K'aekniv had to go find a sack to put all of Genesis's things in. Even his giant arms weren't broad enough to hold all the changes of clothes and dozens of bottles of tinctures and tonics and soaps that Genesis used to keep himself clean.
"Eh...maybe it's not everything...but it should be good enough," K'aekniv said, as he clumped down the front steps of the ramshackle building that the fighters of the Seventh slept in, along with the rest of the low-born foreigners. "If he bitches at you," the half-angel added, as he held the bag out to Mirk, "tell him to get better so that he can come bitch at me instead. I'm the one who should get it."
Mirk's instincts had been right. Even though K'aekniv felt hopelessly enamored of the woman he'd set his heart on, his worry and regret over Genesis's leaving was pressing hard against Mirk's mental shielding, competing with the more positive emotions. K'aekniv had said he should have known Genesis would go off and do something stupid when he didn't yield the room to the commander upon deciding he needed to spend more than a few nights here and there with the current object of his affections. And K’aekniv felt terrible about it. The care with which the half angel had attempted to fold Genesis's clothes confirmed it to Mirk upon taking a peek in the sack. "I'm sure he's not really mad at you, Niv. You know how he is."
K'aekniv sighed, puffing up his feathers in frustration and running his hands back through the hair that had fallen out of his high ponytail. Mirk couldn't help but notice that both were much more orderly and clean than usual. So was his uniform. The sleeves had still been completely ripped off, but there weren't many stains or holes in it otherwise. "I know! That's why I needed to not be such an idiot."
Trying his best to reassure him, Mirk reached out and patted K’aekniv on the arm, projecting a touch of sympathy that he hoped his weak and untrained angelic empathy would pick up on. "I'll talk to him for you. Don't worry too much. Everyone makes mistakes."
“You said he’s sick? What kind of sick?”
“Only a fever for now, methinks.”
“Ah, then you’re really in for it,” K’aekniv said with a sigh, shaking his head. “You stab him ten times, it does nothing. But when he gets that kind of sick, you know, fever or cough or stomach, it gets real bad. His tricks don’t work on that kind of shit. He feels it three times worse than the rest of us.”
That would explain some of Genesis’s compliance, Mirk supposed. And the extents Genesis went to in order to avoid illness, all his cleaning and scrubbing. Mirk still couldn’t see the connection between the two. It was probably some kind of superstition from the way he’d been raised, the same as the things K’aekniv did to grant himself luck, and his own praying and crossing himself. “He has been acting a little odd. He barely tried to run away this morning.”
K’aekniv nodded. “When he gets like this, he’ll do anything. Shit, he’ll even come hide under my wing to not be so cold. He bitches the whole time, but still.” The thought of it made K’aekniv’s guilt spike again — he thought he should be the one taking care of Genesis, not him.
“I really don’t mind, K’aekniv. He’ll forgive you. And it’s easy to make mistakes when you’re distracted.”
"You're right about that," K'aekniv said, ducking one wing and glancing over his shoulder back at the steps to the dormitory, unable to help himself. Mirk had noticed the woman idling around nearby. While K'aekniv had been inside, she'd been pacing a bit, looking dissatisfied and picking at her long, curly dark hair that was covered by only a scrap of a kerchief. She was dressed like one of the washerwomen from the Supply Corps. But she'd tugged the front of her dress down as far as good manners allowed, and Mirk noted that her stays were pulled especially tight, the better to display her ample chest and wide, full hips. Mirk could see why K’aekniv had fallen for her. The half-angel always rambled on about the benefits of "someone with more to hold onto'' when he was drinking.
"Is that her?" Mirk asked.
"Who else? Lina!" K'aekniv called out to her. "Come! You should meet my friend."
Mirk got the impression that K'aekniv wanted to show the woman off. She grinned back at K'aekniv, drawing up her skirts and coming over. As soon as K'aekniv's eyes were off her and his arm was wrapped around her shoulders — a bold move, but K'aekniv had never been one to concern himself with propriety, in private or in public — her eyes fixed on Mirk. He thought her eyes grew a little colder. "Your friend? I hope he's not as bad as that other one."
