Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Getting hit in the head gives a man time to think. Or in this case, two.

Author’s Note: Thanks for the reviews, I appreciate them. I know this was supposed to be a fairy tale, but you know I have to have my angst served in a bigger, more heaping dose than the giggles and cuddles by now. Not too much longer, now, but I can promise these two men are seeing each other in a new light.

The earth was shifting beneath him.

It hovered in Logan’s consciousness that he was being moved. No. Carried.

He floated in a vague awareness between waking and oblivion, heard the buzz of voices hovering around him. He could barely make out words.

He felt himself stop moving. His body was shifted, perhaps passed to someone, something that would normally make him scoff. No one in his kingdom could possibly lift his dead weight.

He was moving again. Up. Up. The pace was slower, and he felt the whisper of something warm and light against his face. Someone’s harsh breathing. That was all it could be, he decided. It was so strange and disconcerting, this odd movement and shifting, uneven but yet steady.

Soft.

He was laid down upon something soft that gave beneath his weight. Several voices were still buzzing around him, not as loud this time, but he was frustrated that he still couldn’t make out the words.

He knew he was being touched, perhaps probed and turned. Pain wasn’t welcome in this place yet, this limbo combining darkness and tranquility. But Logan was cold. Why was he so cold?

The coldness faded away. Someone warmed him. He didn’t know how. He only knew that it felt very nice. Sweet.

Someone was whispering his name in his ear. It felt like a caress.

*

Etienne sat miserably in his guest quarters while Nanny brushed the snarls out of his chestnut hair. He picked at a sore spot on his palm where the horse’s rein almost rubbed off the skin.

“Stop that,” she chided him.

“Okay,” he whined, but the urge to argue with her left him. That was unlike him, and she knew that something was definitely wrong.

Worry clogged his gut in an almost bilious fashion.

All he could hear were the horse’s screams mingling with his own. All he saw was his father looking terrified and reaching for him.

Then there was the blood.

Remy’s mare’s broad chest was flecked with crimson stains as she pranced and sputtered, still perilously close to Logan’s unmoving body.

The burly, hairy prince with the gruff voice who was always trying to tell him what to do, and who had kept his father from him was lying on the ground, bleeding.

And it was all Etienne’s fault.

Nanny felt uncomfortable with the child’s uncharacteristic silence. But he ignored her questions until it was time for supper.

*

Logan’s room was a flurry of activity, and he was out cold throughout every minute of it.

Jean-Paul and Pietro moved like lightning in and out of the room, bringing blankets, rags, water pitchers, basins and dragging Leonard inside by the elbow.

The doctor didn’t need to be told twice what to do, once he got a quick glance at Logan’s pallor and the wound, suffered so soon after his injury from the rock. Leonard lit several candles to give himself more light by the bedside table and Jean-Paul pulled up a stool for him. Jean-Paul stripped off Logan’s ruined shirt and tossed it to Jubilee, who looked close to weeping. She busied herself with taking it to the castle’s head laundress and giving Clementine the order for supper to be made early for anyone who wanted it already. The cook was already flying around the kitchen, stirring pots of soup and drawing bread from the oven, ladling a tureen to be sent upstairs.

“James! Where’s my son?” Queen Eliza cried, hurrying down the hall. Her skin was florid and her blue eyes were frantic. “What happened to my son!”

She caught sight of Remy, who was standing in the hallway, watching the activity in the room as though he were in a trance, not truly part of it. But as she approached him, she saw that he was actually in shock.

“Remy,” she pleaded, “what happened to my James? Pray, tell me, quickly!”

“He…my son…he caught him,” he began, and his voice was slightly hoarse.

“What? What do you mean, he caught him? Etienne?”

“Oui. Reached up and caught him. ‘Bout t’be flipped off that evil mare of his,” Remy explained, and he was having difficulty forming the words. He took Eliza’s hands in his and squeezed them. “He was helpin’ Etienne when he was showin’ off. He might’ve saved his life.”

“Dear God,” she breathed. She turned and stared in through the doorway and found Leonard leaning over Logan’s supine form. Blood streaked in long, ugly tendrils down his face like a gruesome mask.

“JAMES!” Her knees buckled. Remy caught hold of her and supported her, but she’d already swooned.

