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Percy wakes up to the sound of glass breaking.
Well, he's already been slightly awake for a few minutes. In a dreamy state of half-conciousness, he’d felt the other side of the bed shift, heard uneven footsteps cross the bedroom and the creak of the door, and felt the empty space beside him.
Now, though, he jolts awake. Before he has a chance to orient himself properly, Percy is on his feet, only swaying slightly. Instinct rules over him as he pads across the bedroom; muscle memory makes sure that he does not bang into the wall on his way out.
He and Monty have lived in the cottage for almost half a year now, and it's home, as familiar to him as any other place he’s lived in before.
Home, however, is a strange concept for Percy Newton.
His aunt and uncle's house wasn't home, not when it was always so quiet and empty. Not when it was never his. English society never made room for him, never gave him a chance. He never got to call it home, not when that world was so insistent on casting him aside.
That small villa on Santorini was the first place he ever had a chance of calling home. Every step since then has been aimed towards a place he can belong, as if he is a ship, aiming to dock.
The cottage is home. He and Monty got married here, and have settled into what Adrian likes to describe as 'marital bliss'. Percy can't argue with that.
The proper answer as to where home is rings true. His home is wherever Monty is. That is where he will plant his garden, settle down his roots, and spend the rest of his days.
Home, in this instant, turns out to be the kitchen.
A candle stick sits on the countertop, and there is Monty - leaning heavily against the wall and staring down at the pool of broken ceramic near his feet.
Relief fills Percy. It makes him anxious to not know where Monty is, now. His escapade with Adrian had been the longest span of time they'd been apart in years. More importantly, it had been their longest time apart with no correspondence. It had gutted him, left him drifting with no anchor. All Percy had been able to do was wait.
And he'd waited. The longest months of his entire life had passed before Monty had returned, a little worse for the wear. Alive, though. Alive is all Percy can ever ask for, after all the trouble they've stumbled headfirst into, entirely on accident.
As the floorboards creak beneath Percy’s feet, Monty’s head shoots up. Closer now, Percy can see that there are dark circles under his eyes, like rings of wood.
"Love," he begins, trying to keep his voice soft, "what are you doing awake?"
Monty takes a moment to reply, and when he does, there's an edge to his voice. It's almost tense. "I was trying to make a cup of tea - couldn't sleep. Clearly, it didn't quite go to plan."
Clearly is a bit of an understatement. Percy stares at the pieces of ceramic scattered on the ground, and pieces together what happened like a story told backwards, the ending now the beginning.
The silence stretches on, as watery as the sun that always dips just above the horizon to announce dawn. Monty won't quite meet his eyes. Instead, his gaze rests on the floor. Neither of them move.
"That's the cup Adrian and Louisa gave us, isn't it?" Percy notes, for lack of anything else to say, just to crack the silence.
Monty's face screws up. "Yes, as a wedding gift, I know. I've got it, really. You should go back to bed." he says, then braces his hand against the counter, and bends down.
He freezes part way there, barely making a noise. Percy hears it, though. That slight, sharp inhale of breath is just about audible and he recognises it for what it is: Monty is in pain.
Everything begins to make a little more sense.
"Love," Percy begins, and takes half a step, mindful of the ceramic shards on the floor, letting his hips brush against Monty’s. He pulls him into a sort-of-embrace, then presses a kiss to his grey-speckled hairline. "Go sit down. I'll clean this up."
"But-"
"I insist."
Monty exhales deeply. "It's my mess. I should clean it up."
"Indulge me. Let me do this for you." Percy says, and it's a testament to how exhausted Monty is that this is all it takes for him to concede. "Just go sit down."
Monty hums, eyes slipping closed as he leans against Percy's chest. "I might just stay here, if you don't mind." he replies. His fingers dance along Percy's lower back, slip lower suggestively.
"That's a tempting offer, but I still think you should go sit down."
