Week 9: Gilbert/Roderich

Gilbert huffed as he ran into the night. His chest hurt, his lungs burning from the length of time he'd been running. He hadn't run this hard or this long for years. He dodged around a building and into an alley. He winced at the cold air intake, which felt like it was flash freezing his blood. He was also extremely aware of how loud his feet sounded against the ground. He forced himself to make the extra effort to run quietly.

There was a crack in the road and he miss it with his eyes, but caught it with his foot. He felt his root invert, rolling inward, and he knew he was screwed. He went down with a heavy thud. An overwhelming pain bloomed in his ankle, and all the albino could do was curl up and bite his lip to prevent a scream. He couldn't cry out, though he wanted to yell out in frustration and pain. He had to remain quiet or else they would find this alley.

He rolled onto his back, putting his back and head into a freezing puddle. He wanted to curse, God how he needed to say fuck. He ground his teeth together as he pulled up his pant leg and felt along his ankle. He was already swelling. It was broken or he tore ligaments, he was sure. There was no way he could run, his foot useless, and he needed to get somewhere safe. He rolled over onto his hands and knees and crawled to the end of the alley. Every bump to his knee jarred his ankle, but he forced himself to remain quiet. He thought he could hear his pursuers in the distance.

Gilbert rounded the corner into the new street and saw a familiar sight. It was a house he knew well. He groaned. It would have to do. He needed help--he hated to admit it, but there was little he could do now to protect himself. With a huff, he made his way to Roderich's front door. He pulled himself up and knocked loudly, figuring it would be better to make a loud but efficient noise, then to screw around for a while. He leaned his head against the door, waiting and hoping Roderich was home.

Roderich jolted awake, body jerking up from the bed with the unpleasant sensation of falling. He'd been dreaming, although he had no idea what it had been about; an impression of something loud and angry, something bruise-coloured, was all he could recall now. He made a note to try and work that into a composition, quite unconsciously (really, who thought about music when they'd just woken up for a second in the middle of the night?), before letting his tousled, mildly aching head fall back on to the pillow. It had just been one of those things, and there was no reason for him to be awake, so he shut his eyes again.

At least, until he heard the real banging from downstairs, and shot up again. He winced at the pain behind his eyes each sound caused, and was briefly bewildered, wondering just who would be knocking at this time of night. It didn't take him long to come to an assumption, although he decided he'd give whoever it was the benefit of the doubt. At least until he'd checked.

He dragged himself out of bed, not bothering with his (mostly useless) glasses or a shirt; thankfully, it was warm in the house despite the temperature outside. Stumbling slightly to the window, he peered out and down at his doorstep. Yes, he'd been right in his assumption. And he would have gone straight back to bed, if it hadn't been for the fact that A, Gilbert would just keep knocking, possibly until the door gave way, and B, he actually looked...bad. On the floor, injured, out of breath and definitely not in good shape right now. As much as it pained him to have to get up now, Roderich couldn't exactly leave him out there. Frowning, with concern more than annoyance, he tugged on that day's discarded shirt, and slipped out of the room, quietly heading downstairs to the hall. He didn't bother with the lights (why waste electricity, with the kind of prices he had to deal with), feeling his way to the door aided only by moonlight. He fiddled with the locks for a second, before finally managing to cautiously open it; he recoiled at the sudden whisper of cold air.

'Gilbert? ...What in blazes happened to you?'

When the door opened, he nearly kissed the other man's feet. Falling back onto his hands, he let out a growl, though it was based more in frustration than in menace.

"Let me in," he ground his teeth together as he spoke. "For God's sake let me in, Roderich." He slumped past the other man and into the warm house without actually waiting for the courtesy of an invitation. He rolled onto the floor, eyes cast up to the ceiling, panting out harsh gasps.