*

The next hour was frustrating and grim. Leonard cleaned the wound and performed a minor, surgical retrieval of slivers of bone that worked their way free into his skin. Logan never made a sound, which frightened even Victor, who paced the hall until Logan’s father bade him to stop.

An ugly bruise was blossoming over Logan’s flesh. Leonard was sweating; Jean-Paul periodically wiped his brow and helped him, sterilizing his needles under an open flame as necessary. Leonard executed two neat rows of stitches this time and wrapped the wound in several layers of gauze.

“Keep it clean. Keep him dosed for pain.”

“W-with what, have you any medicine for him?”

“Whisky,” Leonard snapped. “Whenever he asks for it. Don’t move him. Don’t upset him or make him fret over any petty details. No one,” he ordered, “understand?” He left behind a potion to help prevent infection and a topical analgesic and took his leave.

Jean-Paul and Pietro cleaned his chamber while he slept. Pietro’s eyes looked hollow in his face. Remy sat quietly in the corner of the room, also exhausted.

“Pardonne,” he asked quietly. Jean-Paul froze in the act of rolling the soiled bedclothes out from under Logan.

“Yes, sire?”

“Could ya…go t’Prince James’ chamber, and bring his belongings back here. Please. All of dem.”

“Oh…well, all right, sire,” Pietro replied, surprised. “Would you like to exchange chambers with him? We can have it aired, if you w-“

“Non. Dat won’t be necessary. Dis room’s perfectly fine. Plenty big enough fo’ two.” Jean-Paul looked flummoxed; Logan had claimed the exact opposite when he evicted himself from his own quarters just weeks before. But they carried out his request once they were finished freshening the bed and bathing Logan’s face, neck and chest. They didn’t take one liberty, but Remy saw that their faces reflected the same anguish that he felt.

“I’d jus’ like t’say, you do your ruling family a great service. You’ve taken good care of ‘im,” Remy said earnestly. Jean-Paul nodded, moved.

“Thank you, sire.” They handled Logan as though he was made of fine china.

“Rest,” he ordered.

“Sire?”

“Go. I’ll be here.”

“But, Highness!”

“I’ll let y’know if I need you.”

“We shouldn’t be far away, however, Highness, what if something goes wrong? What if he needs the physician again, or if his wound opens, or-“

“Calm down,” Remy said curtly. Pietro clapped his mouth shut and bowed his head.

“I’ll be here. I won’t leave.” He left it at that. Pietro and Jean-Paul backed out of the chamber and excused themselves, then set about retrieving Logan’s things from the other chamber. They spent the rest of the waking hours serving food in the main hall and bringing up trays of food for both princes. They fretted about them both.

*

Pain. It throbbed a tattoo so sharp that Logan wanted to peel off his own skin.

“EEERRRGGGHHH!” Remy jerked awake in his seat, disoriented and with a horrible crick in his neck.

He found Logan writhing and thrashing in bed, fists pounding the bed and twisting the covers. His back arched in agony and his face was wracked in agony.

“Chere,” Remy murmured, coming quickly out of his fog of exhaustion. He hurried to the vanity and found the bottle of whisky. He splashed three fingers of it into a goblet and quickly returned to his side.

Logan was gasping and taking shallow sips of breath as he tried not to cry out.

“It’s all right, chere, s’okay, c’mon now,” Remy soothed, making low shushing sounds. His whisper was hoarse and sibilant, his voice unfamiliar to Logan in that instant.

“Hurts…” He trembled and shivered, teeth chattering. Remy adjusted his blankets and took his hand.

“It’s all right. Gonna help you. Ya need dis.” Remy didn’t stop Logan when he tried to sit up, but he was so weak that he faltered, collapsing most of the way back into the pillow. Remy eased his arm beneath his upper back, cradling him in the crook of it. He lifted the goblet to his lips.

“Drink, chere.” He heard Logan work it down, and a few drops dribbled down his neck. His swallows were raspy as they echoed in the cup the more deeply he drank. Logan groaned, and his breathing was still ragged.

“More,” he grunted.

“Gimme a minute, chere!”

“MORE!” Logan barked. Nonplussed, Remy brought over the entire bottle. He propped him up again and let him drink, careful not to let him choke. Logan drained half of it before he would let Remy take the bottle away.

