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The first time he got a vague impression of softness. Everything hurt but warm, soft.
The second time warmsoft, still hurting but at a distance, he felt like he was floating. Soft mattress, soft cushions, light fluffy blanket.
Smelled pleasant, no disinfectant. Not… not a hospital?
The third time? Hand. There was a hand. In his. He was curiously disinclined to open his eyes.
The first time he could rouse himself enough to speak he said, “I can’t see.”
“It’s ok,” Ginger’s voice said firmly. “Your eyes are bandaged. You took an explosive to the face. Flash-bang of some sort. Home made.”
“The doctor thinks everything will be fine. Your eyes are covered for a few days to let them heal. Your face looks like you’ve been scalded but you should keep your dashing good looks. It’s ok.” The hand tightened, squeezed around his. “I promise. It’s all okay.”
The drugs – whatever he’d been given – damped down the horror of remembering seeing other men blinded by gas, maimed and scarred by bombs or fire. Friend or enemy or random strangers, it didn’t matter. The drugs softened it. But it was there, even dulled by years, it was always there, never quite left.
“Dashing,” mumbled Algy through blistered lips, and drifted back off.
The next time he was awake enough to ask, “Where are we?”
“Ah, it’s ok,” Ginger said again, sounding slightly hesitant for the first time. “I checked the sheets, they’re clean.”
Soft, thought Algy once more. Not a hospital. “Where are we?” he managed, again.
“Next door to the local hospital. They’re busy, after the riots. The staff here are very nice.”
Hotel, Algy thought. Odd sort of hotel, and drifted back off yet again.
The time after that it was, “When are we?” The words wouldn’t come out right. Fortunately, Ginger understood.
“When are we? How long? It’s been three days. It’s all right. Biggles is fine, I’m fine and you’re mending.”
“Biggles?”
“He’s at the airport, helping with mop-up and keeping an eye on the plane. There was a bit of fire damage and looting during the riots. The plane isn’t badly damaged, he says.”
Being brisk with people, Algy thought vaguely, fondly.
The next time he woke he could tell the room was empty. He lay very still, resolutely not panicking (much) and was rewarded a few long, long minutes later when the door opened and closed.
“I’ve got a present for you,” Ginger said cheerfully. “The skin on your nose and cheeks is peeling off as if you have bad sunburn. You look like me after a fortnight in the tropics. One of the girls has given me some lotion they say is soothing. And something – um – Vaseline-ish? for your lips.”
Algy felt the bed dip as Ginger knelt on it. “I’m going to put some on. I tried it on myself first, it’s nice. It will feel cool. Cheekbones first.”
It was cool and it felt exquisite as Ginger rubbed it carefully onto his cheeks and forehead and nose and chin. Nice smell, perfumy.
He drifted again, just for a bit. It was a good drift, not for very long, he thought. Ginger was still talking.
“And then we’ve been promised some soup later, not too hot. They’re looking for a straw so it doesn’t hurt your mouth. I’ll prop you up.” Algy wasn’t sure about that, he was quite attached to the pillows by this point.
The doctor came after the soup. Decent English, gentle hands, sounding harassed and tired.
“I think all will be well. I will return tomorrow. Meantime, stay quiet, and continue to rest. Not too much fun, no?”
Once he’d gone Ginger popped another pill into his mouth. Algy swallowed reflexively and tried to concentrate before it kicked in. “What’s the damage?”
“He said you’ll be fine,” said Ginger, sounding confused and a little upset.
“No, I mean the town, the riots.”
“Oh! I’ve not been out much. It’s quiet. Sorry, I’ve not really been paying attention. One of the girls said… like after a bad thunderstorm?”
Girls? thought Algy but things caught up with him before he could take it further. He would have closed his eyes, if they’d been open in the first place.
He woke briefly at some point in the night. At least he assumed it was night, everything was dark of course, but Ginger had slipped under the covers and was sound asleep behind him, spooned against his back in a reverse of their usual sleeping position. It felt good. Everything felt good, beyond the aches. What were they feeding him? He couldn’t bring himself to care that much.
