lucetilogs | Albert & Caesar (finished)

Who: Albert (

crappy_actor) Silverberg
What: Caesar finds Albert after he returns from being kidnapped; hijinks ensue.
When: After Malnosso return Albert to the village.
Where: By the river.
Summary: Caesar is desperate, Albert is grumpy and full of ow.
Rating: PG?

The door made a loud crack as Caesar threw it open, hard enough that it beat against the building's frail siding, leaving a dent. He paid it no notice, intent as he was on racing to the river -- Albert, Albert's okay, he's down there, I'll find him he's okay--

He stumbled and fell to one knee, and was up and covering ground again just as fast. He ran like he was possessed; fueled by fear that maybe something irreparable had happened to Albert, and guilt that maybe Albert was right, and his kidnapping was simple retaliation -- an attempt to keep Caesar's plans silent -- and guilt that he'd not been able to do anything as Albert had been taken, had not tried to find him.

His lungs burned as he continued on to the far end of the village, occasionally careening around wandering strangers as he headed for the river. Some of them called out to him, or asked why he was running, but he didn't stop to answer anyone. On the other hand, he hoped they wouldn't follow -- he knew Albert would not appreciate spectators. No matter how hurt he was, he always had his pride.

Caesar closed in on the river a few minutes later. He paused, and looked around for the unique splash of color that was Albert's hair, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary at all.

The idea that he'd found the wrong place struck him like a blow. Still, he had to try. Out of options, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted his brother's name.

"Albert!"

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"I didn't ask for a four-star entrée," Albert mumbled into his cup, manners lost in the face of hunger. He was forced to drink slowly because the somewhat-bland broth was still hot, but it still tasted like the best soup he had ever had.

Propping himself up against the headboard, he glanced down at Caesar sitting on the floor. He had not noticed before how tired the younger looked; there were obvious signs of fatigue on his face, and not all of them were from his journeys out of and back into the village. The obvious reason for his weariness was lack of sleep. Finally, he dryly thought, something we have in common.

"You need to sleep," he said steadily before returning his attention back to his meal. He really should not have to point out the obvious.

"Bah," Caesar muttered, closing his eyes. "I'll sleep soon enough." He was touched by Albert's concern, as nonchalant as the comment had been. It was true that he was tired -- exhausted, to be honest -- but his concern for his estranged brother overrode the fatigue and kept him awake, pushing him past his previous limits and into a dazed, giddy numbness.

For several years, he had justified their rift by telling himself that Albert didn't really matter to him, lost to him as Albert discarded his former life and family as easily as he shed old clothes, that maybe Albert had always been cold to him, and he'd simply been too young and too naive to understand. As a strategist, he'd learned to rely on facts when they were there, and make logical assumptions when necessary. Emotions had no place in that arena, and though Caesar was naturally an emotional being, he'd learned how to be a good strategist.

And so he'd told himself that Albert didn't really matter. It was the most blatant lie he'd ever told in his life.

"Are you warm enough?" Caesar pulled himself from his thoughts, focusing on his brother again.

Albert raised a brow at Caesar's dismissal, but did not comment as the other shut his eyes. He imagined there was a reason for it, but it did not really occur to him that Caesar was seriously concerned about him.

Like his younger brother, Albert had set aside his emotions for the sake of his profession. A strategist was required to observe without passing judgment and to think logically throughout plans and campaigns; there was no room for hesitation when he had to keep track of so many variables on the battlefield.

At some point early in his life, he had adopted that mindset so completely that he lost sight of those immediately around him. He chased after his grandfather's shadow while claiming he simply believed in his ideals; the fame, prestige, and abilities Leon commanded appealed to him greatly, and it took him years to even acknowledge that fact.

He finished the cup of soup and set it on the bedside table, his eyes falling on the chunk of soft bread he had also received. He could probably do without it, but the sooner his stomach began accepting solider food, the sooner he could begin adjusting his diet.

"Do you have blankets to spare?" he inquired in turn, not looking at his brother as he tore the bread into smaller pieces.

[ooc: I don't have a problem with that at all. :o My AIM SN is Untold Ideas. What timezone are you in? That'd help with our scheduling.]

"I managed to squirrel away the ones from the spare room," Caesar admitted with a snort. "It's not like anyone else is using them, anyway."

It took him a minute to get to his feet. He stretched and padded out of the bedroom, returning a moment later with an armload of soft blankets that he laid out over Albert's battered body.

Without a word, Caesar collected the empty cup and turned towards the kitchen, only looking back to Albert once.

Another few words of gratitude died on Albert's lips as he watched Caesar slip away. He hadn't felt the urge to say "thank you" so many times since he had graduated from Soledt, and even then the words were hollow and meaningless. Taking his time to finish his bread, he shifted the blankets into a more comfortable position and settled back down.

He eased himself back to rest on one side, pulling a blanket up to cover his shoulders. It would be easier to sleep now, he reasoned, and this nightmare could begin to fade away. Not that he was optimistic to think he would actually forget the entire experience.

Caesar stopped in the doorway, watching silently as Albert settled into his bed.

"Hey," he said softly, moving across the room to stand beside the bed. "It's starting to snow."

He didn't really expect an answer. He simply stood there, arms crossed in contemplation, his eyes traveling along the crooked, battered edge of Albert's visible wing, listening to the uneven rasp of his breath.

His throat constricted painfully as he studied the scene, committing it to memory. He wouldn't cry; he was a man grown, now -- but damn it, Albert always made him feel like a little kid again.

He leaned down and tucked the blankets more securely around Albert's thin frame, smoothing them away from his injured wings as best he could. He reached out to touch him, but stopped short, holding his hand out in the cool, empty space before drawing it back.

After a moment he sat back down, resting his head on his arms now crossed over the lip of the mattress.

I've missed you, he thought sadly, unable to speak the words himself.

I've missed you.

Albert & Caesar (finished)

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