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I've barely been home a month when Percy finds me huddled behind a bush in the garden, trying to think up a story for my swollen wrist that doesn't involve a slap from my father or a stumble into the stair railing. He crawls in beside me, squeezing his long limbs into the small space without a word. I rest my head on his shoulder, thankful that at least one cheek remains unbruised, and he puts an arm around my back. I don't cry, though I desperately want to.
"I wish I was dead." It comes out before I can stop it, though I'm not sure I would have.
"Don't. Don't wish you were dead; you can't be dead. Here; here's... Monty, darling, please look at me. Here's five reasons not to be dead." Just like last time, Percy's got a hand held up between us, fingers splayed. "One. If you die right now, it will be bloody inconvenient getting your body out from behind this bush. I'm not even sure how you wedged yourself in here, and I don't want to ruin my clothes getting your corpse out. Two. Your father has a party coming up, and I'm going to be expected to attend, and you can't abandon me before that party. If I don't have you to get foxed with, I'll have to sulk with Felicity and it will be a waste of what could be a perfectly chaotic evening. Three. You've a bit of a black eye, and if you die now, your ghost will have a black eye."
"My ghost would look positively piratical."
"Your ghost would look hurt, darling. You couldn't use cosmetics to cover a ghost bruise; it would mar your complexion. Four. Felicity told me yesterday that she's become the taller sibling, and that you will never be taller than her again, and so you've got to stick around until she's old and hunched so that you can be taller than she is again. And five. Don't be dead because I need someone to hide in bushes with and get foxed with and have adventures with. It would be bloody inconvenient to find a new best friend after all these years, especially since the good ones are all taken. I'd have to settle for some shabbaroon like Richard Peele."
"I hate Richard Peele."
"Monty, darling, we hate Richard Peele. We hate him together, because we're best friends and you're not dead. But we can't both hate him if you're dead, so don't. Don't be dead, alright?"
"Alright."
Percy's arms wrap around me then, and I move my head to his chest and give up on trying to come up with a lie about my wrist. I give up on thinking about much of anything other than how wonderful it feels to be so close to him, and to hear his heartbeat, and to have a tiny corner of the world that is our own.
-
The next time he finds me it's late, and I'm in bed, the bottle in my hand helping to numb the pain everywhere else. My window opens, and Percy climbs in. I let him take the empty bottle, my fingers wrapping around his wrist instead. He doesn't say anything, just sits on the bed and lifts my head into his lap, careful not to jostle me too much as he begins to pet my hair. One of my eyes is swollen mostly shut, and the room is so dark that the other is mostly useless anyway. I can't see more than shadows, which I suppose is good, because it means Percy can't tell how badly I've been hurt. He can't worry about what he can't see.
"I wish... I wish I was dead." I'll blame that confession on the drink. Percy's breath hitches for a second, then the wrist I'm holding shifts, and suddenly my fingers are fitting into the gaps between his.
"Here's five reasons not to be. One." A finger folds down to hold my hand a bit, sending an entirely new sensation through me that is much more pleasant than the drink. "We've just started to plan a Grand Tour, and a Tour without you on it would not be worth attending, so if you die all that planning will go to waste and we will have lost an opportunity to spend a year together on the continent. Two." Another finger folds down. "It would give Richard Peele immense satisfaction to outlive you, and you cannot give him that satisfaction."
"I hate Richard Peele," I mumble, mostly to hear him reply. "WE hate Richard Peele." I chuckle a bit at that, though I'm not sure if it sounds more like a laugh, a sob, or a mix of both. Percy doesn't comment.
"Three. Don't be dead because last time I was doing poorly, you promised you'd come by and read to me next time I'm not feeling well, and I'm so looking forward to it that I've considered faking an illness just to get you to myself for an afternoon. Four." His hand is almost entirely closed around mine now. "We're still undecided about who is the better whist player, and it would be hollow to defeat you only because you're dead and not because I'm clearly the better player."
"Are not."
"Of course I am. And five." His fingers close around my hand and he squeezes. I am so distracted by that little squeeze that I nearly miss reason number five. "Don't be dead because when we were six and Mrs. Peele said Richard couldn't play with me because I had dark skin, you promised you'd always play with me. You promised you wouldn't leave me alone, and you can't break that promise now."
