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Sybil was away in Quirm, visiting her aunt, and so Vimes had been making the most of having the house to himself. He’d given the staff the night off, meaning there was no one to report back on the lack of vegetables in his dinner, then caught up on some work without feeling guilty about it. Once he’d signed off the last of the overtime he’d ran himself a bath that was just slightly shy of scalding and wallowed for an hour, then finally he’d dug out his favourite pair of ripped pyjamas from their secret spot behind the laundry basket, where he kept them hidden lest Sybil finally manage to sneak them away into the bin.
Enough moonlight was streaming in through the open curtains of his bedroom to let him see what he was doing as he dried off and dressed after the bath, and so he didn't bother to light the lamps; a fact he cursed himself for when, moments later, he heard a faint noise from the deep black shadow in the corner of the room.
None of the traps had tripped; he’d have heard them. A professional, then? And not a student; a good one.
But he was off the damned books, wasn’t he? And, frankly, any assassin who had gotten this close would have finished the job by now. So maybe not an assassin…but who else would risk sneaking into the Duke of Ankh’s bedroom?
Vimes considered all this instantly, and decided to play along; he carried on dressing as though he hadn’t heard a thing, stepping casually over to the side of his bed as he did and expecting at any second to feel a crossbow bolt lodge in his chest.
He sat on the edge of the mattress as he fastened the last of his buttons, then dropped a hand to the gap between the bed and the table beside it and grabbed the loaded crossbow he kept there. Then, in one fluid motion, he dived across the room and bounced upright so he was in the shadows himself, bringing the tip of the bolt up and aiming for the direction the noise had come from.
For a moment there was silence, and then a familiar voice came from the darkness.
“Ah. Vimes.”
Vimes frowned, but didn’t let go of the crossbow. “Sir?”
Vetinari stepped forwards, into the light; he’d forgone the robe for a shirt and trousers, and his hands were tucked into his pockets.
“You will not need that, Commander,” Vetinari said, then hesitated and added, “I expect.”
Vimes narrowed his eyes and very pointedly did not drop the crossbow. “What the hell is going on?! Why are you creeping about in my damned bedroom?”
Vetinari gave a small shrug. “I was in need of your assistance.”
“And you didn’t think to use the front door? I know you’re familiar with the concept of the damned things."
Vetinari smiled faintly, the expression barely visible in the moonlight that ghosted across his face. “I will be frank, Vimes. It is…rather difficult to think, at the moment.”
There was a trace of uncertainty in the man’s voice, and Vimes felt the hairs on his neck stand on end because if there was one thing Vetinari never was, it was uncertain. “What does that mean? What’s wrong?”
The other man looked around the room, and then removed a hand from its pocket and gestured to an armchair by the fireplace. “May I…?”
Vimes finally allowed the tip of the crossbow to drop so it was no longer aimed directly at Vetinari’s chest, and snicked on the safety. “I suppose.”
“Thank you.” Vetinari crossed to the chair and lowered himself carefully into it, then as Vimes watched he closed his eyes briefly and grimaced.
Vimes took a few steps closer to try to get a better look at him, but there were too many shadows. Not letting go of the crossbow, he reached over to the desk beside him and fumbled with a match, striking it with his thumbnail and then touching it to the wick in the lamp. The room was bathed in a warm glow, and now Vimes could see that Vetinari was even paler than usual.
Suspicion dawned.
“Wait. Are you sick?”
Vetinari opened his eyes and stared at him. “In a manner of speaking. I believe I have been poisoned.”
Vimes felt his blood turn to ice. “What.”
“Poisoned, Vimes. I know you are familiar with the concept.”
Any concerns Vimes might have had vis-à-vis Vetinari’s prognosis were swiftly buried under a layer of irritation with the man.
But he didn’t look well at all; even from here Vimes could see his eyes were glassy. He finally placed the crossbow down, leaning it against the desk, and then crossed the room and stood cautiously in front of the armchair.
Vetinari’s gaze tracked his every movement, until he was looking calmly up at him. Vimes had the rather disconcerting sensation that the man was focussing on a point about an inch beneath his skin.
