn’t as soothing as
Grant’s, I’m sure, but it could pass the time.”
“I fear I shall fall asleep on you,” the boy murmurs.
“I won’t mind,” Gerard assures him, and starts reading. He reads until the boy
is asleep and then goes to his room to get one of his sketchbooks. He considers
sitting in the chair, but shrugs and climbs back onto the bed and sits next to
the boy’s sleeping form. He turns toward Gerard in his sleep, and Gerard
reaches out to run a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to
his sketchbook.
He finds himself drawing the boy as a knight, complete with armor. He nearly
laughs aloud at himself. Some things remain the same, and apparently Gerard
will always draw knights if given the opportunity. He frowns at the page.
Something’s not quite right. He goes back over the figure, softening the
silhouette and broadening the lines, a doublet replacing the armored
breastplate; he sketches in a background too, something sunny and Italianate.
He gives the boy a sword, then sketches in another courtier sprawled on the
ground. “Montague and Tybalt the Cat,” he murmurs. “Perfect.”
The boy stirs on the bed, and Gerard leans over him. “Cold,” he whispers.
“I’ll get another coverlet,” Gerard whispers back, pulling one from a neatly
folded pile at the foot of the bed and tucking it around the small form. The
boy is shivering, and Gerard leans in to kiss his forehead. He makes a small
noise, and Gerard moves to kiss his eyelids, his cheeks, and finally his mouth.
He startles back at the scraping sound of a shoe in the hall, jerking his head
around to look at the partially-open door. If it was a servant, it matters not,
not in this household, but if it wasn’t -
Gerard rubs his eyes and closes his sketchbook. The pillows behind him are soft
and inviting. He twitches an edge of the coverlet over his legs. He’ll rest for
a while, here on the bed.
The next thing Gerard is aware of is hitting the floor in a darkened room, hard
enough to startle a cry out of him. A second cry, because that’s what woke him
in the first place, he realizes. He shakes his head to clear it, shifting
himself to his hands and knees. Someone is there a moment later, hands on his
shoulders, then arms closing around him hard, familiar feel and scent of Grant,
embracing him with all his strength; Gerard realizes only then that he is
shaking, and he lets Grant hold him and murmur reassurances in his ear. He’s
had another one of his nightmares, and he’s fallen out of bed. That’s all, and
- no, that’s not all. He pushes weakly against Grant’s arm, craning his neck to
look up at the bed and the boy.
“He’s fine,” Grant murmurs. “Still sleeping. You didn’t disturb him. Gerard,
you haven’t had a night terror in months. You’re overextending yourself. You
need to sleep - real sleep, not sitting up at a sickbed.”
“I’m fine,” Gerard insists. He’s still struggling, pushing a hand against
Grant’s chest, and suddenly he’s free, Grant pushing himself to his feet and
holding out a hand for Gerard. Then they’re not touching at all, and Gerard
sways for a moment.
“Bed. Please.”
“But he -” Gerard protests.
“I will sit with him myself,” Grant promises. “But I am ringing for my valet
now, and you are going to your own room to rest. Please, Gerard.”
Gerard goes, but he doesn’t rest, not right away. He sits down at his desk
instead.
*
My Dear Brother,
It is quite late, and I can only hope this note catches the earliest mail coach
tomorrow. Forgive my haste and my penmanship.
He is ill again. The boy - my boy. I can call him that now, I think. He kissed
me, Mikey. Once in a daze, many many more times when he was in possession of
his senses. If he is truly in possession of his senses at all - only a few hazy
memories have returned, and after several days of convalescence he has been
struck with another fever, worse this time, surely.
He kissed me, and I kissed him back. And now I am very afraid he will die, and
I will know nothing of him but his face and the name I’ve given him.
Can you come home, Mikey? Grant is attending to me, in his way - and that -
that’s not what I need from him either. Perhaps I am worried needlessly -
perhaps the fever will break tomorrow - but I still need my brother.
Burn this letter.
Begging your indulgence,
Gerard
*
When Gerard wakes, he there’s cold feeling of dread in the pit of his belly and
it takes him a few moments to recall why it’s there. Once he does, he’s on his
way back to the boy’s room before any other thoughts even cross his mind.
He finds Grant seated by the side of the boy’s bed, as promised.
“Did you sleep, or just lie in bed fretting?” Grant asks.
“I slept,” Gerard assures him.
“Good. Any dreams?” Grant looks away from the boy and up at him. Gerard shakes
his head. “Good.”
“How is he?” Gerard sits at the foot of the boy’s bed. He can’t quite bring
himself to sit on the chair. Especially after Grant caught him sleeping in the
boy’s bed anyway.
“Still feverish. His breathing has changed, but it sounds like his nose is the
problem, not his lungs, so I don’t believe we need to inform Warren,” Grant
replies. He sounds rather tired himself. Gerard wants to tell him to rest like
Grant did him, but stops himself, closes his mouth.
Instead, Gerard reaches for the boy’s hand. He stirs, murmurs Gerard’s name,
and settles again. Gerard takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you,” to Grant.
“I have come to care for him as well, Gerard. No need to thank me.”
“I know. Just...” Gerard trails off.
“He’s special. I understand.”
Gerard can’t read the look on Grant’s face. Gerard wants to say you’re special
too, but he doesn’t dare. “Breakfast soon?” Gerard asks, changing the subject.
“Yes. I’ll instruct them to serve it here,” Grant answers, shifting in his seat
to reach for the bellpull.
Neither of them leave the boy’s side for long for the remainder of the day. He
rouses a few times, enough for them to get some broth down him. Gerard takes
away and piles on blankets as needed. When the boy is sweating and tossing and
turning, Gerard tries to calm him, using a cool cloth to wipe his forehead and
face.
Gerard spends the entire day humming with anxiety. It blooms into terror when
the boy gets delirious. He starts talking, slurring names Gerard doesn’t know,
drawing back from Gerard as if he’s someone to be feared, and thrashing around.
Even Grant, who has kept his expression carefully neutral for most of the day,
shows concern.
