Investigator of the Supernatural, Brewer of Tea (sedulus) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-07-17 19:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | bertie eden, lucien swinton, malcolm sayers |
Who: Lucien Swinton, Malcolm Sayers, Bertram Eden
What: The aftermath of the assassination attempt
When: 16th July, 1888
Where: St. Thomas Hospital
Rating: G; mention of violence
News traveled quickly at the Night Watch; gossip even more so. Bertie was flying out the door, still pulling on his coat, when those just returning from the crime scene to the office redirected him to St. Thomas Hospital. Bertie knew it passably well, though he was rarely sent out on calls or to speak to victims. It was where London's supernaturals went for healing, which perforce meant it was where the Night Watch went to interview victims, or to view corpses.
Bertie's experience was mainly with the latter.
"Eden, what are you doing here?" Selfridge asked, mustaches pulling downward in confusion. "No one's died."
"Lord Black," Bertie panted, out of breath. "Where...?"
"Lord Black's not dead," Selfridge replied, still frowning, and speaking altogether too slowly for Bertie's frame of mind. "Had a bit of a fright..."
"Where?" Bertie demanded, and he must have looked a bit wild-eyed, because Selfridge blinked at him and pointed down the hall reflexively, immediately looking as though he hadn't meant to do so.
Bertie didn't wait around for the interrogation to continue, because Selfridge was his superior - everyone was his superior - and he could order Bertie back to the Watch before Bertie made it in to see Lord Black, which Bertie honestly did not know that he could stand.
He burst into the curtained room with a final dash of speed to avoid being halted, and found himself (understandably) slamming into a wall of unmoving werewolf.
"Friend, friend!" Bertie squeaked at once, hands raised, before his throat could be torn out. He knew better, truly he did, of course the pack would be on edge, their alpha had just been attacked, it was just that Bertie had to see...
Mouth open to stammer out an explanation, he became abruptly aware of just who it was that had blocked his path. "Oh," he said stupidly, because of course Mal was here, where else would he be?
There was an awkward dance wherein ingrained etiquette told Bertie's body to bare his neck, and Bertie's head told him that by no means was he going to offer Mal his submission, even if Mal outranked him among the pack - because everyone outranked him - and he sort of twitched to one side and back a couple of times before solving the problem by shuffling along the wall until he could see past Mal and bow to the alpha.
"Lord Black," he managed breathlessly. "Are you all right?"
Lucien was in a decidedly poor mood, and the arrival of the eager Mr. Eden did nothing to improve his temper. He’d wanted to go home, to lick his wounds in private rather than be so publicly fussed over, but Malcolm and Mac had been quite firm on the matter, he’d felt sufficiently awful in the immediate aftermath to be concerning, and hearing the exclamations of horror from the Fosters had only further cemented things.
He was sore, and frustrated, and in a hospital gown (understandable, given the state of his dress clothes, but still), and more than a little worried about Maggie, and being present for an awkward dance between his aide and his aide’s former lover was the last thing he wanted to witness.
“I am fine,” he said, more than a little peevishly. “Truly, Mr Eden. There is no…” he huffed, causing him to wince. “There is no need for excessive concern. Have you word yet of Lady Stanbury? Is she quite alright? I don’t wish for her to be overly alarmed,” he added, frowning. Given her previous husband’s violent death, he could only assume how she’d take this particular news, especially given how those around him were prone to exaggerate just how serious it all was.
Of course Mal was there. He was stubborn and insistent once the attacker was fended off. Loyalty to his Alpha and his Lord were at the top. And now he stood watch near Lucien, without taken time to see about himself but to wash the blood off his hands.
Blinking, he looked at Bertie and shook off any of the want to embrace the man. There was a time and place - mostly definitely not here.