He shifted uncomfortably. “When you say poisoned, what are we talking, exactly? Should I get a doctor?”
“No. There is no need to disturb Mister Jimmy. If it is what I suspect, it will not be fatal.”
Vimes frowned. “What is it, then? And what's the point if not to kill you?” He saw the expression on Vetinari’s face and added, “Sorry.”
“Based on the symptoms, I suspect it is a derivative of Brugmansia root. It can cause memory impairment and visual disturbances, and affects reflexes and co-ordination. It also lowers inhibition and makes one rather susceptible to suggestion. It has been used as a kind of truth serum, in certain quarters, although the effects are unpredictable and untrustworthy.”
Vimes considered this. “So someone was hoping to, what? Get information from you?”
“Perhaps.” Vetinari settled back further into his seat. “In any event, I thought it best not to be where the poisoner expected me to be, at least until the effects wear off.”
“So you came here?”
“Yes.”
Vimes felt something inside him twist. “Why?"
“Where else would I go?” Vetinari gave a slow shrug. “If I am about to become cavalier with my secrets, it makes sense that I should endeavor only to do so in the presence of someone I trust.”
Vimes’ skepticism must have shown on his face, because Vetinari smiled slightly. “I do trust you, Commander. To the extent that I trust anyone, of course.”
Vimes snorted, and stepped back again. “I’d be better off out there, looking for whoever’s done this, not bloody babysitting you. Sir. How long before it’s out of your system?”
The other man closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. “Eight hours, perhaps. I left a note for Drumknott to advise I would not be back before morning. Along with some other instructions for the clerks. Don’t worry, Commander; the case will still be there for you later.”
Eight hours alone with Vetinari…? Vimes rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Right. Ok. Fine. I’ll, er, get some water, I suppose. Do you need anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I suspect the effects have not yet peaked, however, given that I was able to navigate your traps with minimal issue.”
Vimes thought about the hours he’d spent oiling the roof tiles and sawing joists. “When you’re feeling better you need to show me how you got in. If you can do it, so can your mates from the guild.”
“Doubtful, Vimes.” Vetinari opened his eyes again and fixed him with that pale blue stare again. “But I suppose it is a fair exchange, since I am intruding on your evening.”
Intruding on my evening. Vimes thought of Sybil off in Quirm, and felt briefly guilty, for no apparent reason.
He grunted, then headed off to find some water.
oOo
When he returned with a jug and two glasses, Vetinari appeared to be dozing upright in the chair. Vimes poured for them both, then knelt to start a fire in the grate; once he had a small blaze going he pulled the other armchair around to be able to see the man better.
The patrician opened his eyes again at the sound of the legs dragging across the floor, and focussed slightly muzzily on the water beside him. “Thank you, Vimes.”
“You’re welcome.” He took a swig from his own drink, as Vetinari navigated his glass slightly cautiously to his lips and sipped at it.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“No. I was just going to bed.” A thought occurred, and Vimes frowned. “Hang on. How long were you standing in the damned corner before I heard you?”
Vetinari returned the glass gently to the table between them, then looked up at him with some amusement. “Are you worried I may have observed something I shouldn’t have, Commander?”
“If you saw me in the bloody nud then you did see something you shouldn’t have. There’s a reason I’m not in the habit of stripping off in front of my boss.”
Vetinari waved a hand vaguely. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Vimes. You are in very good shape, for your age.” There was a pause as Vimes stared at him, and then Vetinari frowned. “Ah. The drug appears to be having some effect. My apologies.”
Vimes shook his head. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk. And of course it’s bloody embarrassing – I could have been doing anything.”
“Indeed…? Such as?” There was an odd lilt to the other man’s voice. The sensible part of Vimes’ brain suggested rather insistently that he change the subject.
He ignored it.
He shrugged instead. “You spy on a man in the middle of the night when his wife’s away, you might see a lot more than you bargained for.”
Vetinari was still smiling slightly. “How fortuitous that I arrived when I did, then. Although, I must say…” He paused, and Vimes found himself holding his breath before the man continued, “You desperately need new nightwear, Vimes.” Vetinari glanced down briefly, and raised an eyebrow.
Vimes hastily closed his legs as he remembered where the biggest rip was.
