Chapter Text
David has been in good spirits lately. His practice has picked up, most of his patients are on the mend, and there is a crisp bite in the air that mixes with the watery sunlight of waning winter to make his leg stop aching and put a spring in his step. So it is with not a little joie de vivre that he bounces up out of bed – ah, being pain-free, there’s nothing like it! – and trots energetically from his room into their cosy little living-room, where Basil is sitting at the breakfast-table with a steaming pot of tea. “Ah, just the thing, old boy! Splendid, splendid! A very good morning to you!” he chirps.
“You’re in a good mood, Dawson,” Basil remarks, cheery but clearly still waking up. “Tea?”
“Oh, rather,” David says, rubbing his hands together. “Yes please!” Basil pours him the tea and David takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”
He pours milk and takes a sip. “Oh.” He grimaces. “No sugar.” Still full of health and zest for life, he bounces up from his chair into a standing position, reaching across the table for the sugar-bowl—
And Basil flinches.
David stills, stunned. Basil freezes, blinking at David like someone who thought he was in the path of an oncoming train and has just discovered it was a distant lighthouse. “Oh.” He clears his throat with a nervous laugh, running a finger around his collar. “‘Scuse me, D-Dawson,” he mutters, and buries his face in his own cup of tea so fast David thinks he may have dunked his snout in it by accident.
David stays still for a few more moments, then reaches for the sugar-bowl. “Awfully sorry,” he says smoothly, keeping up his cheery tone. “Didn’t mean to startle you, old boy. It’s just that I feel full of vim and vigour this morning!” He grins broadly and stretches out his arms to demonstrate said vim and vigour.
Basil glances up shyly from where he is still looking down at his tea, a blush staining his cheeks. “You don’t say.”
“Oh, yes!” Affecting complete obliviousness, David spoons sugar into his tea and sits down again, chattering on. “It’s no secret, Basil old chap, that I feel out of sorts in cold weather. The temperature has been on the rise these past few days—But what am I saying! You have probably noticed all this, and are merely indulging me, to let me prattle on so. Please pass me a page of the newspaper, there’s a good fellow.”
And he busies himself with much rustling of the newspaper and commenting on the stories of the day. He wouldn’t be much of an Englishmouse if he allowed Basil to feel at all awkward due to his little slip.