Chapter Text
She wakes up in stages. The first thing trickling through her subconscious is, for some reason, the sound of scurrying little footsteps on the wooden floor above her. For a moment she listens to them, running from one side of the room to the other, pausing, scratching, then flitting back. She’ll have to tell Mr. Farnon that there’s either a mouse in the attic, or he misplaced one of his rats again. ‘I don’t misplace them, Mrs. Hall, I let them out for environmental enrichment!” she can practically hear his voice in her head.
The second thing she notices is something warm and damp around her calves. It feels strange, unpleasant, and she wants to slip it off, whatever it is. She stirs and lets out a soft groan when her body protests instantly. Her muscles ache. She feels like she’d scrubbed the entire house, twice over.
At last, she opens her eyes. The room is half-dark, and it takes time for her eyesight to adjust. Eventually, she recognises the outlines of her furniture. So she's in her own room, her own bed. She doesn’t know how long she’s been out, but the sun has set in the meantime and there are no other noises coming from the house. She squints towards the window, the sky shaded in grey with just a faint touch of a hazy yellow and she decides it must be dawn. Apparently she’s been in bed for well over ten hours and she feels like it, muscles stiff and when she moves again, her body resists her efforts, giving her a harder time than that ridiculous wash wringer yesterday.
The soft sound of a door-handle being pressed down makes her turn her head and see Siegfried coming in, holding a small basin, fresh towels draped over his arm. He doesn’t notice her at first, too occupied with handling the door while his arms are full, shuffling and trying to close it with his foot as quietly as possible, but when he sees her, his expression changes, first to surprise which quickly turns into bright relief.
“You’re awake.”
“Back with the living,” she confirms and frowns at her own voice, sounding hoarse and thick. Siegfried doesn’t waste a second to put down the basin and he comes to her side, filling a glass with water and holding it out to her, sitting down at the edge of the mattress. She pretends to assist when he brings it to her lips and he pretends not to know she’d spill it all if he handed it to her fully.
“How do you feel?”
She clears her throat, glad to find it less prickly this time. “Like our old wash wringer.”
“Ah,” he replies after a moment and she can see him contemplating whether she might still be in a state of feverish haze, talking nonsense, so she manages a small, reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Farnon, I’m not off me own head.”
He nods, returns her smile but she can see the worry lines around his eyes. He takes the glass from her, keeps it in his hands for a moment, as if he’s glad to have something to hold, tapping it with his fingers.
“You gave us quite a fright.”
“I’m sorry.” She is. To think everyone had fussed over her makes her feel almost embarrassed. She tries to sort through the billows of memories of the last hours, remembers the kitchen. “I fainted, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Did I crack me skull?”
“Fortunately, I was standing right next to you. Cushioned the fall to the best of my abilities.”
“Got a splitting headache though.”
“I can imagine,” Siegfried murmurs, giving her a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been feverish for some hours.” He gently places the palm of his hand on her forehead and nods, seemingly satisfied with the result. There are wispy strands of hair sticking to her face, and she realises what a mess she must be. She wants to take a bath, change the bedsheets, open the window wide and air the room. He would do it for her if she asked, she knows that with absolute certainty, but she couldn’t expect that from him.
She glances out of the window again. The sun has not yet risen, it would be around 5 o'clock now, she gathers. Maybe she could rest for another hour, drink plenty of water and then she would get up and make breakfast. There is so much work to be done, maybe more since yesterday. Her hands find the mattress and it takes all of her willpower when she pushes herself up.
“Ah, ah,” Siegfried intervenes immediately, his hand coming up, not quite landing on her shoulder. “You stay put. Doctor’s orders.”
She wants to argue, she does, but her body is sending her signals and she knows this is a battle she can’t win. And he knows it, too, judging by the way he waits patiently for her to concede, and he has the decency to somewhat hide the satisfied twinkle in his eyes, for once experiencing how it is to win an argument against her.
“Does that work on your farm animals?” she grumbles as she sinks back into the pillows.
He chuckles. “Usually not, and believe me, I’ve tried.” She does believe him.
For a moment he smiles at her. Then his brows twitch, as if he’s suddenly remembered something, and he gets up.
“I, ah, came to change these.” He gestures towards the end of the bed. She blinks and realises what he’s talking about – asking. She feels warmth rush to her face but she nods, and he goes to the foot of the bed, folds the blanket up to just under her knees where her legs are covered by compresses. “Your fever is down, so I think we can remove them for good.”
“Good.” She watches him while he works, how his eyes never linger, his gaze dropping the moment he unwraps the last layer, fingers never brushing her skin once and then he drops the towels in the basin and tugs her feet back under the blanket. Perhaps she ought to be feeling more bashful about all this but the shame doesn’t come, and when he gives her a warm smile and the tips of his ears are a slightly brighter shade of pink, she pretends not to notice.