“Oi,” he said. “My eyes are up here. Being poisoned doesn’t give you the right to ogle people.”
Vetinari’s eyes were half-lidded as he responded. “Hm. Lowered inhibitions, Vimes. Remember?”
Vimes sat back, and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Is that the only thing it's doing to you, so far?”
Vetinari furrowed his brow. “No. My mouth is dry, concentrating is proving a challenge, and there is a figure by the bed that I am reasonably sure is not actually there.”
“What?!” Vimes whirled around, but the room was indeed otherwise empty, and he slowly settled back. “Right. Great. You’re bloody hallucinating.”
Vetinari hummed an agreement, and reached out for the water. His fingers merely grazed the glass on the first attempt, so Vimes stretched over and nudged it gently towards him and he managed to grab it on the second. He threw Vimes a grateful glance.
Vimes carefully ignored the way his belly flipped in response.
It occurred to him he was ignoring rather a lot, this evening, and in true Vimes fashion he ignored that realisation, too.
Once he had successfully navigated the glass to his lips, Vetinari took several long gulps, and Vimes found himself watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. He was still staring when Vetinari finished downing the rest of the water and put the glass back on the table.
“My eyes are up here, Vimes.” That lilt was back in his tone again; Vimes was reluctant to describe it as flirty, because it was coming from a man who had never been known to express an ounce of desire for anything that wasn’t the city.
But gods help him if it didn’t sound flirty.
Vimes scowled. “Just making sure you don’t drown yourself.” He leaned over and topped up the glass from the jug, and then sat back again.
“That is very considerate of you.” Vetinari paused, and looked around the room for a moment. “When is Lady Sybil returning?”
Vimes shifted in his seat. “Day after tomorrow. Why?”
Vetinari shrugged, with one shoulder this time. “I presumed you may be missing her.”
“Yeah. I am. But…” He trailed off, and Vetinari looked at him curiously. “I don’t know. It’s nice to have some alone time, sometimes, too.”
“Oh?”
He shrugged. “I spent most of my life not having to worry about anyone but myself. Marriage has taken some getting used to, I suppose.”
“That is…understandable.”
“Is it? Really? It’s not like you have someone who gets frustrated whenever you have to bring work home.”
Vetinari put his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his cheek against his hand as he stared at Vimes. “Hmm. Quite the contrary, I’m afraid. In fact, there are a million people who get frustrated if I don’t. I would argue the weight of expectation is heavy in both cases. ”
For a long moment the crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, and then Vimes said, slightly accusingly, “I thought you said it was hard to concentrate. How are you so bloody together, still?”
Vetinari snorted, which was a very disconcerting noise, coming from him. He waved a hand vaguely and then reached down for the full glass of water, managing to grab it on the first attempt, this time. “Be assured, Vimes; I am far from together, presently.”
As if on cue, he attempted to take a drink and managed to completely miss his mouth with the water, spilling the contents instead over the front of his neat black shirt. Vimes winced sympathetically as Vetinari stared down dully at himself.
“Ah.”
“Yes, alright.” Vimes pushed himself up out of the chair tiredly. “I didn’t need a demonstration.”
He went and fetched a towel, and when he came back Vetinari was still staring down at himself. Vimes stood in front of him, towel in hand. “You alright?”
“No.” Vetinari frowned. “There are creatures on my shirt.”
Vimes leaned in and peered down. “Nope. You’re hallucinating again.”
“Ah.” Vetinari looked up at Vimes with pupils so large Vimes could barely make out the blue irises surrounding them. “Are you sure, Vimes?” he asked, hesitantly.
“Yeah. There’s no creatures, I promise. But look, take the shirt off, anyway; it's soaked. I’ll find you something else to wear.”
Vetinari considered this and then gave a vague nod. Vimes crossed to his chest of drawers and rooted through them until he found a set of loose pyjamas that were too long in the leg. “Here. If you’re staying the night, you might as well put these on.” He returned to stand in front of Vetinari again. The man hadn’t moved.
Vimes sighed. “Alright. Can you stand up?”