"Lady Stanbury was there?" That hadn't been mentioned at the office. Bertie was alarmed anew, which helped somewhat to distract him from the fact that he hadn't seen Mal in months, and his traitorous eyes kept wanting to skip sideways to look at him. He skittered farther sideways and closer to Lord Black to avoid doing that, reasonably certain that Mal wouldn't have him thrown out for bothering the alpha. Anyone else might, but not Mal.
"No one died," was the first thing Bertie (foolishly) blurted, which was unfortunately essentially the only thing he knew. But Selfridge had said that no one was dead, and surely he would have included Lady Stanbury in that report. "I am sure the Lady is well. Would you like me to...should I go out to ask? I can ask, for you. Was anyone else hurt? Is your arm healing?" It was wrapped, though Bertie could not tell more than that.
"Was it, ah..." Bertie cast a sideways glance at Mal, unsure if he should speak openly about the case Lord Black had asked Bertie to look into, although Mal was his aide and probably knew already. It was still a confidence. He hedged, "Another attempt on the Lady? To do with...?" in a leading sort of manner.
Then he found that his eyes had become somehow stuck on Mal, who looked as though engagement was treating him very well and he was very happy and being fed properly and had affection lavished on him regularly by someone who smelled like perfume and flowers and werewolf, and Bertie had to jerk his gaze away in a hurry.
Mal was not as highly ranked as he wished he was, at least not yet. And when Bertie had burst in and slamming into him, the wolf fought hard not to encircle his arms around him. Steeling his posture, he nearly exposed his neck to him. But yet, he resisted. Taking only a slight sidestep, he watched Bertie squeeze on by. Blinking once slowly, Mal took in the lingering notes of Bertie’s scent and those that mingled with it.
Exhaling he watched and listened to the exchange. But then that sideways glance caught his attention and he stilled completely as Bertie’s eyes stuck on him. Yes, he was fed properly and had affection lavished on him regularly. But the ‘happiness’ was superficial and tradition. Reaching up to scratch at his left ear, Mal looked away to watch the doorway for anyone passing by.
Lucien sighed at his aide’s frozen expression, and resisted the urge to pinch his nose, knowing it would hurt him to raise his arm.
He very nearly snapped at the two of them, but he managed to swallow his anger. They were so very young, and both clearly rattled, and he knew the circumstances were awkward for both of them. This was part of his responsibility -- part of his duty -- to be the leader in the room.
What he desperately wanted was to be in his own bed, in his nightgown, with Maggie curled around him and Matthew close at hand, and the ache of missing them, the desire to be somewhere warm and simple where he could simply exist, was nearly enough to supplant the throbbing pain of his wounds.
“Mr Eden,” he said, a little strangled at his frustration for having to explain the situation himself. “Apologies. I thought you’d been fully briefed.” He sighed. “I believe my fiance is at home, with her in-laws, and I would like assurances as to her well-being, and her being made aware of the situation with as much delicacy as can be managed. I have no direct evidence that her life is in danger, but given the circumstances, I would prefer to err on the side of caution.”
He sighed again, and tilted his head to Malcolm in a gesture that he tended to use often with his packmates, one that suggested a hand on his shoulder wouldn’t go amiss -- the lad was clearly out of sorts, and needed some assurances -- and after another frustrated huff, looked over at Bertie pointedly and held out his hand. “Come on, then,” he said, figuring that Mr Eden needed settling as well.
Bertie hesitated for perhaps a second or two, no more, before he was at Lord Black's side and bowing his head, everything in him humming in happiness at the invitation despite the circumstances. He wasn't one of Lord Black's pack, and had no right to be treated as one, but he was so grateful for the gesture that he couldn't think of protesting.
The alpha was well, or would recover soon. His lady was unharmed. The tight, panicked feeling in Bertie's chest eased with the words come on, then, to be replaced by giddy relief.
"I'm sorry, Lord Black," Bertie murmured in chastened apology. "I should have sought a report before coming. I acted without thought, and in haste."
You might have been hurt, something in him whined, but it had done no good for Bertie to come rushing over here, when it might have been useful for him to hear the situation and spread the news to the rest of the pack.