K'aekniv laughed. "Snegurochka loves us, even if he beats the shit out of us too. Anyway, this is Mirk. Mirk, this is Lina."
Reacting instinctively, Mirk bowed to Lina. She returned the favor with as much of curtsey as she could manage with K’aekniv holding onto her, but her expression went even colder upon hearing K'aekniv's evaluation of Genesis. Mirk supposed he couldn't quite blame her. From the way K’aekniv had explained the argument he and Genesis had gotten into, it had started with Genesis walking in on something the commander found mortifying. “It's a pleasure to meet you, ma dame," Mirk said.
“At least this one knows how to respect a lady,” she grumbled, though she worked up a better smile for Mirk.
“Mirk? He knows all the rules for women. You know, rich people.”
Lina snorted. “You mean to tell me he taught you all you know?”
K’aekniv chuckled as well, squeezing her shoulders. “Eh, maybe about how to do some fancy things, but the rest is all me,” he said, his grin going a bit more pointed. It made Lina laugh again.
Mirk’s curiosity got the better of him. As K'aekniv turned to look down at Lina, and she looked up to him, Mirk lowered his mental shielding and cast out his senses toward Lina, just a little. Not enough to pry, but enough to pick up on stronger emotions. She did feel quite warmly toward K’aekniv, but there was an undercurrent to it that didn’t quite match K’aekniv’s heartfelt and reckless exuberance.
Mirk recognized the feeling. It was the one half the noble ladies he’d run into at every ball radiated, that of a woman who was on her way up and proud that she’d had the looks and the cunning to hook a man who was both handsome and matched her ambition. Sometimes it was a good thing, a bonus that made love grow further as they ascended, arm and arm, to the upper reaches of mage society. But other times it led to bitterness, especially if the man decided he was content with the mundane pleasures of an ordinary life.
"Ah, isn't she wonderful?” K’aekniv said, giving Lina another squeeze. “You don't meet a woman like Lina every day."
Mirk pulled his shields back up as he nodded. He didn’t need to be so suspicious. Mirk was beginning to realize that relationships were different among the low-born K’maneda than what he was accustomed to. There were no months or years spent plotting and planning ahead of time, no careful calculation of what concessions were bearable in the name of the family’s position. The low-born K’maneda simply threw themselves into things, following their passion. In a way, it was refreshing. But it took some getting used to. "Yes...I'm very happy for you, Niv. Methinks you deserve to be happy too," Mirk added, turning his smile on Lina. She returned it with equal warmth that time. K’aekniv’s assurances that Mirk had manners seemed to have won her over.
"Everyone should be happy! Even bastards should get a little. But, you know, about being happy, I'll do you a favor too and go look for some closet you can put Gen in once he’s better," K'aekniv said to Mirk. "You won't stay happy if you have to share with him all the time. Me, it's fine, I can handle whatever. You're too soft, Mirk. He only bites sometimes, but it's still not fun. And he's not soft at all. You lay on him and you end up feeling like you went to sleep on the floor at the bar."
Mirk laughed at the thought of it, lifting his hand to cover his mouth. "It's not that bad, methinks..."
"See! You're too nice." K'aekniv said.
Lina nodded firmly in confirmation. “I wouldn’t put up with it.”
"Honestly, he's too ill to be much trouble," Mirk said. Though he quickly added more, once he felt K'aekniv's worry spike again at the mention of it. "It's not your fault, Niv. And I'm sure he'll be better in a day or two. Until, then...well, as I said, it's not too bad. A little...cross, but not like how he can get."
Mirk's words reassured K'aekniv enough to allow him to devote all his attention to Lina again. "Eh, maybe you're right. A man likes someone with a little fire to them," K'aekniv said.
Lina snickered, nudging K’aekniv in the ribs. "Oh, stop it...you're too much..."
"Am I?" K'aekniv teased back.
“Well, maybe not…you might be able to convince me…”
Mirk was beginning to get the impression he was overstaying his welcome. He hefted the bag K’aekniv had given him over his shoulder. "Thank you again, Niv. But I really need to get to the infirmary. Yule and Danu must be worried by now."
"It's nothing," K'aekniv said, waving him off. But Lina had sucked in so much of his attention he barely noticed Mirk heading off. "You, though..." he continued, as Mirk turned and threw himself into the throng of people crowding the street.
