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Tiny random little thing that's mostly me wanting somebody to hug Gil and then put him to sleep. Here's hoping for their reunion at some point. Heh.
Title: Conversations in the Aftermath
Rating: PG
Fandom: Girl Genius
Characters/Pairings: Tarvek, Gil, mention of Agatha and Klaus. Gil & Tarvek, a touch of Gil/Tarvek/Agatha
Summary: After the stasis field comes down over Mechanicsburg, a confused Tarvek and an exhausted Gil have a tiny moment in the aftermath
Wordcount: 1896
Warnings/Notes: Future fic, hurt/comfort, exhaustion, cuddles, protectiveness, sniping, friendship
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: Conversations in the Aftermath
Rating: PG
Fandom: Girl Genius
Characters/Pairings: Tarvek, Gil, mention of Agatha and Klaus. Gil & Tarvek, a touch of Gil/Tarvek/Agatha
Summary: After the stasis field comes down over Mechanicsburg, a confused Tarvek and an exhausted Gil have a tiny moment in the aftermath
Wordcount: 1896
Warnings/Notes: Future fic, hurt/comfort, exhaustion, cuddles, protectiveness, sniping, friendship
Disclaimer: Not mine
Conversations in the Aftermath
Gil leaned against a handy wall, still grey-faced but beginning to look slightly less like the walking dead. Tarvek, taking one look at him, made an executive decision to move this conversation to a lower altitude for the sake of those about to fall over. Himself very much included. He stomped over, planted his shoulder alongside Gil's, and promptly eased himself down to the ground in such a way that Gil, already unstable, was forced to crumple after him. And slightly on top of him, but Tarvek could live with that.
"Sturmvoraus," Gil growled, some of the sting taken out of it by the audible combination of exhaustion and relief. "What are you--"
"I'm recovering from poisoning over here," Tarvek interrupted blithely, nudging Gil into a slightly more secure position at his side. "And I think we've established that dignity is a lost cause where either of us is concerned. Shut up and sit down like a good Wulfenbach, alright?"
Gil huffed but, perhaps alarmingly, didn't actually produce a rebuttal. From the way he slumped against Tarvek's side, maybe he genuinely wasn't able to right now. Tarvek blinked at him a little, in something he should probably deny was outright concern, which Gil seemed neither to worry nor care about. He simply leaned into Tarvek, his eyes slipping closed in exhaustion, and sort of ... melted. Involuntarily. Into Tarvek's keeping.
What on earth had happened while they were all caught in stasis? The better part of three years was a long time, he understood that (he was freaking out about that, but one thing at a time), and they hadn't exactly left Europa in a pleasant state when they went under, but Gil looked worn almost to the point of compliance, and that was beyond alarming, that was close to anathema. What had been done to him while Tarvek was gone? And, perhaps more to the point, in what kind of mental shape had he come out of it?
"... Gil?" he asked, rather cautiously. He resisted the urge to poke Gil in the head, the weight of it heavy and terrifying on his shoulder. "You're not dead, are you? Only it would be difficult to explain to Agatha if you were."
"Shut up," Gil mumbled, with a decent approximation of his old growl. "You said shut up and sit, I shut up and sat. The least you could do is return the favour. Weaselly little --"
Tarvek exhaled, an odd little knot in his chest releasing suddenly. One that probably had nothing to do with the knife that had been in it for the better part of three years, but he wasn't going to be admitting that any time soon. He squirmed an arm out from under Gil anyway, the better to wrap it around the bastard's shoulders instead.
"My apologies, Wulfenbach," he murmured, mouth curling a little in a smile. "So sorry for being concerned about you. My mistake. Won't happen again, I assure you."
"Sweet lightning, don't you ever shut up?" Gil moaned, turning his face into Tarvek's shoulder and snuffling roughly. Tarvek hiccupped, too stunned to react. "How did I miss this? I had three years free of your griping. Not a snide remark in sight. Why did I ... Why did I ..."