"Close the door. Please." He bit his cheek to keep from crying out in pain. He'd hit the ankle as he had rolled and it was not a steady ache one could get used to or ignore. He allowed his head to fall back onto the floor as he shut his eyes in the dark warmth of a safe house. Safe.



(I am so sorry. My work this week had me too busy to even check email.)

Roderich stepped back quickly as Gilbert almost fell through his doorway; he complied with his request without even thinking, shutting the door and swiftly drawing the bolts again. That out of the way, he took in Gilbert's appearance and pained expression, taking a sharp, shocked breath. He couldn't begin to guess what was going on, although, he thought grimly, it wasn't as if he wasn't used to trouble following Gilbert.

He cautiously crouched beside the prone figure, not wasting time with questions that he likely wouldn't get an answer to yet. Instead, he gently pressed the back of his hand to Gilbert's cheek; icy skin, slightly damp, but feverish underneath. He clicked his tongue worriedly, and turned his attention to the rest of him. 'Your ankle, is it? Can I look at it?'

He hoped it wasn't broken, or more medical attention than he could provide would be required, and considering the state Gilbert was in he doubted the other man wanted any attention drawn to the house. He seemed like he'd been running for his life, almost; Roderich glanced uneasily at the front door.

(It's fine, no worries! ^^)

Gilbert gulped past the pain and flinched from Roderich's touch. He was still in a fight or flight mode, and didn't quite have his body's reactions back under control. He scooped his bangs back into the other sweaty locks, attempting to keep them out of his eyes. Roderich was standing over him worried. He blinked, trying to recall what the other man had asked him. Oh...

"Uh...yeah." He leaned over his leg and pulled at his right pant leg. "I need you to get the shoe and sock off if you can." He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out heavily. "Thank you." He lay back stiffly, and let the other male room to fiddle with his foot.

Roderich nodded. 'Deep breaths, now. Calm down, it's alright.' He kept his voice low and hopefully soothing as he leaned over to reach Gilbert's foot. Holding it steady with one hand on Gilbert's leg, he gingerly took hold of his shoe, pulling at it with as much force as he dared, and glancing back to check for a reaction. Gritting his teeth in sympathy, he gave it a quick pull, removing it and dislodging the damp sock as he did so; he tugged that off too.
Underneath, Gilbert's ankle was swollen, and a bruise was blossoming. At a glance, he couldn't tell the extent of the damage; he carefully put his hands on it, looking to Gilbert. 'Can you move it? How much does it hurt?' He wanted to do something for it and get Gilbert out of the hallway, preferably somewhere warm and comfortable where he could ask him some questions.

Gilbert groaned as the shoe was removed. Any little movement. He was pissed at himself for stepping into the stupid hole. He was pissed that his body wasn't unbreakable.

He raised his eyes to look at Roderich, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "You want me to fucking move it?" He blinked them quickly tested out his range. He cried out in a--he was sad to admit this--rather girly way. He swallowed and took in another breath, keeping himself from cussing too much. The brunet didn't like it.

"It's um...um..." He closed his eyes and tried to find a way to say it. "It--I can move it up and down and slightly to the outer side, but not at all to the inner. Everything hurts." He sighed, composing himself. "It's not broken--it's worse. I've torn something along here." He ran his finger vaguely below the ankle bone and felt a darkness descend on him as he realized what this probably meant. He'd be crippled for weeks, and his ankle could be unreliable for a full year.

Gilbert felt his arm shoot out and punch the floor. "Fuck fuck fuck! Torn ligaments, fuck!"

'Torn ligaments?' ...Damn.' Roderich inspected the ankle again, running long fingers over it as lightly as he could. 'A sprain, then, although a bad one... I'll put some ice on it and then...bandage it, I suppose.' There wasn't much he could do besides wrap it tightly, but Gilbert would need rest and support, and he certainly wouldn't be able to put any weight on it. Roderich got to his feet.

'Stay he- well, obviously you're going to stay here. I'll be right back.'

