Work Text:
“You have to be careful not to over-exert yourself,” Hugo says, brushing Vivian’s hair. It’s soft, she’s just showered, but there is a brittleness to the ends that makes him hesitant. “The water was far too hot.”
Vivian sits quietly, petting over the ghost of crystallization marks on her palm. They’re Lichtenberg lines, scarred over enough to feel different from the rest of her skin. The complexion is a bit lighter than her natural skin tone, but she’s been able to hide the difference with gloves and cravats. “I’m fine, Hugo,” she whispers. Across the room, Lycaon huffs like a dog waiting for its dinner. She regards him.
He’s sitting at the table, reading. Newspaper held close to his face, presumably to conceal his expression.
“You–” Hugo’s hands twitch. She can feel the brush stall. “Vivian, we’re unsure about the side-effects–”
“Lord Phaethon’s power,” she starts, and Lycaon rushes in.
“May not have completely rid you of the effects of ether contamination.”
“As much as it pains me to say, my dear partner is right,” Hugo says.
Vivian’s stomach churns. Hugo’s partner .
“You both have very little room to talk,” Lycaon says. He lowers the newspaper to give Hugo a pointed stare.
“I had a backup plan,” Hugo says. He sounds annoyed. Vivian wishes she could bicker with him like that. “She did not.”
Vivian runs her fingers over the scars. Lycaon lifts his newspaper back up. Hugo begins to braid Vivian’s hair, gently.
Hugo wakes up gasping in the middle of the night, cry caught in his throat, like choking on a coin. He reaches out and grabs Vivian’s shirt. She slowly turns over, and puts her arms around him, hushing him and petting his hair. Lycaon stirs.
“Go back to bed,” she whispers, for both their sakes.
“Is he alright?” Lycaon asks, voice raspy from sleep.
“Quite,” she says. In her arms, Hugo curls in on himself, shying away from Lycaon’s side of the bed.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Lycaon announces. The sheets shift and Hugo burrows into her chest, and she thanks the thiren silently for the small kindness. There is the clicking and hissing of Lycaon’s prosthetics being attached. She can feel Hugo hold his breath in her arms as Lycaon slowly makes his way to the hall bathroom.
When he’s gone, Hugo lets out a noise, somewhere between a sob and a sigh. Hugo’s hot tears fall on her nightshirt, but he lies motionless for now.
“It’s my fault,” he says, meek.
Vivian hushes him. A vague hotness flushes her cheeks. She herself cannot cry for him.
“Don’t you have anywhere to be,” Vivian says to Lycaon, who is currently taking up residence on the couch in front of the television.
He reaches for his pocket watch. “I do.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Vivian says, eyes scanning the room for anything out of place.
“I have nowhere to be until eight.” Lycaon shifts his legs around, sitting up. “If you require assistance with the housework–”
“I’m perfectly capable myself.” Lycaon hesitates, but leans back into the cushion. “Hugo isn’t here,” Vivian continues.
“Yes,” Lycaon says. He makes no effort to move. “I had noticed that.”
Vivian stands, watching Lycaon. Lycaon sits. His prosthetics are to the side of the couch. A show of vulnerability , she thinks, cataloguing. “I’m going to make some breakfast.” She turns on her heel. Lycaon turns back up the volume on the TV.
Hugo doesn’t come back until late that night. By the time he does, Vivian is already in bed, flipping through her scrapbook to pass the time. She hears Lycaon put on his prosthetics first, then the door creaking open. She slams the book closed hurriedly, and shoves it in her nightstand.
“Vivian?” Hugo calls. There is the sound of rummaging, and the pistons of Lycaon’s legs springing to action. Then, a thud.
She rushes into the living room to find Hugo on the floor with a pillow under his head, Lycaon standing over him. He’s twitching and mumbling, and Lycaon snaps his head around to look at her. The slightest glare flashes across his face before calming to a professional neutral.
“He’s an idiot,” she says.
“We can both agree on that,” Lycaon sighs.
