InsaneJournal

WHO Laurence & Temeraire • WHERE Loch Laggan Covert • WHEN Before Serendipity Hills / during the bulettes plot
Temeraire is late coming home one night, and Laurence fears that he might have lost him all over again. WARNINGS Sads & some PTSD maybe

Laurence knew that there likely wasn't anything to worry about. He did. Temeraire was a twenty-ton dragon, a soldier, a fighter. There had been no word of anything particularly menacing lately, nothing that Temeraire couldn't handle himself. He had probably lost track of time. Hadn't thought to check his phone. Temeraire was probably fine.

But the sun had set hours ago, and Temeraire hadn't responded the Laurence's text asking if he'd be home for dinner – the stew Laurence had made was, in fact cool and already congealed – and then hadn't responded to the five texts and two phone calls Laurence had made after that, before Laurence had forced himself to stop. His hand itched now to call Temeraire now, but he clasped his hands tightly behind his back. 

Perhaps – Laurence swallowed.  There has been all those dragons, the ones who had been native to Vallo centuries past, who been thought extinct until only recently, when they had come out of hiding. Perhaps Temeraire had made some sort of misstep and angered one, and was lying even now, broken and dying, from a fight he hasn't been able to win. 

Laurence paced. He had been pacing, in fact, for the last hour. Lan Xichen had stayed out with him, his presence a small comfort, and watched, a little worried, as Laurence paced. He looked at his watch. Ten more minutes, he decided. He would give Temeraire ten more minutes, and then he would ask Lan Xichen if the two of them could fly out on his sword for him. Perhaps he would ask Kamala and Carol for their assistance too. 

They would,he told himself firmly, find him, and the dragon would be fine, having only lost track of time, and he would laugh at Laurence for being so worried. He tried not to think of him in any other condition, but it was too late, and he could see Temeraire lying in front of him, as clearly as though he was actually there, broken and dying and looking at Laurence, wide-eyed with fear, but Laurence couldn't go to him, was being dragged away in the opposite direction, his nose filled with the scent of blood.

Temeraire, meanwhile, was perhaps a little worse for wear than he had been, but nevertheless in a good mood and rather pleased with himself. It was a wonderful evening for flying, and he stayed far aloft enough that water condensation formed on the edges of his wings as he approached Loch Laggan. He shook it off as he landed in the clear area beside his pavilion, looking forward to a nice long sleep. A life of academia was perfectly well and good, but it was satisfying sometimes to give in to his more primitive instincts. Anyway, it was summer. He had reading to do, but what seemed like all the time in the world to do it in, and he had taken to exploring occasionally to try and map, at least mentally, the way Vallo changed around. He was not having much success with that project, but it did not really matter when there was always something new and interesting to see. He looked over himself briefly before entering; there were some scratches, perhaps, but nothing bad enough to warrant medical attention. He did not want to get blood on the floor or any of his lovely rugs. 

When Lan Xichen spotted Temeraire’s silhouette against the starlight, he rose and kissed Laurence lightly on the cheek, bringing Laurence back to himself, before he retreated back inside.  

Laurence let Temeraire land properly, watching for any sign of injury; he could not spot any, though it was difficult to tell in with the distance and the dim light, and then he made his way to the pavilion, doing his best to control his gait, rather than sprinting to the dragon as he so dearly wished to do. 

“Laurence?” Temeraire called out low when he sensed someone approaching the pavilion. He yawned and settled himself into his usual sleeping position. “You would hardly believe it, I have killed a big digging thing in the forest near one of the wayfinders. It was like a bunyip… only much bigger, and very tough. I had to use the divine wind before it would die properly.” He yawned again. “It did not make very good eating, though. I think I might have a whole cow in the morning.” 

Laurence opened his mouth to demand where Temeraire had been, but the words died on his lips as Temeraire began to speak, what colour was still in his face draining away as he stared at Temeraire in growing horror. 