K’aekniv really could be single-minded about things. Part of Mirk wished he could understand that passion. But most of him was just relieved that feeling it second-hand didn’t bother him anymore.
- - -
Mirk stared at the brass key in the lock intently, biting the inside of his cheek. It rattled, but didn't turn. Brass. He always had trouble getting alloys to listen when he was tired.
"Allez, allez..."
He was almost at the point of giving up, ready to put the pile of books he was carrying and the tray from the dining hall balanced on top of it down and turn the key by hand, when the discordant voices of copper and zinc in the back of his mind finally came to an agreement. The key snicked, the knob turned, the door creaked open. Relieved, Mirk rushed in, elbowing at the wall blindly until he hit the activation rune for the magelights.
It surprised him so much that he almost tripped over the pile of Genesis's things that was still jumbled in front of the door: the man himself was still there as well, exactly where Mirk had left him more than eight hours ago, mummified in quilts and staring up at the ceiling, expression dead blank. True, Mirk had gone through the trouble of fetching books from the library Genesis might read, along with some food from the dining hall and his things from K'aekniv, but, in his heart, he hadn't expected the commander to still be there. Mirk shifted his stumble into a lunge for his dresser, sliding the books and tray onto it before they could go spilling all over the floor.
Genesis didn't stir. Was he asleep with his eyes open again? Mirk dropped both his bag and the one K'aekniv had handed off to him, wondering if the noise would draw Genesis's attention. Still nothing. Sighing, Mirk gestured the door shut before going to examine him. Oak, he could always make listen. Trees were less stubborn.
Clearing his throat, Mirk spoke up. "Well? Are you feeling any better, messire?"
Eventually, Genesis did reply. Though he didn't move otherwise. "I was...fine when you left."
Mirk laughed -- that sort of response was typical, though Genesis's compliance wasn't. Pulling out the chair from under his desk, Mirk drew it over to the bedside and sat down, lifting the edge of the quilts and drawing out Genesis's arm. Mirk searched out Genesis's pulse on his wrist. It was always harder to find there than on his neck, but it felt more or less normal, steady, though just a touch elevated. That meant his fever most likely hadn't broken. Rather than poking at Genesis's face right away to check, Mirk asked him a question. "Do you still feel cold?"
"I am...accustomed to the cold."
That wasn't very helpful. But Mirk thought Genesis's continued presence told the story well enough. If Genesis had been feeling well, Mirk knew he would never have wasted a whole day in bed hiding under the blankets.
Mirk had mixed up a fever reducing potion that would probably work on Genesis's backward systems while he'd been at the infirmary; they were best taken with food, if at all possible. But making Genesis eat anything was about as difficult as getting a fussy child to have some vegetables. Only children generally couldn't turn you inside out and reduce you to dust if they decided they were fed up with things. "Well, it doesn't seem like you're all the way better. Can you sit up?"
Genesis's face remained blank, but the sparks of pain that escaped the commander's chaotic aura as he forced himself upright also told their own story. Though Mirk couldn't be sure if the stiffness was from wandering around for a week without resting or from his lumpy mattress. As Genesis meticulously folded down the quilts and tucked them in around his lap, Mirk turned to look back at the tray he'd left on top of the stack of books on his dresser. Maybe if he tricked Genesis into thinking he'd been dutifully practicing his non-healing magic like the commander was always reminding him to, it'd put Genesis in a better mood. Mirk raised one hand and called to the wood of the tray. Pine was also generally agreeable.
Having to concentrate hard to keep the tray even, Mirk called it to himself, making it float slowly over so that there was less chance of spilling the mug full of the odd, punch-like drink the English favored at the edge of it. It'd taken a lot of gestures and emphatic shakes of his head to get one of the cooks to bring him a serving with no alcohol and extra sugar. Most of the low-born Englishmen in the City spoke some kind of sing-song dialect Mirk couldn't understand.
Mirk let out the breath he'd been holding as soon as the tray was within reach. Along with the punch, Mirk had brought the best selection of foods he could find that wouldn't make Genesis ill: a halfway decent cut of beef, left almost entirely raw, some unidentifiable fruit that was probably melon, strawberries, pear. He'd needed to bribe one of the other cooks with less of an accent a goodly sum to go take most of it from the officers dining hall.