He walked to his kitchen, fetching an ice pack from the freezer and grabbing a first aid kit from a cupboard. Returning to Gilbert, he knelt again, gently applying the ice to try and reduce the swelling and pain. Keeping his eyes on what he was doing, he addressed his patient. 'So. Going to explain to me just how you came to be in this state? I know only desperation would drive you to my house...'

Gilbert laughed harshly in the direction of the kitchen as Roderich left to get him ice. "Oh ha-ha...assface..." He grumbled to himself. He was still bitching quietly as Roderich came back into the room. He hissed at the contact from the ice, but stopped when he heard the brunet's new question.

He grinned falsely, his teeth exposed and his lips stretched. "Why Roddy, what ever do you mean? I came by for your annual plumbing inspection." He rolled his eyes at the other man. "Why the fuck would I tell you? Thank you very much for the ice, and if you don't mind I'll stay here a while and use your help, but I'm not talking about that."

He crossed his arms, the pose much less effective with him on the floor.

Raising an eyebrow, Roderich said nothing, but he may have applied a tiny bit more pressure than was strictly necessary as he began to wrap Gilbert's foot. He started close to the toes, wrapping tightly all the way up past his ankle. 'How long do you plan on staying?' he asked flatly as he worked. 'Are you going to actually stay and recover or should I leave the door unlocked so you can run off into the night and do God knows what else to yourself?'

He knew he sounded rather passive-aggressive- bitter, even- and that, logically, he shouldn't care at all, but it irked him when Gilbert turned up out of the blue, dumped his baggage on him and ran off again. A small part of him (perhaps larger than he'd care to admit) was also genuinely worried; Gilbert's disregard for people's concern was selfish, in his opinion, and he wondered how his brother ever put up with it, or how his friends could stand it, and why he, Roderich, was forced to deal with it so bloody often and- and now he was mentally ranting. Because that didn't make him seem obsessive at all. He grumbled under his breath, tying off the bandage.

Gilbert's eyes widened and he thrust his hands out to grip Roderich's. "N-no! Lock it. Lock the door."

He gulped, and then pulled his hands back, seemingly stunned he'd reacted like that. For a moment his gaze was locked on Roderich's; his expression naked and perhaps a bit frightened. He wasn't certain himself whether the fright was due to the idea of the unlocked door, or because of his bare exposure of vulnerability to the old companion/enemy. Gilbert's face changed so that it was set into a normal scowl. He looked away from the man helping him. He pulled his ankle away from the brunet as soon as the wrapping was completed.

"Ah yeah so lock it. I'll stay." He grumbled and looked at the other man. "Well? Do I stay on the floor? Or would you be so kind as to help me to a couch or bed?"

Roderich blinked in surprise as Gilbert grabbed him, and let go just as quickly; for a second the other man's eyes had seemed almost wild with...fright? Whatever had happened tonight, if it was serious enough to make Gilbert, of all people, react like this, then Roderich was better off leaving it...for now. He tried to reassure the shaken man. 'It's locked, don't worry. You're...safe here.' It felt strange, saying that to someone he'd fought most of his life. Sighing, Roderich got to his feet.

'If you can manage the stairs there's the guestrooms, although they'll be a bit cold.' He'd been heating only parts of the house, to save money, naturally. 'If you can't, there's the drawing room couches? But you won't be particularly comfortable, I'm afraid, they weren't designed to be slept on.' He'd woken up aching after falling asleep on them himself. He held out his hand to help Gilbert up.

'Anyway, come on, you'll have to lean on me.'

Gilbert took the other man's hand with some reservation. It still seemed strange to put trust into this person, but he had little choice. Together, the two managed to get Gilbert into a position where he could lean on Roderich. He wrapped his arm over the other's shoulders with a grimace. He hated being helpless.

"I think for tonight, I'll stay on the ground floor--" He blinked, then changed his mind. "I'll stay wherever you do." He winced at the way his voice sounded. "I'd rather not have a whole floor between us."