“I’m calling for Warren if his fever doesn’t break in the next hour,” Grant
says. Gerard breathes a sigh of relief and pulls a blanket off the boy when he
scrabbles to push them away. He falls back into sleep, this time not troubled
but deep. Gerard doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than the tossing and
turning. But then mere minutes before the hour deadline Grant gave him, the boy
blinks awake.
“Thirsty,” he rasps. Gerard immediately grabs the glass of water from the
bedside table and holds it to the boy’s lips. He drinks half the glass down and
falls back onto the pillows. “I hate fevers,” he says. “I have since I was a
boy.”
“Were you sick often?” Grant asks gently.
“I... yes. I still don’t... it’s not all there yet,” the boy answers, scrubbing
a hand down his face. “But that I do remember.”
Grant stands up from his chair and crosses to the bed, gently nudging Gerard
out of the way and laying a hand on the boy’s forehead, his cheek, flat across
the plane of his chest where his shirt placket gapes open. “Your fever is going
down,” he says. “Your color is better, too. Will you make me a liar if I order
you some weak tea and toast, instead of calling Doctor Ellis immediately as I
probably should?”
“Starving,” the boy admits. “Don’t bother with the doctor, I don’t need -”
“You will see Doctor Ellis - tomorrow,” Grant declares.
“The doctor isn’t the only one we’ll see tomorrow,” Gerard admits a bit
shamefacedly. “I wrote to Mikey and asked him to come home as well. He ought to
arrive on the afternoon train.”
The boy is wearing a bit of a puzzled look. “Mikey,” he repeats.
“My brother,” Gerard prompts. “Do you -”
“It just sounds so familiar,” the boy complains.
“Don’t think on it right now,” Gerard says soothingly, though inside he’s
roiling with curiosity. He meets Grant’s eyes. Grant looks rather less curious
than Gerard feels but still... something.
The boy eats the food brought to him and then falls into exhausted sleep.
Gerard and Grant stay at his bedside for another hour. Grant periodically
touches his face, feeling for fever.
“His fever is gone,” Grant says after the fifth time repeating his actions.
“I’m going to retire. You should as well.” Gerard nods, but doesn’t move. Grant
gets up, squeezing his shoulder. “At least get on the bed, Gerard. You need
rest as well, or you’ll be the one falling ill with fever.”
Gerard waits until Grant closes the door behind him to do as he said. He lifts
the blanket and slides under, resting his head on the pillow next to the boy’s.
He’s not sure if he’ll fall asleep immediately or be unable to sleep. Either is
likely. The boy rolls toward him, sliding an arm over Gerard’s waist. Gerard
wraps his arms around the boy and closes his eyes.
*
Morning arrives, and the boy is well enough to be sitting up, and almost
chipper. Except for it being morning, which even in Gerard’s brief experience
is not something the boy is a fan of at the best of times.
Doctor Ellis arrives after breakfast. When he comes into the room he gives
everyone a dirty look, one after the other, ending with the boy. “I thought I
told you I didn’t want to see you until our scheduled appointment.”
The boy looks at him defiantly. “I’m fine. They’re just worriers.”
“And how do you know you’re fine? You seem a bit young to be trained as a
physician,” Doctor Ellis says.
“I get fevers all the time,” the boy says with a wave of his hand. “I know when
they’ve passed.”
Doctor Ellis raises an eyebrow. “All the time?”
The boy shrugs. “I don’t remember anything else. I just know.”
“Do you know anything else about yourself?” Doctor Ellis queries.
“I know I took a train to get here. I know I didn’t want to be where I was
coming from. I know I’ve always wanted a dog, but never had one.” The boy
shrugs again.
“My brother’s name,” Gerard prompts. “You recognized it last night. It was
never familiar to you before.”
“The name - Mikey - it feels like one I know now,” the boy says helplessly.
“But I don’t know why.”
“Presumably,” Grant says, “you came all this way, to this house, for a reason.
We’re rather far off the beaten path for it to have been a random destination.”
“That feels right, but I just don’t know.” The boy sounds distressed now. “I
don’t know if it’s just because I like it here and I’m making up reasons why
I’d come here legitimately, or if I genuinely had them.”
Gerard can’t help thrilling a little inside at that. Grant steps forward and
places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You are welcome here, whether you had
reason to come or not.”
Gerard nods. It’s not necessarily his place to add his agreement to Grant’s
statement, but he wants the boy to know he wants him with them, despite any
tenuous connections to his brother - his brother whom Gerard is very eager to
see later.
*
Gerard hugs Mikey for a long time when he gets off the train from Edinburgh.
Finally Mikey pushes him back a bit, saying, “How is your houseguest? Will I
get to meet him, or is he still too ill?”
“His fever broke last night. He’s tired, but sitting up for short periods of
time and doing much better,” Gerard says with a grin and pulls Mikey toward the
carriage. Gerard lets Mikey fill him in on what’s happened at school since his
last letter as they ride back to the manor. He’s relieved that Mikey is
settling into his new school so well.
“Pete is strange,” Mikey declares, as if that explains anything at all about
the story he just told Gerard. Perhaps it does, but Gerard is still confused.
He doesn’t get the chance to ask for clarification before the carriage stops in
front of the manor.
The footman opens the door and Gerard hops out, Mikey close behind. Grant
greets them at the door and welcomes Mikey home, but Gerard is impatient. He
leads Mikey into the sitting room where he last left the boy. Gerard moves
forward to sit by him on the sofa. He’s sleeping, and Gerard gently shakes his
shoulder.
“Oh, you’re back.” He smiles at Gerard and glances up over Gerard’s shoulder,
brow wrinkling faintly. “And this is Mikey?”
Mikey is frozen in the doorway, staring. “Frank,” Mikey breathes.
“Mikey?” Grant prompts from behind Mikey.
Gerard feels his eyes go wide and Mikey finally looks at him. “Gerard, this is
Frank.”
“Frank?” Gerard whispers. Apparently all the breath has gone from his lungs.
“You know who I am?” the boy—Frank?—asks.
“We were in school together,” Mikey explains. “I... I’m glad you, I mean... I
was worried. I hadn’t heard from you since the summer holidays.”
