Archive of Our Own

"Lock onto me," Granby called out, and thank heaven, Laurence did so. The added weight made Granby grit his teeth for a moment before the other midwingmen came forward, lifting them up to safety.

Granby had to gasp for breath, feeling almost like a green cadet seeing his first action. Christ in heaven, what Laurence had been thinking--but then, with that blasted strap there was nothing else to be done, although it would have been a disaster all around if Laurence had fallen--

The shock Granby felt was reflected in the rest of the crew, and no wonder, for seeing the death of a captain was nothing that any aviator wished to witness--and it was reflected in Laurence too. Granby could see him shaking ever so slightly, and he could hardly blame him. First action, and if it had been nerve-wracking for them, Lord only knew how Laurence felt about it.

But then, to all their surprise, Laurence took a breath and started to call out orders in a steady, sure voice. Granby gathered his wits with an effort, and made sure the orders were carried out; it was the least he could do, considering.

As Granby finished his report, he felt awkwardly compelled to add, "He was quite brave, actually." Unutterably foolish he felt, saying it out loud, but feeling still more that it ought to be said, must be said.

"Temeraire, you mean?" Celeritas asked.

Granby flushed. "Well, yes, of course--but I was actually referring to Captain Laurence."

Celertias snorted. "I am not surprised in the least; I have thought from nearly the beginning that Captain Laurence would be a credit to the service," and Granby unhappily shut his mouth, all too-aware that until then, he had thought the precise opposite.

The flush on his cheeks--curse it--had to be perfectly obvious to Celeritas, but he thankfully did not comment. And good thing too, for Granby would have died of embarrassment if he had. Celeitas merely added, "Thank you, Lieutenant, for giving me the report. Later, I must speak to Captain Laurence about assigning his flight crew; he and Maximus must be added to Lily's formation as soon as possible."

There was nothing for Granby to do but say, "Yes, sir," and walk off, heartily cursing himself for a blind idiot as he did.

He had convinced himself that he could not, would not serve underneath some stiff-necked Navy clodpole who'd stumbled onto an Imperial only by sheer blasted luck; it was a shock to realize that not only could Granby serve under such a man, he would be glad of the opportunity.

The same opportunity that he'd just deliberately and thoroughly mucked up beyond any hope of saving.

"--and then, as cool as you please, he's off giving us orders to see to Victoriatus as if he had not nearly cut straps--Granby, what is it he said again?" Before Granby could answer, Martin snapped his fingers and in a ridiculously exaggerated imitation of Laurence's voice, said, " 'Mr. Granby, would you be so good as to send someone up to Victoriatus's captain and see what assistance we can provide; we must take what precautions we can to prevent him from any further starts.' Could barely scrape my jaw up when I heard, you'd have thought we were in the middle of some blasted garden party."

Riggs shook his head, but in admiration. "Can't deny he's got nerve."

"Could have told any of you that much," Berkley grumped as he came in and sat down heavily next to Granby. "Perfectly obvious; not like he's new to combat after all." He shot a sideways look at Granby and asked, with his particular lack of tact, "What's wrong with you, Granby? You look like you've lost your best friend and your mother all in one day."

"Nothing," Granby started, but gave it up almost at once; he'd been puzzling and picking over the matter in his head until he felt he would burst with the need to talk it over with someone. "Nothing, except--oh Lord, I've been acting a proper fool."

"Over a woman?" Berkley asked, waving Tolly over as he did so.

"No, over Captain Laurence," Granby said without thinking, and was rewarded with two sharply raised eyebrows. He flushed red and said quickly, "No, I mean--I've been acting like a scrub and now--"

"Now you realize Laurence isn't the rotter you thought and that it'd be a fine thing to be on the crew of an Imperial, no matter where the captain came from?" Berkley finished flippantly and rolled his eyes. "Thought you'd see sense sooner or later--though I didn't think it'd take this long." He nodded his thanks to Tolly as the mug was brought over, and took a deep drink.

Granby winced, but admitted, "Well...yes, all right, that's true enough, but I mean, how the devil do I patch things up now? He was in a near-rage over some of the things I'd said--" and he winced all over again at the memory of it.

"Hah, I believe you about that," Berkley agreed cheerfully. "Got a proper temper when he's roused, I've seen it myself once or twice, although from what I can tell, it blazes up and then cools down fast enough. Although Lord knows you've been acting like a fool for a while now; might take him longer to forgive and forget."