“You do not mean to tell me that you fought one of those bulettes on your own?” Laurence demanded; if he could think of anything other than all of his worst fears coming true, he might have been surprised at the fury in his voice. Some small part of him knew that Temeraire was more than a match for any one bulette, but a much louder, more furious voice drowned it out: anything could have happened. There could have been more than one, one could have gotten a lucky hit in, Temeraire could have allowed himself to be careless. “I thought you had spent all this time studying, Temeraire! What were you thinking?” 

Temeraire came much more awake at Laurence’s tone, a little offended and not a little hurt. Laurence was so rarely angry with him, or anything near like; it was very painful to be spoken to like an unruly cadet, when he had only been doing what he thought was the right thing.  “Well,” he said, in what he thought was a very reasonable way. “Mostly I was thinking that it was going to get through and end up somewhere in the middle of the city, which would have been very bad indeed, and since I was there, it was surely my responsibility to do something about it. You cannot say you would have told me otherwise, if you were there.” He put his head down very low and attempted to nudge Laurence’s hand onto his great muzzle. He had imagined Laurence would be pleased to hear about his victory, or even impressed; he may even have indulged in a little daydream to that effect while flying home, and to find things otherwise was upsetting in the extreme. 

Laurence had had a great deal more choice words to say on the matter, was prepared to work himself into some great rage, but then Temeraire nuzzled him and they all dissipated, like so much smoke on the wind. 

“But I wasn't there,” Laurence said, and let himself rest his forehead against Temeraire's hide. He felt a sudden great rush of guilt, and a great deal more shame.  “I am sorry for yelling, Temeraire.  I should not have done so. Only, I’ve been so worried these last few hours when you weren't home when I expected you to be. I thought…” He frowned, and leaned back, keeping his hand on Temeraire's muzzle. It was soft under Laurence's hand, and solid, and there, safe and whole. “Well, it is no matter what I thought. I am glad you are safe, dear. Were you hurt?” 

Temeraire hesitated; he was glad Laurence was no longer angry, but was not very sure he ought to be entirely honest unless he somehow bring it on again. “Only a scratch or two,” he said finally; he would have liked to relate the tale of an epic battle, but something told him Laurence would not appreciate it very much at the moment. “I did not mean to worry you at all, but the time rather got away from me.” He was reminded of the time he had stayed out with Mei much later than he had meant to, in China, and come back to find his crew had been attacked and one of them killed. It was not a nice reminder, but after all, he was not in the military any longer; he had not thought it would matter. He had not thought Laurence would worry.

Usually he was the one doing the worrying, when Laurence was kidnapped by the enemy or sucked into some alternative dimension - every other week, or so it seemed. “You know, you could have called, if you wanted to know where I was,” he said. Maybe Laurence had forgotten about phones? “It is not like home, when one must just wait and wait to find out if someone has been killed,” he added, this last, a little pointedly. 

Laurence felt another swell of anger, and quickly tamped it down. There was absolutely no reason to be angry about it, he knew that, but there was still a tightness in his chest that felt like it needed to be released. He forced it away, instead. 

“I did call,” Laurence said, keeping his voice carefully controlled. “I sent you a number of text messages, and tried phoning you twice, but received no response. I did not know…” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will you show me the scratches? I would tend to them before they became infected. Have you seen a healer?” 

“It is nothing so bad as all that, Laurence, I promise,” Temeraire said, but distractedly; he glared instead at the little pocket attached to his breastplate where his modified phone was strapped in. “I suppose it might have been damaged, in the fight; pray will you check for me? And see if there are any dents on my breastplate also? It is too dark for me to see properly; oooh, I am even more glad it is dead now, if it has broken my things.” 

When the pouch was shaken out, the resulting search revealed a device that was almost squashed flat where it had been crushed against the beast’s armour, and bits of broken glass. “Oh,” Temeraire said, feeling rather guilty; he knew a lot of work had gone into adjusting the thing for his use. 

Laurence felt the tightness in his chest again, and blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision at the sight of the phone. It was, suddenly, very difficult to breathe, but he put his hand on the scales of Temeraire’s chest and tried to focus on the fact that Temeraire was here, and mostly unharmed, and that phones were notoriously easy to break.  