"I don't know," Tarvek cut in, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "I-- It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to get you back, Agatha and I. We were going to find you and keep you safe. We weren't supposed to leave you alone for three years while somebody tried to figure out how your bloody father managed to stop time, and apparently all of Europa went to ruin in the interim!"
He paused, drew in a calming breath, while Gil actually opened his eyes to squint up at him. He looked bemused, for some reason. He scrunched himself upright a bit, trying to pull his chin off Tarvek's shoulder, and just sort of blinked at him. Tarvek blinked back, mostly for lack of anything better to do.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he repeated softly. Distantly amazed at himself, but too upset to do all that much about it. "None of it was supposed to be like this. Gil, what happened to you?"
It wasn't a laugh, what Gil did then. More a cracked, giddy sort of bark, a little glimpse into hysteria, and Tarvek tightened his arm automatically. Gil leaned into the grip, pressing himself along Tarvek's side, and snorted mirthlessly to himself.
"I ruled the Empire," he said, ducking his head to grin joylessly at Tarvek's chest. "I picked up the pieces, and tried to figure out what had happened, and how to fight the Other, and how to get people back from her and my father both, and incidentally I had a copy of my father in my head, I agree with Agatha, it's not at all fun, and there was maybe a chance people would have to kill me if I went funny, and ... and it hasn't been fun, you know?"
Tarvek flinched in shock, and Gil grabbed hold of him through it. He wormed an arm around behind Tarvek's back to keep hold of him, and Tarvek only blinked, staring blindly out over Gil's head in stunned amazement. His arm fell slack a bit, he didn't quite mean it to, but Gil ignored that. Gil burrowed close against him, and ignored it.
"I've been trying to repair the Empire," he rasped hoarsely. "I've been trying get you and Agatha back, and fight a war, and cure the revenants, and figure out what my father did to me, and figure out how to save everyone, and it hasn't been easy, okay? This whole ruling thing. It isn't easy. I don't know why any of you people want it. It doesn't work like people think. Nothing ever goes the way you want it to."
He was quivering faintly, wound tighter than a spring next to Tarvek, arms tucked around Tarvek's waist and face buried in Tarvek's chest by the end of it. Tarvek found his hands hovering uncertainly behind Gil's back, fluttering there as if lost, and actually had to shake himself before he managed to bring them around Gil properly. Not a hug. He didn't do hugs. But something. Something instinctive, something inadequate, the only thing that seemed to fit. He wrapped his arms around Gil in return, and just sort of held on until the quivering seemed to ease a little bit.
"I'm really tired," Gil confided softly, after a long minute. There was a petulant note to it, but with something much darker and more raw underneath that. "Why did you get to go to sleep, Sturmvoraus, and I didn't?"
"... I didn't mean to," Tarvek answered. Distantly, honestly. "Believe me. Whatever I meant to do, it wasn't this. Though it beats dying again, I guess." He huffed gently, and Gil snorted against his chest. Possibly agreement. Possibly not. "I think ... I think I know what you mean, though. It's not as much fun as it sounds. Ruling the world. Nobody ever sticks to the plan. And then everything goes wrong. All the time."
"You have no idea," Gil grumbled, and he was unwinding now again. The desperate energy leeched out of him as quickly as it had come, and he was very heavy all of a sudden. Resting right on Tarvek's healing chest, leaning exhaustedly on top of old wounds. So tired. So heavy. "We're trying to fix it," he mumbled, mouthing accidentally at Tarvek's shirt in the process. "Agatha's going to fix it. Somebody. I'm just ... I'm going to go to sleep first? Just for a little while. You stay, okay? Don't move. I can't get up to find you again."
"I--" Tarvek tried, and didn't know what to say. It was all ... it was too fast. He'd only sat down a minute ago. Three years, in no time at all. It was too much. But ... Agatha was going to fix it. Yes. Okay. He could believe that. And she'd come find them when she needed them. He'd believe that too. So ... Okay.