"I'll bear a message to Lady Stanbury at once, if you wish," Bertie offered, still quiet, calmed for once out of his usual jitters. "And to any of the others, if you have messages you wish to be conveyed. Or I can return at once, with word from Lady Stanbury. I am sure she will want to reassure you herself, that she is well and thinking of you. I will of course be discreet. Shall I ask someone to stay with her, for security?"
How he would manage to avoid being appropriated by any of the Night Watch and set on a different task was another matter, but Bertie would worry about that when it came to it. It was hardly of any importance next to the pack's safety and peace of mind.
Bertie was taking extreme care with Lord Black's wrapped arm and his own unruly limbs, but he became aware of his own actions too late to prevent himself from touching his forehead to Lord Black's uninjured shoulder and rubbing slightly, the way Mal had once taken to doing with him. Bertie froze, reasonably horrified at himself, and hoped that Lord Black was generous enough to pretend Bertie had merely slipped on the floor and fallen headfirst onto his person for a moment.
Seeing the head tilt, Mal moved away from his station near the doorway and crossed the short distance to Lucien’s side, an eye on Bertie as he internally still warred with the sheer want to greet him like in the past.
“I am sorry you are away from the security of your comforts of home, Lord Black,” Mal spoke.
Lucien reached up to take hold of Malcolm’s hand, and, wincing, rested his other on Mr. Eden’s -- the medicine they’d given him to purge the silver from him had tasted foul, and he still felt heavy and ill from the effects of the blade.
“I would appreciate Maggie being told as delicately as possible, and that she be placed under watch regardless of whether she must remain at her house, or can make her way here,” he said to Bertie. “Her in-laws are unaware of our nature, and must be handled carefully,” he added. “Mr Eden, the assassin was a werewolf -- I do not doubt your capacity to deliver news, nor be appropriately discreet, but anyone escorting or guarding my fiance should be prepared and capable of fending off one of my kind.”
Giving Malcolm’s hand a squeeze, he looked up at his aide, wincing. “Malcolm, you will send word to Rogers, Matthew, and Mr. Foster by express, be quite clear I am out of danger and that the Fosters were witness, but unharmed, and see if you can find a way to check on the Foster children -- I fear they might’ve been badly shaken. If they need assurance as to my well-being, they can visit tomorrow morning. And if you insist on keeping watch,” he added, “you might see if Ian would wish to help you take a shift. I believe he needs to feel useful.”
He closed his eyes. “I do believe that well covers it,” he said, quietly, “although I would like to go home as soon as possible.”
Bertie nodded and straightened up, pretending he didn't mind at all that Mal had refused to comfort-touch him, and knowing he probably would have been difficult about it if Mal had.
Well. Bertie couldn't pretend to always be entirely sensible.
"Would you like a Night Watch officer with her capable of defending against a werewolf, or would you prefer one of the pack?" Those were the most sensible options, so far as Bertie was concerned (and see, he could still be sensible about some things), but the alpha should have a say in who was sent to bodyguard his vulnerable lady.
Considering what Lord Black had said regarding her relatives, and thinking that any man in the house would need some pretense for remaining there without causing alarm, Bertie added dubiously, "Or perhaps...is there a suitable lady...?"
“Mr Eden,” Lucien replied, his voice low and tired, “I don’t give a good goddamn who guards her as long as it is done as quickly as possible, and they can bloody well stand outside her house if need be. I am concerned about her safety, deeply so, and no-one has been able to tell me what her status is -- she is in that house with humans, who are incapable of protecting her, and extraordinarily vulnerable themselves, and she would be taken completely unawares should someone wish to do her harm, and I…” he took a shallow breath to calm himself – a deep one would hurt too badly. “I realize it may be wholly unnecessary, and simply my being overly cautious, but please believe me when I say I will not be at ease until I hear otherwise, and that time is of the essence.”
