sunburned | (no subject)

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laurence,
timeloop

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One moment, they're having breakfast and Granby's in the middle of lifting his coffee cup to his lips and then next moment he blinks and finds himself standing in a vast stone hall, and the ache in his shoulder is back. And there she is, crowned in wedding finery - the Sapa Inca in a dress of yellow and red, shot through with gold, her crown of silver and gold and long feathers.

And it's done. He's married to her, with barely a word to say. Of course, there wouldn't be a word to say, not when he can barely say ten words together that she'd understand.

It's late by the time he finds himself at Laurence's door, clad in shirt and breeches, his wounded arm against his chest. He knocks, leaning his forehead against the frame and thankfully, for now, that he's managed to avoid Iskierka, even though catching a glimpse of her was like a balm on something that he didn't know was burning.

"For the love of God, Laurence," he hisses. "Would you let me in?"

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Laurence opened the door somewhat cautiously at first, glancing about to be certain that no one was watching before allowing Granby into his chamber. The other man's state was quickly noted, the madness of the past few hours seemingly incarnate in his fellow Captain's person, yet for all that he sympathized, Laurence did not know what to do about it. There had been so much confusion, so many unanswered and unasked questions for both of them -though he was more than willing to wager that Granby had gotten the worst of it- that he did not even know where to begin.

"Are you all right, John?" Despite the once more shut door, he kept his voice low, uncertain of what might happen should the new consort of the Empress be found wandering so.

"What do you honestly think is the answer to that question, Will?" asks John, making a beeline for the liquor and pouring a generous measure before he collapses into a chair. There's a dark expression on his face.

"Well, that's done - I've gone and married her, for good and proper," he says, taking a long swallow before he looks up. "What are we even doing here, Laurence? What happened to the bloody island?"

"I wish that I knew," Laurence replied, watching Granby's drinking with a wary eye. He had to wonder if it was perhaps some manner of punishment for his constant wishing to escape the island, for it would seem they had returned only for his friend to suffer in a situation that was just barely short of intolerable for one of his... inclination. Unfortunately, Laurence had no notion of how he was to proceed or what he was to say. "How is your arm, then?"

"My arm is a bloody trial," says Granby, grimacing as he shifts it against his body. He takes another long swallow from the glass and gives it a long look.

"But, despite that, I've managed to do my husbandly duty, so there is that, I suppose."

The look on his face belies the light tone of his words.

Laurence was silent for a moment, an unwelcome flush rising in his face, before he wordlessly went to refill Granby's glass. While normally he did not approve of alcohol as a means of improving one's mood, he did see the use of it in the face of recent events, and -to be perfectly frank- he was no great hurry to see what other methods the other man found to cope with his misfortune. "I daresay Iskierka will be pleased, at the least."

"Don't talk to me about bloody Iskierka right at this moment, Laurence, if you please," says John, darkly. He doesn't say thank you for the drink but he does nod before he takes a sip of it.

"How can this be happening, Laurence?" he says. "We've been through some bloody strange things in our time but I've barely got the taste of my morning coffee out of my mouth and, suddenly, I'm supposed to resume life as normal only it's not as normal because, this time, Napoleon's nowhere to be bloody seen."

He makes a frustrated noise and slumps in his chair.

"On the plus side, I've still got two hands. Maybe the bloody gangrene'll get me this time."

Laurence's expression turned from mildly embarrassed on Granby's behalf to rather more than mildly disapproving of his current sentiment and tone. "I hardly think that is something to look forward to. We will find a way of escaping this that does not involve infection, if you please."

"Escaping it how, Laurence?" asks Granby, head tilted back to look up at his friend. "I await your instruction, because I may not have a ring on my finger - they don't do that here, apparently - but it feels fairly final to me."

"I do not know," Laurence said finally after a long period of uncertain silence. He could not bear Granby's unhappiness, and he knew that he other man had every right to be so after the day's events, yet he also found that Granby's disposition when in such a mood could be equally unbearable. "If you will only give me some time, though, I am almost certain something can be done."

He knocks back the rest of his the drink in one swallow. He doesn't actually know why he came to Laurence at all, other than the fact that he was seeking comfort and trusting the man as he's always trusted him before.

"You take your time, Laurence," he says, grimly, pushing to his feet and setting the glass down. He squares his shoulders. "I will go and be a dutiful husband, I suppose."

"John." Laurence paused, uncertain of how to proceed, but not willing to let his friend walk out the door in such a state. What had happened to Granby was wrong in nearly every way that he could countenance. "I do not know what you wish me to do, yet whatever I can do, I will. Please know that."

"I don't know what I wish you to do, Will. Honestly I don't. I just trust that...eventually...you might figure something out."

He reaches out with his good arm and claps his friend on the shoulder, squeezing.

"I have literally no idea how to be a dutiful husband," he says, his hand still where he placed it. "Try not to get myself executed in the process, I suppose. Off with his head and all that." He pales visibly. "Jesus."

"Do not forget that you have friends, John." Dismayed by the other man's tone, he reached out to grasp his good arm in a gesture that spoke of how fondly and with what high esteem he regarded Granby, for Laurence was not often so familiar with others. "And those friends would never permit that to happen, no matter the consequences. If the Inca attempted anything, I daresay those that love you would not sit idle."

"Ah, but I'm a married man, now, Will," he says, gently, not pulling away from Laurence's hand. He derives not small amount of comfort from the contact. He closes his eyes and drags in a breath.

"I was thinking that I might go down and snatch a few hours of sleep with Iskierka. There might be...no small measure of comfort in that."

Laurence nodded. He himself had spent as much time as possible with Temeraire before retiring, and he did not doubt a visit with his own dragon would do Granby quite a bit of good as well. "I hope it does help, John, I truly do."

A moment later, he pulls back from his friend and nods. He pushes his untidy hair back from his forehead, still cradling his wounded arm against his chest.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I imagine, Laurence," he says, turning to go and draw what comfort from Iskierka's presence that he can.

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