I realize suddenly that I'm crying. I'm not sure when it started, or how long Percy has been quietly, blessedly ignoring my tears. "I think... I think maybe I'm drunk," I say, sniffling a bit. Percy smiles, and I hear it in his voice more than I see it in the darkness.
"I think maybe you are." There's a sigh, and he squeezes my hand again. "I'm sorry I can't do anything to help."
"You can. You do. You... you do help. Being here helps."
Percy leans down to rest his forehead on mine, and we are so close. Even in the darkness, I can make out the freckles scattered across his nose, little stars bringing light to the darkest parts of my life. I fall asleep trying to count them. When I wake in the morning I find Percy asleep sitting up, leaning against the wall and cradling my head in his lap.
-
The next time, I'm hiding not because anything's happened, but because I know it's coming, and that is almost worse. I'm tucked away in an upstairs bedroom, the sounds of the party drifting up through the floorboards. I've been stupid. I knew my father was keeping a close eye on me, but he'd seemed distracted, and I'd certainly been distracted by a lovely pair of brown eyes across the room. Those lovely eyes belong to an even lovelier face, which unfortunately belongs to a boy, and while he was charmed my father was less than happy. I'd caught his glare across the room full force and fled, but by then it was too late. My only hope now is to hide, doing my best to prolong the inevitable. Percy finds me cowering behind a bed, my hands shaking and my breath ragged as I try to forget what's coming. He sits down, takes one of my shaking hands in his, and gives it a little squeeze. His thumb rubs the back of my hand gently, and I take a deep breath.
"I... I'm sorry I left. You said not to abandon you, but I--"
"It's alright. I'm sorry I waited to come find you. I thought you'd gone off with Fitz until I saw him talking to someone else, and by then it had been a few minutes at least. What's on your mind?"
"Oh, just... just wishing I was dead." I'm going to be at least half dead by morning, though I can't tell him that. It won't change anything, and it will just worry him. Besides, I know by now that being dead would be the easy way out, and I don't deserve an escape as easy as dying. Hell itself would probably spit me out and send me right back here to do my time, though they'd send Percy away to cement the torture.
"Don't do that. Don't wish you were dead. Here's five reasons not to wish you were dead. One." He taps my knee with a finger of his free hand. "Fitz downstairs was most certainly interested in you, and you were interested in him, and you could try again sometime. Perhaps somewhere less public next time your father goes to London."
I won't dare go near lovely, brown-eyed Fitz again, but the idea of him being interested in me is nice.
"Two." Another tap on my knee. "We're two weeks away from our Grand Tour. If you die, you'll miss Paris, and Italy, and an entire year on the Continent for the two of us to enjoy with barely any supervision."
That does help, probably more than he knows. It will be an entire year without my father.
"Three." Three fingers on my knee, and is he moving closer? "I need to be able to write to someone while I'm in Holland for school, or it will drive me crazy. If I can't write you I'll have to write Felicity or my aunt and uncle, and their letters will be nowhere near as colorful as yours. Without the joy and the filth of your letters, the pressures of law school will be sure to drag me under."
Right. Law school. After our tour, Percy will be leaving, but before I can dwell on it, four fingers tap my knee. "Four. If you die and I go to Holland, there will be no one left in Cheshire to hate Richard Peele."
"I hate Richard Peele." I'm not crying anymore, and my shaking has stopped. Percy's nearly calmed me down, and I can hear him smile as he says, "We hate Richard Peele. And five." His whole hand closes around my knee. "Don't be dead, because I would very much like to explore the continent with you, and to keep chasing you into dark corners and pulling you out of whatever trouble you manage to get yourself into. I've grown rather fond of looking after you and all of your shenanigans and disasters."
Well. Sorting out what exactly that means will be an emotional adventure, but it's an adventure for Monty of the Future. Monty of the Present is overcome with a wave of exhaustion, and when I slump against Percy, he squeezes my hand and helps me into bed. He stays until I fall asleep, and when I wake up, there's a note in his handwriting in my pocket: 'Don't be dead'.
