Chapter Text
In comparison to the time spent with the troops, Gurney’s chambers are cold, and silent. Finally, being in his own space should come as a great relief, but instead, it feels uncanny.
Dead.
Gurney strips out of his clothes – the uniform pants, the training shirt, such an uneven match that he’s still amazed that no one has reprimanded him for it – and quickly washes off the worst of the past few days. A lot of the grime was already washed away when he sat in the shower with Paul, and now, he runs a lukewarm cloth over his arms, his legs, scrubbing his short hair, hoping to rid himself of any residue of that humid planet.
Even now, when he closes his eyes, he can feel the scent of the damp forest and heady pollen, and he can only hope that it is imagination, rather than the planet still clinging to his skin.
Then, before he crawls into bed, he pulls on a set of training clothes. The dark pants more loose fitting, the fabric thinner, and the grey t-shirt is soft on his skin. He doesn’t have a mirror in his room – has never seen the point of it – but now he catches his reflection in the window, and he remembers what these clothes looked like on Paul.
The neckline of the shirt plunging, rather than sitting taunt at his throat; the fit much looser, draped over slender shoulders; the grey fabric tucked into the pants, cinched there with a belt. Despite the poor fit, he'd looked good. Good in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that he was finally out of that dreadful uniform, or that he seemed more at peace after the change, no; he looked good because the clothes were Gurney’s, and seeing them on Paul had left him with a breathless affection that he barely knew how to hide.
It’s still there, the bright, sparkling feeling in his chest, something that almost feels like joy, but that has no right taking the shape of happiness after what they’ve been through.
Gurney slips beneath the covers of his bed, a small bunk meant to hold only one person, and he finds it a lonely place. He finds himself twisting a turning beneath the sheets, because while he knows that Paul is only a couple of hallways down from where he is, the distance seems insurmountable.
He tells himself that he isn’t waiting for Paul to come to his door, but he has never been good at lying.
In the morning, he gets out of bed and is quick to pick up the routine of old, hoping that it’ll help him clear his mind. Once he has gotten through breakfast, he has meetings with Leto and Thufir, inventory to do with Lanville, to ensure that the belongings of the dead are sorted and packed up for their grieving families, and, well; if nothing else, it will be easy for him to lose himself to duty once more.
He heads for the mess hall, thankful that the early hour leaves the corridors empty, and that less people will see just how poorly he’s doing. It’s been years since his limp was this bad, bursts of pain pulsing from his hip down his thigh, and up – like concentrated stabs at the small of his back. It seems that he’s gotten so used living with his normal level of pain, that he’s forgotten just how bad his old injuries get when he pushes himself to the limit.
Gurney expects the mess hall to be mostly empty, but once he gets there, he finds Paul seated at the head of one of the tables. If possible, he looks worse than yesterday – skin pale, the dark circles at his eyes more pronounced – and he’s not eating, holding his fork in a loose grip, staring into space.
The walk up to him feels unending, and even when Gurney reaches his side, Paul doesn’t take note of him. Another moment of hesitation, and then Gurney clears his throat, his voice rough, still hazy from sleep, when he speaks.
“Paul.”
At the sound of his voice, Paul blinks slowly, and then raises his gaze to meet Gurney’s eye. While there’s surprise there, he doesn’t seem startled or uncomfortable, and it’s enough for Gurney’s heart to skip a beat, knowing that even when Paul gets like this, Gurney is never part of the danger he imagines.
“Morning.” Paul says it like an afterthought, his eyes trailing Gurney’s features, and whatever he’s looking for, it seems that he doesn’t find it.
“Can I sit with you?”
Gurney’s asked the question before he’s given it much thought, but he cannot regret it, as the words have Paul give a small smile, and scoot over to offer him space.
“Where else would you sit, old man?”
They have their food in companiable silence, Paul barely eating, but making a good show of trying, and as the room slowly fills with people, bustling with activity – many glances thrown their way – Paul stands to make a quick exit, giving Gurney a hasty goodbye as he does so.