“The pills are on the top shelf in the kitchen. I can’t reach them without a stool–”
“On it,” Lycaon says, and springs into action, seemingly relieved to have something to do.
Vivian sits down on the floor next to Hugo. His eyes are blown wide open, pupils dilated.
“It’s my fault,” he mumbles. “I said I’m sorry already. I’ll say it again.”
Vivian brushes the hair away from his eyes and begins undoing his hair and top buttons.
“Serena,” he says, and Vivian’s heart jolts.
“I know,” she says.
“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s OK,” she says. She feels a flash of anger, looking down at Hugo. He’s looking directly at her, tears welling up in his eyes, sweat beading on his upper lip. She presses a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Serena. I’m sorry.”
Lycaon comes back in with the pills, and tosses the bottle to Vivian. She catches them, popping off the lid with a fluid and practiced motion. “Did you bring water?”
Lycaon nods, kneeling down next to them both. Vivian shifts Hugo’s head into her lap. “Whenever you’re ready, Vivian.”
Vivian shoves the capsule into Hugo’s mouth and he begins to thrash. Vivian pinches his jaw how you would a dog, and Lycaon pours the water into his mouth. Vivian presses his jaw shut firmly, and Lycaon throws the cup aside, prying Hugo’s hands away from Vivian’s arms. Eventually, survival instinct kicks in, and Hugo swallows. The two sit there, holding Hugo still as he attempts to break free, until he slumps back, neck muscles relaxed, onto Vivian’s lap.
Lycaon lifts Hugo and carries him into the bedroom, laying him down gently on the chaise by the window. His clothes are stuck to him with sweat, and Vivian begins to peel them off, layer by layer, piece by piece. Lycaon faces away from the two, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Help me carry him to the bath,” she says, and Lycaon stands.
In the bathroom, Lycaon checks meticulously for any injuries. Save for a few scratches and bruises, he seems to be fine. Vivian watches as Lycaon washes him.
“He’s going to be fine,” Lycaon says, more for himself than anyone else. “Thank you, Vivian.”
“Of course,” Vivian says, tying Hugo’s sleep pants shut in a bow.
“This may be forward, but may I examine you for injuries?”
Vivian pauses, then turns. “Sure,” she says, voice as neutral as she can manage.
She takes off some of her accessories and pulls up her sleeves. Lycaon’s hands are softer than she anticipated them to be, and he carefully looks her over. “You have a cut.”
“Do I?” Vivian says, looking down at where Lycaon is pointing. “Oh. I suppose I do.”
It’s small, but present, and Lycaon dabs a little antiseptic on it. “Would you like a bandage?”
Vivian nods, and Lycaon gently places a green bandage on her forearm.
“Where did you get that?” Vivian asks.
“I carry them with me,” Lycaon says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Corin, ah, she’s quite clumsy. Green is her favorite.”
Hugo sleeps until noon, and Vivian stays in bed with him while he drifts in and out of consciousness. There are times she holds his hand, times she wipes his tears and rubs his back, and times she places a finger under his nose to check for breathing. He lies like a corpse.
Lycaon lets himself into the apartment around two o’clock with takeout containers.
“Lycaon, I hope you don’t expect me to eat that.”
“You need something substantial. Not empty carbs.”
Vivian laughs. “He’s right, you know.”
“You’re ganging up on me,” Hugo says, incredulous. “You’re both ganging up on me.”
“Hugo,” Lycaon says, voice low and exasperated.
“Is that from the place in Lumina Square?” Vivian says, ignoring Hugo’s theatrics.
“Sixth Street.”
Vivan pops up off the couch. “You were at Sixth Street? How is–”
“They’re fine.”
“Did you tell them I–”
“Yes. They say hello. Belle wants to know how you’re doing.”
“Did–”
“Yes. I lied for you.”
Vivian smiles. Hugo sits up, grabbing his torso. “You shouldn’t be enabling her.”
“Look who’s talking.” Lycaon huffs again. “Let’s eat. We can discuss this later.” He places the container on the table. They know later to be a concept of forever ago tomorrow. Whether it comes or not is not the point.