“Ye-es. I believe so.” Vetinari put down the empty glass, and then very carefully pushed himself out of the chair. Vimes put the pyjamas and the towel down on the table, and stepped into the other man’s personal space.
“I’m going to undo your buttons, otherwise I reckon we’ll still be here when Sybil gets back.” He reached up, and fumbled slightly with the one at Vetinari’s collar. “God knows what she’d say if she walked in now.”
Vetinari tipped his head back slightly to give him better access, and his eyes fluttered closed again. “I have it on good authority that she would be less surprised than you might think, Vimes.”
Vimes paused, his fingers still on the stubborn button. “What? What the hell does that mean?”
Vetinari opened his eyes and peered down at him. “Precisely what I said, Commander.”
“On whose bloody authority?!”
“Your wife’s, of course.”
Vimes opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Why wouldn’t she be surprised to find me undressing you in our bedroom?!”
Vetinari finally seemed to detect the tone, and frowned. “Ah. My apologies. I believe I have overstepped again. Kindly forget I said anything.”
“What?! You can’t just say something like that and then pretend it never happened!”
“Hmm?” Vetinari blinked owlishly. “Say something like what?”
“Oh, for gods sake…” Vimes narrowed his eyes and then shook his head. “Fine.” He returned his attention to the buttons. “You and me will be having a proper bloody conversation once you’re over this, though, and you can be damned sure I won’t be letting you get away with claiming you can’t remember any of it.” He unfastened the last button and then stepped back as the shirt fell open and exposed the pale flesh beneath. “There.”
Vetinari looked down at himself and then shrugged out of the shirt, somewhat unsteadily. Vimes put out a hand and grabbed his arm until he was sure he wasn’t going to lose his footing, then handed him the towel. “Dry off before you get dressed.”
Vetinari stared down at the towel as if he had never seen one before, and then looked back up at Vimes blankly. Finally Vimes grabbed the towel back off him, and began roughly wiping down the damp, bare torso, holding Vetinari steady with his free hand as he did.
He added the sensation of the hot skin beneath his palm to the ever-growing list of things to ignore tonight.
When the man was dry, Vimes helped him tug the loose shirt over his head and push his arms into the sleeves, and then stepped back. “Right. You’ll have to manage the trousers yourself, because I’m not –”
He got distracted midway through the sentence, because while he’d been speaking Vetinari had deftly unfastened his belt and pulled it free from its loops in a manner that did rather odd things to Vimes’ insides. He stared as the man manipulated the black leather with his elegant fingers, wrapping it neatly around itself before discarding it to the floor. The fingers returned to the buttons on the fly, and then Vetinari was shoving the trousers down over his hips to land in a heap around his ankles.
Vimes blinked, and tried very hard not to stare at the lean expanse of thigh that had been revealed. Thankfully the shirt was long enough to cover any of the other relevant parts.
“...” he said.
And then Vetinari sat down heavily in the chair, grimacing, and Vimes felt a sting of shame as he remembered that the man had turned up here for his help. After being poisoned. So whatever the hell Vimes’ traitorous insides were trying to tell him, it would have to wait because this was really not the time.
Without thinking he dropped to his knees, and reached for Vetinari’s shoes. They were soft, assassins shoes designed for scaling buildings rather than the sturdy boots he wore for work, and Vimes tugged them off quickly without thinking about how the calves above felt in his hands as he held them.
“It getting worse?” he muttered, as he shuffled the trousers the rest of the way down and off over the socked feet.
There was a significant pause. “Yes. Vimes…”
“Look, you don’t have to talk. I meant it, when I said maybe you shouldn’t. If you’re not in your right mind, I mean –” He replaced the starched trousers with the pyjama bottoms, threading them up onto those long legs, and pulling them up to Vetinari’s knees.
“Vimes.”
Vimes stopped, and sat back on his heels. He looked up; Vetinari was staring down at him with those blown pupils that made him look disturbingly different even as he remained agonisingly familiar.
“Whatever I may say, Vimes; know that I chose to come here.”
“I know.”
“I did so because you are the only person I would trust to see me like this. Sadly, for reasons I imagine may soon become obvious, you are probably the person I should most have avoided.”
