Work Text:
Apothecary
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“You know I can’t pay attention to you while I’m working, right?” Avairan directed his gaze towards the man leaning on his small work table, elbow dangerously close to a jar of poultice. Expensive poultice.
“I know. I’m here to help you, not to distract you,” Isaac said, his expression just earnest enough that Avarian rolled his eyes at the farce.
“You're always distracting me.”
“Is that right?” Isaac leaned forward with a sly grin, only for a hand to gently push his face away. Unperturbed, he continued. “I will take it as a compliment, that I so drive you to distraction.”
His teasing was met with a barely perceptible snort from the man across from him, who didn’t even meet his eyes. Pity, he’d have to try harder. Of course, he was here to help, whether that be sorting jars of herbs, bookkeeping, foraging, visiting the market, or even making housecalls. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to entertain himself. Avairan cleared his throat, then spoke;
“As I said. You could organize my ointments if you want to be helpful. Start with that shelf.”
Isaac whistled, but wisely didn’t comment on the disarray of the apothecary shelves- a mistake he only had to make once back when the two were still getting acquainted-and set himself to the task of taking stock; half-filled vials and jars all mixed together in seemingly random order. Several were empty, many were unlabelled, and a few looked as though they belonged in a poison-maker’s stall at a black market. Isaac snuck a glance back to see his companion with a furrowed brow, and decided not to interrupt his concentration by asking for any clarification. He started collecting the bottles that were either empty, or looked old enough that they might do more harm than good to an unsuspecting patient.
After several minutes of shuffling the ointments around he was no closer to figuring out what unseen powers dictated which one went where, so he decided to break the comfortable silence.
“Your apprentice seems like a good sort. Eager.” In truth Isaac hadn’t encountered the young man enough to get much of a read on him, but he was intrigued. Returning to the little village for the summer to find Avairan mentoring someone was a surprise, and he was naturally curious about this trainee that had been allowed such tutelage.
Avairan hummed his assent, still focused on the task at hand. Isaac watched him, admiring the quiet intensity he always had when concentrating. That same quiet intensity had drawn Isaac to him years ago, it had never quite let him go. Avairan was easy to look at, pleasant enough to talk to; but to be looked at by Avairan, to be spoken with- this was what he coveted. That quiet intensity, aimed at him. There was a world Avairan inhabited that was all his own, a world Isaac had spent their entire shared acquaintance learning to be a part of.
“He is. Sometimes too much so.”
Isaac was shaken out of his reverie by the delayed reply, and saw the other man furrow his brow.
“I shouldn't say that,” he chided himself. “It’s good to have help, any help, I’m just…I’m not used to someone else being in here all the time. Or having to explain the things I’m doing as I do them. It’s like having a child underfoot, except that child is a young man who asks me so many questions about my work I fear I will run out of answers.”
He sighed, and finally put down the jar he’d been measuring a clear liquid into.
“Galen is a good sort. A fast learner.” He did meet Isaac’s eyes then, expression pinched, and sighed. “I hate to complain about him. I always say I need help, and here I am slandering the boy-”
“Your definition of slander is rather light, my dear,” Isaac interjected, trying to redirect the spiral Avairan was working himself into. “And he’s hardly a boy.” He picked his way across the floor back to the work table. “I don’t believe it’s a mortal sin to have some qualms about things changing. You know, we picked up Riya near the coast about two summers ago now, and in her first year of traveling with us I think she asked every question under the sun. About the trade route, about the wares, about the political landscape of damn near every country we passed through, for heaven's sake. I genuinely had to hide from her, there was no peace.”
Avairan smiled slightly at the anecdote, though of course he’d heard it all before, he’d been the one who listened to Isaac ranting about the newest member of their company and her boundless curiosity back when she first joined up. He’d found it quite amusing at the time, the veneer of annoyance Isaac threw over his obvious protectiveness and affinity towards the girl.
“I can’t believe it’s been two years. She’s grown up a lot.”
“Hasn’t she?” Isaac chuckled. “Still gives me no peace when I have work to do, though.”
Avairan snorted. “I can’t imagine what that feels like,” he replied, the sarcasm undercut by the fondness in his tone. Isaac, smiling, conceded the point with a nod and put his hands up in a mock surrender before reaching for an open jar of ointment on the table.
“What is this? Smells nice.”
“S’for dry skin. I’m actually running low, I can send Galen out to collect herbs tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you and I go? We’d be quicker; you have an uncanny sense of where everything is in that overgrown mess you call a thicket.” It was the truth, though Isaac wasn’t just suggesting it for efficiency's sake. Running errands with Avairan was his favourite way to spend a day, countless hours of their twenties were spent deep in the forest with no one but the other for company. Sometimes they would talk back and forth until they had exhausted every subject, and other times they’d simply exist in each other's space, quietly and contentedly gathering supplies. Isaac missed it; the several months away with the caravans had seemed longer this time around. He found he missed the quiet more every year.
Avairan drew his mouth into a line.
“I don't think I should leave Galen here alone,” he muttered. “There’s a couple folks coming by to pick up their remedies.”
Isaac closed the lid of the sweet smelling ointment, and placed it down on the table.
“I’m sure he can handle it. You can’t expect to be here all the time- it’s why you have an apprentice. He’s grown. It’ll be fine.”
“I just like to be safe, that’s all. Something could happen.”
Avairan was wringing his hands. Isaac reached across the table to gently grasp them in his own.
“You remember your first time delivering a baby without Missus Helyn there.” His voice was low and soft.
Avairan groaned. “I try not to.”
“I came as fast as I could in case you needed help- but there was nothing for me to do. You were so composed.” He tucked a lock of stray hair out of Avarian’s face. “It was like you’d done it a thousand times.”
“You’re leaving out the part where I ran into the woods and cried my eyes out.”
Isaac shrugged.
“Sure, but that was after all was said and done. And no one saw that, save for myself. What I’m getting at, dear, is that it was fine. You were fine.”
A smile pulled at the corner of Avairan’s mouth.
“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. Give that to me,” he intoned, slipping his hands free and reaching for the ointment Isaac had placed down. The waverings of doubt had all but fled for the moment and only that focused purpose remained.
“You may as well finish this off, seeing as there’s naught left but dregs.” He motioned for Isaacs hands, then firmly held them as he smoothed the sweet cool ointment over the calluses and dry knuckles. “You oughta use the cream I sent with you for your hands, they get so rough when you’re gone,” he chastised, not looking up from rubbing circles into the other man's palms.
“I ran out, sorry love,” Isaac murmured, smiling gently down at their joined hands.
After the ointment had seeped into his skin, Avairan ran his thumbs slowly across Isaac’s knuckles before bringing them to his lips. He paused, inhaling the fragrant scent as he did so. His eyes raised to meet Isaac’s as his lips brushed the man’s fingers. The air felt heavy, the room very small. They may as well have been the only people in the world.
“I thought I said not to distract me,” he murmured.
The two stood face to face, fragrant and soft hands clasped between them.
“Is that what I’m doing?” Isaac asked, leaning forward. Avairan didn't grace him with a response as he closed the distance between them, but he did make a quiet, pleased sound as their lips met, the chaste kiss lasting several seconds before he pulled away.
“Organizing ointments. Go,” he said, then leaned forward and pecked him on the lips once more before letting go of his hands.
Isaac smiled. “If you ask me like that every time I’d have this place organized in a day and a half.”
The only answer was a laugh.