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That night, he was awake.
Tequila wasn't usually a night owl type of guy — while the quiet of the night was sometimes the right moment to enjoy a glass of martini or tequila (his code name's namesake), and while he thought that it was a good time to contemplate, too (at least, at times), he was still the type to go to bed early and rose in the morning all energised. One could even say that he's a morning person.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he woke up from his sleep. It was the middle of the night — dawn was still a long way away, although it was not yet the darkest half of the night.
He thought that perhaps it was the right time to get some water, since he feels thirsty, and that's precisely what he did, although he didn't dare to leave the room. Doctor's orders, and besides, the non-standard, one-bedroom sleeping unit has its own water cooler, which was basically a luxury on the landship filled with rooms that would be considered a broom closet back in Dossoles — honestly, it was easily the most luxurious part of the unit, even if the slightly larger space in general and the fact that it has a mini living room (albeit more than a little cramped) and an ultra-tiny kitchen (no matter how sad it looks) was also a luxury other operators probably envied.
While he took out a clean glass and waited in the brief moment that it took for his glass to be filled, he thought of all this — of how he ended up here in the first place.
'I have a job for you, Tequila,' The Doctor had said, after the rescue operation, in his office — he had called him there. 'It would be an easy job, something right up your alley. And you would be compensated accordingly, of course.'
And he had believed him, just like that. Tequila suppresses a sigh. It wasn't all that troublesome, but still, wasn’t taking care of and reassuring heavily traumatised operators (essentially, well, babysitting) fell under the jurisdiction of their medical corps? Why not ask the gentle and unassuming Miss Whisperain to do the job, for example, since she had excellent bedside manner and knew how to relieve someone's pain (not only the physical one), or someone else who’s similarly qualified — little Miss Lisa, who had always been eager to help others and offer them her support, or even the rumoured Karlan Saintess?
He had, of course, suggested all of them and mentioned all of this after The Doctor had told him about the specifics of his job (ever the diplomat), but his superior had plainly shook his head and said no. It was too dangerous, and besides, none of them had participated in the rescue operation. It was possible for either of them to treat him, of course, but the contact couldn't be a prolonged one. Only you could do it, Tequila — you have participated in the operation, seen the castle for yourself, and most importantly, you know how to defend yourself if push comes to shove. Oh, and you’re not a former member of the Troupe. I kept Operator Shalem away from him at the time being because of that — I was afraid that it might worsen his condition, which would be counterproductive to our goal.
It was a crazy plan, of course. Even he couldn't help but think at that moment that their commander might have suffered from something else other than amnesia. Does it even occur to him that he's a Perro? Some Felines do not take well to them, and vice versa — something to do with their incompatible scents, and possibly ancestry. But The Doctor had insisted, and his word is final.
Tequila ran a finger through his messy blond hair after he'd gulped down the water from his glass. On the first day, he won't come out of the closet at all. On the second day, he hides in the bathroom. On the third day, Tequila had managed to bait him out with some snacks — he had seen their medical personnel do that to Infected children who were throwing tantrums when he passed by the sick bay a couple of times, and he thought that it might just work on him.
On the fourth day, the food tray that he left for him was empty. There was even a small piece of paper — a hasty 'thank you' was scribbled there, in Victorian and in a surprisingly neat cursive. He still hadn’t seen neither hair nor hide of him, but he purposefully said that he was welcome, aloud, and he thought that he saw the shadows in the corner move, just a little.
On the fifth day, he wasn't sleeping alone. There was only one bed, albeit slightly bigger than the standard one that only fits one adult person, but that night, he could vaguely feel something warm and distinctly human sleeping beside him. He cheated and cracked an eye open on the seventh night, and he found his charge there, sleeping soundly on the other edge of the bed, facing the other way, sans his cloak, which he was using as a blanket. The Doctor was extremely surprised when Tequila brought him his report in which he wrote precisely that — that Operator Phantom had, on the seventh night, slept on the other side of the bed. Soundly, even.
On the eighth night, the distance between them grew smaller. Despite what most people might think, Ernesto Salas loved to read when he had time, and he recalled a certain myth from Minos that he’d read once in the landship’s library when he was bored, about a girl who got married to a Feranmut, the God of Love. She wasn't allowed to see his face because he couldn't let her know about his true identity, and every night, they would only make love and sleep beside each other in complete darkness.
On the ninth night, the nightmares reared their ugly heads. Ernesto didn't know what to do at first — his first instinct was to draw his sword and defend himself, as The Doctor had said, but he thought better of it, and instead, he called his name.