“Frank. My name is Frank.” He sounds sure. Like he knows. Mikey nods anyway.
“You were in school together?” Grant asks, ushering Mikey further into the
room.
“Yes,” Mikey and Frank say at the same time.
“He’s one of my best friends. Gerard, I know you’ve heard me speak of him,”
Mikey says, looking at Gerard.
“Yes. You - I never knew what he looked like.” Gerard feels guilty, as if he
should have known the boy was Frank, even though he never met Frank or even saw
his likeness.
Frank reaches out and wraps a hand around Gerard’s wrist. “I think I
remember... I didn’t know where Mikey had gone. All I had was this address and
I had to get out of there.”
“Your school?” Grant asks.
“I don’t remember why... I don’t... it’s all fuzzy.” Frank’s brow is furrowed,
clearly struggling to recall. “But it was bad,” he shudders, “and I had to
leave and the only place I could think to go was to find Mikey.” Frank’s
fingers tighten and Gerard gently pulls Frank’s hand from around his wrist and
laces their fingers together.
“You needn’t remember right this moment,” Grant says soothingly. Gerard can see
the little lines around his mouth that clearly indicate how concerned he is.
“Let’s let Mikey get ready for dinner.”
Frank nods with relief, subsiding back into the sofa cushions, and Mikey tugs
on Gerard’s sleeve, clearly wanting him to come along. Gerard squeezes Frank’s
hand and tugs free to follow Mikey upstairs. When Mikey gets the door to his
bedroom closed, he finally starts speaking.
“Gerard, are you quite all right?” Mikey asks.
“Am I all right? It’s Frank who has been ill and lost his memory,” Gerard
hedges.
“Gerard, have you forgotten that I’m your brother? That you wrote to me and
begged me to come home? You’ve fallen in love with him.” Mikey looks at him
steadily.
Gerard sighs. “It’s a bit of a surprise, the fact that he’s your friend Frank,
but I'm not alarmed by it. He’s still himself. I don’t think that a person can
- change that much, not their inner nature at least, just because they can’t
remember things. I'm just glad he's getting better. And that we have a name for
him now."
"And what of Grant?" Mikey asks and pulls a freshly laundered and pressed set
of clothes from his wardrobe and starts changing.
Gerard tries not to cringe. "What of him?”
“People can’t change their inner nature,” Mikey parrots back at him gently.
“I - can’t help loving him, Mikey. How could I not? But it's not as if anything
was ever going to come of my feelings for him. And I do quite think I love
Frank. I don't see that changing now that I know he's a dear friend of yours.
Quite the opposite."
Mikey just sighs and finishes buttoning his vest and they go back down to the
dining room. Frank and Grant are already seated at the table. Gerard takes his
usual spot next to Frank and Mikey sits across from them.
"I'm glad you're finally here, Frank," Mikey says with a smile. "Though I'd
much prefer it to be under different circumstances." He looks up to Grant and
over at Gerard. "We talked several times of him coming to visit over the summer
holidays, but I wanted him to meet Gerard, so we delayed the visit, since
Gerard was on the continent this last summer."
"We were going to coordinate a visit in the last few weeks of hols, though.
When Gerard would be home. You just didn't have any concrete dates yet," Frank
says.
Mikey nods. "I wrote to you. You stopped replying after I told you I was
switching schools because Grant didn't like the new headmaster. I thought you
were angry with me."
Frank looks upset. "I don't know why." He sounds upset. Gerard reaches for his
hand under the table and squeezes it.
Mikey shakes his head. "It doesn't matter for now. Let's eat."
As they eat, Mikey tells them all stories about school with Frank. They're fun,
lighthearted things. Mikey is clearly trying to keep things a little less
serious. Gerard has the distinct feeling Mikey knows or suspects something of
what went on with Frank, but clearly he's waiting to discuss it. Gerard is at
once impatient and concerned for Frank.
Frank supplies details as he remembers things. It seems like every time Mikey
mentions something, more of Frank's memory comes back to him, especially about
school. Gerard finds himself laughing more often than not. The stories even
inspire Grant to share some of his own from his school days.
"I was shy, as a boy, but there were a few good pranks pulled," Grant says with
a smile.
Finally they retire to the sitting room. Gerard sits next to Frank again,
closer than he probably should and certainly closer than he would if he were
amidst any other company. They're all comfortable with drinks in hand when
Mikey finally, carefully asks Frank a question.
"Frank, do you think perhaps your stepfather was holding your mail?"
Frank frowns, opens his mouth and shuts it again, frowns. "Yes," he says after
a few moments. "He was. I don’t remember what I did. It probably doesn’t
matter, it never did with him. It was easy enough to smuggle letters through a
couple of the servants while I was at home, but school was different., The new
headmaster was a friend of his, I think. I never had a chance. All he had to do
was tell the headmaster that I was trouble and they put a watch on me; I was
being punished by the end of the first day.” Frank laughs hollowly.
“What happened, Frank? Do you remember? What drove you to run away?” Grant’s
tone is neutral, but his jaw is set.
“It was... I was constantly in trouble for the tiniest infractions. I could
have handled the punishments.” Gerard sees Grant twitch at the word
“punishments,” but he doesn’t interrupt. “But there was nobody... Mikey was
gone and my other friends had already left for university. It was just me. The
headmaster made fun of me for it. Said he’d noticed I hadn’t received any mail.
Clearly I wasn’t worth anybody’s time. I almost believed him, except one day
while serving a punishment in his secretary’s office, I noticed a stack of
letters all addressed to me. So I bided my time until curfew. I took what
little money I had and ran; bought a train ticket to Glasgow and got on the
train. I couldn’t... I couldn’t go home. My stepfather would have just sent me
back.”
“How did you get hurt?” Gerard asks, running a thumb over the back of Frank’s
hand.
“I... it’s so stupid. I got to Glasgow and realized I didn’t have enough money
to hire a coach to the manor, so I started walking. It was cold and raining and
the fog was thick. I slipped and fell and hit my head on the stone fence out
front.” Frank grimaces. “I don’t recall anything after that.”
“You must have regained consciousness enough to move a bit, because I found you
on the steps near the door,” Gerard tells him.
