Work Text:
"Could you open the window for me?"
Lucio was sitting at said window, enveloped in a golden beam of sunlight, not looking up at Julian as his doctor approached him.
"It's bolted shut, to keep the beetles out," He sighed, not even bothering to check if this had changed. "But you already know that."
".. yeah."
This was probably as close as the Count was going to get to admitting he couldn't trust his own perception anymore - either that or he genuinely believed it would be different if he tried it, as if his hands had some kind of magical unlocking properties as a side effect of his medical expertise.
"You should be in bed."
Lucio finally looked away from the window to scowl at him. "You can poke and prod me just as easily over here, can't you?"
"Er, well, yes, but--"
"I only see the sun a couple times a day, Jules. Let me have this."
Julian sighed again, settling next to him on the window seat, turned away from the sun to get a better look at his patient. The sunlight dappled his sallow skin in gold, giving him the illusion of life - but he knew better, he knew that it was pallid and lifeless like a corpse. His bones were more visible in the light, stark black shadows like gaping holes beneath them.
His eyes were unfocused and yet wouldn't move away from the window throughout the examination, craning his neck at an awkward angle to keep looking when he needed to turn him. The only time he moved his head away was when he fell into a nasty coughing fit, soaking a handkerchief in deep crimson before facing the window again.
"Let me guess," Lucio sighed, once they were finished. "I'm getting worse."
"I wasn't going to say it." He muttered into his mask.
"That's all anyone ever tells me. Just once I want to hear 'you're making a stunning recovery' or 'you look less like shit today'."
Julian quietly began to put his medical implements away, briefly considering telling him he didn't look like shit but unable to muster the courage to lie to him in the face of those awful shadows. He would know it was a lie, in any case.
"I can't stand it, Jules!" At once the Count whirled around toward him, grabbing onto his nearest arm with both hands, staring up at him with wide, helpless eyes. "This room feels like a fucking coffin, or a tomb-- it's dark and smells like death and I just-- I want to go outside. I want to actually feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I want out. Let me out, please ."
"I can't."
"You did it before!"
His doctor glanced away, feeling guilty. "You were in slightly better shape. Now-- I don't know if you could make the trip."
"Then-- then carry me. Put me in that damn chair. Take me to the Gardens, Jules, whatever it takes. Please."
"I shouldn't have done it the first time. That’s not my job." Julian murmured, mostly to himself, before trying to force some kind of assertive tone into his voice. "I'm sorry, Lucio, you have to stay here, at least until someone else can--"
" Damn you! "
Lucio abruptly slammed his golden hand into the window, hard enough to rattle it, and for a brief moment he worried he'd cracked the glass. That worry remained when his head dropped against the window right after it, as if it was too heavy to keep holding up, pressing his forehead to the glass and closing his eyes.
He could see a glimmer of tears in the sunlight, guilt twisting that much harder through him.
".. damn you."
"I'm sorry."
" Get out of my tomb ." Lucio growled, though it came out as more of a weak croak.
He went without a whisper of protest.
***
The all too familiar queasy feeling of trepidation haunted Julian up the stone steps into the Count’s wing, but this time for a different reason.
A large wicker basket carefully covered by some old cloth was in his hand in place of his doctor’s bag, a peace offering of sorts, bearing a few dark vials towards the front edge. The weight was negligible and yet felt as though he was carrying a heavy stone, growing heavier with each step closer to Lucio's bedchambers.
It was a bit earlier than his usual check in time - his patient was going to be in such a terrible mood from being woken up, especially for something as trivial as this. Maybe it would be better if he came back later.
Or not at all.
"Good morning, sir!" He threw open the double doors in an appropriately dramatic fashion, striding into the room with a put-on air of confidence. "How are we feeling today?"
The pathetic lump in the midst of the enormous bed slowly began to stir, head just as slowly swiveling over one gaunt shoulder in his general direction, eyes groggy and unfocused, hardly cognizant at all.