"You ruin all my fun." Monty pouts, but when he pulls away, Percy can spy a slight smile on his face. It's tense in the corners, but it's a start. It's all he can ask for on nights like these.
Over the years, this sort of night has become routine. Some of the memories have blurred together now, but watching the way the faint light catches on the shadows underneath Monty's eyes, Percy's distinctly reminded of the first time he relapsed after they moved into the London flat together, finding empty bottles in the middle of the night.
He's sober tonight. Percy can at least be thankful for that.
As Monty slowly makes his way out of the kitchen, leaning heavily on the wall as he does so, Percy sets to work on clearing up the ceramic shards. It doesn't take long, and once he's done, he makes two cups of tea in their less valuable china.
Exhaustion still clings to the edges of his consciousness, but it's irrelevant, made unimportant in the face of Monty. Monty in pain. Monty who's his husband, who Percy would follow to the end of the world if it meant they'd stay side by side.
They're not going to the end of the world, though. Their days of getting involved in pirate theatrics and accidental adventures are far behind them and Percy is eternally grateful for that fact. Between them, they’ve had more than enough excitement for a lifetime.
Their lives are peaceful now - quiet and domestic. When Percy had been ecstatic over new plates gifted to them, Monty had joked that they were truly growing old - to think that we used to run from pirates, he'd mused, and now you're jumping with joy from a set of fine china.
He wasn't exactly wrong.
It's a gift, though, to grow older, to grow older with Monty by his side. It's a gift. And so long as his husband - husband! - stops waking up in the middle of the night, scaring him with an empty bed, just to make random cups of tea, then Percy is entirely content.
When he enters the living room his heart nearly stops.
Monty is lying supine on the ground, hands tossed over his face. After a second, though, he lifts his head up and Percy can breathe again. His husband did not drop dead in the two minutes he was out of Percy’s sight. All is right in the world.
"Are you comfortable there?" Percy asks, setting the tea down on the table. Monty hums in lieu of reply and Percy chuckles. "It doesn't look particularly comfortable."
"On the contrary," Monty mumbles with his eyes closed, "it is extremely... I am very comfortable indeed."
"Will you fall asleep like this?"
Monty groans. "I fear I might at this rate."
"I'll join you, then," Percy says, and exhales slowly as he sits down beside Monty. Forget his previous thoughts, this is the most damning evidence of his aging: his body aches even when he is feeling well otherwise.
He reaches out and runs a hand through Monty's hair - ever so slightly curly, and speckled through with strands of grey like a dew-strung spider's web. Beneath his touch, Monty makes a soft noise. Not quite pained, not quite relaxed, incredibly fond all the same.
"You should have woken me up if you weren't feeling well," he says, quietly, even though it's just them - as if his words will topple the gentle weight of the night surrounding them. "I would have made you tea.”
"You would have," Monty agrees, then sighs. "I don't - I know I could have woken you. It's not that."
Percy doesn't have to ask what it is, not when he already knows. Not when he sees it in the way Monty shies away from love sometimes, turns his head away from affection. It's hard to receive what you think you don't deserve, to let someone love you even if you love them in return. They both feel it, the unguardedness of the other's love, and the fear that, at any moment, it could be taken away and the world could be as cold and as empty as it was before.
He leans down, even though he cricks his back doing so, and kisses Monty's forehead. "I know. I would make a thousand cups of tea for you, if I could."
Monty smiles. "That's a touch excessive if you ask me. I don't think we own that many cups, for starters."
"I'd start filling the bathtub up with tea, then," Percy replies, fully aware of how ridiculous he sounds. "That sounds quite nice, actually."
"Bathing in tea? On the contrary, darling, that does not sound quite nice. Generally, the point of bathing is to get clean, not to-" Monty slowly stretches out his knee, then freezes, "Ow, godamn, fucking hell.”
There's nothing Percy can do, really, besides accepting Monty's strangler-fig grip on his hand. It's strange being helpless when he's been on the other side of this so often, his body aching, battered, washed up on an unfamiliar shore.