Vimes screwed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods. Look, just…stay quiet, will you? Don’t say another word until this stuff is out of your system.”
There was silence in response. He looked back up at the man looming above him, and Vetinari raised an eyebrow.
“Can you stand by yourself? Just nod or shake your head.”
Vetinari considered this, and gave a cautious shake.
“Alright. I’ll help you with these, then we’re putting you to bed, right? I don’t want to wait until you’re a dead weight to carry you.”
Vetinari opened his mouth.
“Nope.” Vimes stood. “No talking. Come on. Up you get.” He tucked his hands under Vetinari’s armpits, and then steadied him as he pushed up out of the chair. Once he was upright - and swaying slightly, he noted - Vimes reached down and tugged the bottoms up, trying not to make too much contact with the skin of Vetinari’s thighs as he moved. When they were at his hips Vetinari reached down and hauled them up the rest of the way. Vimes started to step back, and that's when Vetinari swayed and stumbled.
Vimes caught him, taking most of his weight as Vetinari’s legs went out from underneath him. Happily the man didn’t weigh much, but he was lanky, and now he was draped over Vimes like a coat.
“Uh.” Vimes braced himself, gently shoving the man back upright, and then as Vetinari regained his feet Vimes felt the patrician’s hands slide carefully up the skin of his back, beneath the soft pyjama top. He tensed at the sensation, and then Vetinari dropped his head to Vimes’ shoulder and nuzzled his face into his neck. Without any conscious thought Vimes allowed his eyes to close, and a second later he was making an embarrassing noise as soft lips pressed against the pulse point in his throat.
What the hell…?!
He grunted, and, with an immense effort of will, pulled away from where Vetinari was now nipping at the soft skin with his teeth. “Look,” he said, hoarsely. “Lets just –”
He didn’t get any further, because Vetinari had moved with surprising speed and was suddenly covering Vimes’ mouth with his own. Neatly trimmed facial hair tickled his chin as the man kissed him hungrily; Vimes found himself kissing back entirely on instinct until his brain finally kicked itself into gear and reminded him of the many, many reasons This Should Not Be Happening Right Now. He brought his hands up between them and put them on Vetinari’s shoulders, pushing the man gently but firmly backwards as he broke the kiss.
“That…that is a bad idea. Sir.”
Vetinari stared at him, his face illuminated by the lamplight as he ran a hand up Vimes’ chest and over his throat. Vimes swallowed beneath it, and then found himself fighting an overwhelming urge to lean into the man’s palm as the fingers slipped around into his hair and Vetinari cupped his face.
“Do you really think so, Vimes…?” the other man murmured.
He frowned, and shook his head to clear it. “Yes. I’m not going to cheat on my wife. And I’m definitely not going to do anything with you while you’re in this bloody state.” He took hold of Vetinari’s wrist, and pulled it away from his face; when he let go, though, the hand immediately returned to the same position, and this time he let it stay. “This had better just be the poison, because otherwise I don’t know what the hell kind of man you take me for.”
Vetinari smiled faintly. “I believe, Vimes, that being the kind of man I take you for is exactly why I am here tonight. You are…delightfully incorruptible.”
He scowled. “You’re going to regret this, if you remember any of it.”
“Hm. That is very likely, yes.”
Vimes felt briefly like he’d been stung, and Vetinari must have seen it in his expression because he added, quietly, “I mean, of course, that I will regret the circumstances. Not the intention behind them.”
“Ha. We’ll see.” He glanced over at the bed, which suddenly seemed to loom large in the room. “You should probably try to sleep this off.”
“If that’s what you think is best, Vimes.” Vetinari stroked his thumb along Vimes’ jawline and an image arrived in his head, unbidden, of several things they might do as an alternative to sleeping. He quickly dismissed it.
“I do.”
Vetinari sighed. “Very well.” He rocked back on his heels slightly, and Vimes grabbed his arms again to stop him toppling backwards.
Vimes rolled his eyes, entirely for his own benefit. “Probably a good thing you didn’t wait any longer before coming round. I’d hate to be fishing you out of the damned cesspit in the dark.”
Vetinari gave another delicate snort.
