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Until he saw the two doctors through the door’s window, furiously playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who would deliver bad news with the kind of desperation that he recognised, from having done similar himself, Darling had thought everything was fine. Everyone he’d encountered since he’d woken up from the general anaesthesia had reassured him that the surgery was a success, no trouble at all. It had looked like God had decided to offer a hand, instead of sticking his prayers on the ‘I’ll get around to it sometime, maybe’ section of the divine to-do list.
He should have known it was too good to be true. Seeing that the doctor who’d lost demanding a re-match, Darling winced. He braced himself for bad news, his stomach churning with anxiety. His mind, as woozy as he was from the anaesthesia, was constructing twenty million different scenarios, all of them horrible. At the core of them was that it had not worked, that Blackadder would die.
The other doctor won again. She threw her hands up in celebration, before gesturing that the loser, having lost the best of three, would have to go in. If someone was dying, this was a tactless way of delivering it. It was always better to have these arguments when the person receiving the news wouldn’t see it. Crestfallen, the losing doctor took a deep breath and put on a serious face before pushing the door open.
“Mr Darling—”
“Archdeacon,” he corrected instinctively, even when he was terrified. People always got his title wrong. If he was wearing his collar, she probably have called him Reverend, which was even more incorrect. Nobody remembered! It was galling, having to repeatedly correct people, after he’d spent so many years working his way up.
“Archdeacon Darling.” She stood by his bed with a shifty expression, like she was about to flee the room. He expected the doctor to introduce herself, but she didn’t. Instead, she grimaced and said, “there was a slight complication with the transplant.” Oh, no. His face twitched. Oh, no, no, no. It was exactly what he’d feared, that the whole thing had been for naught.
Swallowing his fear down, voice trembling, he asked, “what was it?”
“Well. There’s no easy way to say this, Archdeacon, so I’ll be straight with you,” she said briskly as she edged towards the door, “the patient didn’t need a kidney. His kidneys are functioning perfectly. In fact, he’s in a better state than you are, seeing as you’ve now only got one.” Darling blinked.
Oh no.
Oh, no. His face twitched again. Hot, prickly humiliation ran down his spine, far stronger than the anger he felt. Blackadder had completely and utterly duped him. He should have known, shouldn’t he. It was hardly the first time that he’d been pulled into the kind of humiliation tango which Blackadder specialised in, where he inevitably ended up going splat onto the floor while Blackadder scampered off scot-free.
His kidneys were functioning perfectly. Of course they were.
“And my kidney?” he asked hesitantly. The doctor pulled a face.
“There was a bit of trouble afterwards, so, well. It’s been safely disposed of.” With that, the doctor scarpered before he could ask any follow-up questions. Letting his head fall back onto the pillow, Darling groaned and hid his face in his hands.
Oh, thank God. At least Blackadder wasn’t dying. As horrible and humiliating as it was to have done this for no reason, to look back now and realise how terribly suspicious it was from the off, Blackadder was fine. The anxious, fretting despair that’d been sitting in his stomach since he’d received the news had finally eased, although it was merely replaced with annoyance, and embarrassment for falling for it, despite the fact he should have known better.
The door opened. Darling refused to uncover his face. If the doctor had returned with more bad news, he didn’t want to hear it. The footsteps approached his bed, and the confidence of them made him almost certain of who it was. Oh, no. He’d hoped that Blackadder would be too bored of his latest prank to bother to visit him and rub it in further. Darling refused to look at him.
The sigh confirmed it. Only one person would sigh at him like that right now, like he was being an awful milksop and should get over his sulk—as if he was sulking, rather wishing the ground would swallow him up. There was the scrape of a chair along the floor before he heard Blackadder sit down on it.
“Hello, Darling.” His face twitched again under his hands. Ah, he remembered his early days in the Church, when he’d hoped God’s love, a nice, calm environment, and a bit of prayer too, would get rid of his twitch for good. It had almost worked, before Blackadder waltzed into his life and then personally ensured it never leave. “If I’ve come all this way to see you, you could at least look at me.”
“Why?” he asked, then flushed at just how pathetic he sounded.
“Good question. It’s not like I want to see your ugly mug.” The insult made him lift his hands, which of course, was exactly what Blackadder wanted. Damn it. There he sat on the wobbly looking chair, looking as smug as ever. “I must say, this is the most successful prank I’ve ever pulled. I thought you might question it eventually, but no, you did go that far without even considering for a second if you’d been bamboozled. You really are a most splendid stool pigeon.”
Darling shut his eyes. He was too tired for this, from the surgery and all his emotions taking him to a back alley, beating him up and then leaving him there. Far too exhausted to fight back like his pride, whatever was left of it, wanted to. He ignored Blackadder, hoping he would get bored and leave, but he didn’t. Probably didn’t want to look like he was following orders.