While most of the other members of the Seventh Mirk knew spent all their spare money on liquor and companionship, Genesis spent all his on extra uniforms, the materials to make his arsenal of cleaning potions, and food that wouldn't leave him hunched over in a corner clutching his stomach for hours. No breads, no pies, no porridge, no cheese, no vegetables, no meat that had even a sliver of fat on it. And, though Genesis could eat eggs, he considered them a food of last resort. Mirk had sat at a table in the corner of the dining hall cutting all the imperfections out of everything for a quarter hour before heading back to the dormitory. From the way Genesis eyeballed the tray's contents, Mirk thought he had to have done a halfway decent job of cutting the remains into uniform pieces and choosing things the commander could stomach. "Tiens. You really need to eat something," Mirk said, transferring the tray to Genesis's lap. "It's not much, but every little bit helps, non?"
Reluctantly, Genesis picked the fork up off the tray with the barest tips of his fingers and examined it critically, turning it this way and that as he checked it for dirt. Maybe if Mirk pretended not to be watching him eat and distracted Genesis a little, it would work out better. "I went to see Niv. He gave me your things."
Genesis shot Mirk a dark look -- whether it was because K'aekniv had gone through his things, or because he was displeased by the fact of K'aekniv's continued existence was unclear. Genesis stabbed one of the pieces of beef, deliberately, but didn't yet eat it. "...yes?"
"He's very sorry. He wasn't thinking right when he told you to leave. Love can make a person forget themselves a little, I'm afraid."
"Love," Genesis muttered, with something approaching a laugh but without a trace of good humor, a sharp, hissing sound. Though he did eat the beef. That didn't seem to go over well either.
"Niv cares for Lina very much. You don't have to be an empath to see it," Mirk said..
Genesis thought about this statement for a long time, forcing himself to continue to eat, though he still subjected each cube of fruit or meat to intense scrutiny before taking a bite. About a third didn't pass inspection and got carefully lined up on the barest edge of the plate instead. When he did speak again, Genesis did so slowly, with a hint of something like confusion on his face. "I had...assumed K'aekniv only cared for the more...carnal aspects of this manner of...engagement."
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"Well...sometimes a person can want only that part of things, yes." Mirk continued quickly, not allowing his mind to dwell long enough on the issue for things to go wrong. "But it does go together with love too."
Genesis's confusion grew. Like Mirk had suggested that he join the priesthood, or a traveling carnival, or something else he despised. "...right."
Mirk fidgeted with the sleeves of his robes, trying to think of a way to explain. It would probably be a futile endeavor -- Mirk never doubted that Genesis could feel all the same emotions everyone else did, it was whether he understood them the same way that was questionable -- but the subject seemed too important to gloss over. "It's a different feeling when they do. It's...a very warm feeling. A close feeling."
Genesis showed no signs of recognition. Mirk tried to think of things he could compare the feeling to, the unending brilliance that always hovered between his mother and father, the life that came into his grandfather's eyes when he reminisced on all of Mirk's long-dead grandmother's odd habits. "It's like..." Organizing a drawer? Too mundane.
"...it's almost a..." Finishing a complicated assignment? Mirk didn't think it was quite right to compare the shining light of love and acceptance to the feeling someone got when looking down at the corpse of a man they'd just garroted.
"...maybe like a bath, to you?" That was warm, at least. Peaceful. "That doesn't seem quite right, but I can't think of how else to explain it. It's warm. Happy. Together." A lot like the dream he'd had last night, but Mirk thought that had to be different too. He'd only ever felt romance second-hand. But his dreaming mind was nothing if not creative.
Genesis didn't seem convinced by Mirk's explanation. For a moment, it looked like he was going to give his own opinion on the matter. Instead, Genesis put down his fork and nudged away the tray on his lap. He'd eaten less than half of what Mirk had brought him, though he had decided that all the strawberries passed muster. Mirk would have to remember that in the future. Since Genesis was finished, Mirk leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to the commander's forehead.