Vimes twisted, slinging Vetinari’s arm over his shoulder as he did, and then manoeuvred them both over to the bed. Vetinari leaned on him heavily and then half sat, half fell onto the mattress as Vimes disentangled himself and stood back. A moment later Vetinari looked up at him, and then very carefully shifted to lay back on his elbows, without breaking eye contact.
The bottom of the man's shirt had ridden up as he moved, exposing a thin band of skin on which Vimes could see a smattering of hair that disappeared beneath Vetinari’s waistband. Vimes dragged his eyes away from the sight, only to find Vetinari looking amused again.
“Reconsidering, Commander?”
“Nope.” He took a breath. “Happily married. To a woman, remember.”
“Is that relevant?”
“That I’m married? Yes!”
“Hmm. You really do need to talk to your wife, Vimes.” Vetinari inclined his head. “In any event, I am referring to the second part of your statement.”
“Yes. Of course it’s bloody relevent.” He hesitated, and then, disregarding all current evidence to the contrary, added, “I don’t swing that way.”
“Ah. Of course. Forgive me.” Vetinari was looking at him far more serenely than he had any right to, given the situation, Vimes thought. “Clearly I hallucinated you kissing back, just now.”
Vimes opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I was surprised!”
“Merely something to consider, Vimes.” Vetinari raised an eyebrow, then shuffled himself around on the bed until his head was on the pillows. He laid back and closed his eyes. “I do believe it is late. Feel free to join me.”
Vimes eyeballed the space beside him on the bed. “I’ll take the chair. Don’t want to give you any more of a reason to hang me in the morning if it turns out you get handsy in your sleep.”
As he waited for an answer, he realised with some embarrassment that a small part of him was wanting to be persuaded to take the bed, but the only response that came from Vetinari was in the form of a soft snore.
Vimes sighed heavily, rubbed his face with his hands, and went to get comfortable in the chair.
oOo
He woke up in the bed.
There was a warm mass curled against his back and an arm slung over his belly. For a long moment he laid staring straight ahead, trying to reconstruct how this had happened.
He had sat up in the chair reading until sometime after three am; he remembered hearing the bells against the background of Vetinari snoring. And then…
Then what? How had he ended up here?
He shifted slightly. He was still in the same tatty pyjamas, and nothing felt…any kind of way. Underneath them.
That was reassuring, at least. He felt his pulse start to slow again, and started to shuffle slowly towards the edge of the bed, planning to introduce some much-needed plausible deniability into this incredibly odd situation. He had barely made it a few inches, however, when the arm removed itself from around his waist and the figure behind him gave a polite cough.
“Good morning, Commander.”
He froze. “Morning, sir. How are you, er…feeling?”
“Better, I believe. Thank you.” There was a brief pause. “I am wondering, however, if perhaps you might be able to enlighten me about some parts of last night that are a little…hazy.”
“Such as, sir?”
“Such as the part that occurred in the period between pouring a glass of water over myself, right up until approximately, say, ten minutes ago.”
Vimes frowned, and finally rolled over to be able to look at the man. Then, when he realised just how close that brought him to Vetinari’s face, he grunted and hastily shuffled backwards a bit.
“You’ve been awake ten minutes?”
Vetinari furrowed his brow. His hair was mussed from sleep and he looked bleary-eyed, but otherwise he had a faint hint of colour in his cheeks again. “I believe so.”
“And what? You just fancied a cuddle?”
Vetinari hesitated. “I…hm. A lingering effect of the poison, perhaps.”
“Is that a yes?”
“...perhaps.”
Vimes watched him for a moment. “Your eyes look normal again. And you don’t sound as out of it as you did last night.” He paused. “You really don’t remember any of it?”
This time he caught a flash of something in Vetinari’s expression. It looked, he thought, like guilt.
“There are some…rather disjointed memories. I’m unsure which are real and which were induced by the substance.”
Vimes wondered if perhaps this was the way out he was looking for; he could tell Vetinari it was all a hallucination and not have to worry about any difficult conversations that might come from it. But the other man was looking at him with that uncertainty again, and Vimes was struck by the thought that Vetinari had come to him because he trusted him.
How difficult must that have been, for a man like him? A man who now couldn’t even trust his own mind…
Could Vimes really bring himself to lie to him…?