He needed to sit down, but he forced himself to push through it. 

“It is no worry, Temeraire. We can ask Lena to make you a new one. You are sure you weren't badly hurt?” 

“I am sure,” Temeraire said, but his attention was quickly shifting - something was wrong with Laurence. He did not know how he knew, but Laurence was not himself at all; this was more than mere concern over his absence. “You are not hurt?” he asked, sniffing at Laurence’s hair as subtly as he could for any trace of injury. “Something bad did not happen, while I was away? Is Lan XiChen quite well?” 

“No, I am not hurt,” Laurence said. He was walking along Temeraire’s length now, keeping his hand to his hide, looking for any sign of injury, and he stopped when he came to a large gash in Temeraire's side. His breath caught, and he reassessed – nothing so bad as that. Only a scratch. A scratch that was the length of his arm, yes, but in a creature the size of Temeraire, that was hardly anything. But it still needed to be cleaned. He should go inside to fetch some soap and water and cloths, but he couldn't bring himself, just yet, to take his hand from Temeraire. He placed a hand near the wound, searching for heat, and continued absently, “And A-Huan is well. He is only inside. Nothing happened while you were gone.”

“But something is wrong,” Temeraire said. In the back of his mind he resolved to at some time in the near future organise electric lighting for the pavilion - he had refused at first out of respect for the original design, but the darkness was inconvenient indeed when he would very much like to be able to see Laurence properly. “You are still upset. Is it Lan Huan? Are you getting a divorce?” 

Laurence started violently at Temeraire’s question, and stared at him in surprise, finally broken entirely from worrying about his wounds. “Good Heavens no. Whatever would give you that idea?” He wondered, briefly, if Lan Xichen had said anything of the sort to Temeraire, and dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arose. Laurence had had many doubts these last few months, but none at all over his marriage, which was stronger now than it had ever been. 

“Well, that would be upsetting, wouldn’t it?” The ability to be in human shape occasionally only went so far towards understanding the complexities of human relationships, but Temeraire had been in Vallo long enough to absorb some media other than books on theoretical physics, enough to have gathered a slightly more dramatic understanding than was perhaps grounded in reality. “But I thought I would have noticed something like that before now; I am glad it is not that. But won’t you talk to me, Laurence, please? I can see you are not quite yourself.”  

Laurence gave one last concerned look for the wound, determining that he would get some soap and water and soft bandages from inside the house before bed, and then climbed up to his spot on Temeraire's foreleg,  but he was silent for a time, even once he got situated. It wasn't from any especial reluctance to talk to Temeraire, though the idea of speaking of this did make him extremely uncomfortable, but rather because he didn't know how to go about speaking of it. 

“I feel, sometimes, as though I am going mad,” he said at last. “When I don't know where you are, or if you are safe, then I feel unmoored. I am so convinced, sometimes, that you have been harmed or… or killed, that I can very nearly see it. Even when I know you must be safe, when I tell myself that you are quite capable of defending yourself, I am still certain that I will find you…” broken. Killed. He could finish the thought. “It is the same with A-Huan, though he has been very good at responding to my messages, when he doesn't message me first.” 

He had discussed all this with Lan Xichen, had told him of his fears and worries, and Lan Xichen had thus far been very good at reassuring him, nearly before he needed it at all. He'd wanted to keep it from Temeraire, hadn't wanted the dragon to worry, but he realized now, guiltily, that he should not have. 

“I am sorry, Temeraire. For not telling you, and for yelling at you this evening. You had done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all; I had only been so worried about you.”

Temeraire listened with his ruff flat against his neck. “But I do not understand,’ he said. “It was not so, before; you were never afraid for me for no reason. And you can see I am perfectly well now.” 

“I do not understand either,” Laurence admitted. “But even knowing you are here, and safe, I still worry. I worry that you will catch an infection or… or I worry about what could have been. I cannot give a reason for this dread, only that I feel it.”

He considered, and then swallowed, and then when he spoke again, his voice was low and quiet, as though speaking louder might make it more real. “In that other world you were taken to, I think… I think I saw you killed. And I could not go to you, so I will never know for certain.” 