Granby slumped even further in his seat. Berkley had been the one spending the most time with Laurence--aside from Rankin, of course, but damned if Granby would ask him for advice--and Berkley would know, if anyone.

Berkley frowned at him for a moment, then said in a gentler voice, "Don't fret over it too much; Laurence doesn't look like the sort to hold a grudge, and he knew coming in that he'd have to prove himself."

Granby nodded, but did not feel much comforted.

"...and just what are you doing, Hollin, fetching and carrying around for the captain anyhow? Have his legs been injured or is he just being lazy?"

This came at a lull in the conversation, so they all could not help but hear Hollin's reply, "No, but Temeraire has been injured, and so of course Captain Laurence does not like to leave him, even to eat or properly wash up--"

Granby sat up as the implications of what Hollin was saying became clear, and from the look of Riggs and some of the others, they had realized the same thing. Blast it all, none of them had thought to see to Laurence--

"Why," Harcourt said, the first one to speak in the general silence, "You mean to say he's been out there with Temeraire all this time?"

"Why, yes sir," Hollin said, turning around to face her. "By the look of things; I'll wager he hasn't seen a bed since the battle, much less any actual food--looks like death warmed over, in fact."

"Oh, good God," Granby muttered under his breath, wanting to kick himself all over again.

Berkley blinked at them in confusion, and then asked of them all, "Why the devil is anyone not seeing to him? Christ Almighty, you know what it's like; a wounded dragon, and it's their first time they've seen any action, how you expected anything different is beyond me."

"How were we to know?" Riggs burst out. "We all thought he was like--" and stopped abruptly, flushing as he did. Thankfully, Rankin was not in the room, off somewhere seeking more refined society, no doubt.

Berkley glared right back. "Well, clearly he's not; now get out there and drag the man into a proper bed before he gets a cough and dies, then Granby's heroics will have been for nothing and a proper spot we'll all be in."

None of them had needed to be told twice, and Granby chastised himself again once they'd gotten to the clearing and saw that Hollin's description of Laurence was an understatement. Before this, the man had never so much as bent to loosen his neckcloth and to see him in such a state of disarray was--disconcerting.

Granby stepped forward, horribly self-conscious all the while, but Laurence barely seemed aware of him, constantly stealing worried glances at the sleeping Temeraire. He finally agreed to the suggestion, albeit with obvious reluctance, and then departed, leaving the men to mutter among themselves that they certainly hadn't seen it coming, and an interesting turn of events it was, only went to show that Rankin's attitude was not to be understood at all, when even a sailor had better sense than to act so, and left Granby to puzzle out the proper way to apologize to Laurence for his behavior.

Normally, he'd just come right out with it and have done, but Lord knew how men in--in his station did it, how the proper way was, and normally Granby wouldn't have bothered with worrying over that, but--

But it was only just; he had done the greater wrong, and it should be him that was to bend. And if he were to bend, it should be done right, and with respect.

He got his chance sooner than he thought; for Laurence came back far earlier than any of them expected and called him aside. Granby followed, uneasy and wondering just how he was going to begin his apology, or if he would even get the chance to. Laurence of course was no help; the man's face was as unreadable as ever.

Thankfully, he came to the point soon enough. "Celeritas has asked me to name my officers," he explained, and Granby could not help but flush, somehow he did not think it quite proper to admit he already knew this. But as Laurence continued, Granby's head began to swim; he could not comprehend how it was possible that Laurence was actually offering him the post of first lieutenant, and yet he was. Moreover, he was giving Granby the chance to turn it down, should he so choose.

This then, was the perfect moment to speak, and Granby did, although he nearly mucked it up beyond anything by starting out with that dratted `sir'. He started over again, and it seemed to go right enough. "--I would be very glad of the opportunity," he finished awkwardly, feeling rather the fool.

Laurence inclined his head, and to Granby's utter relief, said, "Very good." But it wasn't, for Granby's conscience could not leave it at that, not when he had spent the entire day rethinking over his behavior and nearly writhing in shame, and a proper scrub he'd be if he said nothing.

So at last, although in reality it could have only been a few moments later, Granby burst out, almost not caring if it was the proper way to go about it, "I have to tell you how very sorry I am. I know I have been playing the scrub." Awkward, of course, and not at all properly worded--

--but that didn't seem to matter, for Laurence's eyes were suddenly softer, kinder than Granby had ever seen them--ever let himself see them, rather. It, along with the faint yet definitely pleased and surprised smile, made a wonderful difference to his face, and Granby could understand for the first time why Temeraire would have picked and stuck to this man above all others, why cadets like Roland and Dyer took to him, why Celeritas had no doubts about him.