Vetinari was watching him cautiously from the other pillow, and Vimes finally realised tiredly that he didn’t want to lie about it; he had no idea what the truth would mean for him – for either of them – but he was past the point where pretending it didn’t exist seemed like an option, anymore.
“Alright. Fine. I’ll tell you what happened. But then you have to tell me what you’ve been talking to Sybil about.”
Vetinari frowned. “We discuss various matters –”
“About me. And why she apparently wouldn’t be surprised to find me undressing you in her bedroom.”
Vetinari closed his eyes briefly. “Ah.”
“Of course, if you’d rather not know…”
The patrician looked pained. “I fear that is not an option. So, very well.”
“Alright. Good.” Vimes settled back slightly, and considered how best to phrase it before deciding just to be himself. “You tipped the water over yourself, I helped you change, you stuck the lips on me and I politely declined ‘em. I got you to bed and went to sleep in the chair. I’m buggered if I know how I ended up in bed with you, but here we are.”
Vetinari had closed his eyes again midway through the description, and now he opened them. “Fascinating choice of words, Vimes,” he murmured. “However, that tallies relatively closely with what I believed had occurred.”
“Relatively closely?”
“It seems some additional memories may have been fabricated. Thankfully. They were rather more, ah, intimate.”
Vimes felt his cheeks redden. “Oh. You thought we’d…?”
“It was a concern, yes.”
Vimes scowled. “Oh, charming. What, your subconscious thinks I’d take advantage of you when you were in that state?”
“No, Vimes.” Vetinari grimaced. “There may have been some…coercive elements, but they were on my behalf. As your superior.”
Vimes wasn’t too sure how to respond to that. “You do remember I’ve arrested you twice now, right…? Which part of that suggests I’d let you coerce me into anything…?”
Vetinari appeared to consider this. “A compelling point.” He hesitated. “In any event, I am truly sorry.”
“It’s fine; it was pretty obvious you weren’t yourself. But now it's your turn.”
Vetinari sighed. “This really is something you should speak to your wife about, Vimes.”
“I agree. But it sounds like something you’ve been talking to her about. So I want catching up.”
There was a long pause, and Vimes prepared to start arguing, but then Vetinari cleared his throat. “Sybil is a very observant woman.”
“I know. She can spot a bacon sandwich without lettuce from the next room.”
“Quite. In any event, she believes she observed something about me, as it pertained to you, and she challenged me on it.”
Vimes felt that churning sensation in his belly again. “What did she observe, exactly?”
Vetinari paused again, then said, softly, “You are a detective, Commander. Based on my actions last night, I believe you could come up with a likely theory.”
The confession might have shocked him more, if he couldn’t still feel where Vetinari’s teeth had marked his skin. Instead, it simply confirmed what he had already spent half the night thinking about whilst watching the man sleep.
“Really…?” Vimes frowned, and shook his head. “But – I don’t – I mean, what? ” Vetinari was watching him, and raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I mean, I’m bloody observant,” he continued, helplessly. “Why am I just finding all this out now?”
“I have no idea why you failed to identify something apparently so evident to your wife. I certainly believed I had hidden it better. It is not something I had ever wished either of you to become aware of.”
“Why?”
Vetinari gave him a withering look. “The reasons for that should be entirely obvious, Vimes.”
Vimes attempted to shrug, which was surprisingly difficult to do when lying on your side in bed. “Fine. What did Sybil say, then?”
“She suggested I tell you.”
Vimes felt abruptly as if he was floating outside his body, because there was no way he was laid in bed beside Vetinari, having this particular conversation.
“Why?” he asked, distractedly. “What did she think would happen then?”
“I believe she thought you might…reciprocate.”
I will be having words with that woman when she gets home, Vimes thought, even as he knew damned well the conversation would end with Sybil somehow somehow convincing him she had been entirely justified in having sneaky conversations with Vetinari about his love life.
“And you’re telling me she was fine with that?” he asked, feeling like the words were coming from somewhere far away.
“I do not believe she would have encouraged me to pursue it if she weren’t. However that is, ultimately, something you should discuss with her.”