“Really, though. Wasn’t this all a bit excessive?” Before Darling could point out that accusing him of excess was rather cheeky when this was all his fault, Blackadder continued. “Who do you think you are, Grace Darling? What are you going to do next, dash out into a howling storm to drown yourself while attempting to save some ungracious bastards who intentionally never learnt to swim?” The palm of Blackadder’s hand touched his forehead and he flinched. Blackadder let it stay there for a few seconds, before dropping it, like he was checking his temperature, or that he hadn’t lost his marbles completely. “Do you know how much a kidney goes for on the black market these days? At least twenty thousand pounds, if not more. If you were going to give it to the first person who asked, you might as well have got some dosh for it. But no, you didn’t ask for a penny. You must really believe in all that Christian charity bollocks.”
If it had been that, it would be much easier to explain. Christ’s love for the world, trying to follow his example of love for all mankind, all the stuff he’d come out with in sermons when Melchett was too hungover to do them.
Sadly, that was not why he’d done it. His reason was nowhere near as high-minded or lofty. It was scrawny and insignificant, hardly the kind of vision that an anchoress would write down as revelations. In the end, it was rather simple. He loved Blackadder. He loved him enough to give him a kidney that he hadn’t even needed. He loved him enough that while he was angry with him, he wasn’t anywhere near as hopping mad as he should be. It was just like Blackadder to be that selfish, that careless. It was like being so angry at the rain for falling when that was just what it did, after all.
If there was anyone that he was really mad at, it was himself. He’d failed to bring an umbrella, didn’t even consider if one would be necessary, and got drenched. Even if he had, even if he’d brought a big enough one, he would have still ended up getting wet. The only way to remain dry would have been to stay at home. Which he never would do, as sensible as it might be.
As soon as Darling had heard the words ‘kidney failure’, all common sense had been roughly shoved aside by sheer panic. He hadn’t wanted Blackadder to die, couldn’t let him die, not if he could stop it. With a sigh he opened his eyes, but didn’t look at the man he loved, staring at his hands instead as he slowly turned them over, palms open.
Darling had always known, deep down, that he would go this far for him. Perhaps with more reluctance and scepticism, not quite as willingly as Blackadder had dragged him off into the deep end this time, but he would go.
“Darling, stop looking so bloody pathetic. Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“You should,” he snapped, with as much bite as he could summon up right now, which wasn’t much. It was infuriating to love Blackadder sometimes. “I’ve lost a kidney thanks to your ‘hilarious’ prank.” Clenching his hands into fists, he tried to think of something to say, but drew a blank. Maybe he should tell Blackadder to go, leave him to stew by himself in his pain and embarrassment, though he didn’t want him to go. Not like it mattered, it wasn’t like Blackadder would hang around after he’d finished crowing about his overwhelming victory, the greatest April’s Fools prank ever.
Despite that, Blackadder didn’t leave. Instead, after a minute or so of Darling staring blankly at his hands, too exhausted to do anything else, he asked solicitously, “so, how are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” he cautiously decided on. That was a bit of understatement. Physically, emotionally, mentally, on every possible measure, he was having a bad day.
“Are you in need of more painkillers, perhaps?”
“No?”
“Oh, that’s a shame. See, I was hoping that if you were high as a kite, you might agree to sign over everything else, too. Maybe even your other kidney.” Blackadder didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. In fact, he clearly found the situation hilarious. After that brief, momentary hope that perhaps, Blackadder might feel just the tiniest bit sorry for him when he’d asked how he was feeling—he didn’t go as far as imagining Blackadder regretting it, and an apology would mean the end days were rapidly approaching before the Millennium Bug could even get its shoes on—to have that hope crushed quite so efficiently hurt as much as the rest of him did.
“Get out.”
“What’s the matter? Are you mad at me, Darling?”
“Of course I’m mad at you! I just underwent major surgery for no good reason, lost my kidney, and now you’re making fun of me? Well, I’m very sorry that I cared if you died, I’ll be sure not to next time.” Darling turned away in a huff, only for the twist to send pain shooting through him and he froze for a moment before crumpling over. Oh, that really, really hurt. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to bear the pain. Short, sharp breaths as everything hurt, even the bits of him he didn’t usually feel much in, like his ears. He had to hold on until Blackadder left, then he could call for a nurse without worrying that he’d agree to something stupid while loopy off pain relief. Although what could be more stupid than what he’d already done was hard to say.
“You really are in a lot of pain.” The pain must be scrambling his brain because Blackadder sounded like he might regret what he’d done. As if. Clearly just his imagination. He didn’t realise that Blackadder was on his feet until he felt hands on him, helping him to sit up straight again. “I’m calling a nurse. Might as well make those lazy gits work for their huge, far too generous paycheques.”
“But you’ll—” he managed to force out, even as his head fell against Blackadder’s chest, burying his face against it as Blackadder tugged him in closer.
