VibeQuake owns Florence Nightingale and Colonel Robert.
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He lifted the glass to his lips, feeling the bubbly liquid fiz and burn in his mouth and down his throat as he swallowed. It hurt. He needed another. With a shaky hand, he reached for the bottle beside him. He poured another. Sucked it down. It still hurt. He needed more. Only this could make the pain go away. Another glass full. Another empty bottle. Another sip. Another teardrop. It just would not stop.
He slammed the glass onto the floor beside him, biting back a strangled sob. It was not fair. None of it was fair. It hurt. Everything hurt, and it never stopped. Not when he was awake. It was worse when he was asleep. He was numb. He was cold inside. The warmth in his life was corrupted by the icy stab of pain. Every smile, a lie. Every laugh, an empty echo.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, he recalled that fateful day, followed by that awful night. Her still face, blue eyes still open, gazing at him as if to say 'Where were you? Why did you leave me?'. The swell of her belly with his unborn child, who never got the chance to see the world.
Another empty bottle. Another full glass.
He remembered the heat, the burn of the ash and the smoke crowding his lungs. The darkness, the shapes of the people running and screaming, struck down by flaming debris. Men, women, children, flattened. No warning. The rumble of the mountain, the fiery blaze of the buildings, the flow of red, thick liquid that seared his skin. The smoke that made it hard to breath.
He was gasping, his hand tightening around the half empty glass. He could not breath. Could not think. He heard the noises, saw the people, saw his wife's face and felt the burn of the mountain. He opened his mouth to scream, but only choked on his drink. He coughed, sputtering, falling back against the marble floor.
A gasp. A silent cry for help. His body trembled, his eyes becoming dark. Dark with the smoke and the ash and the dust. It was happening again. He was being buried alive, crushed beneath the pouring rain of ash so hot it stifled the air.
He lay still on the floor, the bottles scattered around him, his cup emptying itself onto the floor, soaking his hand. Silence.
Xxxxx
Private Alastair Hudgins, British continental soldier who had spent four years of his young life fighting in the Napoleonic Wars, was more than a little worried when he realized his dear friend was no longer in his pocket. The miniature Pompeian general was always close by, as they had become close over the past year they had been alive. That, and being so tiny meant that the Roman could find danger rather easily, and his giant friend's pocket was the safest place he could go.
Not having Carolus in his pocket or on his shoulder felt odd to Alastair, who had grown use to his company since the day he had saved him. Even if, at times, all he seemed to do was make rude and sarcastic comments about situations. Without him, Alastair felt as if he was nothing. As rude as grouchy as his friend could be, he could always count on him to see the dangers of decisions and to look at their new museum world with a critical eye.
The little Roman could be anywhere in the giant museum. Alastair did not know how he had lost him- he had not felt him leave his pocket, and he was sure he had not dropped him anywhere. He had not been doing anything besides pacing the halls, talking with his normal sized friends and conversing with the young prince Ahkmenrah about politics.
So where could he be?
"Carolus!" He called, crawling down the hall on his hands and knees as he searched desperately for his friend. "Carolus! Where are you?"
He checked beneath the glass display cases, under the water fountains, and even in the maintenance closet. Nothing.
"Carolus!"
"Alastair?" A voice asked from behind him. "Is everything alright?"
The flustered Alastair whirled around, spotting the head and shoulders of his colonel peek out of the night guard Tilly's office.
"Oh, Colonel Robert, Sir!" Alastair hurriedly saluted, trying to catch his breath from his frantic search. "I-I was looking for Carolus- have you seen him?"
Robert frowned. "Carolus is missing?"
Alastair nodded, swallowing hard as he thought he would break from the strain of the panic. "Y-Yes, Sir. I-I have looked everywhere and- oh, please help me!"
"Of course I'll help you, lad." Robert walked out of Tilly's office, shutting the door behind him. "Where did you see him last?"
"He was in my pocket," Alastair informed him. "B-But now he is nowhere in sight."
"We'll find him," Robert promised. "Why don't you retrace your steps? I'll check his exhibit."
"He will not be there," Alastair protested, shaking his head sadly. "He hates it there- he does not like the volcano, sir."
"Ah, I see." Robert frowned, scratching his chin. "How about I'll check the food court? He might have gone to get a snack."
But he would have asked me to get it, Alastair thought in dismay. "Yes, Sir- anything will help."
Robert nodded, and hurried off in the opposite direction. Alastair resumed his search, continuing to call his friend's name. With each moment that passed, his worry grow. There were a number of things that could have happened to him. He could have been attacked by one of the wild animals, or stepped on by another exhibit. He could be lost, or trapped in the walls, or…
Alastair shook his head with a half growl, half whine. He could be anywhere. As he desperately searched through the sculpture hall, his eyes caught the glint of glass in the dimmed hall. He squinted at it, wondering vaguely if one of the statues had been chipped, before he made out the tiny, almost invisible lump on the floor.
His breath caught on his throat as he realized what it was.
"CAROLUS!" He cried, scrambling into the hall and ignoring the startled movements of the stone people.
He found the tiny Roman lying on his back, his eyes closed and his arms splayed out beside him. Numerous bottle of drink were scattered around his body, a glass cup not too far from his open hand. His heart sank.