"Mnuhh?"
"That good, hm?" Julian lightly teased as he pulled up a chair next to the bed, letting the basket rest beside him on the floor for the moment. "I brought you something special, but I want to try something first, okay? You'll like at least one of these things. Probably. Maybe both if it works."
At this the Count began to stir more earnestly, rolling over onto his back and clumsily scrubbing at his eyes, an unmistakable flash of hope in them. "M'cure??"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
He could see why he complained of this room feeling like a tomb - it was almost pitch dark, dimly lit by a sliver of sunlight and the remains of a fire spell burning at the base of the chandelier above them. He nearly missed the lid of one of his own vials in the gloom.
"Another one of your concoctions ?" Lucio's nose was already wrinkling in disgust even before it was fully open. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me faster.”
“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad.”
But when he went to offer the vial to his patient, all he was met with was a stony stare and crossed arms, like a child refusing their vegetables. Moving it closer only encouraged Lucio to sink back into his pillows in the same petulant posture.
Julian sighed. “Are you going to make me pour it down your throat myself?”
“You wouldn’t dare .”
Though there was a brief flash of fear in his eyes, obviously not quite as sure as he sounded. He briefly wondered what foolhardy nurse had attempted such a feat with his other medicine -- one missing a few fingers now, he'd imagine.
"What about this??" The ailing Count quickly shifted from sulking to peering curiously at the basket on the floor, nudging his doctor’s arm aside in order to lean over the bed, clumsily pawing at the handle with his left hand. "You said you had something special . Give it to me."
Though he was nowhere close to actually grabbing it, Julian gently swatted the back of his hand and moved his quarry further out of reach. "I also said you had to try something first."
A pointed look at the vial in his other hand, lightly wiggling it at Lucio.
"Why can't I have the special thing first?? I'm the Count, I should only get special things."
"I made this especially for you, I should think that counts." He continued to stare at him expectantly, still holding out the vial.
Lucio sniffed. "No it doesn't."
“You do realize I’ve gotten very adept at battling wars of attrition with you. I can do this all day.”
“Ugh, and you would, wouldn’t you.” The older man scowled, lips pursing into a pout.
After a long moment, just about when he thought he might continue stonewalling him, he snatched the vial out of his hand and drew it towards his face, sniffing at it and grimacing again before plugging his nose and slamming it back like a shot of alcohol, complete with the choked squawk and cough of a burned throat.
“You only had to try it,” Julian snorted, accepting the resulting empty vial thrown at his head with dignity. “How do you feel?”
The initial response was a pained whine, face contorted in very obvious effort to keep it down.
He frowned. “Do I need to fetch the bucket?”
“If you want me to fill it with all my goddamn organs,” Lucio croaked. “Feels like they’re trying to escape.”
“You’re not going to vomit out your organs.”
“I am and it’s all your fault.”
“Well-- er, try not to vomit. In general. Or I’ll have to start over.” He quickly scribbled down some notes. “I was trying to stimulate the blood instead of sedating it, to encourage it to fight the Plague. Perhaps it’s decided to fight you instead.”
The Count grunted and flopped back against the pillows, beads of sweat rising on his forehead but otherwise starting to settle down. “Stupid blood. I’m gonna win. I always win.”
“If you’re feeling up to it, we can try another--”
Lucio gave him a withering glare, the likes of which would have caused weaker men to fall prostrate at his feet, sobbing apologies. His own pulse fluttered in alarm, though he held fast to his chair.
“Give me my surprise before I shove it up your ass.” He huffed.
Julian nervously chuckled, at once aware of the uniquely privileged position he was in as the Count’s personal physician. A privileged but precarious position he was likely sabotaging even now, clumsily dragging the basket up onto his lap.
This was a bad plan. He wasn’t going to like it.
“Lets, uh, let’s not do that. That’s a bit more exertion than you’re ready for.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, digging his fingers into the edge of the cloth. “The ass-shoving, I mean.”