He managed to reach back and pull one of Ginger’s arms around him, Ginger murmured something and held on tighter but didn’t wake. Poor lad probably hadn’t slept much in the last few days.
The doctor returned as promised late the next day.
“Today we will soak the bandage and the pads off. You, sir, will not attempt to open your eyes until we are done. At any point.”
It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant either. Algy clenched his hands into fists under the covers where he hoped no-one else could see them and held as still as possible while the bandage was dampened and loosened. It seemed to be stuck to his skin in a couple of places.
There was light on his eyelids and then a long slim hand covering his eyes.
“Eyes will remain closed,” said the doctor.
A brief murmur of voices while he tried to breathe steadily.
“They’re crusted shut,” Ginger informed him. “Ointment and a bit of goo. We’re going to wash them.”
“Slowly,” said the doctor. “And gently. There is no need to worry.” Algy wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or to Ginger.
One hand working on each side. He didn’t have to see or even think to know which one was Ginger’s.
“Okay. Done. Can you give it a shot?”
He could. He could see, in the dimness. Able to see but everything was dim. He said so.
“The curtains are shut and all the lights are off.” said Ginger. “Everything is dim. It’s alright.”
“I will return tomorrow but all good, I think.”
The door opened and closed. Algy concentrated on blinking. Lying still and having your face washed shouldn’t be so exhausting.
“Can you close your eyes for a little while again? I’m going to put some of that lotion on the bits I couldn’t get to yesterday.”
“I can do it,” said Algy.
“I’d – I’d like to?”
“Well in that case…” He stretched back on the pillows and let him get to work.
Ginger made an odd noise. It didn’t sound particularly worried, though.
“What?”
“Just, your eyebrows might be missing in action for a while.” There was a hint of supressed laughter in his voice.
Algy had a nasty feeling it might be as well to avoid mirrors for a few days. Flash-bang, he remembered Ginger saying. He couldn’t remember it happening. “I didn’t duck fast enough?”
“Didn’t duck fast enough?” Ginger snorted. “You didn’t duck at all, you idiot. Too busy pushing me out of the way.”
The soft sweep of lotion was nearly as good as the first time.
“There, all done. Do you mind if I lie down for a bit?”
Algy couldn’t think of anything he’d like better.
“Long few days, laddie?”
“You could say that.” For the first time, there was a hint of a tremor in Ginger’s voice.
“Come here, then.”
He felt more like himself with Ginger resting against his chest, head tucked on his shoulder, where he belonged.
“Just for a little while.”
Algy brushed his fingers through the short, clipped bristles of hair at the nape of Ginger’s neck. “All the time you want, my lad. All the time you need.” An incoherent mutter into his shoulder was the only answer he received. Algy grinned, it never failed to amuse and amaze him; the speed at which Ginger could go from wide awake to fast asleep under the right circumstances.
Time drifted again but with him awake this time, pleasantly awake, until Ginger finally roused and sat up.
“I’ll open the curtains. See about some food.”
Algy’s eyes blurred at the brightness; he blinked away the wetness and finally focused enough to take in the décor. Finally focused enough to put two and two together and make four.
“Are we in a brothel? We are. We’re in a brothel.”
“Well… yes. But it seems quite a nice sort of brothel,” Ginger said defensively. “It was right next to the hospital, and that was full and the nurses were run off their feet and there were people sitting waiting in the corridor and there were spare beds here, so…”
As far as Algy was aware brothels were something Ginger had absolutely no experience of, nice or otherwise. Until now, apparently.
“Are we paying by the hour?”
“Um… I think so? Biggles left some money upfront. They seemed quite happy with that.”
“Should probably have negotiated an overnight rate,” Algy mumbled, already on the verge of sleep again.
He possibly needed to tell Ginger about some of his own adventures around Maranique back in the day… or then again, maybe not.