Author: Mersedes PM
What if Hal didn't go to sleep before Roy came home? Couldn't help myself. Small one-shot. RoyxHalRated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Words: 824 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 1 - Published: 02-01-09 - Status: Complete - id: 4834917
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One-shot on What if Hal Didn't go to Sleep?
Haha, I couldn't help myself!!!
"'Go to the House,' I said, in a tone that I hoped conveyed something beyond simple concern. 'Sleep. If I find you looking this tired when I return, I shall be very cross'" (365)
I stumbled out of the carriage and miraculously found myself in a quiet, small and quaint establishment, the door closing behind me. I blinked a few times before remembering that Royston wanted me to go to bed. My eyes fluttered shut of their own accord; sleep—I hadn't slept in days and the exhaustion was tugging at my frayed nerves, pulling them apart like half sewn threads on Rook's house clothes.
I had no idea where the bedrooms were, and then my stomach rumbled, and I remembered that I had neither eatennor sleptin exactly four days and twelve and a half hours…about.
I plodded towards the kitchen, the dimmed lights in the room soothing my eyes. The scent of rhubarb caught my nose, and I sighed in contentment.
There had been too much, too much, going on for the past week. Too much for my mind to think about right now—unless I wanted to go absolutely crazy and break down into tears.
Instead, I settled on the mind numbing exercise of baking something sweet and nice for Royston when he came back from his appointment with the Esar. My hands went through the motions, and before I knew it, I'd baked at least half a dozen sweetcakes and had coated the room—and my hair—in flour. And now there were dishes and pans to be washed.
My mind buzzed pleasantly, and I couldn't think of anything better to do. And for some reason, my stomach churned with anxiety, and I just knew I couldn't merely lay down and hope to sleep.
And the mess? Well, that wouldn't do. I needed to clean. I could not let Royston see the dishes and the flour and the everything else that was dusty.
I was halfway through the living room, polishing the brasses when something akin to a punch winded me. I clutched my head as a loud, whinnying noise, almost like the horses drawing carriages on the roads, blasted through my mind. I do not know what else happened, for the world shone bright white, and then went black altogether.
Warmth suffused my body, and I curled closer to the source. The smooth edges of a comforter tickled my chin, but I moaned in contentment; my mind floated along the edges of sleeping and dreams and nice happy things that smelled of Royston.
I blinked. The past week's memories hammered at my skull with intensity and I gasped, shooting off the bed and tripping in my haste to stand up.
"Easy! Easy there, Hal."
Arms caught hold of my waist and swung me back up on the bed. I clutched the arms holding me; I was afraid that if I let go, I would be lost. I closed my eyes as another wave of dizziness crested. My heart still hammered painfully in my chest and my head ached, and it was all I could do to remain conscious as my mind swum blearily to catch up to current events. But I knew Royston was there, and that Royston would make it alright. And I clung to that thought.
I felt my chin tilted upwards by gentle fingers until I was peering into concerned eyes.
"Royston?" My tongue tripped heavily over his name, and I rubbed my eyes confusedly.
"Lay down." And I felt his strong arms support my back, crossing so each palm held my shoulders, and lay me down ever-so-slowly onto the pillows. In the interim, I tried catching my breath, which seemed like a lost cause. I fisted my hands into Roy's shirt—Roy, my anchor—never wanting to let go.
After settling me on the bed, and unnecessarily fluffing my pillows and tucking the comforter up to my chin, Royston sat down. I blinked up at him abashedly, and he raised an eyebrow.
Tapping the tip of his finger to my nose, he said, "I recall having told my beloved to go straight to bed, else I would be quite unhappy."
I blushed, and squirmed deeper into the covers, turning to my side so I wouldn't have to face him in my embarrassment and overwhelming relief.
"Royston, I—" I began, but he placed a finger on my lips, and leaned over so that I could feel his warm breath ghosting across my lips as he spoke.
"Hal," he whispered, and pressed our lips together.
And that was perfection.
Hm, how was that? Oh, and please visit the wonderful LJ community thremedon has created (just remove the spaces):
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