“Says you.” He could feel his eyes on him, like a predator carefully watching prey.
After a moment longer, he took a deep breath and yanked the cloth free with another almost comical dramatic flourish, forcing the contents of the wicker basket into plain view.
“Tada!”
A carefully arranged bouquet of white roses lay within the basket, the scent of fresh-cut stems permeating the air. He had cut them himself, some ungodly time in the morning, from one of the rose bushes in the Palace Gardens - he likely never would have afforded even one of these if he’d bought them from the market instead.
He’d considered bringing cuttings from one of the red ones, but that wasn’t a statement he was quite prepared to make.
For a long moment, Lucio simply gazed upon his offering with an expression he couldn’t quite identify, more violently incurring that sensation that he’d definitely made some kind of mistake doing this, eventually raising one haggard brow as he glanced up towards his doctor.
“You brought me flowers from my own garden??” His tone was incredulous and faintly amused.
Julian was almost sure he was going to die.
“Yes, well-- I thought-- you know,” He nervously scrubbed his hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. “You can’t easily get to the Gardens, so I thought I might-- bring some of the Gardens to you?”
The Count glanced back down at the flowers with a thoughtful little hum, for the moment making no move to take them.
“I-- ah-- do you not want them? I can’t exactly put them back but I can get you something else--”
As he spoke he began to cover the basket again, starting to get up. He nearly jumped right out of his skin when Lucio abruptly grabbed one wrist, tugging him back down into his chair with a soft whine.
“What makes you think I don’t want them??” His expression was much more readable, this time - a plaintive little pout. It was almost cute. “White roses are my favorite.”
“Are they? I’ll have to remember that.”
He felt a small smile playing on his lips, once again hidden by the mask, slowly but surely allowing himself to relax. He uncovered the roses again and began to place them on the nightstand next to the bed, pausing as a brief flicker of learned - and somewhat haunted - suspicion crossed Lucio’s face.
Ah, yes, of course.
“Don’t worry, there are no beetles, bugs, or worms, or any other nasty little creatures lurking in their petals. I checked them over quite thoroughly.”
The Count immediately snatched the basket out of his hands and clutched it to his chest as if he expected the contents to vanish if he were to let go, his eyes lighting up in something like childish wonder.
“I was just worried,” Julian continued, uncertainly. “Since it isn’t as extravagant a gift as you’re probably used to.”
“Don’t be stupid, Jules. I like all kinds of gifts, especially since they’re mine.”
“Not to mention some might consider them stolen .”
This elicited a snort of laughter. “Yes, you’re a horrible criminal and I ought to have you hanged for daring to bring these to me.”
Considering that at all points of his midnight excursion into the rose bushes he’d half-expected the guards to descend upon him like any other misfortunate cat burglar, he only managed a very strained chuckle in response.
If he’d brought them to anyone else, he’d definitely be hanged - out of spite if nothing else.
Lucio gently lifted one of the roses to sniff, sighing in relief as he drew back, his entire posture relaxed, regarding the basket with a fondness of someone meeting with a lost love. He looked genuinely happy.
“I almost forgot what that smell was like.” He smiled, which soon faltered as he glanced back up at his doctor. “.. this isn’t some elaborate distraction while you run more tests on me, is it?”
His heart twisted in his chest. “What-- no, no, it’s just a gift, I promise. No ulterior motives.”
“.. good, ‘cause it’d work.” He muttered into the rose.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Julian attempted another little smile of his own despite the mask, shifting in his chair.
He barely thought much of it himself, but the slight movement drew the Count’s attention again, and another alarmed look.
“Oh-- are you going to leave me??” Another cute little pout, half obscured by white petals pressed to his face, though the wide, pleading eyes above it were not obscured in the slightest. “No one else is going to be coming in for a while. I’ll be all alone. In the dark. Alone.”