They were still the same temperature. Mirk adjusted his hand a few times, but the warmth stayed the same. Mirk got to his feet and leaned in closer to Genesis, taking a close look at each of his eyes. Genesis submitted to the examination warily, but had been through the procedure enough times to know it was better to just get it over and done with. Both of Genesis's eyes were focusing and reacting properly, no longer twitching or tracking Mirk as if he was moving even though he was standing still like they had last night. A good sign: combined with his odd behavior, Mirk had been worried that Genesis’s inability to focus his eyes properly earlier meant that either the fall that'd left Genesis splayed in the street or the fever might have damaged something inside the commander's head.
Mirk drew back, sighing. "Your fever still hasn't gone down. You need a potion."
"I...suspected that was the meaning of this," Genesis said, gesturing at the plate.
Mirk picked up the tray and set it aside on his desk, bending down to rummage in his bag for the fever reducing potion, laughing to himself. "You really are very clever, messire...too clever for me..."
"Cleverness has nothing to do with it."
After finding the fever reducer, Mirk paused to pour a mug of water from the kettle on the edge of the desk before presenting Genesis with the potion. "Here you are, then."
Genesis handled the potion vial the same way he had the fork, with the barest tips of his fingers, as if he expected it to sprout fangs and bite him. He shook it, checking to see how reactive it was. The golden lights caused by the plant-based portions of the potion knocking against its dissolved mineral powders made Genesis more suspicious. "It is not...exactly the same as the last one."
"No two potions are ever alike," Mirk said. "Well. Not when I make them. But that's because I have to keep changing them to work on you. Go on. Take it. You'll feel better."
Though he was still leery of it, Genesis uncorked the potion and threw it back. The look on his face was strangled. For a moment, Mirk was worried Genesis was going to throw up his dinner, or, worse, choke himself by trying to down the mug of water Mirk pressed into his searching hand while still coughing and gagging.
Mirk took the mug back from him, pouring him some more water from the kettle. "I suppose that one isn't very nice."
Genesis grabbed the mug without hesitation when Mirk returned to the bedside, despite his usual reluctance to drink water that he hadn't boiled himself first. That time he drank more slowly, his distress fading with the taste of the potion. Though his resentment didn't seem to fade any. "No...it is not."
Sighing, Mirk lifted the potion vial and the mug from Genesis's hands before the commander's shadowy magic could get the better of him and destroy both of them. Mirk was very much aware of the shadows that were slinking out from under the bed to investigate who had upset their master, but, as always seemed to be the case lately, they looked more menacing than they felt. Sort of like Genesis himself. Mirk turned away to put the mug back beside the kettle and tuck the vial back in his bag, before he forgot about it and it ended up rolling around on the floor under his desk for weeks before it finally made it back to the infirmary.
While his back was turned, Mirk felt a bevy of sharp pinpricks of pain from behind him. Mirk turned to look. Genesis was trying to lie back down again, but more pain escaped his chaotic aura the closer he got to horizontal. In an instant, Mirk was back beside him, looping an arm around him to help him sit back up. Mirk moved his hand upwards, pressing lightly at the commander's back. Unsurprisingly, the muscles there were hard and stiff. They’d probably been hurting all along. It was changing position that made their aching too unbearable for his chaotic aura to contain.
"You're all knots, Genesis. You didn't lie down at all the whole time you were awake, did you?"
"Customarily, the sole purpose of that position is sleep."
Why did Genesis feel the constant need to make things difficult for himself? Maybe he was just that stubborn. Or maybe it was some sort of reflexive guilt, a self-imposed punishment. "Well, you have a choice to make, then, messire,” Mirk said. “I don't have a salve for muscles that will work on you. You can either stay like that until tomorrow, or I'll have to do it by hand."
Mirk expected Genesis to refuse the offer and stew in misery for the rest of the night. Instead, he nodded, albeit slowly.
"Are you feeling all right otherwise? The potion isn't making you feel sick?" Mirk asked. He felt guilty for being so suspicious, but it was truly out of character for Genesis to be so...willing. K’aekniv had said that Genesis’s intolerance for the way fevers and colds made him feel drove the commander to extremes he wouldn’t otherwise go to, but it was still odd.