“Darling, please. What kind of amateur do you think I am? I can get you to do whatever I want when you’re perfectly sober. Getting you to sign your meagre holdings over while you’re so off your rocker that you think you’re a little goblin is hardly worth my time.” He hated that Blackadder was right, and even worse, knew it. Blackadder patted his head patronisingly as he shut his eyes, his head still resting against his chest.
“I’m still mad at you,” he forced out through the pain.
“Yes, yes.” It was a shame that he hurt too much to enjoy that Blackadder was stroking his hair, as if trying to soothe him. “Of course you are. Let’s discuss it after the nurse finally bothers to show up.”
Everything suddenly felt much better, almost wonderful, after the nurse dosed him up. If he thought about it, he knew the pain was still there, intellectually, but he couldn’t feel it and that was good enough.
“So, are you still mad at me?” Alas, the other pain in his whatsit remained, he thought fondly. Blackadder hadn’t swanned off as soon as the nurse appeared. Instead, he stayed, scathingly critiquing every aspect of the nurse’s work before shooing him out of the room. Now he stood by the bed, one hand firmly clasped on his shoulder. Darling could feel the heat of his palm through his hospital pyjamas. When their eyes met, he raised an eyebrow. Oh, right, he’d been asked a question.
“Yes,” he replied, since he was, though not as mad as he should when he was in a pleasant haze. Darling felt a pillow being fluffed up behind him, before he was gently, but insistently pushed back. He went without a fight, finding himself flat on his back with vague surprise. Oh, when had that happened? The sheets were being pulled up to his chest, before he was tucked into them, with a surprising degree of care. Blackadder was taking care of him. That was unexpected. What was it in for him, he wondered. He’d just wait and see.
“What’ll take you to forgive me? What if I said I was very sorry?” Ah, there was his answer, he wanted forgiveness. Darling snorted in response to his offer. Like Blackadder would ever say that. “That’s a no, then. How about twenty thousand pounds?”
“I’m a man of God, you can’t buy me off.”
“Martin Luther would be proud, if you weren’t a wishy-washy, spineless Anglican.” Darling laughed, although it was more of a giggle, the kind of undignified noise that he’d usually try his best to not let escape. “See, I don’t think you can actually stay mad at me.”
“No, I can. I’m very cross with you, Edmund.” Shutting his eyes, Darling thought of how nice this was. The warm, gentle sensation flowing through him, a bit like being drunk but without all the lurching around. Blackadder being nice to him, even if it was just to wriggle out of trouble. If only he didn’t have to lose a kidney to experience it. The nagging little voice still lingered. It reminded him that he would drop back down to earth soon enough and everything would be perfectly horrible again, including how Blackadder behaved towards him. God, he prayed silently, could you let things stay like this for just a little longer? I know you likely don’t approve, and this whole thing was probably just to teach me a lesson, but still. Please.
“It’s strange how you’re so bloody sceptical of me, but as soon as I say, ‘kidney failure’, you immediately go ‘do you need one kidney or two?’ Well, how about this?” Blackadder leaned in, mouth brushing against his ear, before whispering. “If I gave you what you wanted, would you forgive me then? If I took you to bed, ripped that stupid collar off with my teeth and gave you such a seeing to that you’ll be calling out to God more than you ever have before in your entire miserable, buttoned-up life, would that do it? Darling,” and even with the soporifics, all the feeling and suggestion in his name cut through, made him wince from wanting it and knowing that he shouldn’t, “if I slipped my hand under your cassock and wanked you off, would that swing it? Am I forgiven yet?”
He couldn’t reply. Couldn’t even open his eyes to look at him. Blackadder had, once again, stunned him into silence, just differently from how he usually did. His face was red enough from both embarrassment and interest that it was practically an answer in itself. Oh, no. He really could have lived without ever thinking about Blackadder reaching under his cassock and doing that. The fact Darling knew that he would now think of it every time he put his cassock on only made it worse. Blackadder wasn’t discouraged by his lack of reply. In fact, he was downright amused.
“Though maybe only once you’re recovered, hm?” He pressed a teasing kiss against his ear, which only made his face hotter. “I always knew you cared, Darling, I just didn’t realise it was this much. Now, get better soon. I expect to see your collar on my floor sooner rather than later, after all.” With that, Blackadder swept out of his hospital room, leaving Darling in that strange state of embarrassment and longing that Blackadder was so good at putting him in.
Even though he wasn’t fully compos mentis, he knew there was trouble ahead. Even more if he let Blackadder do exactly what he’d threatened. Despite that, knowing that it bode nothing good for him, Darling knew that he would go along with it, even as he picked fault like he so often did with Blackadder’s schemes. He was an idiot. A total and utter idiot, but every time Edmund Blackadder looked at him, he couldn’t help himself. Love, he thought with a mixture of resignation and longing, pulling the sheet over his face to hide his blushing, was completely ridiculous. If only he could get over it like he would eventually get over losing his kidney.