"For my part, all is forgotten, I assure you, and I hope that henceforth we shall be better comrades than we have been."

For a moment, Granby's mind went blank. At last he spoke, his shock still clouding his mind and speech. "Laurence, this is outrageous. The fellow tried to murder you; we must do something." And when he said it, it sounded utterly outrageous, too outrageous to be believed. But believe it he must and did, and they had to act--

But Laurence, he could already see, was too foggy from exhaustion to understand; a soft sigh of "yes" was all the answer Granby received as he climbed into the cot and simply laid there, his limbs immediately relaxing, his eyes fluttering shut.

Granby stood there for a moment, still dumbstruck, then mechanically went over. Laurence's eyes were closed, and his breathing had already become steady. Granby looked around for a moment, then gently fished out the blanket from nearby and carefully settled it over Laurence's sleeping form.

Laurence made a soft sound, too quiet to even be called a murmur, and seemed to settle even more into the bedding. A wave of warmth rose up within Granby, and he squashed it ruthlessly; there was no other option.

It had been different, years before, with men like Dayes--at least then, Granby had the dubious excuse of being too young and idiotic to know better, but that excuse was gone now. Moreover, Granby had the advantage of hindsight, and could now say that Dayes was not half the man or officer that Laurence was, which made it all the more necessary to--

--which made it all the more harder to--

--to keep his control, his restraint.

Laurence's hair, usually tied back in a queue, had fanned out on the pillow, and his lashes stood out against his cheek. The lines around his face were softened, nearly completely gone, thanks to the combination of slumber and the dim lighting of the lamp. Granby looked for a moment longer despite himself, wanting, craving something he did not have the courage to put into words, not even in the safety of his own mind...

And if he did not loosen his hands from this blanket, it would be his undoing.

He pulled away at last, and groped for the light, and looked for only a moment more before making his way back up to the deck, for precautions would need to be made, and he was the one who would need to make them.

The men quickly grasped the import of what Granby was telling them, and their fury was scarcely to be contained. Indeed, Riggs' face had become so red from bottled anger Granby was half-afraid that if he was not allowed to storm into the prince's rooms and demand satisfaction on behalf of the entire crew, he might actually explode right then and there.

"Entirely out of order," Riggs said again, his fist clenching. "Sneaking around for an opportunity to stab him in the back, the bloody cowards--have half a mind to go over, thump every single one of them on the head and knock them all senseless."

"Can't be done," Granby said, although he had to admit, he was hard-pressed not to approve of the sentiment, for sitting around and doing nothing when Laurence had almost been assassinated, had nearly dropped off into the ocean and vanished was anathema, was torture.

But more than that, he could feel worry stealing in, past the righteous anger and outrage, worry and something colder, darker seeping through. Battle was one thing, when the face of the enemy was clear, and the rules of conduct even clearer. This was something entirely new, and entirely more terrifying.

"No," Granby said, remaining as calm as he could, "--we cannot take matters into our own hands without at least consulting the captain first, no other possible option."

"Sir, do you think we should have someone taste the captain's food before he eats it?" Digby suggested, flushing as he did so. "It's only--if they're going to stoop to kill a man when his back's turned, I don't think they're going to care how it's done, and they're hardly likely to stop now--"

"Good thinking, lad," Riggs said, cuffing him on the shoulder, but not unfriendly. "He's right, poison's not beneath these buggers--hell, I wouldn't put anything beneath them at this point--"

Granby puzzled it over in his head and finally had to disagree. "No, Laurence would never stand for it. You know he wouldn't; he'd have a proper fit at even the suggestion." Digby slumped, and Riggs glowered, but neither of them argued the point, which was just as well, for Granby had the sneaking suspicion that Laurence would be up in arms over the makeshift bodyguards alone, the suggestion of letting the men taste his food for him would most likely drive him to a state of apoplexy.

Just then, Roland came running forward, breathless. "It's Temeraire, sir, he's come back..." and Granby followed her small, pointing finger to see the telltale spread of black wings against the sky.

At this point, Granby was more than ready to take Riggs's suggestion of roundly thumping every single last blackguard on this ship, and Hammond the first among them.

Laurence was already headed towards the brandy when Granby came in, and who could blame him, Granby himself felt the need of a good strong drink, right after going back, thumping Hammond, and leaving that blasted Yongxing to Temeraire's not-so-tender mercies.