They all startle when Grant gets up and abruptly leaves the room without saying
a word. Gerard looks from Mikey to Frank, finds them looking at each other, and
Gerard closes his eyes and sighs.
“Gerard,” Frank says hesitantly, “What did I - have I done something? Have I
offended Lord Morrison? Perhaps - perhaps he doesn’t want to deal with a
runaway troublemaker after all. I can go.”
He actually - the fool, what’s he doing, he’s not well - starts to struggle to
his feet. “Frank!” Gerard hisses, wrapping an arm over his chest to hold him
still. “I’m sure that isn’t what Grant intended. He wouldn’t be so
insensitive,” Gerard assures him.
Frank doesn’t precisely struggle in Gerard’s arms, but he’s stiff and it takes
him several moments to start relaxing. Even then, he’s not perfectly at ease.
“How do you know? I have no money of my own. I’m a liability to him in every
way. He doesn’t know me from Adam. He’d be well within his rights to send me
away, send me back.” Frank starts shaking, turns his face into Gerard’s chest.
“I know because I know Grant. And so do you. Do you honestly think after these
weeks with us that he would do such a thing?” Gerard pauses, nuzzles Frank and
kisses his temple, tries to keep his own frustration in check that Grant left
in that manner. “And if you’re right, well. I have a little money of my own
readily available. We’ll run away to the city and be starving artists until I
come into my inheritance.”
Mikey clears his throat and nods toward the doorway. Grant is standing just on
the other side of the door jamb, staring at Gerard. Frank stiffens again. “I—”
“Your name is not Montague,” Gerard says softly but emphatically. “And now you
know it. I will speak with Grant.”
Gerard pulls away from Frank and stands, brushing by Grant as he walks out the
door. Grant follows. They walk down the hall a little way and Gerard stops,
turning to Grant, but Grant gets the first word in.
“Run away to the city, Gerard? I can’t believe you’d think so little of me, to
even voice that as an option,” Grant says. He sounds hurt.
“You clearly missed the part just before that, where I was defending you and
reminding Frank of your good character,” Gerard says, crossing his arms. “You
left the room without saying a word! He’s terrified of going back to that
school, back home, and worried you now think he’s too much trouble to bother
with. Badly done, my lord.”
Gerard hasn’t been so formal with Grant since his first weeks in Grant’s home,
and Grant makes a pained face. “That was not my intention.”
“I know,” Gerard says. “I do. You need to tell Frank that.”
“I shall. His treatment by his stepfather and Headmaster Daniel left me so
angry... I needed a moment to compose myself.” Grant runs a hand over his face.
Gerard gives into his impulses and puts a hand on Grant’s arm. Grant covers it
with his own fingers for a moment. “Let’s go back. He needn’t worry any longer,
not on my account.”
When they get back to the sitting room, Grant drops to his knees in front of
the sofa and takes both of Frank’s hands. “I apologize for alarming you. I
promise you, I will do whatever is necessary to keep you from going back to
that school, and away from your stepfather.”
Frank relaxes visibly, his shoulders slumping down, his head dipping a bit as
if he’d been prepared to bolt at any moment, despite his illness and a head
injury. He probably was. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“We should contact your mother. Would she support you against your stepfather?”
Grant says.
Frank sighs. “She knows how he feels about me. I don’t think she’s happy about
it, but, I’m not even sure she would know I was missing.”
“All the more reason to contact her,” Grant replies. “I hope you don’t think me
horribly calculating, but if she’s angry at your stepfather, we can use that as
leverage to keep you with us. At least until you are well. When you are ready
to return to regular activities, I will secure a spot for you at Mikey’s
school.”
“My stepfather—”
“I will do anything and everything in my power to make it happen,” Grant
declares. The look that Frank gives Grant at that is one Gerard knows well. One
he’s seen Frank give him, one he knows he’s given Grant himself on more than
one occasion. It’s - adoration, pure and simple, and Gerard nearly laughs.
Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm the strange feeling in his belly and
sits on the arm of the sofa next to Frank, resting his cheek on the top of
Frank’s head.
*
Frank wakes up with a terrible headache the next day and when Gerard comes to
collect him for breakfast he begs off, so it’s just Grant, Mikey, and Gerard at
the table. Gerard had wanted to stay with Frank, but Frank insisted that he’d
just fall back to sleep and at least one of them should spend time with Mikey
before he has to go back to school.
"I'm going to the station to send Frank's mother a telegram after we're done
here," Grant announces. "If we are lucky, she'll come straightaway without
hindrance from Frank's stepfather."
"What will we do if they resist?" Gerard asks worriedly.
"I am Lord Morrison, Gerard. I am not above using that to my advantage.
Especially not in this situation. As I said, I will do everything in my not
inconsiderable power to keep Frank here." Grant looks at Gerard for a long
moment.
Gerard nods at him and sips his coffee. Mikey mentions something one of his
professors at school said about India, which means the rest of breakfast is
taken up with Grant explaining that the professor isn't quite correct and then
telling stories about his time in India. Gerard loves listening to Grant talk
about his travels more than he loves quite a lot of things, so he's reluctant
to leave the breakfast table. But he's also anxious for Grant to send the
telegram, to go back upstairs and check on Frank, to talk to Mikey a little
more.
When Gerard pushes open Frank's bedroom door, the draperies are still drawn
over the windows and Frank appears to be asleep, but he turns over and Gerard
sees him smile through the dimness of the room. Gerard comes in and closes the
door quietly behind him. He crawls up onto the bed and lies on his side facing
Frank.
"How's your head?" Gerard whispers.
"A little better," Frank whispers back. "How was breakfast?"
"Fine. Mikey got Grant talking about India again. Those stories are always
entertaining," Gerard says.
"I'm sorry I missed it." Frank reaches out and lays a hand on Gerard's side.
Gerard wriggles closer.
"We'll be sure to have him tell you about his travels sometime. He's been a
great many places and always has interesting things to tell about them," Gerard
assures him and wraps his arm around Frank's waist. "Speaking of Grant, he's
gone to the station to send your mother a telegram."