Vimes blinked back into his body with a thump, and then snorted. “Right. Except she’s not here and you and I woke up bloody spooning this morning.”
“...yes.”
Vimes took a good look at Vetinari, in the dawn light. The patrician looked softer than he’d ever seen him before, even after the last poisoning; a stray lock of hair hung down over his forehead, and the borrowed pyjamas ended three inches above his ankles. It added to the overall sense of unreality, but the stare the man was giving him was one hundred percent Vetinari.
Am I actually bloody considering this?
His gaze snagged on a small patch of exposed skin in the shallow delve of Vetinari’s hip, and he realised with a start that he absolutely was.
His mouth was suddenly dry.
“What…? I mean, what would you want from me? If Sybil was alright with it, I mean.”
Vetinari’s eyes darkened. “Whatever you were willing to offer, Vimes.”
Vimes remembered the feel of the man's lips against his throat, and understood with dawning horror that he was willing to offer him everything.
“Right,” he said, vaguely. “Right. I’ll, er. I’ll talk to her. If she’s got a problem with it, though…”
“I’m confident she will be understanding. And if not, well then, we will forget the matter was ever discussed.”
Vimes wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that, since it seemed the cat was not only out of the bag but was, in fact, now hissing and clawing its way up the curtains...but it wasn’t like they had any other option. “Yep. Okay. I hope you’re bloody right. She’s back tomorrow, so…” He trailed off. “I suppose we should go and figure out who’s behind this.”
Vetinari was still staring at him, and now he reached out a hand and cupped the back of Vimes’ neck, holding him in place as he leaned in and captured Vimes mouth in a soft kiss. Vimes made a noise of surprise, and his hands clutched at the soft fabric on the other man’s back for a second, then suddenly it was over and Vetinari was pulling back.
Vimes looked at him flatly, his cheeks reddening. “I’m bloody sure I just said I’d need to check with my wife before we did anything.”
There was a beat, and Vimes could swear there was a glint in Vetinari’s eye when he spoke next. “Hm? Oh, my apologies, Vimes. I suspect the poison has not entirely worn off, yet. It is clearly making me behave irrationally, still.” He paused. “Don’t feel too guilty. You can hardly be blamed for my behaviour.”
Vimes shook his head, then rolled over and climbed out of the bed. “I’m going to have a shave, and when I come back, I expect the last of that stuff will have worn off. Right?”
“I would expect so, Vimes.”
“Good. Because if not, you’ll have Sybil to deal with.”
“A dire consequence indeed.”
Vimes snorted, and looked back at the figure in the bed; Vetinari had sat up and was peering around the room. Vimes walked to the door and then turned back, because if he didn’t ask now he’d always wonder.
“This wasn’t all some kind of…plan, was it?”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I poisoned myself in order to get you into bed, Vimes? Because if so, I will point out that it didn’t work particularly well.”
Vimes scowled. “No. Forget I said anything.” He grabbed the door handle and was about to leave when Vetinari called after him.
“Vimes.”
He turned back again, and Vetinari inclined his head. “I am not being disingenuous. I came here because I trusted you when I could not trust myself. Anything that occurred after that was entirely unforeseen, on my part.”
Vimes grunted, still somewhat sceptical but unwilling to push it, and then headed to the bathroom. When he returned a short while later Vetinari was back in his black shirt and trousers combo, looking like himself again; an effect which was compounded by the fact that he was standing by the window, peering out across the city.
Vimes watched him for a second, then quickly pulled on some clothes and finished by strapping on his armour which – in the absence of Sybil to instruct otherwise – he had discarded in a pile on the bedroom floor the night before.
“Right. Let's go and figure out who was stupid enough to try to poison you. Sir.”
Vetinari turned, and gave him a sharp smile. “Capital, Commander. Although the dark clerks may have solved it by now, of course. They are somewhat less bound by the need to adhere to procedure than the watch.”
“Procedure like following and preserving evidence, sir?”
“Exactly, Vimes.” Vetinari strode out past him, looking amused, and Vimes marvelled at the way the man had so deftly slipped back into his role as tyrannical pain in the arse.
Then he followed him out, and got back to work.