Chapter Text
Greg felt their mattress dip to the right and resisted the urge to sigh. He’d hoped, he’d really hoped, that his husband would be able to get some proper rest tonight but two hours after they’d retired for the night it seemed that Mycroft was giving up for the time being. Peeling open his eyes, Greg pushed himself up on an elbow and waited for his eyes to adjust. The curtains were heavy but there was a sliver light spilling across the carpet from the hallway, providing just enough illumination to let him see.
“Don’t get up,” Mycroft said from where he was sat on the edge of the bed, “stay here. I wont be long.”
“Myc,” he protested, fighting the urge to reach out and pull his husband back down onto the sheets.
“There’s no point in us both being up.” The resignation in the other man’s voice was obvious at least to him, just his discomfort was easy for him to read in the way that he had been shifting next to him since they had laid down to sleep.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” he asked, wishing that the answer was yes.
“You can sleep,” he said fondly, the effect ruined by his grimace a moment later as he used the bedpost to help him stand. Greg watched him go, gait stiff and shoulders tense beneath his cotton pyjamas before falling back onto the pillow and rubbing a tired hand across his face. He hated to see Mycroft in pain and this had been going on for weeks, longer probably he was beginning to realise now. The signs had been there for all that his husband’s poker face was legendary, but Greg couldn't help wondering just how bad it had been for how long and how tired the other man must have grown for him to be either unwilling or unable to hide it any longer.
When he’d first seen the scar that marred the pale skin of the civil servant’s lower back he’d traced it delicately, concerned that he might cause discomfort. Though they’d known each other for years and had been dating for several weeks, this was the first time they had taken things far enough that they were both naked and in bed.
“What happened?” he asked, crawling up to lie next to the other man. Mycroft, whose head had been pillowed on his folded arms and facing the other way, had turned his head towards him, and looked at him with a disconcerting hazel gaze.
“I had surgery when I was twenty,” he said eventually, “three of my lumbar vertebra were fused together.”
“That sounds painful.” Greg said, not wanting to pry into the past of this most private of men.
“It was… uncomfortable certainly, but it relieved me of a great deal of discomfort that nothing else had been able to.”
“And now?” he asked, rolling onto his side and running his fingertips along his partner’s back, tracing an invisible pattern up over his shoulder.
“My movement is a little impaired but as long as I do not over exert myself - barely a twinge.” The smile that followed this was rare and genuine, the sort that had swelled Greg’s heart the first time he had seen it and continued to do so all these years later.
Though Greg had been concerned by what had obviously been a serious procedure, Mycroft’s back had seemed to cause him no more discomfort than the knee the policeman had buggered playing football caused him. Some occasional stiffness after long flights or a twinge after overenthusiastic lovemaking was hardly surprising at their age after all. He smiled at the memory of some of their more adventurous escapades, of the week they had spent in the Maldives for their honeymoon when they had lived off of room service and seen far too few of the sights. The weekend away for their first anniversary however, had been cancelled at the last minute due to a crisis in who-knew-where that had required Mycroft’s particular talents while this year, he’d been two hours late for dinner and fallen asleep before they’d gotten to desert. It wasn’t always easy, but as his mother had taught him long ago, the things that were worth it never were.
Greg must have drifted into sleep at some stage as he woke with a start at the back of four. The other side of the bed was still empty and though he hadn’t really expected anything else, he still felt a fresh wave of concern wash over him. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to drift off again, he pulled back the covers stood, stretched and grabbing his towelling dressing gown, headed down the hall. He climbed down the stairs quietly, listening for the sound of typing coming from Mycroft’s study or perhaps the quiet murmur of conversation in a language he could only guess at. There were none of these familiar sounds however and the study was empty so he wandered into the living room and stopped in the doorway. Greg had brought very few items of furniture from his own flat into their marital home. Everything that he cared about enough to bring however had been welcomed with a tolerant smile including his reclining chair. It had been an extravagant treat to himself after his last promotion and while it certainly wasn’t on a par style-wise with the antique wingback chair that had once sat in it’s place, it made him happy. Having said this, Greg was certain that it had never even occurred to Mycroft to sit in it himself at least until tonight.
The chair was reclined out to it’s fullest and Mycroft’s long limbs were carefully arranged along its length, the tension in his body suggesting that even though he looked to have fallen asleep it was not a deep slumber. Greg crept across the wooden floorboards and picked up the blanket from the back of the settee, freezing when the other man shifted but it seemed the unconscious movement had woken him anyway. He watched as his husband’s face distorted, as he bit his lip and groaned quietly as he shifted his hips. Greg stepped forward, kneeling down beside the chair reached up to brush the hair off his husband’s forehead.