While Gurney wants nothing more than to follow and ensure that Paul is well, he remains in his seat for quite some time. Partly for appearance, and also partly because he’s so out of his depth. He can think of a thousand things to offer Paul, but he cannot for the life of him know what would be appropriate – what would actually help.
Gurney drinks scalding hot coffee and does his best to think of nothing at all, and only when his hands are steady and his breathing even, does he head for Leto’s office.
When he reaches the massive doors, he finds guards posted outside, and the Duke is waiting for him, not by his desk, but by the window, overlooking the cliffside. The doors close behind Gurney, and he keeps a respectful distance, waiting for Leto to address him.
He ends up having to wait quite a while, watching as his friend does his best to keep up appearances.
“He doesn’t speak much”, Leto says, finally, and if all pretenses of formality have been cast aside like this, then the Duke truly must be worried.
“It is to be expected”, Gurney starts, because while he does want to alleviate Leto’s worry, he also does not want to betray Paul’s confidence. “Give him time.”
Leto throws Gurney a long glance, those dark eyes unreadable, and then he lets out a deep sigh, looking out the window once more. “Do we know what he’s been through? Do we know what they – what was done to him?”
Leto speaks with the silent rage of a parent powerless to help his child, his hands closed fists at his sides.
“We know that he was captured, held for some time”, Gurney trails off, pushing any thought of the mountains, the shackles, from his mind. “He was questioned, and… they beat him. That is all I know, sire.”
Leto throws him another long look, but it’s different this time. Calculating. “He feels comfortable talking to you.”
Gurney shifts beneath that dark gaze, knowing that Leto is skilled at seeing much more than what’s on the surface. “I cannot be sure, but – he has preferred my company over others since we reunited.”
Leto nods, turning from the window now, his full focus on Gurney. “And how are you holding up?”
“Good”, Gurney says, only to have it immediately met with a scoff. Leto raises both eyebrows in question, like he at least expected a more convincing lie.
“You need to see a doctor”, Leto says, skipping any and all pretenses. “And don’t you dare argue. At a time like this, I need to know you’re well enough to fight.”
Gurney gives a shrug, nodding to his leg, and when he goes to argue, it’s mostly because he knows that Leto expects him to be stubborn. “This won’t stop me from doing my duty.”
“Right now, your duty is to yourself”, Leto says, only hesitating somewhat, as if he knows that what he’s about to say might be slightly questionable. “And to my son; if he speaks to you, then I want you to spend time with him.”
“Sire…” and Gurney isn’t sure what he’s about to confess, because lord knows there are many things that he could divulge that likely would not be welcome.
“You do not need to report what he says back to me, I don’t expect you to spy”, Leto trails off, hesitant, because while he clearly doesn’t want to send Gurney to keep tabs on Paul, it is clear that he desperately wants to know how he’s doing – what he’s thinking. “I just – I need to know that he isn’t alone in this. If I cannot play a part in that, so be it.”
Gurney bites at the inside of his lip, and he thinks of Paul clinging to the plates of his armor; he thinks of the cold water of the shower, washing the blood off of the both of them; he thinks of the deep thrumming of the ship beneath them as Paul falls asleep in his arms.
“I’m not sure it would be appropriate.”
“Damn propriety”, Leto spits. “If he wants you close, if you’re a sanctuary to him, I do not care about appearances. I care about his healing; I care that he’s here to heal at all.”
Gurney swallows thickly, nodding even before he has given a proper answer. “Aye. We are lucky that he returned to us.”
Leto walks over to him then, putting a hand to Gurney’s shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “Luck had little to do with it. Many of our House bled for this. I would rather you not have to suffer, too.”
There’s a slight pause, that dark stare intense as Leto seizes him up, and whatever he finds, he seems pleased enough. “Duncan and Lanville will take over your duties for now. Accept treatment. Rest.”