Temeraire curled himself tight around Laurence, tenting them both with his wings for comfort rather than warmth. String theory again, although it never did any good to point out that he was dead in a billion universes, and Laurence likewise; he did not much like to think about it either. “I am sorry,” he said instead, very low. “I w how it feels.” 

He remembered Pen Y Fan, and the terrible, horrible waiting to learn when Laurence would be executed. He remembered Africa, and nearly tearing his wings apart in an effort to chase the Tswana across half the continent. He remembered the shipwreck in Japan, and the terrible uncertainty of not knowing where Laurence was anywhere in the world. 

But even then he was not afraid of where Laurence was now,, since he was quite clearly there upon Temeraire’s foreleg. It must be a terrible thing to worry so, with no clear purpose. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, very low. 

Laurence felt something loosening in his chest as he was enveloped in Temeraire's wings, and he leaned his head back against Temeraire's leg. 

“No, my dear, I think only that we must wait for it to pass,” he said, patting Temeraire's arm. “Though if you will let me know when you intend to be late, when you are able to, I would take it as a great favour. And…” he stopped himself. It did not seem fair to make Temeraire promise not to do anything dangerous if Laurence was not with him. It was not always possible; today, surely, Temeraire could not have flown all the way home to get him, and still protect others. “And try to stay safe, dear heart. Would you mind terribly much if I slept out here with you tonight?” 

“Of course I do not mind,” Temeraire said. “I would never mind that - in fact, I insist upon it.” He laid his head down beside his foreleg. “You will be quite comfortable? There are clean blankets in the cabinet.” 

Laurence was feeling much more at ease, much more himself, and he smiled at Temeraire as he laid down his head, and scratched him lightly in front of his ruff. He wondered if it was just Temeraire's presence, or if it was finally speaking to him of all of this that settled him. 

“I will be quite comfortable, I assure you,” he said. “I will go in in a moment to let A-Huan know, and perhaps to get some dressings for your wounds, if you'll allow me to tend to them.” He considered for a moment, tried to picture Temeraire fighting the bulette and while he felt some sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, it wasn't the near panic he had felt when Temeraire had first mentioned it. “But will you tell me of your battle before I go in? I would like to hear of it.” 

“Oh, it was very exciting,” Temeraire said with great pleasure, sensing Laurence’s anxiety ease and feeling all the better for it. He settled back down, enjoying the soft touch of Laurence’s hand. “I am sorry you could not see it - although perhaps it is better you were not there, as I had to leap upon it and we rolled around somewhat.. It thought it would be something like an elephant, but it was not; the armour is very tough and the meat very bitter.” He hissed some displeasure at the memory of the sour taste. “I tried to crush it but it was very strong, and my claws would not penetrate, so I used the divine wind, which was quite effective. I am afraid I brought down a few dozen trees, as well; I do hope they were not magical ones.” 

“I am sorry you had such a poor time of it, and without any good meat to be had,” Laurence said. It did sound very exciting, but Temeraire was right – he likely would have been crushed between the bulk of the two of them. That did not stop him from wanting to be there. “I made a stew this evening, if you are hungry, but it is quite cold now and might take some time to heat up again.” And Laurence was, for no good reason at all, except his worry over Temeraire, quite exhausted. He did not know that he had it in him to heat it up again this evening, though he thought he would if Temeraire requested it.  

“I am more tired than hungry now,” Temeraire said, yawning again. “I will eat tomorrow, and it will taste all the better if I am not half asleep.” 

Laurence patted Temeraire fondly, and then hopped down from his foreleg.  “Then I suppose I should go in now, so that I might see to your wounds before you go to sleep.” He hesitated, and then stood a little straighter. “I am sorry, dear, for how I spoke to you. It was not very decent of me. I will try to do better in the future.”

Temeraire’s eyes had been about to close, but he cracked them open again to give Laurence a look of reassurance. “I am sorry to have worried you,” he said, low and tired, but relaxed. “Please do not repine upon it, and the next time there is a battle, I promise to let you know.”