Yvon Leffoy (yvon) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2008-09-03 10:07:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | exhausted |
An hour or two after midnight, Tuesday 15 September 1942, at Malfoy Manor in Tintagel...
“I told you I wasn’t going to let you get killed before we even got married. Or after.” Yvon reached Alessio in the darkness. The bed had been moved back to its place before Yvon’s illness, far from the window and back behind curtains. Yvon was grateful for that, because he didn’t think he could sleep near a window right now, and also because he had become so tired of lying, helpless, in that bed, beneath the sun.
“How about we don’t let either of us get killed…ever. Ever sounds good.” Alessio nestled in his arms, a familiar, comfortable weight that made him feel safe.
“I’m all for that,” Yvon said, and gathered him closer; he wanted Alessio’s head in the centre of his chest, like a talisman of love and safety and home. “I do feel awful that it was targeted at us, but if that’s the case it only seems right that we did what we could to fix it.” He yawned a little.
Alessio was happy to be moved, nuzzling close. “I feel guilty about it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t,” said Yvon, stroking his hair. “But there’s nothing we can do about it, Alessio. Assuming they didn’t just send the lightning there because they thought I lived there.”
“I know,” Alessio agreed softly. He closed his eyes and let Yvon pet him; it was entirely soothing. “It just seems like we can’t catch a break.”
“We’re going to take one tomorrow,” Yvon murmured into his hair. “I have to talk to the Lovegood boy, if Wilkes thinks it will help, but after that…” He yawned. “They’ll move our things for us.”
“The Lovegood boy?” Alessio asked, confused, but he yawned too, unable to help it.
“I was in a conference while you were asleep. One of the kids we worked on last year has come back. He was a Weasley then but I’m not sure if you met him. He was one of Corinne’s cases.” Yvon sighed heavily.
“I don’t remember, probably not,” Alessio said. When Yvon and Corinne had openly been lovers, he had spent most of his time on Wilkes’ ward, doing his job and trying to avoid them. Corinne had been all of the normalcy that Yvon had always craved, or so Alessio had thought.
“The father was a lunatic, he tried to take my chin off,” Yvon muttered darkly.
Now Alessio remembered. “Him.”
“He’s dead,” Yvon said, and stroked Alessio’s arm. “The uncle is kind. And sensible. And out of his depth with Laurens and Wilkes.”
“Good,” said Alessio. “That’s twice you’ve been slugged at work.”
Yvon laughed. “Not hardly. People in pain don’t always know what they’re swinging at.”
Alessio made a face. “That’s twice you’ve been slugged at work by people who meant it,” he said, and was not at all pleased to be saying it.
Yvon kissed the top of his head. “God,” he said softly. “I…want. But I’m so tired.”
Alessio laughed. “In the morning, maybe. Or not. We do have the rest of our lives,” he pointed out.
Yvon sighed. “Yes. Yes, we do.” It was a nice thought and feeling, the rest of their lives, together. He let it carry him all the way into sleep, closing his eyes, and drifted away.
alessio and artisson