Too angry to care about slamming the door behind him, Granby burst out to Laurence, "I don't know that I have ever been more tempted to push a fellow's nose in for him. Laurence, Temeraire could translate for us, surely, if we brought the fellows up to him." And do a great deal more besides, for Granby would like to see the man who could stand up to an infuriated dragon without quailing in fear.

Handing Granby a glass without a word, Laurence went to look out the window. Granby stayed silent, and merely looked at the breadth of Laurence's shoulders underneath the green coat as he stood there, and tried to picture not knowing this man, not being able to look over and see him, standing as straight and as tall as he was right now. He couldn't picture it at all, wouldn't ever want to.

He knew what Laurence was going to say before Laurence said it, and that made it easier to bear, along with the knowledge that Laurence was right. And for once, this wasn't Laurence's stubbornness and disregard for his own life on display; this was cold logic, and the only way to retain any hope of the Corps keeping both Laurence and Temeraire.

And even though he had to at last agree, Granby could not help adding rebelliously, "...but I am damned if I like it."

"Indeed," Laurence said dryly, and the faint, amused smile on his face was the first one Granby had seen from him in days. It was a more than welcome sight.

There were times, Granby reflected pessimistically, and not for the first time, that it truly seemed that Laurence would not give a shilling to save his own skin. That was not entirely fair, he knew, it was not as if Laurence was completely reckless; Granby could not have respect for him if he was. It was a difficult thing, to fault a man for having too much courage, or for valuing the lives of others before his own, but blast it all to hell, Granby would be utterly remiss in his duties if he continued to say nothing.

Keynes had already said what the rest of the crew were no doubt thinking, more bluntly of course, but what else could be expected: "For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either."

And damned if it wasn't the truth, and damned if Granby had any idea what to do with it.

For one endless half-second, the sheer foolhardiness of Laurence's plan was enough to take Granby's breath away, and then--there was no other word for it--he simply exploded. As his uncle had been wont to say, enough was bloody well enough.

"No, this time I damned well put my foot down, Laurence," Granby swore, and ignoring Laurence's outraged expression, finished his declaration by turning to Temeraire and saying, "You are not to let him go, do you hear me? He is sure to be killed; I give you my word." All rank insubordination, of course, but if the Admiralty were to hear of this, not only would they approve, they would most likely give Granby and the men permission to tie Laurence up and hold him captive for his own good.

"Temeraire, this is plain exaggeration," Laurence countered sharply, and Granby was half-ready to yell with frustration, and then Laurence turned a dark eye towards him and said, with an ice-cold formality that Granby could never hope to imitate, "Mr. Granby, you overstate the case, and you overstep your bounds."

"Well, I don't," Granby shot back intemperately, for this was no exaggeration, and Laurence's plan was foolhardy and reckless, and damned if he would not say so and have his peace. "I have bit my tongue a dozen times over," and he had, and it was the memory of those times pushing him forward now, "--because I know it is wretched hard to sit about watching and you haven't been trained up to it, but you are a captain, and you must be careful of your neck. It isn't only your own but the Corps' affair if you snuff it, and mine too."

Tharkay stepped in, and not a moment too soon, for Laurence looked ready to boil over and no mistake, and offered himself up for service. A more rational plan by far, but Laurence's damned overblown sense of honor and duty would not let him take Tharkay up, although, Granby reflected pessimistically, that same sense of honor would let Laurence go off himself on a mission that was near-suicide. At this rate, Granby was starting to wonder how it was that Laurence had managed to live this long without getting himself killed; the more his mind dwelled on it, the more he thought it a miracle worthy of comment from the Church.

And in a corner of his mind, Granby knew he was--if not unreasonable, then perhaps not entirely rational about this either, but he could not help that, anymore that Temeraire could help his feelings of protectiveness towards Laurence.

He had seen Laurence choke on smoke and reel back with a dagger in his flesh, had caught Laurence in his arms and wrapped his fingers around that same blade and pulled it out. It was his duty to keep Laurence safe, and if duty and inclination happened to meet here, then so be it.

"Temeraire, I assure you that the mission will be as easy as possible, and if I did not go, then another man would have to risk himself in my place."

"Another man wouldn't be the captain," Granby pointed out, and Laurence fixed him with a baleful gaze, but Temeraire was already bobbing his head in agreement.