"Don't drool on my shirt, Wulfenbach," he said, and carefully shuffled them around until Gil's head was in his lap instead of balanced precariously on his chest, until Gil was able to sleep a bit easier and he was able to start breathing again. "I'll wake you when Agatha gets back. Try not to embarrass yourself before then?"
Gil laughed a little bit, one hand curling loosely in the raggedy ends of Tarvek's shirt, his head warm and heavy in the crease of Tarvek's hip. "Too late," he murmured, amused at himself. "Much too late. But it's just you, so it doesn't count. Hmm?"
Tarvek swallowed, and dropped his hand carefully onto Gil's head. "Go to sleep, you idiot," he muttered, and maintained a defiant stare at anything but Gil until he felt the body beside him relax and go limp. He waited until he was absolutely sure the other boy was asleep, and then, too quietly for anyone to overhear, he brushed his hand through Gil's hair and added: "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you idiots alone ever again. Honestly, Wulfenbach, how do the pair of you get yourself into so much trouble?"
He got himself caught in one little stasis bomb, and they went and got themselves all worn to dust without him. Honestly. He couldn't ... he couldn't let them out of his sight, could he? Not for a moment.
Aside from anything else, apparently the wrong moment around here could last for years.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said again, more to himself than anyone, and curled his arm around Gil's head to wait until Agatha got back. One half-dead Sturmvoraus to sit guard over one slightly more than half-dead Wulfenbach, while they waited for a Heterodyne to come and fix things. Because that was what happened, apparently. When everything else went wrong, that was all they had to work with. And for three years, Gil hadn't even had that. Three years, while Tarvek was stuck taking a nap and Agatha was caught in transit, and everyone else was apparently politely waiting to kill him when he had a moment to spare.
Tarvek leaned his head back against the wall with a slight thunk, letting out his breath on a sigh. He'd better start getting some rest now then, he supposed. If he was going to start sticking to them both like glue from here on out, he'd better start getting all the rest he could. There was far too much work to be done to imagine he'd be getting another chance anytime soon, and it looked like they'd need it far more than him when it came. Fair was fair, after all. After three years, he'd already done enough sleeping for all of them.
He'd just let Gil have a nap, then. He'd let Gil have a turn to start with. And then ... then they'd work something out. The three of them. They'd figure out a way to fix all this, him and Gil and Agatha. Somehow.
Damn bombs and Barons anyway. Why did nobody ever stick to the plan? Was that so much to ask?
Why was it that nothing could ever go to plan in his life, hmm?
Gil leaned against a handy wall, still grey-faced but beginning to look slightly less like the walking dead. Tarvek, taking one look at him, made an executive decision to move this conversation to a lower altitude for the sake of those about to fall over. Himself very much included. He stomped over, planted his shoulder alongside Gil's, and promptly eased himself down to the ground in such a way that Gil, already unstable, was forced to crumple after him. And slightly on top of him, but Tarvek could live with that.
"Sturmvoraus," Gil growled, some of the sting taken out of it by the audible combination of exhaustion and relief. "What are you--"
"I'm recovering from poisoning over here," Tarvek interrupted blithely, nudging Gil into a slightly more secure position at his side. "And I think we've established that dignity is a lost cause where either of us is concerned. Shut up and sit down like a good Wulfenbach, alright?"
Gil huffed but, perhaps alarmingly, didn't actually produce a rebuttal. From the way he slumped against Tarvek's side, maybe he genuinely wasn't able to right now. Tarvek blinked at him a little, in something he should probably deny was outright concern, which Gil seemed neither to worry nor care about. He simply leaned into Tarvek, his eyes slipping closed in exhaustion, and sort of ... melted. Involuntarily. Into Tarvek's keeping.