Part of him wanted to remind him that he couldn’t very well work on the cure while sitting in here with him, and he DID mostly just come here to give him the flowers - but the thought easily crumbled under the power of those helpless bloodshot eyes.
Julian heaved a deep, dramatic sigh and settled more comfortably in his chair.
“Well, I suppose I should stick around a bit longer, to make sure there are no unforeseen side effects.”
“Could you stick around a bit closer?”
“This is as far as this chair goes, I’m afraid.” He gestured at his legs. “Not much room elsewise.”
“You could sit with me. There’s plenty of room.”
“A generous offer, but I’ll have to pass this time. You understand.”
Lucio huffed and dropped back against the pillows, bouncing the roses on his lap and pouting at the canopy instead. “Nobody ever wants to sit with me.”
“In all technicalities, I am currently sitting with you.” He reached over to gently pat the nearest part of his patient’s body he could reach. He felt him lean towards his touch before his hand moved away. “I wouldn’t want to jostle you around too much, besides - you’re in enough pain as it is.”
The Count slowly began to relax again, fiddling with another rose.
“I guess this is good enough. Noddy won’t even get this close.”
Julian kept his mouth shut on that front, allowing the words to dissolve into an awkward silence before the other man could start complaining any further about his wife.
Lucio didn’t seem to notice, focused on the roses, just lying there and watching them move with each staggered, painful breath, almost mesmerized. In fact, his eyelids had begun to droop, slowly putting himself back to sleep.
After a moment longer, he spoke again.
“Did you know - at least according to this book on flowers Noddy has - did you know that white roses are supposed to symbolize innocence ?”
A bark of nervous laughter escaped him. “ You? Innocent?”
The Count grinned, a bit too sharp for his relaxed state. “As a newborn babe.”
There was probably some sort of meaningful deduction to be had from this - a man whose primary modus operandi was anything involving copious amounts of bloodshed preferring the color of innocence over the color of blood - something about denying his nature, or having just that wrong of an idea about his nature.
However, he was a bit distracted by the basket suddenly taking a sharp jerk, snatching it off Lucio just as his body lurched forward in another coughing fit, splattering the rose still in one hand with his own blood, a dark crimson spray along porcelain petals.
“Ah-- let me just--” Julian immediately reached to take it from him, but was stopped by a wry shake of his head.
“Nah, leave it. It’s kinda pretty this way.”
He supposed he wasn’t that misguided about his nature.
Before he could stop him, he was stuffing the bloodied rose under the pile of pillows, either as some ritualistic token of luck or just to have it flattened by the weight for a keepsake later, though he’d never pegged him as a pressed flower sort of man. Either way, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
“Where would you like me to put the rest of them?” He asked instead. “I worry they’ll suffocate you if you keep them on your person.”
“I guess it would be annoying to sleep with them.”
Lucio stared at the basket in deep thought.
“.. put ‘em in the window. They’ll be really pretty when the sun comes in.”
***
As Julian approached the Count’s bedchambers once more, he could hear the murmur of voices behind closed doors, growing steadily louder and more worrisome.
Until he heard the Chamberlain say, clear as day: "Your Excellency, please put down the sword."
"Put my flowers back and I will." Lucio's voice snarled back.
"Sir, you mustn't-- put the sword down and return to bed, please, you're going to hurt yourself--"
"Yeah? Well, I'm gonna hurt you first."
He found the scene inside didn't look any better than it sounded - sure enough, Lucio was upright and unsteady, left arm wrapped around one of the posters of his bed, his right brandishing the pointed end of a sword directly at the Chamberlain's throat, more steel in his eyes than his hand.
The befeathered, bemasked Chamberlain was standing stock still, visibly shaking, the basket of white roses clutched tightly in their arms with the same sort of urgency as bundling away an important document, especially one that was meant to be kept away from prying eyes. There was another sword pierced into the wall only inches from their head.
All around the two of them were masked attendants who were very clearly trying to figure out how to disarm the Count, though not a single one with the courage to actually try it.