"That's true, Laurence, and Granby is right, and why can't someone else go in your place, I am sure that none of them would mind."

"Because I will not send my men on a task that I was afraid to do myself, I will not do such a thing, and that is an end of it," Laurence said, and there was a new tone in his voice, one that said, Granby realized with a feeling of dismay, that here argument would do no good, for on this Laurence's mind was fixed.

Temeraire seemed to realize this as well, for he said, "Well, all right then, but can you at least not take Granby along with you?"

"That would suit me marvelously well, Temeraire, thank you," Granby said easily before Laurence could protest, and there, at least this was something.

Laurence still looked dark, but Granby could not give a fig for that; someone had to be reasonable, and if Laurence would not, then Granby would have to be for them both. Although if the truth had to be told, the last thing Granby had been feeling throughout this entire blasted argument was reasonable. Aggravated, certainly.

"Yes, yes, very well then," Laurence yielded at last, and if it was not the most gracious assent, it was still a victory. "Mr. Granby--" and damn, they were still at that, not even Granby, much less John, "a word, if you would be so kind."

Temeraire's ruff pricked up at this, curiosity no doubt, and he looked from one to the other. Laurence's face was studiously blank, and Granby sighed to himself--here was a mess.

But he had never been the sort to walk away from an argument, and he would not start now.

"Mr. Granby," Laurence began, in a measured voice, once they were far enough away from the rest to ensure that their voices could not be overheard, "I will not brook the suggestion that it is proper to send my men into a dangerous situation where I am afraid to go myself--"

"Oh, bollocks," Granby shot back, heated all over again. "Laurence, there is not a man here who would question your courage--your sanity however might well be up for debate," he added, reckless, and Granby knew Laurence was gritting his teeth, and good. If they were going to be having this discussion, he was not going to be the only one who was left frustrated.

"If you would only stop and consider the possibilities," Granby insisted, "--imagine what would happen if you were killed--Temeraire's misery, our misery--and even supposing I could get us back to England safe and sound, exactly how am I supposed to explain to the Admiralty how I got the captain of one of our most valuable dragons killed?"

"There are a thousand and one dangers that face all the men here," Laurence shot back, his eyes flashing. "--and I have asked every last one of them to do their duty; how then can I not do mine?"

And with that, Granby lost his temper. "Laurence," he said fiercely, gripping the other man's arm. Laurence looked from his arm to Granby's face, clearly shocked, but Granby was beyond caring. "There is not a man here--myself included--that would not follow you to the gates of hell if it were not necessary. And it is our duty, blast it, to see that you do not get yourself killed, now if you would be so kind as to let us do it!"

Laurence's mouth actually had fallen open at Granby's outburst, one of the few times he'd seen Laurence so plainly discomfited. Granby quickly pulled back, straightening his coat, and not wanting to look Laurence in the face just then.

But then Laurence's eyes narrowed a little, and he said, drier than the desert that currently surrounded them, "Well, God forbid I should stand in the way of your duty, then."

Granby blinked, then said, sounding rather tart even to his ears, "Indeed."

There was that faintly amused--yet rather marvelously transformative smile again, and then Laurence went back to Temeraire, reassuring him once again of their plan's merits. Granby followed, just as he had done before, and would always do.

Granby's first impulse was to pull Laurence into a rough embrace, disastrous idea, of course, so he had to settle for pumping Laurence's hand as vigorously as he could.

Laurence looked rather dazed, thinner and more drawn than Granby had ever seen him, but that was only to be expected, and he kept looking around at all of them, Catherine and Berkley and Admiral Roland and Granby himself, but most of all at his father, who had scarce gone more than a step away from Laurence's side since the chains had been let loose. "Forgive me, I do not understand," Laurence said again, sounding rather desperate. "How on God's green earth did--"

"Oh, come now Laurence, surely you didn't expect us to do nothing," Berkley snorted. "Hah! Should like to see myself do it--and it was all easy enough, once we had the newspapers on our side--"

"Newspapers?" Laurence echoed, looking thoroughly gobsmacked.

"Never underestimate the power of a free press," Granby said as solemnly as he could, which wasn't very, and then had to add, "--especially when you have them doing what you want." Rather irreverent, especially in front of the earl, but who could blame him, when they had all been suddenly lifted from the nightmare of Laurence locked away, awaiting the hangman's noose? Irreverent? It was a bloody wonder Granby had not turning into a raving madman.

Roland took Laurence by the arm, her face alight, but said only, "Come Laurence, I believe there is a dragon who is most anxious to see you."