The powerful urge to pinch his nose was returning, but he managed to school himself and look over at the eager young man with an expression that was, he hoped, not too frustrated. “This is very important to me,” he said, quietly. “Please see it done, and soon.”
The message that had not cut through Bertie's panic before finally penetrated, and he said nothing more than, "Yes, Lord Black," before hurrying out the door. He cast one last glance at Mal as he passed, but left without any more said. There was regrettably little to say, and more pressing matters, besides.
Bertie had the Night Watch and a wolf pack to organize.
Lucien exhaled again, low and careful, and he looked up again at his aide. He was so very young. When he and the pleasant Isabel had begun sniffing around one another in earnest, Malcolm was still involved in his dalliance with Mr Eden. Given Mr Eden’s eagerness and increasing presence among the pack, and the fact that the young lady’s reputation was now at stake as well as Mal’s, once Malcolm had started suggesting he was considering an engagement with still no move to rid himself of Mr Eden, Lucien had taken his aide aside and been the voice of common sense. He hadn’t ordered, but he had strongly suggested, and, thankfully, Malcolm had taken his advice.
Regardless of the fact his aide was looking to marry to improve his station and have a family, all laudable things, and presumably had some affection for the girl in question, it had been a necessary move, and long overdue -- it was clear Mr Eden and his aide weren’t a Mated pair (they would’ve undoubtedly known by now, given the degree of their involvement), and while they both managed miraculously to avoid public suspicion, Lucien had worried Mr Eden (and possibly Malcolm as well) would grow unhealthily attached should they be allowed to continue on their own accord, and if their display over his hospital bed was any indication, he’d made the right call.
“I realise that was… difficult for you just now,” he said, quietly, “given that today has been particularly trying.” He paused. “I am glad you were there for me this evening. You saved my life, Mal.”
He sighed. “Thank you,” he said, giving the hand resting on his shoulder another squeeze. “And do let Ian take a shift if he seems willing, so you might get some rest.”
Malcolm wanted to touch Bertie, to comfort him, to engage in him in a less restrained and happier light. But a touch would have tempted him to do more and discretion was needed, especially around Lucien. This situation had knotted him up even further with worry and stress. So instead he caught Bertie’s eyes before the young man left as he himself knelt down slightly to not strain Lucien’s arm any further.
“I hope I handled the interaction properly,” Mal spoke darkly as he kept his head down. But he lifted it at Lucien’s thank you for saving his life. “You’re welcome, my Lord.” The younger wolf nodded. “I will send word to Rogers, Matthew, and Mr. Foster. And I’ll check on the Foster children.” He sighed, tilting his head to one side to expose his neck where he had unbuttoned his collar. “I’ll have Ian take a shift.” There was so much he wanted to get done before he felt like he could rest.
Lucien patted the back of Malcolm’s neck, using the contact to gently pull the younger wolf down to touch their foreheads briefly together, the room blessedly empty for the moment of doctors, inspectors taking statements and eager young humans asking endless questions, and after a few breaths, he sighed.
“Good,” he said, quietly, before leaning up a little to kiss the younger man’s forehead. He knew Malcolm was a sensitive lad, and was obviously still pining, and no doubt the recent brush with death had brought all that back to the forefront, too; even though he’d found it no end of frustrating that the two insisted on staring at one another with lovelorn expressions over his hospital bed, now was not the time nor the place to demand perfect restraint.
Malcolm let Lucien pull him down, gracious for the contact. Today was so terrible and frightening. The brief touch of their foreheads calmed him. The quiet of the room was a good reprieve from the cacophony of the last few hours.
He wanted to be stronger, higher in rank and prestige. But he was thankful he was where he was - there to assist Lucien. It was better to stare than to vocalize or even touch in front of him. This was the restraint Mal could manage considering the circumstances. “I will speak with Ian and be off to send out work and check in on the Foster children,” he whispered.
“That’s a good lad,” Lucien replied back.