Frank makes a worried face and Gerard presses his forehead to Frank's. "It will
be fine. We just need to trust Grant. He won't let you go back there."
Frank nods. Gerard moves a hand up to cup Frank's cheek and pulls back just the
smallest bit so he can press his lips to Frank's. Frank wraps his arm tighter
around Gerard's waist and kisses back. Gerard loses track of how long they
kiss, but they do it until there's a knock on the door.
"Yes, who is it?" Frank calls out.
"Mikey."
Gerard sits up, but he doesn't move far. His brother doesn't require propriety.
“Come in,” Frank calls and Mikey comes into the room. “It’s dark.”
“Frank has a headache,” Gerard reminds him.
“It’s much better now. We can open the draperies or light a lamp,” Frank says,
sitting up so his back is against the headboard. Mikey opens the draperies and
then sits himself down at the foot of Frank’s bed. They spend the rest of the
morning talking and laughing. Mikey tells Frank about his school, about the
professors, about his friends. Frank eats it up, laughing in all the right
spots and asking questions. Gerard notices the odd sad look cross his face
periodically. Gerard supposes he'd be sad too if he'd missed so much with his
best friend while he'd been utterly miserable elsewhere. Gerard makes sure to
squeeze Frank's hand or steal a kiss every time he sees one of those looks.
It's a good morning. Gerard doesn't really want it to stop.
Grant must return sometime mid-morning, but he doesn’t seek them out. They stay
sprawled together on Frank’s bed until lunch is served, then descend in a
huddle, clattering down the stairs with Frank still talking to Mikey about some
book he’s discovered in Grant’s library.
The return telegram comes before teatime, and Grant must have paid someone at
the telegraph office to deliver it as soon as it arrived, because when Grant
enters the parlor they all fall silent at the sight of the flimsy in his hand.
“Your mother will arrive here sometime Monday afternoon, Frank,” Grant says
evenly.
“She - is that all it -” Grant crosses the parlor and hands him the telegram
before he can get any further.
“You may read it, of course.”
Gerard shuffles closer to read over Frank’s shoulder. It is rather sparse - it
is, after all, a telegram - but it states her date and time of arrival and
assures Grant that she is most distressed to hear of Frank’s ill-health and
thanks him for thinking to notify her. “Ooh,” he says involuntarily.
Frank knows right away what he’s read. “I can practically hear her saying
that,” he whispers. “I was sick so very often as a boy. She’s boiling angry
about this.”
“At you?” Mikey asks.
Frank shakes his head. “No, not at me. She knows I wouldn’t have done all this
without reason. She’s just - she’s my mama and I love her but she doesn’t have
much choice, you know? Papa wasn’t exactly a pauper when he died, but my
stepfather was her entree into the proper social circles to get me to a school
like Radley. And he never adopted me, even though I don’t think I could have -
He’s always made it clear I was only being educated under sufferance of what
the neighbors would think.”
Mikey hugs him, and Gerard wraps his arms around both of them.
Frank tries to act calm, but Gerard can tell he’s struggling to maintain the
facade. He makes it a whole day, with plenty of rest and reading and visiting
with Mikey, but it’s the least surprising thing in the world when Gerard’s
bedroom door whispers open late Sunday night.
It’s also the most surprising thing in the world, because - Frank. In Gerard’s
bedroom. Under his own power. Gerard’s heart starts beating a frantic tattoo
immediately.
Frank closes the door behind himself and stands with his back against it for a
moment, looking at Gerard. Gerard looks back. It's not until Frank gets on the
bed and slips between the covers that Gerard notices he's shaking just the
slightest bit. Gerard wraps an arm around his waist.
"Frank?"
"I don't... I don't know what will happen when my mother arrives tomorrow. If
I'll ever see you again. I couldn't leave without..." he trails off and takes a
deep breath, still shaking.
Gerard rolls Frank onto his back and looks down at him. The only light in the
room is coming from the candle by the side of the bed that he was using to
read. With Frank’s face in the light, Gerard can see that Frank's eyes are
suspiciously glittery.
"Frank," Gerard whispers and cups his cheek, swiping his thumb under Frank's
eye. "I'm glad you came," he adds, then leans down and places a soft kiss on
Frank's lips. Then another. And another. "I promise that whatever happens
tomorrow, this won't be the last time you see me."
He kisses Frank again and this time Frank reaches up and wraps a hand loosely
around the back of Gerard's neck. "I shall count on that promise."
"I'll come find you if I must," Gerard says. Frank pulls him down, presses
their lips together. They kiss and kiss until Gerard pulls back a tiny bit.
Frank whines in the back of his throat. Gerard just smiles against Frank's lips
and lets his own wander, moving across Frank's cheek, below his ear, and down
his neck. That draws a gasp from Frank and Gerard smiles again before running
his tongue over the same spot and then sucking lightly.
"Gerard," Frank moans. Gerard kisses farther down Frank's throat, pulls the
neck of his nightshirt down as far as he can and kisses across Frank's
clavicles.
“You’re so beautifully made,” Gerard tells him. “I want to look at you forever,
want to stare.” Frank gasps and Gerard looks back up at his face. His cheeks
are wet, and Gerard pushes himself back up to kiss the tear-tracks away.
“Don’t, Montague...what is it?”
“I just - I’ve never done this before,” Frank admits in a whisper, and Gerard
tips his forehead against Frank’s and bites back a groan.
“Nothing?”
“I’ve been kissed,” Frank tells him. “You’re the only - I’ve never - I’m so
glad I can remember - Gerard!” he finishes. Gerard looks up from where he’s
pushing up the hem of Frank’s nightshirt.
“Let me - you need to rest anyway, Frank. I’ll make it good,” Gerard murmurs,
pushing white linen up over Frank’s head to leave him bare. He hesitates with
one knee planted between Frank’s thighs and his hands bracketing Frank’s head.
“Do you trust me?”
Frank nods, and that’s all the warning Gerard gives him before slithering down
his body, scattering kisses as he goes. Frank’s shoulder, the dip between his
collarbones, his nipple and the curve of his chest muscle, the soft skin of his
belly. Finally he gets to Frank’s cock, which is flushed hard and gorgeous and
begging to be tasted. Frank bucks hard at the first touch of Gerard’s lips and
Gerard spreads a hand over Frank’s abdomen and presses down.