Gurney nods, and even though this isn’t a demotion, and even though nothing has actually been taken from him, he needs to work hard to remind himself of that fact. “And Paul?”
“I will give you no orders. I trust you to navigate that on your own.”
It takes all of Gurney’s willpower not to question whether this trust is actually deserved.
When he leaves Leto’s office, he heads directly to Dr. Yueh. There is little reason to prolong the inevitable, and, should he try, he won’t have anything to distract him from the pain.
The visit is short, because the cause of his pain is far from a mystery. Yueh quickly examines the muscle of his lower back, his hip, his thigh, and while there’s some inflammation, that seems to be the worst of it. Gurney is prescribed painkillers, a soothing salve, and rest.
After decades of never taking a day off, it is quite surreal for everyone around him to come together and shoulder his duties in order to let him relax. In fact, it leaves him feeling untethered – the routine that would normally tie him down gone – and when he returns to his room he simply sits on his bed for a while, staring into space.
The longer he holds still, the more the pain creeps up on him though; the muscles of his back, his hip, his thigh taut; an itch beneath his skin that spreads like frostbite. Letting out a frustrated groan, he takes the pills that have been given to him, and spends the next ten minutes massaging the salve into his skin. It smells faintly of chemicals and herbs, the latter clearly added to the mixture with the hope of hiding the medicinal scent.
Once he’s done following Yueh’s instructions, the rest of the day stretches ahead of him, empty, purposeless.
The first productive thing he can think of is taking a walk, since at least it will keep his muscles active, and so, he shrugs on a jacket and starts making his way through the castle halls.
He’s close to the gates when he hears the echoes of very familiar footsteps coming his way. Gurney slows down – a heartbeat, two – and then Paul rounds the corner just ahead of him, and had Gurney not been prepared for it, coming to a full halt, the two would have collided.
Paul blinks, shaking his head, and when that green gaze finally meets Gurney’s, there’s a clear shift in there, as the world comes into focus. “Oh.”
It’s a soft exclamation, and Gurney barely registers it, because one does not sneak up on Paul Atreides; for years and years, the heir has been uncannily tapped into his surroundings, and often been quite smug when he’s showed off his skills. Seeing him this out of touch has something wild stir in Gurney’s chest – something not unlike what left him with bloodied knuckles on that godforsaken planet – and much like when they shared the room on the ship, his first instinct is to look for injury; to find a physical thing that can be treated, even though he knows that this runs much, much deeper than that.
“Where are you going?” Paul asks, his voice unsteady, rough, like he hasn’t spoken much this past day.
“Nowhere in particular”, Gurney starts, and he has to actively remind himself not to stare at Paul. “The weather is decent enough for a walk. Do you want to join me?”
Paul looks at him for a long time, lips pressed together, and this time he hasn’t spaced out, no, his gaze has a sharp focus. Gurney isn’t sure what exactly Paul is looking for. All he knows is that he desperately hopes that he’ll find it.
Eventually, Paul shakes his head, but even as he does so, a frown ghosts over his features, as if he’s disappointed in himself for the answer. “I think I’m too tired, but – maybe some other day?”
Gurney is quick to nod – is quick to remind himself not to reach out and put his hand on Paul’s shoulder, no matter how right it feels to do so. “Of course. Anytime.”
Paul gives a hum, just a quick acknowledgement, before he rounds Gurney and continues down the hallway. As he does so, those green eyes find Gurney more than once, quick, stolen glances, like he desperately wants to stay, like there are unsaid things he needs to give voice to – and yet all he can do is leave.
Gurney doesn’t call out for him, because if Paul were to do so, he isn’t sure where that would lead them.
Instead, he quickly walks out the gates of the castle, boots sinking into the moss, and only as he reaches the cliffside does he slow down, catching his breath, knowing that he’s at a risk of overexerting himself again – especially now, that the pain is dulled.
It’s not easy, but eventually he settles into a slow pace, walking along the coastline, overlooking the roiling sea. On days like these, where clouds roll in on strong winds, and the sun only shines in brief interludes, the water seems so endlessly dark, like its depths could never be fully known.