"This is the...rational choice. I cannot obtain alternate quarters without being in a certain...physical condition. Thus, it is more expedient."
Mirk supposed he should have been more worried about what the statement meant for the continued health of whoever Genesis intended to get his new lodgings from, but Mirk found himself more disappointed instead. He knew there had to be logical reasons behind his complacency. Assuming that the commander was beginning to feel more comfortable around him had been too much sentimentality on his own part. "Lie down, then. On your front. It shouldn't hurt as much. And you'll need to take off the chemise, but Niv gave me your own nightshirt. That should make it a little better, non?"
Genesis didn't comment. But he did comply, neatly folding the chemise and handing it to Mirk before lying down as instructed. Mirk put the chemise on the top of his dresser beside the books he'd brought Genesis rather than stuffing it in one of the drawers. If he did that, Genesis would probably fish it out and wash it along with the rest of the clothes it might have touched the instant he could find the strength to do so.
By the time Mirk approached the bed again, rubbing his hands together briskly to warm them, Genesis was shivering. It spurred Mirk into hurrying. He'd only need to summon a fragment of his healing potential into his hands to sort things out, even with Genesis's magic working against him. With muscles that were only stiff instead of bruised and torn, touch did more of the work than magic.
Mirk started at the top, at the nape of his neck, pressing down lightly. Genesis hissed as a flurry of pain escaped his chaotic aura again. Mirk cringed. "I'm sorry, messire, it's...just a little worse than I thought. I'll be more careful."
Genesis twitched a dismissive hand at him rather than moving far enough to shoot him a pointed look over his shoulder. Biting his lip, Mirk continued, this time only smoothing his hands across his shoulders and letting his magic help take the edge off rather than pressing down straight away. At least Genesis wasn't horrifically cold, though he still felt a little chilly, considering his fever. Mirk drew up a little extra life energy into his hands as he went, using it to warm them further. He was certain Genesis had to be making all kinds of pained and horrified expressions into the pillow over being touched so much. The least Mirk could do was leave him warmer for all the trouble.
The clock ticking on the desk sounded particularly loud to Mirk that night. And the hall beyond the door was silent, with no sign of the usual drunk or two making a wavering pilgrimage to the privy. It was customary to strike up a conversation with the patient when doing that kind of soothing procedure, but Mirk had no idea where to begin. The safe topics he used with other patients -- aren't the commanders too demanding, did you hear about so-and-so and so-and-so, a pity you're here, but is there anything you're looking forward to doing after -- didn't feel right. Genesis hated small talk. Mirk supposed it'd be better just to stay quiet.
He decided to distract himself from the weight of the silence by studying the commander, checking for injuries he might have missed earlier, his sore back aside. Mirk didn't see any. Really, Genesis's skin was a marvel. He'd known noble ladies who'd never exposed an inch of skin to the sun for years and had commissioned salves and poultices from every potionmaster on the Continent to try to achieve the degree of unnatural paleness and smoothness that came to Genesis naturally. Maybe it had something to do with all the baths he took. Or his magic, or his parentage, which Mirk still wasn't entirely sure of. Mirk tried pressing his hands down more firmly now that the worst of the soreness had been magicked away, glancing up at Genesis's head.
Genesis had turned it to the side, though his eyes were still closed. The commander probably couldn't bear the way Mirk's pillows smelled. Still, he didn't look tense or annoyed, like he wanted to bolt and go scrub off any trace of dirt Mirk's hands might have left on him.
He was making an odd expression, though, one Mirk had never seen before. Lips pursed, but eyebrows raised. Curious, Mirk worked at an area he'd been avoiding because he thought it might be too tender, a knot below his shoulder blade. It didn't seem to cause Genesis any pain. Instead, it made his eyebrows shoot up higher.
Was he smiling? Or, at least, doing what was the equivalent of smiling for him? He’d seen the commander try to manage them before when the situation called for it, but they always came out looking either like he was about to rip out someone’s throat or as if he was about to sneeze. And the commander had always grumbled about everyone’s snickers or concern, something about it being nonsense that baring one’s teeth could be taken as a sign of approval.