It was amazing, the transformation that had taken place, not just with them but with the entire covert--a sudden lifting of spirits everywhere. Everyone was coming forward on the way to the clearing, and there was always someone coming forward to shake Laurence's hand, or clap him on the shoulder, or say that they would have done exactly the same, had they been in Laurence's place.

And yet--and yet Laurence seemed to almost flinch at every clap on the shoulder or congratulating word. But that must have been a trick of Granby's imagination. He did look weary though, and then they finally saw the telltale black hide, and Temeraire was approaching them, and Laurence was running forward, and the smile on his face was more brilliant than the sun.

And that, by all rights, was where it should have ended.

And yet, it didn't. In all those months, Granby's imagination had stopped before this. He had been too busy, with hope and fear and worry, to wonder what would happen, not when the future had seemed so uncertain. He'd kept himself busy, offering his assistance to anyone who could possibly need it--Lord Allendale, Sir Edward Howe, Wilberforce and the other abolitionists--because the Admiralty would not let any of them visit Laurence in prison, and he'd had to keep himself occupied, or else run mad and commit mutiny. This, as tempting as it had seemed, would not have helped Laurence in the slightest.

He hadn't thought about what would happen after, and Granby was starting to wish he had; perhaps then he would have been more prepared for it.

None of them expected Laurence to be the same as before, not exactly--but Granby was not imagining that Laurence was avoiding him, was avoiding all of them--Harcourt and Berkley and Chenery and the rest. Instead, he spent most of his time with Temeraire, or walking about the covert in the company of his mother and father, and occasionally Roland.

Granby would be a liar if he did not feel hurt by this, but he tried to push it aside. But that was not all, for even with the little he did see of Laurence, Granby could tell that the man was not--not the same as before, even as a healthy color returned to his cheeks and he slowly regained the weight he had lost. There was a shadow in Laurence's eyes that never seemed to dissapate, and it nagged at Granby more and more.

"Do not take it personally," Berkley said when Granby had broached the subject. He waved a hand and said with a sigh, "The fact of the matter is, the thing we've all kept dancing around like a bunch of fools, is that Laurence committed treason--" Berkley held up a hand, "--and do not look at me like that, Granby, Lord knows I only hope I have the guts to do what Laurence did, I am not censoring him at all, but that doesn't change the truth--he committed treason, even if it was for the right reasons and the greater good. He left England--"

"And he returned," Granby immediately returned, furious. "He came back--"

"He came back expecting to die, Granby," Berkley said, his voice firm and strong, "and I am sorry to have to be the one to say it, but it's the truth. He came back expecting to be led up to the gallows and hung for his actions, he has spent these last months in jail expecting the hangman's noose at any moment, and no man can be expected to shake that off easily, not even Laurence. Especially not Laurence."

And Granby knew he was right.

Berkley stared at his mug for a moment, and then said, gentler than before, "Don't fret over Laurence too much; he's not at all the sort to languish forever in melancholy, far from it. Just give him some time to sort things out."

It was good sound advice, the sort that Granby ought to follow; he had no idea why it would make him feel more discontent than ever.

Granby resolved to be patient, to wait, so it was an utter shock to go to Iskierka's pavillion one evening and find her in conversation with Laurence himself. She turned her head at Granby's approach and said happily, "Hello, Granby, Laurence has just been asking me about all the ships we have won, and I have been telling him that I wish to build an even bigger pavillion than this, with more jewels this time."

"Lord help the French fleet then," Granby said automatically. "--you'll have them all ablaze within a week. Laurence--"

Laurence had turned as well, a faint smile on his face. "Captain," he said, with a faint nod. Granby did not know how to read this in the slightest, and his bemusement must have shown on his face, for Laurence added, with a faint tinge of embarrasment, "I was trying to discover your whereabouts, and thought you might be here with Iskierka, and I'm afraid I lost track of the time; she has been good enough to fill me in on what I have missed."

"Yes," Iskierka said, nodding, "--because he has been in prison all this time, and has missed so much--I have been telling him all about how we were fighting with that stupid Admiralty to get him released."

Granby blinked. "Have you now?"

"Oh, yes," she said in a tone of satisfaction. "Do you know he had no idea what the newspapers were writing about him all this time?" Granby did not fail to note the flush on Laurence's cheeks, and hastily changed the subject.

As they walked away from the pavilion, the silence between them was oppressive, until Granby broke it with, "I trust your parents are doing well?"