More than anything, this should feel like home, but Gurney found his home when he found Paul in the primordial forests of that distant planet, and ever since, any time spent apart has him feeling like he’s still searching for something.
Maybe, he’s searching for permission, not from the world but from himself.
Even now, there’s this brightness in his chest, nestled at his very core, a revelation that leaves him breathless; an affection that shouldn’t be new to him, but that he has yet to learn how to carry with grace.
Maybe, he should just accept this change that has been thrust upon them.
This is not something that they have reached out of want, but necessity, and Gurney will never know if they would have gotten here without it. He will never know how Paul might have looked at him in a world where his transport had avoided the attack, and he will never know if he himself might have reached this point of, well, acceptance.
Whatever the case, these are the cards they were dealt, and keeping his distance just for the sake of it simply will not do.
Gurney stands atop of the cliffs, letting the winds – their ice, their salt – wash over him, and he doesn’t return to the castle until the sun sits low on the horizon.
In the evening, Gurney still feels the cool winds of Caladan in his bones, the sun on his skin, and it should feel like home, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t; because in the mess hall he watches as Paul sits in his chair, staring into space for so long that he needs to be reminded to eat. It doesn’t feel like home, because Paul still walks the castle halls with that thousand-yard stare, and while he’s finally wearing clothes that are his own, he doesn’t look like he himself has made it home – not really.
As the sun sets, Gurney looks through his wardrobe, and even thinking about what he’s about to do has his pulse pick up, his anxiety tenfold with so much more than just worry for Paul’s wellbeing, but he still doesn’t hesitate, because – he remembers Paul sleeping peacefully, curled up at his side.
He remembers Paul’s fingers lingering over the scar on his chest, and finding the words to speak of his own hurt and fears.
He remembers drying Paul’s skin with that coarse towel, and seeing the deep bruising still forming over his rib cage, his abdomen, and Gurney remembers thinking that he would do anything to soothe that pain, propriety be damned.
When he knocks on Paul’s door, he has to wait quite some time before there’s the faint noise of movement on the other side.
At first, Gurney is worried that he has disturbed Paul’s sleep, but the second the door actually opens, it’s clear that this is not the case.
While Paul looks just as haggard as before, his gaze at least seems a little more alert, like maybe he’s been reading, or watching filmbooks.
“Hi”, he breathes, one of his hands moving incrementally forward, as if he’s only just caught himself from reaching for Gurney.
“Hi.”
Gurney gestures with the small pile of clothes he’s carrying; a shirt, a pair of pants, a belt. For a moment, Paul just stares, like he needs a moment to properly take in what it is, and then, he looks at Gurney with wide eyes, blinking a couple of times, as if to assure himself that this is real.
“I have plenty of clothes, old man”, Paul says, his tone far from dismissive, and maybe Gurney is imagining things, but something about this feels familiar – a playful edge that he, at his most pessimistic, feared forever lost.
“True”, Gurney offers, unable to keep himself from smiling, “but I suspect a set of these are missing from your collection.”
Paul shakes his head, rustling those soft curls as he does so, and then he reaches for the clothes, their fingers brushing as he takes them from Gurney. “You’re right about that.”
But, Paul doesn’t just accept the gift, no; he holds the clothes to his chest, right above his heart, and when he looks at Gurney, his eyebrows are drawn together, equal parts perplexed and intrigued.
Paul’s gaze darts down the hall, and then back to Gurney, and it’s unclear if he’s ensuring that they’re alone, or if he’s worried that Gurney might leave.
“I thought that maybe you didn’t want to sleep alone”, Gurney’s voice is nothing but a murmur now – his offer a secret meant for Paul, and Paul only. “That some company might help remind you of where you are.”
Paul holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity. Then the corner of his mouth curves with a small, almost shy smile, and he steps to the side in invitation, letting Gurney into his room.
“Come in.”