The noises Frank makes are indescribable. Gerard touches him everywhere he can
reach and works him with lips and tongue and throat. Frank runs his fingers
softly and repeatedly through Gerard’s hair. His hips are moving, just a bit,
and Gerard closes his hand around one of them, thumb pressing into the bone,
fingers digging into the curve of his ass. God, he wants to fuck him sometime.
Not now - it’s too soon and Frank isn’t completely well - but sometime. Now,
Frank’s fingers are tugging at Gerard’s hair, and he’s muttering pleas in
between repeating Gerard’s name, and Gerard pulls back a bit, just in time,
just far enough to swallow it down as Frank spills into his mouth.
He pushes himself back up the mattress almost immediately, petting at Frank’s
hair, murmuring praises and kissing his cheeks and eyelids and lips.
"Gee - Gerard - I want to - " Frank gasps.
"What do you want?" Gerard murmurs into his neck. He can't help but hitch his
hips against Frank's a little bit.
"To touch you," Frank says, and runs a hand up Gerard's arm, tugging at the
fabric of his nightshirt. "To see you."
Gerard places one last kiss on Frank's lips before sitting up and pulling his
nightshirt over his head. Frank's eyes rake over Gerard and he licks his lips.
Gerard would smile if he wasn't so ready for Frank's hands on him. He lies back
down and Frank immediately fulfills his wish, running his hands over Gerard's
shoulders and chest, sliding down his sides to his hips.
"You're so - you're - " Frank stops and pulls Gerard closer, so their thighs
are touching. He traces his fingertips down Gerard's hip. Gerard looks up to
his face, watches as he bites his lip and then Gerard feels Frank's hand close
around his cock. Gerard moans, tipping his forehead forward to rest against
Frank's.
Frank starts moving his hand slowly and carefully up and down Gerard's cock. It
feels amazing, but Gerard is already ready for more. He wraps his hand around
Frank's, gasps out, "More."
They work together, Gerard's fingers slotting between Frank's, stroking
Gerard's cock faster. Gerard's breathing speeds up and he has trouble keeping
his eyes open. He wants to watch Frank, though. Watch his face. He's beautiful
like this, concentrating on giving Gerard pleasure, eyes flitting from their
hands and Gerard's cock, to Gerard's chest, to Gerard's face and back again.
Finally, Frank moves his thumb, brushes it lightly over the head of Gerard's
cock and that sends Gerard over the edge. He moans wordlessly, hips pumping as
he comes all over Frank's stomach.
"Frank," he whispers as the shudders subside. He leans forward and kisses
Frank, wrapping an arm around him and rolling over so Frank is on top, the mess
smearing between their bellies as they kiss. Gerard runs his hands through
Frank's hair and over his shoulders, wraps his arms around Frank's waist and
rolls them over again so they're in the position where they started. Gerard
cups his cheek.
"I want to do that again and again and again," he tells Frank.
"Yes," Frank breathes out, clutching Gerard's sides.
Gerard can't help but lean down and kiss Frank again. Frank's arms go around
him and hold him chest to chest as they kiss, their legs intertwined. Their
kisses get slower and sleepier until Gerard knows if he doesn't get up now and
clean them up a bit, he won't at all. He has a hard time mustering up any
urgency about it now, but he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn't. He grabs his
nightshirt from where it landed on the floor and uses it to clean them up, then
throws it back on the floor before settling back down and pulling Frank into
his arms.
Frank curls into him, sighing happily. Gerard's eyes drift closed and the next
thing he knows, he's waking up to Frank's hand sweeping across his chest in the
growing light of morning. They hold each other close, slowly rubbing against
each other until they're more awake and then it's all frantic hands, touching
and stroking until they find release.
After as many more kisses as they can sneak in, Frank slips out the door, back
to his own room. Not long after, servants begin their bustling. A footman
brings Gerard his usual morning coffee, and the day can start. Gerard dresses
and heads down to breakfast, but he hesitates outside Frank's door for just a
moment before knocking. Frank calls out for him to come in, and Gerard pushes
the door open. Frank is tying his cravat. Gerard wants to close the door again
and take it off. Frank must notice his look because he flushes, but he looks
back, licking his lips and smiling.
"Can I escort you to breakfast?" Gerard asks somewhat breathlessly.
"You may," Frank answers.
Gerard holds out his arm and Frank takes it with a laugh. They go down to
breakfast like that and sit down next to each other, holding hands under the
tablecloth. They can't seem to keep their hands far from each other the rest of
the morning, sitting close in the study after breakfast, practically in each
other's laps. It earns an eyeroll from Mikey and an unreadable look from Grant.
As the day wears on, they get less silly and more serious. Frank's mother will
arrive soon and nobody knows exactly how things will end. Gerard laces Frank's
fingers with his and tries not to squeeze too tight.
"Gerard, Frank," Grant interrupts the increasingly tense silence. "Much as it
would please me to allow you whatever familiarity you desire, Frank's mother
will be arriving shortly." He sighs deeply. "It would be advisable for you to
put a little more physical distance between you."
"Right," Gerard says. Grant and Mikey both politely turn their attention very
carefully to their books and Gerard leans forward to give Frank a quick kiss.
"Whatever happens," Gerard reminds him. Frank nods.
Gerard releases Frank's hand and moves to the other end of the sofa. He tries
to concentrate on a book or, really, anything to pass the time until the
footman delivers Frank's mother from the coach, but he can't focus. He ends up
spending the entire time fidgeting. Frank doesn't seem too much better and
Gerard knows that Mikey stopped actually reading ages ago. Even Grant hasn't
turned a page in twenty minutes. Finally, a servant announces Frank's mother's
arrival and ushers her into the room.
They all stand, and Grant crosses the room to bow over her hand and introduce
himself, and Gerard and Mikey as well. They return her greeting politely, but
Gerard can’t stop staring. He would have known her anywhere. She’s small,
compact, and dark, just like her son, well-dressed but wearing a look of great
preoccupation.