Laurence quickly responded. "Oh, yes, quite well. My mother--well, she has become quite taken with Temeraire, apparently she has been reading Shakespeare to him all this time."

Granby fought a smile; he already knew this, of course, but it was good to be able to talk about something with Laurence at last. "And how is that going, may I ask?"

"Oh, reasonably well--he likes the sonnets, but is quite aggravated at some of the plays. Hamlet had him so provoked I had to thank the heavens he was not born a Kazilik, otherwise he would have set the book ablaze, and my poor mother along with it."

The image was too much to resist; he shared a look with Laurence and they immediately burst out laughing. After that, the conversation flowed easily enough until they reached Granby's quarters. Once inside, they fell silent again, and Granby could only look at Laurence--realizing, with a strong sense of shock, that there was a touch of grey at the temples now, that the lines around his eyes were more set than ever.

He did not know what to say at all; thank heaven that Laurence, after looking around the room, said at last, hesitant, "I know that I have been acting rather oddly of late--"

"Do not worry over it," Granby said quickly. "Only--you are all right, aren't you?" The question was far too blunt, of course, but Granby could not help but think of Berkley's warning about Laurence expecting death for the last few months, and it was the only question he could think to ask, the only question, in all truth, he wanted to ask.

Laurence appeared to consider it seriously, then admitted, "I am...mostly, at least, it is just rather hard to--to adjust. I find myself at sea so often."

Granby nodded, and then, because it seemed like the thing to do, "Would you care for a drink?"

A faint uplifting of the mouth, and Laurence said, "Yes, please, that would be excellent."

The conversation went by fits and starts at times, other times it flowed as smooth as silk. Laurence listened to Granby's tales of Iskierka and the prizes she had won, and Granby did not think he was deluding himself in believing that a spark was slowly returning to Laurence's eyes as they talked.

Laurence, in turn, spoke easily of his parents, how his father had seemed to become resigned to having a scandal-ridden son, and Granby, remembering the earl's fierceness with the Admiralty in the dark days of Laurence's imprisonment, held his tongue.

The one blunder Granby made was when he asked after Admiral Roland, for Laurence looked down at his glass and admitted after a long moment, that Granby would probably have better knowledge of her than he would at the moment.

At Granby's look of surprise, Laurence explained, "Oh, it is nothing dreadful, far from it, only that I have asked of her more than she can give, and she has refused, as is her right. I have no doubt I am being rather foolish about the whole thing, but--we have agreed to part, for the time being, in order to save our friendship."

"I am truly sorry to hear it," Granby said after a moment, gripping Laurence's shoulder.

Laurence waved him off. "It is all right, no lasting harm done, I assure you."

And so the night went on, and they kept drinking and talking, until both of them were rather unsteady on their feet. Laurence, who had been walking about the room, settled on the bed and said, after a moment, "Did you know that they have been writing about me in the newspapers?"

Granby nodded, surprised by the change in subject, and Laurence shook his head. "Sometimes I think either the world has gone mad, or I have," he said at last, "--and either way, it is not a comforting thought."

Granby stayed silent; it seemed the best course of action, under the circumstances, and Laurence went on, his voice soft, almost wandering, eyes far away.

"It--I cannot understand it," he admitted, staring off into the distance. "To be applauded for my actions, and why, I cannot fathom, no, not in the slightest." There was real bewilderment in his tone, and his voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. "I do not regret doing it, no--but I wish to God it had not been necessary, and now--now I do not know where to go from here. The Admiralty will not trust me again with orders, not when they think I will break them on a whim, and I cannot leave England again, not when there is so much to be done, much less abandon all of you, and so here I am, at a complete loss." He lay back on the bed, looking more dazed than Granby had ever seen him, and Granby had the feeling that he was not really there at all...perhaps back in France, or in that small cell.

He looked, in short, more dismal and lost than ever before, and Granby could not bear it.

Pulling his chair close, Granby hesitated for a moment, then touched Laurence on the shoulder, leaning in as he did.

"You must know," Granby started, halting, petrified, "--you must know that I--that none of us wished to see--you have been one of the finest men I have ever served under." And here Granby could admit that saving Laurence had had nothing to with the good of the service, or even about Temeraire--it had been for Laurence, and for Granby himself, because he could not bear the thought of Laurence dead and dishonored.

Laurence was looking up at him, completely pole-axed, and perversely enough that gave Granby courage. "And all this talk of treason was perfect nonsense--stupidest thing I ever heard of. If anything, you've saved England from the blackest kind of dishonor. Fifty years from now, history will sing your praises."

