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It’s been a year and a half since Talbot and Harry had begun their relationship. It doesn’t even feel like so much time had passed, usually marked by the rise and fall of jobs to do. Harry’s flat had been sold, and the two had moved to a small villa tucked along the French coastline. They had a lovely view of the ocean each morning, Talbot usually the first up and about. He had wanted a view of the water, faint memories of living near some shipping yards in his youth most likely to blame. Something about the gentle lap of the waves, interspersed with the occasional cry of seagulls almost soothing to him. Countless sunrises were observed by him, though the number had begun to dwindle over time.
Harry Flynn was quite adept at keeping Talbot in bed with him. It had taken a while for either man to sleep in the same bed, but once those first few awkward nights passed, they melted against each other with ease.
It wasn’t always peaceful.
Their lives had taken them through some dark paths and experiences, and parts of them had been changed.
Harry didn’t like it when it heavily stormed. When he was awake during them, Talbot found him wearing noise-canceling headphones, tucked away in the windowless basement. He never once questioned Harry, merely making the other some tea to enjoy as the storm passed. If the storm began when he slept, Harry had no such recourse. The first night it had stormed, a loud crack of thunder sent Harry off the edge of the bed. His only hand clamped over his side, chest heaving to take in air as he curled up as small as possible.
He hoped the pathetic posture would amuse Lazarevic enough to avoid firing again.
A whimper escaped him when another crack rang out, and Harry expected more pain. Instead, a familiar hand slid under his neck, the comforting weight of his headphones being placed over his ears. For a moment all Harry heard was his pounding heart, feeling almost sick as he was carefully raised into a half-sitting position. Warm hands rested upon his own, gently coaxing his hand up and away from a wound that had long since healed. Familiar stubble brushed along his neck as he felt Talbot tuck his head into Harry’s shoulder, cradling him close. They sit on the wood flooring until Harry no longer sees bright flashes, and he finds himself unwilling to speak. It was humiliating, being drawn back again and again to Shambhala by such a simple act of nature.
Talbot says nothing, only showing his concern by remaining in bed the next morning. He’s holding the other, merely giving Harry a kiss when he tries to say some excuse. He didn’t require an explanation, it would come when Harry was ready to speak.
With Talbot, it’s less of a physical trigger and more of a mental one.
He reacts when they’re on a job together, pouring over notes. It was late, and they were both exhausted from running away from an ambush. Harry is tired, and Talbot only means well when he insists Harry tries to rest first. Harry grouses but eventually snaps at Talbot to leave him be and to fuck off. Harry doesn’t notice that Talbot has gone for hours, tearing the hotel room apart before pulling his prosthetic back on and stomping out into the night. Talbot isn’t far, head slightly bowed and hands folded when Harry sits beside him. They’re in a park that’s nearby the hotel, and for a while, they don’t say anything. Harry sees the way Talbot is trembling as if awaiting to be punished for speaking out.
Harry just takes a hold of Tablot’s hand, the sun slowly rising before he feels the pressure of a soft squeeze. The rest of the job is spent with Harry pushing Talbot to choose first, making sure to show that he is listening by tokens of affection. The other doesn’t come from his mute state until they are home, spending a solid day just hugging Harry close and murmuring that the Brit was his and his alone.
It’s not always perfect, but the two learn how to waltz around the minefields only they could see.
It was enough for them both.