Lucian, he called, stop. You are no longer there — no longer in the dark place, the castle. You're in Rhodes Island landship. You are an operator of Rhodes Island now. This is your home — Lucian, stop. Stop.
At first, he thought that even the one-bedroom unit would be too small to contain his 'nightmares' and his past — darkness could seep in through every crack and corner, after all, and darkness tends to overwhelm, silently. He also thought that maybe he's been stupid, he should have took and draw his sword, after all, but—
The tide recedes.
On the tenth night, the dam breaks. There were no actual tears, but...Phantom had clung to him. Like a child, he attached himself to him, and if before, Tequila could at least go out to get some air and fetch them their food, now he couldn't. Not with an oversized Feline man-child clinging to him — clutching his shirt as if he was his mother.
At first, he thought that he would just go out normally, and Phantom would likely do his usual vanishing trick with his Arts. But it wasn't the case. He tries to go to the door, and the man buries his face on his chest. Worse of all, he still wouldn't speak, although he would sometimes nod or shake his head in response to his questions. The Doctor said that it was already a huge leap, when Tequila called him to report the next day (and also to apologise for not being able to tell him his report in person).
At least Phantom would let him go to the bathroom — the thought of being in there with him made the blond's cheeks go scarlet. Just how many times had he changed his clothes in the - their - room? And...does he even know for sure that Phantom wasn't there?
It was now the thirteenth night. Phantom had gone from the other edge of the bed to using him as some sort of a human body pillow ever since the previous night (he thought that he would ask The Doctor for a raise after this babysitting job is over) and with a start, Tequila realised that it's what he'd been missing tonight — he woke up without Lucian's arms, without him clinging onto him as if it was life or death. And he could go to the water cooler unencumbered.
His eyes widened, and he hurried back to their room. The Doctor had given him an extra assignment, to observe the cycle of the Feline’s 'nightmares', but that was the least of his concerns. He knew about the change of personality, about the danger that the 'sleeping person' inside Phantom posed to all of them.
Most of all, Ernesto was worried that he would hurt himself.
But when he opened the door to their room (very quietly, so as to not startle the Feline inside) he found that Lucian was still sleeping on the bed — though, he was tossing and turning in his sleep, and the blanket had fallen off from his restless sleeping body.
Quietly, the blond let out a sigh. It seems like there was a disturbance in his sleep, but at least it seems to be a minor one, and Lucian was still in bed, eyes tightly shut, not up and about with unseeing, empty eyes.
...Ernesto shuddered. He had seen enough of the castle, enough to last him a lifetime, and he could only imagine what sort of terrible, unceasing horrors that ran amok in Phantom's mind, night and day. Small wonder that he had difficulties — to put it mildly. Anyone would, in his place.
Silently, he padded closer to the bed, picking up the fallen end of the blanket. When Rafaela was small, he used to tell her that her blanket would protect her from bad dreams. He draped it over Lucian's sleeping figure, and gently pulled it up to his shoulders, bringing it back where it was — where it should be.
"...The bad dreams wouldn't be able to touch you now," he told him the same thing that he used to tell his younger half-sister, in a quiet voice, as tender as the night. "Sleep well, Lucian. You're safe now."
He could see, then, that the set of Lucian's broad shoulders had visibly relaxed, and that he’d stopped fighting an invisible war in his sleep — his breathing evened out, steadier, gradually growing softer over time; his eyelids stopped moving restlessly as if chasing ghosts. His hands, which had grasped the sheets tightly, slowly loosened its grip and relaxed, too.
...Then he saw his lips move, very quietly. The words that it formed were his name - not his code name - and then those two words: sleep well.
"...I will," Ernesto chuckled, carefully climbing into the space beside him on the bed — the space that belongs to him. "Come to think of it, I don't think we'd spoken properly, even after all this time we'd spent together. It's always me doing the talking, like now. But I do hope we can talk soon. Good night, Lucian."
"...Good night," he swore that he almost jumped off the bed when his bedmate suddenly offered a very much verbal response, albeit very quietly. Their eyes met, too, as Lucian slowly but suddenly opened his eyes, and Ernesto could feel his heart jumping to his throat. He would never forget that look — the look of The God of Love. "Ernesto. Talk to you soon."
That was all he said, and he subsequently closed his eyes again — in the morning, the dark-haired man might forget this little conversation of theirs, but that was alright, Ernesto thought.
He found himself not really caring about his report to The Doctor, although his superior would be overjoyed by this progress. The only thing that the blond could care about was how his heart thumped loudly inside its cage.
That night, he was awake — he lay awake all night, because his heart was too loud, although the night's darkness was gentle, and kept the man beside him safe, until dawn breaks.
fin.