What on earth had happened while they were all caught in stasis? The better part of three years was a long time, he understood that (he was freaking out about that, but one thing at a time), and they hadn't exactly left Europa in a pleasant state when they went under, but Gil looked worn almost to the point of compliance, and that was beyond alarming, that was close to anathema. What had been done to him while Tarvek was gone? And, perhaps more to the point, in what kind of mental shape had he come out of it?
"... Gil?" he asked, rather cautiously. He resisted the urge to poke Gil in the head, the weight of it heavy and terrifying on his shoulder. "You're not dead, are you? Only it would be difficult to explain to Agatha if you were."
"Shut up," Gil mumbled, with a decent approximation of his old growl. "You said shut up and sit, I shut up and sat. The least you could do is return the favour. Weaselly little --"
Tarvek exhaled, an odd little knot in his chest releasing suddenly. One that probably had nothing to do with the knife that had been in it for the better part of three years, but he wasn't going to be admitting that any time soon. He squirmed an arm out from under Gil anyway, the better to wrap it around the bastard's shoulders instead.
"My apologies, Wulfenbach," he murmured, mouth curling a little in a smile. "So sorry for being concerned about you. My mistake. Won't happen again, I assure you."
"Sweet lightning, don't you ever shut up?" Gil moaned, turning his face into Tarvek's shoulder and snuffling roughly. Tarvek hiccupped, too stunned to react. "How did I miss this? I had three years free of your griping. Not a snide remark in sight. Why did I ... Why did I ..."
"I don't know," Tarvek cut in, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "I-- It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to get you back, Agatha and I. We were going to find you and keep you safe. We weren't supposed to leave you alone for three years while somebody tried to figure out how your bloody father managed to stop time, and apparently all of Europa went to ruin in the interim!"
He paused, drew in a calming breath, while Gil actually opened his eyes to squint up at him. He looked bemused, for some reason. He scrunched himself upright a bit, trying to pull his chin off Tarvek's shoulder, and just sort of blinked at him. Tarvek blinked back, mostly for lack of anything better to do.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he repeated softly. Distantly amazed at himself, but too upset to do all that much about it. "None of it was supposed to be like this. Gil, what happened to you?"
It wasn't a laugh, what Gil did then. More a cracked, giddy sort of bark, a little glimpse into hysteria, and Tarvek tightened his arm automatically. Gil leaned into the grip, pressing himself along Tarvek's side, and snorted mirthlessly to himself.
"I ruled the Empire," he said, ducking his head to grin joylessly at Tarvek's chest. "I picked up the pieces, and tried to figure out what had happened, and how to fight the Other, and how to get people back from her and my father both, and incidentally I had a copy of my father in my head, I agree with Agatha, it's not at all fun, and there was maybe a chance people would have to kill me if I went funny, and ... and it hasn't been fun, you know?"
Tarvek flinched in shock, and Gil grabbed hold of him through it. He wormed an arm around behind Tarvek's back to keep hold of him, and Tarvek only blinked, staring blindly out over Gil's head in stunned amazement. His arm fell slack a bit, he didn't quite mean it to, but Gil ignored that. Gil burrowed close against him, and ignored it.
"I've been trying to repair the Empire," he rasped hoarsely. "I've been trying get you and Agatha back, and fight a war, and cure the revenants, and figure out what my father did to me, and figure out how to save everyone, and it hasn't been easy, okay? This whole ruling thing. It isn't easy. I don't know why any of you people want it. It doesn't work like people think. Nothing ever goes the way you want it to."
He was quivering faintly, wound tighter than a spring next to Tarvek, arms tucked around Tarvek's waist and face buried in Tarvek's chest by the end of it. Tarvek found his hands hovering uncertainly behind Gil's back, fluttering there as if lost, and actually had to shake himself before he managed to bring them around Gil properly. Not a hug. He didn't do hugs. But something. Something instinctive, something inadequate, the only thing that seemed to fit. He wrapped his arms around Gil in return, and just sort of held on until the quivering seemed to ease a little bit.