“Thank you.” For taking care of me, but she leaves that part unspoken.
“Any time,” he tells her, softly. “You should try to sleep.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
Siegfried is looking at her, his brows furrowed, so clearly debating with himself whether to say what’s going through his mind. Eventually, he does.
“Bad dreams?”
“From another lifetime,” she says quietly.
“Do you– do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “I hardly remember them.”
It’s not quite the truth, she remembers them better than what happened in between, the moments in which she’d drifted out of the blend of hallucinations and memories back into this room. She wonders how much of her dreams had spilled into reality, how much had spilled over her lips. He’s been here for most of the night, that much she remembers, bits and pieces, soothing words and cool towels on her forehead and –
“Did you hold me?” She asks, the words tumbling out before she can think better on it and she hears his breath hitch.
“Of course. I– I caught you when you fell.”
“No, I meant, here.” She fixes her eyes on the blanket. “Tonight.”
“Ah. Well, uh. I did.” It would have been easy for him to lie, convince her it’s only a figment of her imagination, just another thing she hallucinated. But he doesn’t, instead he picks at his hands awkwardly, waits for her reaction. “You had shivers, you see.”
“Oh.” She blinks, rapidly. Tries to remember it and when that doesn’t work, tries to imagine it, but that’s not the same. She lets out a huff of frustration, sees how his face falls.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I shouldn’t have, I thought it might – I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, I– Mr. Farnon… Siegfried.” She speaks up before he’s finished. Siegfried falls silent and she tries to organise her thoughts quickly, wringing her hands where they rest in her lap. “I don't mind.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head. “I think it must have been… nice. It helped. I just hardly remember it, is all.”
Siegfried looks at her, his brows furrowing, wheels in his mind spinning, and perhaps he picks up on the fact that it’s disappointment she feels, something she barely has time to wrap her mind around herself, and the wheels lock when he comes to the conclusion. He’s back by the side of the bed in three strides.
“Budge up,” he says and after she overcomes her initial surprise, she wriggles back to make room for him. The mattress dips when he lies down next to her, turning on the side to face her and between their bodies, he finds her hand, bringing it up and holding it to his chest.
“There, it was a bit like this.”
She rolls her lips between her teeth, feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I see.”
She’s known him for well over ten years but it’s now that she realises she has never, in all those years, seen him from this exact angle. Lying face to face like this feels perfectly ridiculous, and perfectly lovely, and a soft touch indecent. How strange it is, to have known someone for so long, know them inside out and still experience things that are entirely new. Her gaze wanders over his face and up close she can just see the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. “Oh, Siegfried. Did you sleep at all?”
The lines at the corners of his eyes, already heavy from the lack of sleep, deepen with tender amusement.
“There’s no need to worry, I’m used to sleepless nights, usually spent in a cold, draughty barn.”
“So this was a piece of cake then.”
“Exactly.”
She huffs, half-amused, half in disbelief. That one ever so unruly strand of hair falls over his forehead. She later blames it on the fever, the dreams which have churned up every bit of raw emotion she’d so carefully buried that she follows an impulse and lifts her hand, brushing it out of his eye. She only means it as a single act of service. But Siegfried’s lids flutter and close, so she continues, running her fingers through his hair, marvels at the texture, the way it catches the faint bit of light coming in through the window. It feels nice, soft, and heat rushes to her face when she suddenly remembers something and she pulls away with embarrassment. It takes him a moment to notice, his eyes open again and when he sees the blush on her face his expression grows curious, attentive.
It’s hopeless to think that she can hide anything when he’s so close she can make out individual eyelashes. She feels untethered. The fever is gone, she’s fully awake and she knows what’s real and what isn’t – knows it now, at least – but the feelings her dreams have evoked linger, stick to her like the sweat.
She drops her gaze to his collar, the dip of his throat, usually covered by a tie, or a scarf. There’s a collection of freckles there, and she traces them with her eyes.
“I always asked myself why I stayed with Robert as long as I did,” she confesses into the narrow space between them. “Told myself that I did it because it was the right thing to do. I made my vows, promised to be there in sickness and in health. I couldn’t simply abandon him, and I wanted to believe that he’d eventually get better if I put in just enough effort, took care of him, as best I knew how to.”
Her gaze darts up again and finds him watching her. It’s hard to say what it is he might be feeling, but if there is one thing she can always expect from him and can find in his expression now, too, is empathy, in abundance. Her Mr. Farnon, who is erratic, and spirited, and never violent.
“But you came back from the war. And Tris. My Edward. James. And you all carry scars, I can see that, but none of you became like him. So maybe it was just… him. Something he carried in him all along.”
She watches Siegfried’s Adam’s apple jump when he swallows, the muscles in his neck and jaw twitching.