-
The last time Percy comforts me, at least while we're at home, is the night before our tour. We're out together, but after a certain number of drinks, I'm somehow reminded of everything I'm drinking to forget. After this tour, after a single year of fun and shenanigans on the continent with Percy, I'll be settling down and resigning myself to a lifetime of hell in a home full of ghosts. Somehow, that's the best case scenario, possible only if the Goblin doesn't take my place, leaving me worthless and alone with no resources and fewer useful skills.
Percy finds me in the corner of the pub, staring hard at my reflection in a cup of wine and trying to spot a single thing worth loving.
"Monty, why in the world are you hiding over here when there is a lovely girl across the room just waiting for you to sweep her off her feet?"
"Because I... I've had too much, or maybe not enough, but either way the exact amount of alcohol I've had is making me rather want to be dead."
"Well, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't be dead. Because... shit. Because I am drunk, give me a minute. One." He likely means to hold his finger in front of me, but he ends up hitting my nose with it. It's so strange for him to be uncoordinated that it alone is enough to make me smile a bit.
"Because there really is a very pretty girl across the room who has had eyes for you all night. Pretty brown ones, too; those are your favorite." My favorite color of eyes is not this girl's shade of brown (it's Percy's exact shade of brown), but I can let that slide. Harder to let slide is Percy trying to set me up with someone else. It might be sweet, were I not irrevocably and totally in love with him.
"Two." This time he has more success holding his fingers up at a reasonable distance from my face. "Because the solution to this is clearly to drink more, and then to forget about wishing you were dead and celebrate our last night here together. Three. Richard Peele is over by the pool table, and I believe I am just drunk enough to consider joining him in a game in which I am very clumsy with my cue."
"I'd like to see that. I hate--"
" WE hate Richard Peele!" Percy's smiling, and it's got me smiling again. He holds up another finger, putting an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "Four. Because we won't have to see anyone we hate for a whole year after tonight."
"We'll be traveling with Felicity."
"Yes, but we don't hate her. We are annoyed by her sometimes and dislike her occasionally. Five. Don't be dead because our tour is tomorrow, and we've got to make it the best tour the world has ever seen. A... a last party before we grow up and... and settle into our adult lives. Before I go to Holland and you get estate training and we have to... to deal with all of that. We need to have the best damn tour this world has ever seen. So drink up, and forget wanting to die, and live for a tour to remember."
My head is resting on his shoulder, and when he hands me a drink, a bit spills on his sleeve. He doesn't say anything, but when he moves his arm and ruffles my hair, I sit up. He nods toward the girl across the room. She really is pretty, though no one could hold a candle to Percy's brilliance.
"Go get her, corgi," he tells me, patting my back in what I can only assume is meant to be an encouraging fashion. I nod, take another swig in hopes that I'll forget Percy is desperately trying to set me up with someone else, and put off wanting to die until the end of our tour.
-
With all the times I've told Percy I want to be dead, I'm not sure if he's ever truly been afraid for my life. If he has, and I've made him feel this afraid that many times, I have quite a bit of apologizing to do.
We're exploring Santorini, walking close enough to each other that the backs of our hands brush. I'm trying to work up the courage to lace my fingers through his when Percy stops so suddenly I'm a few paces ahead of him before I turn.
"Monty, I'm... I'm going to have a fit." He's scared, and we're alone. I have to be the one to do something, despite still being bloody incompetent regarding anything of this nature.
"Right. Okay, let's... come here." I take his hand, more from necessity than affection, though I'd be lying if I said the little squeeze he gives me isn't worth the world. He's trusting me, for some reason, and I can't let him down. I lead the way down a narrow side street and duck behind a building, then sit. Percy follows my lead, and I pat my lap. "Put your head here, and... and lie down so you don't fall, and it'll be alright. I'll look out for you until it's over."
I pray to whatever god may be out there that he can't hear how scared I am. My voice is shaking, but I'm doing my best to hide it, and he's distracted. Maybe that's enough that he won't be able to tell. I just hope I'm not making things worse. He lies down, and I take his hand again, giving it a little squeeze to reassure the both of us.