“Frank,” she says in a low voice, crossing to the sofa where Gerard and Frank
had been sitting. Gerard silently waves her into his seat, and she tugs Frank
down to sit beside her, looking him over with a hand on his cheek.
“Hello, Mama,” he answers quietly.
The rest of them wait for a moment, then Grant asks, “Lady Montclair, would you
like a moment with your son?”
She looks up. “No, my lord, it’s quite all right. Do be at ease. I believe
there is a story here that might be more complete with the rest of you
present.” Her tone is still gentle, but Gerard can hear the steel beneath it,
and Frank colors a bit.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Mama. I never wanted to upset you.”
“Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning, Frank. I remember the younger
Mr. Way’s name from your school stories, so it’s fairly clear how you came to
be here, instead of at Radley as I believed you to be. What I would like to
know is why.”
Frank takes a deep breath and looks at them all in turn, eyes landing last on
Gerard. Then he starts to talk, describing how things had changed under the new
headmaster, how he’d always been singled out for discipline. How miserable he’d
been without Mikey to talk to. How the other boys had either ignored him or
taken the opportunity to torment him. “A few of the fights were my fault,” he
admits. Frank’s mother sighs. Gerard watches a muscle jump in Grant’s jaw and
looks quickly back to Frank, who’s explaining how, during one recent incident
after which he was called into the headmaster’s office, he’d discovered that
they were holding all his mail. “Lord Montclair does it at home, too, Mama,”
Frank whispers.
“I know that now,” Lady Montclair replies quietly. “I - after I got Lord
Morrison’s telegram, I - started asking questions. I wish I’d known - I didn’t
even know you had - they never told me -” Her eyes glitter, and Frank’s fingers
tighten on hers.
Grant clears his throat softly, and they all look in his direction. His eyes
are all for Frank’s mother, though. “I would have written you sooner, Lady
Montclair, except... the first week after Frank’s arrival was -” He pauses,
searching for the right words, clearly to avoid further distressing her.
“Fraught,” he finishes. “Frank had sustained an injury during his journey here
- a knock on the head, nothing terribly serious, except his powers of
recollection were rather muddled for a few days and - well, Mikey wasn’t here,
and Gerard and I had no idea who he was.”
Lady Montclair turns back to Frank. “You lost your memory? Oh, my baby.” She
tugs him into her arms, and Gerard can see Frank’s posture finally relax,
curling up against her with relief.
“He’s all right now, Lady Montclair,” Gerard says, unable to help himself. “He
remembers. I - Mikey came home from school and recognized him and - we’ve been
taking care of him.” He bites his lip to stop himself from babbling, but
Frank’s mother smiles. Her smile looks like Frank’s as well.
“Thank you, Mr. Way, for your kindness. You and Lord Morrison - I don’t know
how I can repay your kindness. I just can’t believe that this -” Her voice
wobbles.
“Mama,” Frank whispers, but she waves a hand at him.
Grant replies before Frank can turn an even deeper shade of crimson. “It was
our privilege to have Frank in our home, Lady Montclair. He’s a commendable
young man, and from what Mikey’s told us since his own arrival, clearly a
devoted friend. I know the news of Frank’s illness must be a shock to you, but
my own personal physician assures me his recovery will be swift, and if I could
beg your attention for a moment, there is another matter I’d like to discuss.”
Frank’s mother turns back to Grant. Gerard can see from her expression that
she’s both curious and wary, but she nods politely. “Of course, my lord.”
“I removed Mikey from Radley at the end of last term because I had doubts about
the changes in the faculty. I realize not everyone would share my opinion, but
I felt it best. The school Mikey attends in Edinburgh is administrated by a
friend of mine and I believe it to be of the very finest quality. If you would
allow me to sponsor Frank’s tuition, perhaps he could finish out his schooling
there.”
A hesitant look crosses Lady Montclair’s face, and Gerard’s heart jumps into
his throat. Frank looks no better, and Mikey is quiet but tense in his own
chair. Grant merely holds her gaze and waits. “Frank won’t be eighteen for
another month, Lord Morrison,” she says finally. “Even if it were just about
the tuition - which, I fear, is far too generous of you -”
“The age of majority in Scotland is sixteen,” Grant replies. “And a month is
not such a long time, even for you English.” His eyes sparkle a bit, though his
tone never changes. Gerard can see the corners of Lady Montclair’s mouth twitch
- perhaps all is not lost. “Frank could remain here as our visitor until his
birthday. He is not quite recuperated yet, at any rate. Gerard took a first at
Oxford; he’d be more than capable of assisting Frank to catch up with the
missed work in the interim.”
Lady Montclair remains silent for a moment, looking between the three of them
and her son, then asks simply, “Why?”
Grant doesn’t even hesitate. “Because when Mikey and Gerard lost their parents,
I promised them I’d always have their best interests at heart. Because that
extends to their friends. And because I would never knowingly send a child to a
school where Daniel was headmaster if I had any power to avoid it.”
After a long pause, Lady Montclair nods. “Yes. Of course. You have my
permission, and - my gratitude. And if there are any... issues... I will handle
them.”
She’s bright-eyed but stubbornly resolute. She’s undoubtedly Frank’s mother.
*
The problem with inviting a worried mother to visit her convalescent son is,
quite simply, that she doesn’t leave until she’s entirely satisfied that he’s
recovering. Lady Montclair is actually a very lovely woman, and Gerard can see
where her son got - well, quite a lot of his personality, but after the past
few weeks, it’s very hard to be on his best behavior. Mikey takes the lion’s
share of the burden of sitting and talking with her, when politeness requires
it. Parents love Mikey, especially ladies. And Gerard tries, but he’s very much
preoccupied with trying to be alone with her son, so it doesn’t work out quite
so well. Grant has proven himself an ally in that matter, with his suggestion
that Gerard serve as Frank’s tutor, but not to put too fine a point on it...
he’s a terrible tutor, and not only because his student has an alarming
propensity to climb over the books and straight into his lap to kiss him
stupid.