"Yes, but right now the Admiralty is with one voice damning me straight to hell," Laurence said, but there was humor in his voice, and his eyes were brighter now, none of that awful hollowed-out look in them anymore. "Thank you, John. For--for everything that you--"

"Think nothing of it," Granby said quickly, suddenly all-too aware of the situation, the dim, warm lighting, Laurence lying on the bed with his neckcloth undone. To have Laurence here, like this--it was the most maddening sort of temptation.

"But I do think of it," Laurence insisted. "I think of it highly, John, and of you."

Granby shifted in the chair and straightened his back, as a warning to himself for restraint. "I--" he started, but Laurence would not let him finish, was instead, Granby realized with a vague sense of doom, gripping his forearm with one strong, warm hand.

"You do not need to thank me, Laurence," Granby said at last, staring, tranfixed, at the sight of Laurence's hand on his arm. He looked up, feeling--God only knew what, and finished in a low voice, "Not for this, not for anything."

Laurence's eyes were on his face, and he nodded slightly, his gaze never tearing away.

Later, Granby could never be sure of who, precisely, had moved first, suddenly Laurence was rising up and Granby was leaning down, and before he could convince himself not to--

--their mouths met, and Granby was lost. For Laurence's mouth was cool, and sweet, and Granby could taste the tang of the sea, and all he could do was grip Laurence tight and hold on as hard as he could.

When Laurence pulled away at last, gasping out, "John, John, we shouldn't--" it was Granby who pulled him back, muttering, "Let me...please, let me..."

And to Granby's ever-lasting surprise, Laurence did just that, and pulled him close once again.

During the night, there were things that Granby marvelled at--the strength in Laurence's body, how careful and steady he was throughout, how soft his mouth felt. There were other things that made Granby ache--the scars that ran along Laurence's shoulders and back, the grey in his hair, how thin he still was.

In the end, the night passed like a dream--unreal, fever-quick, and over all too soon.

And in the morning, Granby woke up to sunlight and an empty bed, and no sign that it had ever happened at all.

Granby spent the entire morning in a daze, ignoring the curious looks of everyone, and alternately hoped to find Laurence and prayed he'd never have to look in his face again. Feeling the fool, he looked around, but Laurence was nowhere at all--not in Temeraire's clearing, nor in his quarters--at last, Granby had to return to his own, only to find Laurence waiting there for him.

Granby gaped for a moment, seeing Laurence there, it was as if looking at an apparation. He hastily closed the door behind him and said, nearly stammering, "Sir...Laurence--"

"John," Laurence started, and then fell silent, looking nearly as awkward as Granby felt himself.

Granby took a breath, this was nearly unbearable, and something had to be said. "Captain, I must humbly beg pardon if I have caused any offense," he began, feeling as if being drawn and quartered would be less painful than this, "--or if I have presumed--"

But Laurence was waving him off, and saying quickly, "No, no, none of that, please, I beg you--indeed, it is I who should be begging pardon," and Granby could do nothing but gape, thank heaven Laurence was looking away at the moment, and so did not see Granby looking like a halfwit. Instead, he was frowning down at his hands, and admitting in a low voice, "Ever since--since I returned--it is if I have been set adrift, as if the entire world is changing around me, and I am too slow to change with it."

And the sadness in his voice was too much for Granby to bear, and all he could do was go over, reach out and grip Laurence's hand and hold on with all his strength. And "No," was all Granby's hoarse voice could manage, lest it crack, but he put all he had into the word, every scrap of feeling he had for William Laurence.

Laurence finally looked at him then, and Granby's heart was near to stopping in his chest when he realized what was in Laurence's face: hope. "I am afraid," Laurence said at last, "--that I have been blundering rather badly until now, but if you still have the patience to deal with me--"

There were many things Granby wanted to do--let out a whoop of sheer joy, for example--but the only reasonable response was to answer Laurence the best way he knew how.

And once again, Laurence's mouth was cool and sweet, and Granby would swear that he almost tasted the sea.

When he pulled away at last, Laurence looked flushed and amazed, and Granby had no choice but to smile.

"For you," Granby said, half-laughing with relief as he did so, "I have all the patience in the world."

And we'll drink and be merry and drown melancholy,
singing, Here's a good health to all true-hearted souls.
(Farewell To You, Ye Fine Spanish Ladies)