"It'll be okay. Just... it's just a fit, and it'll happen and then it'll be over, and we'll go back to our room and rest. I'll stay here, so you won't be alone, and it'll be okay. You've had fits before, and Felicity says they're not dangerous, so it'll be alright." I'm not entirely sure who my rambling is supposed to reassure. He closes his eyes, tightly, and his whole body goes rigid. I keep hold of his hand as he convulses, and it's awful, it truly is. I have a feeling that no matter how many times I see this, it will never get any easier to see the man I love in so much pain and be forced to sit by helplessly. I want to run for Felicity, or maybe Scipio, or someone who can handle this better than I can, because I am probably the worst person in the world to be watching out for him. I'm as likely to faint myself as be any help, but I stay, cradling his head and brushing his hair back gently, until his body goes limp. He rolls just enough that when he vomits, it's not in my lap, but his eyes stay closed, his breathing labored as he rolls back and lies still. After what feels like years, I fish smelling salts out of my pocket and wave them in front of his nose, but they don't seem to have any effect.
"Percy? God, Percy, you're not... you can't... don't be dead. You can't be dead. I won't allow it; I'll be very angry with you if you're dead. What's... here, like you always say for me, five reasons you can't be dead." He's clutching one of my hands tightly, though I'm not sure if that's a conscious choice or an after effect of the fit. I hope it's conscious and count on my other hand, holding it out for him to see when he wakes up and opens his eyes. "One. Because this... this is just a fit, and you've had fits before and you say they don't really hurt, and Felicity says they're not dangerous on their own, so they... they can't kill you. They can't. You can't die on the first fit I'm trying to help with, you just... you can't. Don't. Please. Having... having a fit can't kill you, so that's reason one you can't be dead. Reason two, because we've just gotten free of everything and started having a life together, a real, happy life, and I can't... I can't have that life with you if you're dead. Don't be dead because we need to live a life together. Three, um, you always say something about Richard Peele so we can hate him together and laugh, so you can't be dead because we just ran away from Richard Peele. We can finally live a Peele-free life. We're building a life together without Richard Peele in it, and if you're dead you won't get to enjoy it."
"I hate Richard Peele." Percy's voice is quiet and slurred, but it's the best thing I've ever heard. Something between a laugh and a sob escapes my mouth as I bend to kiss his forehead.
"We hate Richard Peele, darling. How are you... you're going to be okay. And if you're not, that's okay too because we can figure that out together. Do you think you can get up? If you can't I can help, and we'll go back to the room to rest."
"You're not done. With the list. When... when you're done, we can go."
"Right, the list. Um, okay. Four." I squeeze his hand, and a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. "You can't be dead because you promised Felicity that you'd look after my ear while it heals, and it hasn't grown back yet, which means it's not healed. That means you've got to keep looking after me, so you can't be dead or you'd be breaking your promise to Felicity, and she would probably kill you again for that. And five, I told my father that we would be making a wonderful life together, so you can't die before we do. He would like nothing more than for our life together to fall apart before we've even properly built it, and you dying would certainly hurt our plans. If you die it would make my father happy, so you can't die, alright? If nothing else, keep living just to hurt my father. Don't... don't be dead, because that's what he wants."
He's really smiling now, and he gives my hand a little squeeze before he opens those gorgeous brown eyes of his and says, "Hello, darling." For a moment, I forget how to breathe, losing myself in his eyes, and the feeling of his hand in mine, and the closeness of our faces.
"Welcome back. How... how do you... feel?" It isn't the worst question I could have asked, but it still feels like a stupid thing to say. Half of the things I say about his fits feel stupid, though I swear every time that I'm trying.
"I feel... I feel tired, and stiff, but not... compared to other times, it isn't bad. I didn't fall, or hit my head, or anything that really hurts. So good, I guess, all things considered. And you... you stayed."
"Of course I stayed, you goose."
"I think I may need you to stay a bit longer; I'm not sure I can make it back to our room on my own."
"Well, that works out perfectly. I've been hoping to show off the muscles I've grown now that I've worked on a pirate ship, and helping a lovely lad in distress would be a perfect way to display my strength and my new heroic yet selfless nature." I help him up, and he plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek as he drapes himself across me. We navigate the narrow Greek streets back home to our little room, and I write a note to Felicity explaining the fit while he gets comfortable in bed. When I've finished, I squeeze in beside him, finding a Montague-sized space between his long limbs and resting my head on his chest, right where it belongs.