He could have killed himself right there. This was so not awesome it was gross. Without realizing it, Gilbert pressed his face against Roddy's shoulder out of frustration.

Roderich put his arm around Gilbert's waist, a vague blush spreading over his face at the proximity, and shifted slightly to adjust to his weight. He'd have quipped that Gilbert needed to drop a few pounds if he man hadn't looked so miserable already. Roderich sighed; as obnoxious as Gilbert could be, it was disheartening to see him like this.

'Ground floor it is, then,' he said, steering Gilbert towards the drawing room. As much as he wanted to go back to bed, he couldn't very well leave him down here, or drag him upstairs. He maneuvered him into place, seating him on one of the claw footed couches. 'I'll bring some blankets and pillows down, it shouldn't be too bad. I'll just sleep down here for tonight, I suppose.'

He walked back out to the corridor, turning and looking back through the door as another thought came to him. 'Is there anything else you need, while I'm out here? Something to eat? Or,' he added, knowing what was more likely to appeal to Gilbert's frazzled nerves, 'A stiff drink, perhaps.'

Gilbert allowed himself to be guided into the drawing room and to a small couch. He'd honestly expected for Roderich to tell him to go screw himself, or make him crawl his way up the stairs on his own. But the other man was giving up his bed and staying with him, which was...nice...and not really like Roddy at all.

He rubbed his eyes as Roderich went to get pillows, then looked up at him to answer his question. Dark circles of purple hung under the albino's eyes as he looked the other man over.

"Bourbon if you have it."

Nodding, Roderich left the room, heading upstairs to fetch pillows and blankets; after he'd staggered back down under a towering pile of them, he dropped them in the drawing room and shut the door to keep the draught out. He opened his drinks cabinet, quite sparsely stocked with spirits, and poured Gilbert a generous measure of something he'd been given one Christmas. He poured one for himself as an afterthought, draining it quickly to avoid the taste. After handing Gilbert's drink over, he made up the couch opposite Gilbert's for himself, then stood before the other man holding out pillows.

'Put these behind you, and take off your other shoe before you put your feet on my furniture, please,' he said, too familiar with Gilbert's feet on his coffee tables. 'You ought to keep your injured ankle elevated, so I'll put a pillow under it.' He busied himself with smoothing the creases out of a blanket while he waited for Gilbert to comply.

Gilbert gulped down his drink, thankful for some form of pain killer. He watched Roddy make up his own bed, feeling slightly bad that he was forcing this sleeping situation upon the other man. He nodded as Roderich brought over pillows, then piled them behind his head and sat back.

The albino pulled at his laces, then popped the remaining shoe off to drop next to his resting place. He settled back with a sigh, enjoying the warmth of the room in contrast to the wet coldness he had just come from. He closed his eye for just a moment, relaxing into the pillows.

"Thanks Roddy."

'You're quite welcome, Gilbert,' Roderich replied quietly, gently slipping a pillow beneath the injured leg. He picked up the blankets he'd set aside, draping them over Gilbert and methodically tucking in some of the edges, before he caught himself and realised he was acting like someone's mother. He glanced up at Gilbert's face, mildly flustered for a second, before composing himself. He couldn't help thinking the usually brash man was quite endearing in this state; he took pity on him and brought the whisky bottle, leaving it at the side of the couch.

'Are you comfortable? Let me know if you need anything else, I suppose,' he said as he settled on to his own couch, bundling himself up in the blankets. He doubted he'd get much sleep anyway, so he may as well offer to be helpful. It was an awkward situation, but, he thought to himself, it wasn't all that bad. So they could get along, sort of; who knew?

Gilbert watched as the other man fussed about him, taking on tasks he really didn't need to. He found himself trying to keep an eye on Roderich's face while the man slipped a pillow under his ankle and as he tucked Gilbert in. When their eyes met for a moment, Gilbert felt himself gulp. His throat clicked.