In some ways, it's worse; Monty's face screws up in pain as he straightens his knee, and Percy's body aches in tandem. His husband wakes in the night and Percy follows suit barely an hour later, as if some internal compass was pointing him towards Monty. Their hearts, tied together, buried in the same dirt, born anew.
Eventually, some of the tension leeched on Monty's body seems to fade and his grip on Percy's hand loosens. They stretch out their hands in unison.
"Sorry about that, darling." Monty says, seemingly aiming for brevity and falling a dozen miles short. After a beat, his face screws up tight. "You should go back to bed."
Fear refuses to unclench itself from Percy's heart. "No, I don't want to."
"Of course you want to, you must be exhausted."
He shrugs. "Not really."
It's a lie, of course. He is exhausted, but tiredness pales in comparison to the worry that stabs between his ribs the moment he thinks about leaving Monty here and going back to bed. It was bad enough waking up to an empty bed. Falling asleep without him sounds infinitely worse.
"You have a lesson tomorrow, don't you?" Monty asks, and Percy recognises that tone of voice - stubborn, a touch too bitter.
"I can cancel if need be. Clara and her parents will survive one week without a violin lesson." He replies. For a moment, he thinks that he's convinced Monty - finally - that he is a priority, that Percy would give up the world for him, but then he just scowls.
"That sets a precedent."
Percy can't help but raise his eyebrows. "A precedent?"
"Yes, a precedent." Monty says, then presses a hand over his eyes. "If you wake up in the middle of the night and call off work every time I'm in pain, you'd never work, Perce. There's no point in it."
Sometimes, Percy wholeheartedly believes that he's convinced Monty that he wants to take care of him, plant roots with him, that he's worth all of this and more, and then they end up here. He doesn't hold it against him; of course he doesn't. It's just hard to not feel helpless, when all Percy can do is continue loving him. When sometimes, that isn’t enough.
"I love you," Percy whispers, almost without meaning to. Monty freezes. "Isn't that... Isn't that reason enough? You do the same for me."
"Well... Yes." Monty replies, a tad petulant. "Yes, but that's different. You work, I don’t particularly do anything-”
Percy gapes at him. "What? No, you - alright. That is something we will be talking about at some point, but," he inhales deeply, then pulls Monty's hand into his again, runs his thumb over his knuckles. "I love you. I want to take care of you. I would much rather stay at home with you and sleep as much as I wish in the morning, than go teach violin to someone who is just beginning to grasp the concept of perhaps not torturing me with the sounds of a cat being dragged down all nine hells-"
"I believe I get your point, darling."
"Then you'll understand that I want to stay here, with you. No matter what."
There's a long pause. Percy just watches as Monty threads their fingers together, tightening his grip as if he's scared to let go. Percy never wants to be apart from him again.
Eventually, in a low voice, Monty asks: "Even if it's a bloody miserable time?"
"Especially then." Percy promises, and he means it with all his heart, with all the love he has to give. "It's what we promised on our vows, after all."
Monty shoots him that look - the look he dishes out whenever their wedding vows get brought up. "In regards to vows, I distinctly remember you mentioning that we weren't going to do them.”
"We weren't initially, yes." Percy concedes, then smiles despite himself. "They just sort of appeared in the couple of weeks prior and then George thought it would be funny if - Nevermind. The point is, I meant what I said. In sickness and in health, I will love you."
Monty raises an eyebrow. "I think between us there's significantly more sickness than health. Three ears, three legs-"
"Four legs, actually."
"Three unbroken legs," he amends. "Normal amount of fingers and toes. Three chairs."
"One body that isn't prone to throwing itself into convulsive fits. Oh! We've both been shot before, too.”
Monty's smiling now, properly, which makes everything worth it. "When you put it all together, it's a miracle we've made it this far."
It feels like some sort of miracle; if Percy were more religious than he is, he would probably consider the life he has now to be some sort of gift from the heavens - more than he could have ever hoped for.