Grant does a sizeable portion of the tutoring himself, which works out rather
better for Frank’s educational prospects, but is uncomfortable for other
reasons. Frank, however, asks Gerard after one such session, “He’s like us,
isn’t he?”
“How - do you mean?” asks Gerard, prevaricating.
“I mean, interested in - prefers -” It’s rather criminal how delicious Frank
looks when he blushes.
“I - we’ve never really -” They have talked about it, though, in words that
were, at least on Gerard’s part, carefully chosen and placed. “I believe he has
an interest in - both.” He waits, but Frank just nods.
“I thought so. I never thought I’d find a household where such things could be
- you know.”
“Grant is quite understanding,” Gerard answers, feeling the kernel of the lie
in the statement even as he admits its truth. “You’ll find - there are certain
circles, places - it’s not all like school, Frank. At university... on the
continent....”
“You can show me,” Frank murmurs, climbing into Gerard’s lap again. Another
study session effectively ends.
Lady Montclair stays the better part of a week, then returns to London with a
reticule full of letters of direction from Grant, should she need further
assistance in settling the matter of Frank’s education. Gerard knows one of the
letters is to Grant’s personal solicitor, but now that he’s met her - now that
she knows what’s been going on the past year or two - he somehow doubts Lady
Montclair will need it. She promises to write often, and Frank returns the
promise fervently.
Mikey returns to Edinburgh, but returns on the train each weekend. More letters
are exchanged between Grant and the headmaster of Edinburgh Academy, settling
the matter of Frank’s late admission. Frank sleeps tucked up against Gerard
every night, but when the mail coach, a week after his mother’s departure,
delivers a shipment of trunks bearing his direction and containing what appears
to be most of his worldly possessions, he smiles a little easier. His room,
filled with his own clothing and mementos, becomes truly his room and not
merely another guest room, though he is just as likely to crawl into bed with
Gerard late at night as he is to welcome Gerard to his own.
Mikey arrives for the weekend and Gerard is acutely aware that come Sunday, he
won’t be leaving alone. They spend the days in the sitting room talking and
laughing with Grant. The nights are spent touching each other in every manner
they can think of before dropping off to sleep. Lunch on Sunday is a quiet
affair. Gerard’s attempts at cheer fall short.
A footman arrives in Frank’s room not half an hour after the meal ends to load
his luggage onto the coach. Mikey goes back to his own room, saying he needs to
make sure he has all his things, but Gerard knows he’s giving Gerard a few
moments alone with Frank to say his goodbyes. Gerard sits on the edge of the
bed and tugs Frank down next to him.
“I will miss you dearly,” Gerard whispers into his hair.
“It will only be a few days and we’ll be back,” Frank replies. Gerard can hear
in his voice that he’s trying to convince himself of that fact as well as
Gerard.
“I’ve grown accustomed to having you here. What shall I do without you to keep
me occupied?” Gerard nuzzles Frank’s cheek and kisses down his jaw.
“Perhaps work on your art or writing?” Frank suggests breathlessly. “I fear
I’ve been a horrible distraction for you.”
“You’re just angling to have overwrought love poems dedicated to you,” Gerard
tells Frank’s throat.
Frank laughs. “I would certainly not object if such a thing were to be written.
You’ll write often?”
“Daily,” Gerard promises. “You’ll grow tired of my drivel and start throwing
them in the fire as soon as they arrive.”
“Never,” Frank declares, pulling Gerard’s chin up so they can kiss. They keep
kissing until there’s a knock on the door and Mikey calls out that it’s time to
leave. Gerard sighs and Frank rests his forehead against his cheek for a moment
before standing. He reaches out a hand and pulls Gerard up. “Five days,” he
repeats.
Gerard nods leans in and kisses Frank one last time and then they’re out the
door and getting in the coach. Frank sits next to him and holds his hand,
pressed up against his side the entire way. When the coach pulls up to the
station, Gerard tightens his grip on Frank’s hand. He doesn’t want to get out.
It’s entirely ridiculous, he realizes, but he can’t help it.
“C’mon, then,” Mikey finally says just as the footman opens the door to the
coach. Mikey climbs out, then Grant follows. Gerard squeezes Frank’s hand one
last time and Frank extracts himself from Gerard’s grip and gets out, Gerard
just behind him. Grant waits by the door then follows them all, sending a few
quiet words in the coachman’s direction to have him cool the horses until the
train’s departed.
The train is, happily for the railroad’s reputation but sadly for Gerard’s
equanimity, precisely on time, and Mikey and Frank shake hands and bid Grant
and Gerard their final goodbyes amid the shrieks and coils of steam. The two of
them stand on the platform for quite some time, watching the train move into
the distance, the plume of steam marking their path finally spreading and
dissipating.
Grant speaks eventually. “Well done, Gerard,” he says quietly. “I imagine you
wanted to do more. I am sorry you could not.”
“Of course I wanted to do more,” Gerard returns, a bit stung. “I will always
want more.”
“As will I,” Grant replies quietly. Almost to himself. He tucks his hands
behind his back and turns away, studying the sky.
Gerard laughs, a little bitter. “You, Grant? With your title, and your fame,
and your handsome face?” Grant just looks at him for a moment, then starts
walking back to the coach. Gerard presses, curious now. “You could surely have
anything you want.”
“No, Gerard,” Grant answers. “I could not.” He reaches out and touches Gerard’s
forearm, and they both stop. “It doesn’t mean I don’t wish it for you.” He
transfers his fingers to the back of Gerard’s arm, guiding him the last few
steps to the coach, and as Gerard climbs inside, he hesitates.
“You’ve said that so many times, Grant. I surely don’t deserve everything I
want.”
“Yes,” Grant answers, reaching out and touching his cheek for a moment. “You
do.” He follows Gerard into the coach and takes his seat on the opposite bench.
“So does Frank,” he adds after a beat, then subsides into silence for the rest
of the ride home, his gaze resolutely trained on the passing countryside.
Gerard wants to believe it. He wants to have it. And as the scenery creeps by,
taking him back to a house where he’s safe - where he knows he’s loved - where
he knows Frank and his brother will rejoin him in a matter of days - he
actually starts to believe he will.
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