“Hey,” he said gently when the other man’s eyes fluttered open. There was a moment’s pause before he could see the walls being resurrected, the pain being filed away.
“Sorry,” the other man said, “is it…”
“It’s still early,” he cut in and they slipped back into silence, his fingers continuing to card through soft locks.
“I did mean to come back upstairs.” He shifted again, a momentary frown creasing his brow.
“It doesn’t matter love,” he paused for another moment. “Have you taken anything else? You must be due another round of pills by now.”
“Nothing since last night,” Mycroft said through clenched teeth, shifting again, trying to sit up.
“Here let me help,” Greg offered pushing down on the footrest to help bring the back of the chair back upright.
“Thank you,” Mycroft said more than half-heartedly. “It was remarkably comfortable earlier but…” Greg just lent down and placed a gentle kiss on the other man’s brow before helping him stand up.
“Well let’s get you sorted with some more pills and a how does a hot water bottle sound?” he suggested.
“Good, good thank you.”
“And then tomorrow morning, we can get you an appointment with your doctor.”
“Gregory,”
“Don’t Mycroft!” he said turning around to face him. “Don’t tell me that it’s not that bad, that it’ll pass,” he continued much more quietly. “It’s been weeks and it’s getting worse not better.”
“I’ve already contacted Anthea and asked her to get something scheduled.”
“That’s good. Really good,” he knew his surprise must be written all over his face.
“It’s been a long night.” Was the hollow response.
“Pills, water, heat and bed. You might be able to get a few more hours yet.”
“Hmm...” the other man didn’t seem convinced, but he leant into Greg in an unusual admission of his exhaustion. His forehead was resting on Greg’s shoulder and he rubbed a hand up his partner's back. “Can we stay here? This is less… uncomfortable.”
“As long as you like, love.”
“Hmmm,” Mycroft almost sighed, “love you.” Though he never doubted the truth of this statement, the civil servant was more prone to showing his affection in deed than in the use of trite phrases but Greg felt himself smile none the less.
He would genuinely have stood there until the sun came up but only a few minutes later it seemed that whatever relief Mycroft had gotten initially had worn off. He shifted from one foot to the other, his head burrowing into the junction of Greg’s neck and shoulder.
“Come on, I’m sure there’s some co-codamol left in the cupboard that might help knock you out,”
“I’ve got to work in a few hours,” the protest was feeble.
“Well all the more reason to get you some proper rest before then,” Greg replied, trying to keep his tone light, “you head up the stairs, I’ll be right behind you.” He filled the kettle and set it to boil before rifling through the strange assortment of bottles and packets in what passed as their medicine cabinet, searching for the prescription strength anti-inflamitories that Mycroft kept ‘just in case’. The box was almost empty which was unusual as he rarely took them if he could avoid it. Reading the instructions on the box he was reminded of one of the reasons why Mycroft disliked taking them and turned to put a slice of bread in the toaster. The instructions Take at regular intervals with meals were easier for some people to follow than others and although Greg was certain that Mycroft ate more regularly now than he had before their relationship, his lifestyle still didn’t lend itself to routine. Pulling out the last blister pack, he reached for the co-codamol and pulled a well-used hot water bottle from behind the basket.
Mycroft was just coming out of the bathroom when he got back upstairs, and looked towards him with what he was certain was supposed to be a reassuring smile.
“Thank you for this,” he said as he sat gingerly on the side of the mattress.”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied lying the side plate, glass and drugs on the bedside table, “eat the toast first huh?” The other man gave the bread a distrustful look before picking up one of the triangles. Greg sat down next to him, careful not to disturb the bed more than necessary, gently holding the hot-water bottle against his husband’s lower back. “This ok?”
“Mmmm,” he said, leaning forward slowly and resting his elbows on his knees. After only a couple of bites of toast, Mycroft abandoned the slice on the plate and reached for the pills. He took the first lot without seeming to think twice but looked at the painkillers for longer before eventually swallowing one of the two tablets Greg had laid out. He palmed the other one in a move that the policeman wouldn’t have spotted three years ago.
“Ready to lie down?” he asked after a couple of minutes and Mycroft nodded, blinking slowly. Greg helped him settle on his side before he crept in behind him, “Ok?”
“Hmmmm,” he said pulling the police man’s arm down over his side, pulling him close and trapping the water bottle between them. It took a couple of attempts before they managed to settle but Greg allowed himself to be arranged like a life size doll or an animate bolster pillow. “Greg?” Mycroft asked after several minutes.
“Yes love?”
“Tell me about the case? The one you closed today.” Greg smiled and placed a gentle kiss on his husband’s neck.
“Anything.”