“There’s nothing more you could have done for him. You already did more than would have been right to ask of you.” The words come out quietly, and with so much conviction they leave no room for doubt and she feels emotions well up in her, pushes them down. She has made so many excuses for Robert, has put so much blame on herself, wasted so much time. Her head begins to spin and suddenly, Siegfried’s hand closes around hers, anchors her, not for the first time tonight.
“You care, Audrey. You care so deeply. That's not a flaw. It would be hypocritical of me to say–” He looks away, searching for the right words somewhere over her shoulder. “Maybe you couldn't bring him back from the darkness, but you, uh, you certainly did that for me.”
“Siegfried.” It’s all she manages, overcome by his tender confession. It hangs in the air, and she could let it dissolve, like she so often does and he always lets her. Missing chances, wasting time.
The call of the seagulls echoes in her ears.
“I’m trying to learn how to care a little bit less,” she tells him and leans forward, pauses. Gauges his reaction and when she finds him watching her intently and with something akin to wonder, she closes the rest of the distance between them. His beard prickles against her lips when they connect with his cheek. It’s a simple, brief kiss, a short lingering before she draws back half-way, Siegfried’s shallow breath warm on her face.
“Audrey,” he murmurs, stunned. “Is this real?”
It’s too late for him to wonder if she’s fully awake, or perhaps if he is. And she knows it’s not what he means at all.
Either way, the answer is the same. Giving it feels like taking a breath she’s been holding.
“It’s real.”
This time it’s Siegfried leaning in first, and this time, his mouth finds hers, lips brushing softly against hers, once, twice. His hand comes up, fingers sliding over the back of her neck, then into her hair, curling, pulling her closer at the same time as the kisses find a rhythm, a soft, needy pressure, lips parting slightly, nipping at his lower lip, letting the tip of his tongue flick against hers. Breathing the air from her lungs into his mouth. She pulls away. Only as far as she can with his hand still cupping the nape of her neck.
“We shouldn’t be doing that. You could catch what I have.”
“I don’t care,” he mutters, and she can tell he doesn’t. Impossible man.
“Then you’re a fool, Siegfried Farnon.”
“Quite possibly.” Perhaps he would have taken it more seriously if she hadn’t said it quite so fondly. His hand leaves her neck and he brings it up, strokes a strand of hair behind her ear, tangled and sweaty, and she is once again reminded of the state she is in.
“What’s wrong?” Siegfried asks the second he sees her expression change.
She shakes her head, dismayed. “I must be a proper mess.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“Mr. Farnon, I have been soaking through these blankets for well over ten hours and I’m probably sticky from head to toe.”
“Aye,” Siegfried’s eyes gleam with amusement and also, something else, slightly more heated, before he pulls himself together. “Apart from the fact that your perception of that is most likely stronger than it is to anyone else, you know very well that it would hardly bother me and that in my line of work one cannot help but to develop a high tolerance for all sorts of– ”
“Alright, that’s enough comparing me to one of your animal patients for now.”
He laughs, runs his thumb over her cheekbone, smoothing out her half-playful frown and makes sure she looks at him when he says, “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Audrey Hall.”
She’s well aware that she hasn’t looked worse since… well, probably the week before Christmas, the night with the fox. But Siegfried looks at her like he really means it, like he doesn’t see. He really is an impossible man. She wriggles her arm free from where it’s lodged somewhere between them and places her hand on his forehead, like he'd done for her before and murmurs: “See, too late now, you’ve caught it, too.”
“A long time ago.”
She doesn’t know how she’ll do it, get used to the way he makes her feel. She envies him, the ease with which he turns the inner of his heart outward with nothing but a few simple words, when all she knows to express are words of encouragement and straight-forward truths, well-meaning and without frills, but not… this. But he doesn’t seem to mind, and spares her the response when he kisses her again, very softly, and then rolls back on his back and pulls her to him, her body fitting perfectly into the space between his chest and his arm.
“We don’t need to get up yet. We have at least half an hour more before the chaos begins anew, don’t you reckon?”
“I s’ppose,” she mutters, feeling her tiredness more now that she’s resting so comfortably. “Unless the telephone rings.”
“Or the doorbell.”
“Or the dogs demand their breakfast.”
“True. At least the little Herriots didn’t sleep over. Absolute rascals.”
She chuckles into his chest, snuggles closer and feels him wrap his arms tighter around her, holding her.
“I was right. This is nice.” She sighs, and thinks she could stay like this forever. Well, maybe not quite forever. “Need to change the sheets,” she mumbles.
“I will do that when you wake up again.”
“And bathe.”
“I’ll prepare that one, too.”
He’s determined and it’s endearing so she doesn’t argue. She feels his breath turn slow, his chest rising and falling and it’s almost comical how quickly he falls asleep. She knows he meant his offer with all his heart but she's fairly certain that she’ll be the one to wake up first anyway.
“And Siegfried?” He hums through his drowsiness. “There’s a mouse in the attic.”