Roddy was...kind of hot like that. Taking care of him and fussing. He wasn't as composed and rigid as usual. He could only nod when the man asked him if he was comfortable.

Truth be told, he was growing uncomfortable in his pants. For Roderich!

He looked away from the other man, trying to maintain his dignity.

Roderich stretched a little, letting out a sigh, and turned to lay on his side; facing Gilbert's couch. He couldn't see clearly in the dark, but Gilbert seemed slightly...squirmy. Was he in pain? Straining his eyes, Roderich could make out a somewhat pained expression, and perhaps a redness in his face. He was warm and moderately comfortable, and he didn't really want to get up again, but...

'Gilbert, are you quite sure you're alright? Is it painful?' He pushed his blankets aside, half getting out of his makeshift bed. Perhaps it was the urge to be a good host, or maybe he'd always wanted to be a doctor, deep down.

Or maybe he was enjoying fussing over Gilbert, although he couldn't fathom why.

Gilbert looked at Roderich, seeing him getting up. "No, no." He breathed into the night. "I'm fine. Go to sleep you nanny goat."

He pulled his blankets up higher, subconsciously attempting to hide his strain. With a slightly shaky hand--he was very taken aback by this sudden attraction to such a...a prude--Gilbert poured himself another drink and downed it quickly.

With a gasp from the burn, he once again spoke. "Fine...sleep Roddy."

'You don't sound fine,' Roderich replied, letting the nanny goat comment slide- he was injured, after all, mercy for the weak and all that. He stood, missing the warmth of his blankets straight away, but he ignored it, approaching Gilbert slowly so as not to trip in the dark. 'You haven't got some kind of fever, have you? Let me check.'

He reached the other man's side, and bent to check on him, noting a definite flush over his cheeks and an expression that suggested discomfort, or nerves; Roderich thought he might be shaky from whatever had happened, too. He leaned down and pressed the back of his hand to Gilbert's forehead, peering at him in the paltry light.

Gilbert reeled back from the touch, nearly dropping his glass. He swatted the hand away with a grimace. "For the love of God, Roderich! Don't touch me."

He turned away from the other man, attempting to shut him away by placing his back to him. He squared his shoulders and began to move when he felt his ankle twinge. He cried out harshly, then fell back on the pillow. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about unsettling hard-ons. The pain had fully taken that threat away.

"Ahhh! Fuck me sideways! God damn it!" He bit his lip and closed his eyes in a wince. "Fuckity fuck fuck fuckers."

Roderich jumped at Gilbert's reproach, and widened his eyes at the sudden blue streak, before rolling them almost out of his head. He knew this would happen- Gilbert would be an unruly patient and end up hurting himself more.

'Oh, well done, idiot,' he said. There was nothing he could really do about the pain except refill Gilbert's glass. 'Drink that and stop moving, you're just going to have to be careful how you lie for now. And why are you so jumpy? I hardly touched you.'

Not waiting for an answer, he fetched a blanket from his own couch, wrapped himself in it and sat down heavily on the floor beside Gilbert. He helped himself to the bottle, taking a swig straight out of it. He didn't care, right now, about propriety, and he figured that if he was awake he may as well stay awake.

With a groan, the albino swallowed his drink. "Wait. Why the hell are you on the ground? Get back to your couch, for God's sake." He poured himself another couple of fingers of drink and finished it off quickly. The pain was finally falling into a dull ache.

He reached down beside him and batted the brunet away from him. "Go on. I know my ass is sexy and you want to be close, but you need to sleep on something softer than the floor. You might break."

His hand fell onto Roddy's head and he stilled. The man's hair was soft as hell. He brushed his palm over it, then shifted his fingers through the locks. Thick but very silken. He wondered how natural it was, or if it was because of some product. He brought his hand up to his nose. There was the scent of shampoo and basic cleaning supplies, but nothing greasy or strong smelling.