He laid back. “Too bright,” he croaked. Remy extinguished all but one of the candles Leonard had lit for himself. He carried it back to the vanity and moved around the room. Logan heard shallow splashes in the corner and closed his eyes so the room wouldn’t spin.

A cool cloth was laid over his head. Logan whimpered, but the coolness was soothing after a few moments, helping to numb the wound slightly as the whisky’s analgesic affect began to work.

Jean-Paul and Pietro hurried into the room, frantic and in dishabille. Both of them were dressed for bed in loose pants and no shirts, feet hastily crammed into slippers.

“He cried out!” Jean-Paul insisted.

“Oui. He did. He’s settlin’ down now,” Remy informed him. Sure enough, Logan’s breathing was evening out, and he laid back, settling back into the pillows.

“Make sure to change his dressing every time it gets wet,” Pietro reminded him. “The bandages are right there.”

“Oui.”

“Good night, sire.”

“Bon nuit.” Remy gave them a sleepy salute. They looked on him with pity but they were pleased and reassured at how calm he was.

Logan floated in and out of the next eighteen hours. Voices had more shape and form now, and he was sometimes roused against his will from sleep to be poked and prodded, or for his dressing to be changed.

Smooth, gentle hands held his, and sometimes one rested over his heart. A smooth, rich voice lulled him sometimes, murmuring to him that he would be all right. That he wasn’t alone, that the owner of that voice would be there when he woke.

And Remy always was.

*

Logan awoke with a horrible headache and a pasty-tasting bitterness in his mouth. Whisky, if he had to guess.

His room was dark. Someone had the wisdom to draw the curtains in his room and extinguish the candles, but there was still a low flame crackling in the fireplace.

Logan heard that he wasn’t alone before he opened his eyes fully.

Two sets of low snores reached him, both relatively close.

“Nnnnngh,” he moaned raggedly. He tried to sit up and ended up aborting the attempt. He was still dizzy and felt like a gaggle of elves were using his brain as a forge, hammering away at him until his skull would split open. The pain and lingering drunkenness from the whisky made his stomach pitch.

At least his delirium was gone, and Logan was grateful. He laid still a few moments more, then attempted to sit up again.

Logan found a box of long matches by feel, then reached for one of the silver candlesticks that gleamed in the dim light. He lit a half-melted taper and set it on the vanity. His eyes tried to accustom themselves to the light, but his vision was still blurry.

Then he nearly stumbled over something. When he looked down, he thought he was seeing an illusion.

Remy and Etienne were curled up on a spare cot that someone laid close to his bed. Etienne laid in the crook of his father’s arm and moaned in his sleep, smacking his lips.

Why on earth were they there?

“Damn,” Logan whispered.

He tried to place the events that brought them there.

He remembered the boy screaming, eyes pleading with Logan to help him. He had to run, to reach him before he could get hurt…

And he reached him. Logan remembered the feel of his slight body thudding against his chest, holding onto him tightly as they avoided the horse’s hooves.

Before Logan could stop himself, he reached out and gingerly stroked the child’s soft hair to reassure himself that he was fine and in one piece.

Etienne’s eyes snapped open. When he found himself in the dark, he began to whimper.

“Shhhh,” Logan urged, holding a finger to his lips. “Hush.”

Remy looked knackered, and Logan noticed that even in sleep, he had dark circles beneath his beautiful eyes, and his face was unshaven and drawn. His normally immaculate clothing was very rumpled and askew.

Logan held out his hand to Etienne. He gripped it and allowed Logan to pull him from the cot as gently and soundlessly as he could. Remy only stirred briefly and his arms jerked around the suddenly empty space, but he settled back down to sleep. Logan moved slowly and painfully toward the door with Etienne in tow.

Once they were out in the hall, Logan shut the door. He knelt in front of Etienne and took the boy’s hand. Etienne used his free one to rub sleep from his eyes.

His expression was troubled.

“Was I asleep a long time?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long?”

“Almost two days.” Logan’s mind reeled.

He’d almost died. He squeezed his little hand in an effort to comfort the boy, since he looked as though he’d realized that as well, while Logan slept and healed. Logan didn’t want to imagine how terrifying it must have been to watch someone get injured so seriously, whether he didn’t like Logan or not.