That was what it had to be. There were other small signs too, Mirk noticed, now that he knew that there was something to look for, more involuntary reactions. Genesis's fingers were twitching at his sides. And the tips of his ears looked a bit red.
Though Genesis’s smile was backwards, Mirk found himself smiling too. If Mirk didn't know better, about how much that kind of sickness wore on Genesis, he would have almost thought that Genesis was truly comfortable with him. That he was grateful for a friend's concern for once instead of warding it off.
Mirk had always assumed that Genesis tolerated him out of some sense of obligation. Or out of guilt, or for some roundabout practical reason that he wasn't clever enough to decipher. He thought of the commander as a good friend, true, but Yule was always scolding him for being too forgiving of people. But maybe he'd been judginging Genesis too harshly, just like everyone else always did.
After all, if Genesis’s version of a smile was an expression most people would consider a sign of disapproval, how could they expect him to be friendly in the same way as everyone else? For all they knew, he could constantly be showing them kindness. It was just that he did it in a way that no one understood and Genesis never bothered to explain, his method of showing affection just another relic of the dead culture he'd been raised in, the same as his odd code of honor and his hissing and clicking native tongue.
Regardless of whether he was imagining things or not, Mirk had finished smoothing away most of the soreness in Genesis's back. It'd be best to quit while he was ahead. Mirk stepped back from the bed, closing his eyes to wait for the dizziness that came with pulling his healing magic back in close to his core to fade. By the time the feeling had passed and Mirk opened his eyes again, Genesis had turned back over. He still seemed disoriented, almost dazed. Rather than snatching up the quilts to ward off the cold, Genesis was hunched in on himself with his arms crossed tightly across his thin chest.
"Better?" Mirk asked, unable to keep from laughing a little.
The sound of Mirk’s voice brought Genesis back to himself. His usual frown reappeared full force. "The shirt."
"Oh, yes," Mirk said, stooping over and hunting through all the shapeless black clothes inside the bag K'aekniv had given him. Mirk kept digging until he found a shirt that matched the style he hazily remembered Genesis sleeping in while the commander had been stuck in the infirmary for a week after he'd nearly died — it was longer than a uniform blouse, with no collar, but still cut so that it left little of the wearer's neck showing. Though Mirk hadn’t remembered that its sleeves were wide like those of the robes the healers wore. "This one, non?"
"The one will...suffice. For now."
Mirk should have known that Genesis slept in more than one shirt. He didn't remember that detail from the commander's week in the infirmary either, but K'aekniv had been the one to give him Genesis's clothes that time as well. "Are you cold?" Mirk asked Genesis, as he passed him the shirt.
Genesis sat up and put the shirt on before answering, making certain the neck was even and tying the sleeves back with bits of black cord that had been hidden in their folds. Why even bother with wide sleeves if they were always bound away? Mirk thought Genesis wouldn't have been one to waste money on extra adornment when it wasn't needed. "...it is tolerable."
"Well, you have all the quilts I own already, messire. I'm afraid I can't do more than that. I'll leave you alone so you can get some rest. The potion will work better if you do," Mirk said.
The commander's frown deepened, but he didn't reply otherwise.
Looking toward the door, Mirk considered his options, talking to himself as he thought things through. "Let's see...Yule's no good, methinks he said he was having a friend over tonight...maybe Danu has some room...it looks bad, but everyone knows about Mordecai, and she'd be better than Eva or Sh—"
"No."
The unexpected response startled Mirk enough that he jumped. Genesis was on his back again, the quilts drawn up to his chin. He was staring up at the ceiling, his face now expressionless. "What?" Mirk asked.
"I believe the cause of all this trouble was...removing people from their rightful places. I will not continue the pattern."
It hardly sounded like enough of a reason for Genesis to ward off the hassle of having to share his space with another person. "Euh...that's true, but I know you have trouble sleeping, messire. I wouldn't want to make things any harder. You need rest."
"Once a man becomes...accustomed to sharing a bed with K'aekniv, he can sleep through any...adversity. If determined enough."
The commander did have a point. Mirk had seen how K’aekniv slept while they were all traveling together in France. The half-angel was capable of sleeping standing up or tied to the top of a carriage, but he preferred to sleep on his stomach, the same as most people with wings, sprawled out over anything and anyone within reach. And he snored incessantly. "I’m surprised you didn’t have bunks like the men who have to share four to a room.”