If a young version of him - perhaps from those awful couple of years between his first fit and the tour - were to see this now... Percy's certain it would have ignited something within him, to see the glimmer of hope strung along the horizon. Perhaps it would have jolted him into action, and the next time he’d see Monty, he would kiss him senseless just to get the years of endless and agonising pining over and done with.
Considering he's halfway there already, Percy lays down on the ground next to Monty. The wooden floor is unyielding beneath him, and he knows that, come morning, they'll be sore and full of regrets. It's worth it, though, when he turns on his side to face Monty, cups his face in his hands and kisses him - soft and gentle, then deep, all of a sudden, teeth skimming his lower lip. It makes everything worth it.
Monty's eyes slip closed as he presses his forehead against Percy's. A moment later, he grumbles: "I refuse to fall asleep here."
"Do you want to get up?"
"No, obviously. That will hurt."
"I think sleeping on the floor will also hurt."
Monty cracks one eye open and frowns. "Stop being logical. I'm too tired for logic."
It's slightly tempting to stay on the floor with Monty, but Percy instead decides to continue being logical and stands up, wincing when his back cracks in several places.
Getting Monty up is more of a process. Initially, he sits himself up on his elbows then shifts forward so he's on one knee, bad leg awkwardly stretched out in front of him. He pauses, frowns, then readjusts so he's able to push himself up and straight into Percy's arms. He sways to the side and Percy quickly tightens his grip to keep Monty upright, taking some of his weight.
"I'm up," Monty says. He's smiling, even though it's a bit tense and not-quite there.
"You are, yes," Percy agrees, then buries a kiss on his hairline. "Are you... Are you tired?"
"Yes, desperately. Don't think I'll be able to sleep, though." Monty admits. "But laying in bed sounds considerably nicer than laying on the floor."
Slowly, unsteadily, they make their way back into the bedroom. At some point, Monty leans up to kiss Percy on the jaw, and they nearly crash into a doorway, laughing all the while. They must look an absolute sight - like a drunken, several-limbed creature - but Percy finds he doesn't mind the ridiculousness of it all.
He doesn't mind anything, not when his husband is by his side.
Husband. Percy's never going to tire of that word.
As soon as they get there, Monty collapses into bed with only enough grace to not land directly on his bad leg. He groans, settling a spare pillow under his knee, trying to get comfortable. Then, he pats the empty space on the bed beside him, and who is Percy to resist?
He sits down on his side of the bed, and then, carefully, lifts up Monty’s trouser leg. Percy leans forward and kisses the scar on his shin, where the bone once broke through, where Felicity had to put it back together - as gentle as he can be, barely a ghost's touch. He lets the bump of raised skin linger on his lips. When he looks up, Monty is smiling, dimples just about visible.
His husband. The whole world, scrunching his hand into Percy's curls, pulling him into bed, sneaking a cold hand to Percy's ribs and laughing when he squirms away. Once upon a time, Percy didn't dare to imagine a future half as soft as this for himself.
The whole world, cradled in his palms. Two hearts intrinsically tied together. A lifetime stretched out forever in front of them.
He doesn't know if they do actually fall asleep. It doesn't really matter. He must doze at some point, because eventually he opens his eyes to faint sunlight. Monty is completely conked out - thank the Lord - with his head firmly on Percy's pillow, mouth more than slightly agape, drooling. Percy has never loved him more.
In the morning, or more accurately around noon, they will slowly wake together. Percy will insist on making Monty a cup of herbal tea, the type Felicity insists will help with the pain. Monty will roll his eyes, complain about the taste, and drink it anyway. Percy will cancel the violin lesson and then kiss his husband, just for the sake of kissing him, just because he can.
None of that matters now, however.
Now, Percy just cradles his husband in his arms. Now, Percy kisses his forehead softly, trying not to wake him. Now, Percy lets everything else wash away.
They have the rest of their lives together.
Forever.