“Papa’s s’posed to take care of you,” Etienne informed him soberly.

“Who says?”

“Papa.”

“Shoe’s on the other foot,” Logan muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing. My head still hurts, friend. I’m not making much sense.”

“I’m not your friend,” Etienne argued. His voice was so earnest that Logan couldn’t be angry with him. He managed a weak smile.

“I guess not.”

Etienne watched him, then reached for him. Logan held still as small, warm fingers lightly touched his cheek.

“You were bleeding. A lot.”

“Was I, now?”

“Uh-huh. It was awful.”

“Don’t like blood?”

“I’m not afraid of blood,” Etienne claimed, but he looked sick at the memory, telling Logan it was a lie.

“Big, grown up man,” Logan assured him, patting his arm. The way his red-on-black eyes stared into his was both unnerving and familiar.

“Papa said that man had to sew you together.”

“That’s his job.”

“That’s what I want to be. A doctor,” Etienne told him.

“Ya can be whatever ya want t’be. Bet ya’d be good at it.”

“I’m supposed to be a prince.”

“Then you’ll be a busy man.” Logan sighed. “Let’s let your papa sleep. He looks very tired, and he might like some quiet.”

“Who’s going to take care of him?”

“He’s feeling better and starting to take care of himself.” But Logan was asking himself that question even as he led Etienne back to his own quarters. When they reached it, Nanny was snoring loudly, head barely visible beneath the covers. Etienne made a face.

“I don’t want to be here with her. I want Papa.”

“I know.”

“He’ll be afraid if I’m not there!”

“Is that’s what’s wrong?” Logan led the boy to a chair by the vanity and sat, glad to be off his feet. He drew Etienne close and held onto his hands. “You don’t want Papa to be afraid?”

Etienne’s chin quivered. “He’s gonna get scared without me, and I have to take care of him! He misses Maman, and if I’m not with him, either, he’ll cry!” His eyes glimmered and Logan tensed at the beginnings of a sniffle.

In his current state, he was in no position to offer much reassurance to a child. But Logan found that there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to do just that.

“He didn’t cry, Etienne,” Logan explained carefully, “but he did miss ya very much. He talked about ya whenever he woke up while he was sick. He was worried you would be afraid, too. And he didn’t want ya ta feel lonely without him. Did ya get my letter? Did Nanny read it to you?” Etienne drew himself up as tall as he could.

“I read some,” he boasted, but there was still a tremor in his voice.

“Etienne…I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because friends say they’re sorry. I’m sorry I kept yer papa here so long. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Logan’s head throbbed and he was having a difficult time remaining upright in the uncomfortable chair, but he needed to have his say, to make Remy’s son understand.

“He was supposed to come home,” Etienne told him indignantly, and his pout reappeared. Logan wavered beneath it. Yes, that expression was the strongest weapon in the boy’s arsenal, and Logan felt like a heel.

“Yes, he was. All he wanted was to get well as fast as he could so he could leave, and return to you.” The first part of Logan’s claim still rankled with him, but he couldn’t say as much.

Etienne finally looked away first, breaking his unmoving stare, and he stared down at his booted feet.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispered miserably.

“What?”

“That you got hurt. Both times.”

“Ya have a strong throwin’ arm.”

“I wasn’t strong enough to hold the horse,” he argued. “It’s my fault,” he repeated.

“So ya wanna take the blame, huh? That make ya feel better?”

“No.” Now the tears escaped and raced down his cheeks.

“It doesn’t make me feel better, either. Know what’d make me feel better?”

“No,” he said, and his voice was still trembling and watery.

“If ya’d let me be yer friend. I’ll never make ya be without yer papa again. I swear that on my grave-“

He was cut off as Etienne flung himself at him, slim arms wrapping around Logan’s neck. His sobs broke Logan’s heart, and opened it wide to admit one more person. The individual in question was getting his neck and shirt wet. Logan’s head throbbed even more in protest at the sharp embrace and the way Etienne clung to him, but he sighed in relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. Logan stroked his hair and back soothingly.

“I know.” He repeated the words that he’d said time and time again at Remy’s bedside. “It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t leave.”

Friends say they’re sorry.