Genesis sighed. “It is better to let K’aekniv sleep as he prefers. Even if it is…odious. As I’m certain you’re aware, those who inherit more…angelic traits are most effective when well rested.”
Mirk knew what the commander meant. His mother was always rolling her eyes and huffing over his father sleeping as often as a cat, usually in some sunny place, soaking in the slight magical benefit of the sunlight. And waking him up, unless he could sense some threatening magic nearby in his sleep, usually took two or three valets working together. Mirk himself felt better after having a good ten hours, though circumstances rarely allowed for it. But at least he didn’t get testy when he didn’t have it. His father would sulk all morning if they got him up before sunrise. “That’s kind of you.”
"A practical consideration. An advantage worth any...adversity.” Genesis shuddered at the thought of it. Or perhaps he was still cold, despite all the quilts.
"Then I imagine you'd appreciate the peace, now that you don’t have to bear it."
Closing his eyes, Genesis dismissed him. "Do...as you will."
Mirk took a step closer to the bed, looking down at Genesis's motionless, quilt-encased form. Whatever Genesis meant by the offer, Mirk didn't see the harm in it. Mirk doubted Genesis was doing it simply to spare his feelings. Perhaps Genesis really did miss K'aekniv's company. Or maybe he felt much worse than he looked.
That thought banished the last of Mirk's will to leave. Mirk picked his nightshirt off the floor where he'd left it that morning, crossing the room to turn off the magelights. "You're very strange sometimes, messire," Mirk said, mostly to himself, as he changed out of his robes.
"It is the rest of you who are strange. Your sleeping customs are very...involved."
Laughing, Mirk considered how he was supposed to get into bed with Genesis in the way. The same way he'd gotten out that morning, Mirk supposed. Crawling over Genesis while he wasn't delirious with fatigue and fever seemed like a bad idea. It was more awkward getting in than getting out had been, but Mirk made do. Though he didn't know quite how to manage things once he got there.
Genesis wasn't very wide, but the beds the Supply Corps gave the healers were quite narrow. And Genesis did have broad shoulders. Mirk was worried that if he tried to sleep on his back that he'd shove the commander off onto the floor in the middle of the night. That left him with the wall. Which wouldn't be awful. But most of his spare pillows were under Genesis's feet to keep the trunk at the end of the bed that his legs were propped up on from being too uncomfortable. And he'd put all his bedclothes on top of Genesis. Mirk was already getting cold. He'd only come to the City of Glass with his summer nightshirt. He needed to have a new one made up for the coming winter.
Beside him, Genesis sighed. "As I said. Do...as you will."
Hesitantly, Mirk lifted up the edge of the pile of quilts, drawing underneath them. Genesis didn't stir. Then Mirk turned onto his side, facing the commander rather than the wall. Still, nothing. And nothing when Mirk let his body relax a little, leaning against Genesis's side to better keep away from the cold stone wall at his back. The smile returned to Mirk’s face.
"It really isn't so terrible, is it? Being close?"
Genesis sighed again. The room was illuminated only faintly. But as far as Mirk could tell, the commander's expression didn't look any more troubled than it usually did. He was staring up at the ceiling again. "I am not...bothered unduly." Genesis paused for a moment. "It is preferable to the infirmary beds."
"That's very generous of you, messire," Mirk joked. From the looks of things, Genesis didn't catch on.
"If sleep is your intention, then continuing to talk would be counter to it."
"You're always so sensible," Mirk said, drawing up the quilts further, so that they were back under Genesis's chin. It left him completely covered by them, just like last night, but Mirk didn't mind. It was warmer that way. And that was how he felt then -- warm, despite the stone at his back and Genesis's unnaturally still and cool body at his front. Mirk let himself fully relax, one arm straying across Genesis's barely moving chest. The commander had nothing to say, either about that or his compliment, such as it was.
Such a small thing wouldn't be notable from anyone else. But coming from Genesis, that subtle acceptance, on top of all of the rest of the concessions the commander had made, even if he’d only made them to cope with his sickness, really meant something.