"I'm really tired," Gil confided softly, after a long minute. There was a petulant note to it, but with something much darker and more raw underneath that. "Why did you get to go to sleep, Sturmvoraus, and I didn't?"
"... I didn't mean to," Tarvek answered. Distantly, honestly. "Believe me. Whatever I meant to do, it wasn't this. Though it beats dying again, I guess." He huffed gently, and Gil snorted against his chest. Possibly agreement. Possibly not. "I think ... I think I know what you mean, though. It's not as much fun as it sounds. Ruling the world. Nobody ever sticks to the plan. And then everything goes wrong. All the time."
"You have no idea," Gil grumbled, and he was unwinding now again. The desperate energy leeched out of him as quickly as it had come, and he was very heavy all of a sudden. Resting right on Tarvek's healing chest, leaning exhaustedly on top of old wounds. So tired. So heavy. "We're trying to fix it," he mumbled, mouthing accidentally at Tarvek's shirt in the process. "Agatha's going to fix it. Somebody. I'm just ... I'm going to go to sleep first? Just for a little while. You stay, okay? Don't move. I can't get up to find you again."
"I--" Tarvek tried, and didn't know what to say. It was all ... it was too fast. He'd only sat down a minute ago. Three years, in no time at all. It was too much. But ... Agatha was going to fix it. Yes. Okay. He could believe that. And she'd come find them when she needed them. He'd believe that too. So ... Okay.
"Don't drool on my shirt, Wulfenbach," he said, and carefully shuffled them around until Gil's head was in his lap instead of balanced precariously on his chest, until Gil was able to sleep a bit easier and he was able to start breathing again. "I'll wake you when Agatha gets back. Try not to embarrass yourself before then?"
Gil laughed a little bit, one hand curling loosely in the raggedy ends of Tarvek's shirt, his head warm and heavy in the crease of Tarvek's hip. "Too late," he murmured, amused at himself. "Much too late. But it's just you, so it doesn't count. Hmm?"
Tarvek swallowed, and dropped his hand carefully onto Gil's head. "Go to sleep, you idiot," he muttered, and maintained a defiant stare at anything but Gil until he felt the body beside him relax and go limp. He waited until he was absolutely sure the other boy was asleep, and then, too quietly for anyone to overhear, he brushed his hand through Gil's hair and added: "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you idiots alone ever again. Honestly, Wulfenbach, how do the pair of you get yourself into so much trouble?"
He got himself caught in one little stasis bomb, and they went and got themselves all worn to dust without him. Honestly. He couldn't ... he couldn't let them out of his sight, could he? Not for a moment.
Aside from anything else, apparently the wrong moment around here could last for years.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said again, more to himself than anyone, and curled his arm around Gil's head to wait until Agatha got back. One half-dead Sturmvoraus to sit guard over one slightly more than half-dead Wulfenbach, while they waited for a Heterodyne to come and fix things. Because that was what happened, apparently. When everything else went wrong, that was all they had to work with. And for three years, Gil hadn't even had that. Three years, while Tarvek was stuck taking a nap and Agatha was caught in transit, and everyone else was apparently politely waiting to kill him when he had a moment to spare.
Tarvek leaned his head back against the wall with a slight thunk, letting out his breath on a sigh. He'd better start getting some rest now then, he supposed. If he was going to start sticking to them both like glue from here on out, he'd better start getting all the rest he could. There was far too much work to be done to imagine he'd be getting another chance anytime soon, and it looked like they'd need it far more than him when it came. Fair was fair, after all. After three years, he'd already done enough sleeping for all of them.
He'd just let Gil have a nap, then. He'd let Gil have a turn to start with. And then ... then they'd work something out. The three of them. They'd figure out a way to fix all this, him and Gil and Agatha. Somehow.
Damn bombs and Barons anyway. Why did nobody ever stick to the plan? Was that so much to ask?
Why was it that nothing could ever go to plan in his life, hmm?
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