As Julian stepped more fully inside the room, Lucio only spared him a quick glance before resuming glowering at his prey, but the Chamberlain was staring at him with a very obvious plea for help in their eyes.
"Ah, Dr. Devorak! Perhaps you can be of some assistance," They said quickly, taking a step back and squeaking in alarm as the sword followed. "Sir, please--"
"What seems to be the problem?" He asked, knowing damn well what the answer was.
"They're gonna burn my flowers." Lucio sniffed.
"For your own safety, Your Excellency-- you can't just trust any old random bouquet dropped on your doorstep, you know. Who knows what contagions could be all over these?" Their nose wrinkled in disgust. "Not to mention, any number of plague beetle larvae-- it's just not safe. Please, tell him."
Julian awkwardly cleared his throat.
"Ah, er, actually.. I was the one that brought him those…"
Both the Chamberlain and the attendants' heads all swiveled towards him as if he'd said he'd personally brought a swarm of beetles into the room, fast enough he unconsciously backed away from them.
"Wh-- why on earth would you do that?" The Chamberlain squawked, staring at him in disbelief. "You of all people--"
He held up his hands in supplication. "I simply wanted to brighten up the room a bit. There's no harm in that, is there?"
"And there aren't any beetles, he checked ." Came another imperious sniff from the Count. "Now give me back my damn flowers or you're going into the furnace with them."
"Please allow me to deal with this, Lucio," Julian sighed, gesturing at the sword.
The Count scowled at him for a long moment -- just long enough he wondered if he might turn the sword on him as well, perceived as another enemy for daring to take the diplomatic approach -- before he huffed and lowered his weapon, leaning more of his weight against the bed but not yet returning to it. He knew it was pointless to tell him to do so until the matter was resolved.
When he was sure he wasn't going to try anything, the doctor grasped the Chamberlain by the shoulder, gently but firmly pulling them aside in some measure of privacy, though he was pretty sure Lucio would be able to hear every word regardless. The attendants remained where they were, providing an awkward white-coated barrier between him and his impatient patient.
Julian leaned down closer to the Chamberlain's level, keeping his voice low. "I just wanted to make his final days more bearable with a few of his favorite flowers, that's all. In my opinion he deserves an entire botanical paradise in here if it'll keep him from thinking about the end."
Their grip on the basket loosened, guilt dancing across their face as they glanced back towards Lucio. ".. I suppose you're right. We should strive to ease his passing, not make it more miserable."
"I promise you, I did check for stowaways first." He attempted a little smile, unfortunately hidden by his mask. "There's no reason to incinerate them, then, is there?"
"Perhaps not."
After a moment longer, the Chamberlain pushed the basket of roses into his chest, expression souring again.
"But don't make a habit of this, Dr. Devorak."
"Of course not."
Part of him wanted to ask just how many gifts had been given this same treatment, maybe before they ever even reached the Count. The rest of him assured himself that if he knew that, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from telling Lucio, and that was more stress and upset no one needed, least of all Lucio.
That didn’t stop him from thinking about it.
He straightened back up to his full height as the Chamberlain turned to take their leave, the attendants visibly relaxing nearby. Lucio remained on guard, scowling at them until they were safely in the hallway and out of sight.
Julian moved back towards the bed with his quarry, barely making it within stabbing distance before the Count snatched the basket out of his hands, holding it in his lap as he finally dropped back down onto the sheets, sword lying forgotten on the floor at his feet. He was practically cradling the roses like a child, keeping them crushed against his chest like he expected someone to take them again.
Against his better judgment, his doctor settled onto the bed next to him -- and after a moment or two he was rewarded with the feeling of too warm fingers in his hair, oddly gentle but determined.
When he lifted his own hand to investigate, he found the brush of soft petals against his fingertips.
It was one of the roses, carefully threaded into his unruly mane like he was a storybook princess.
“You can make a habit of this, Jules.” Lucio smiled. “In fact, I insist.”