Alastair dropped to his knees, scooping his friend's still body off of the floor. His top half was wet, and he smelled of wine. He raised him to his hear, hearing him take rapid gasps of breath. He put his thumb over his chest, feeling his faint heartbeat. He needed help. Fast.
Holding his tiny friend close in his fist, Alastair ran screaming out of the hall, calling for the one person who could help the Roman.
"Night!" He yowled, pounding up the stairs to the second floor. "Florrie!"
Florence Nightingale, a nurse from the Crimean War, was one of the few exhibits in the museum who had medical knowledge. She was Tilly's helper when it came to healing the exhibits, and a friend of Alastair's. He was not certain if she could do anything for his friend, but he had to try. He could not lose Carolus. Not to a drink.
Xxxx
Alastair found her in her exhibit, chatting with a few of the other women who had their exhibits upstairs. They parted as he entered the room, breathing hard as fought to regain his breath and control his panic.
"Alastair?" Florrie asked, frowning. She opened her mouth to speak, before noticing the small bundle of a man Alastair held in his hands. "Is Carolus okay?"
"That is what I came to you about." Alastair hurriedly passed his tiny burden to Florrie, who took him in her gentle hands.
"What happened?" She asked quickly, beginning to rub the Roman's chest in an attempt to clear his breathing.
Alastair took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "W-Well, I noticed he was not in my pocket, like he usually is, and I went to look for him. I found him unconscious on the floor surrounded by wine bottles-"
Florrie's worried expression faded into an exasperated frown. She did not stop rubbing the Roman's chest, but she shook her head at him. "So he was drinking, then?" When Alastair nodded, she sighed. "He's fine."
"He is?" Alastair did not look so certain. "Are you sure? He was so still and-"
"Alastair, listen to me," Florrie warned. "He's just had a bit too much to drink. He'll wake up soon enough. The worst he'll have is a hangover."
Although Florrie was a professional and was hardly ever wrong, Alastair had a feeling that there was more to his friend's unconscious tate than just the drink. But, he could not argue with a nurse, and gently took Carolus back into his hands.
"What should I do?" He asked, looking down at his friend.
"Let him sleep," Florrie suggested. "When he wakes up, keep him hydrated. Hide the wine. Give him food- things like that."
"Okay. I will. Thank you, Night."
Alastair turned and left back down the stairs, keeping Carolus close against him for warmth. With his friend now incapacitated, it would be cruel of him to move the Roman more than was necessary. So, he walked until he reached his exhibit, which consisted of a stand alone tent a few artifacts from the time period.
He climbed into the tent, then crawled into his sleeping bag to rest himself. All of his panicking and searching had exhausted him, but he knew he would not sleep easily with Carolus still unconscious. Careful not to hurt him in any way, Alastair set the Roman onto the folded sock he used as a bad, and covered him with a thin piece from an old handkerchief. Deciding it would be better for him to wake up safe in his hold, he picked up the bad and held it in his hands.
As the night wore on, he surrendered to sleep just as the sun rose.
Xxxx
Carolus cried out as he woke, shooting into a sitting position as his chest heaved with sobs. He sat, shaking, his mind racing, trying to process everything. He felt fingers close around him and realized he was safe with Alastair. But he could not relaxe. He clung to his friend's finger as if his life depended on it, crying out the previous night's feelings.
Alastair lifted Carolus closer to him, shushing him in a soft tone as he gently stroked his head with his thumb. Carolus never acted this way. Only when he had nightmares about Pompeii would wake with screams or cry.
"Carolus?" He asked softly, lifting him up to eye level. "Are you okay?"
Carolus sniffled, slowly beginning to calm himself enough to speak clearly. "A-Alastair…"
"I am here," Alastair promised. "Carolus, what is troubling you? You nearly drank yourself to death last night!"
Carolus hid his face, focusing on stilling his shoulders. Alastair sighed inwardly, and lowered his voice so his tone was more comforting.
"Carolus…"
"I-I was thinking about Junia," Carolus sniffed, slowly loosening his grip on his friend's finger. "A-And about what happened...when Vesuvius erupted…" He paused, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. Alastair cupped his other hand around him to offer him the comfort of being closed off. "I-I was drinking and then...and then I had a flashback and then it...it all happened again, Alastair!" He broke into sobs again, his body shivering with both fear and pain. "Alastair, please, make it stop!"
Alastair did not know what to do for him. There was almost nothing he could do. The traumatic of losing his wife, and then being killed in such a way had ingrained itself into his friend's brain, and he knew it would never fade. He knew Carolus suffered from depression and nightmares and flashbacks, but he had never known just how bad they could get.
"Carolus, hush now, it is okay, I promise," Alastair whispered in a soothing tone. "Hey, Carolus- look at me; it can not hurt you anymore, okay? You are safe, I swear you are safe. I will not let any harm come to you, okay?"
Carolus nodded weakly, wiping his eyes. Alastair smiled as he was struck with an idea.
"Carolus, come with me for a bit. I want to show you something."
Xxxx
Alastair gazed up at the starry night sky, admiring the glowing dots that above them. He rested his head on his arms, folding them behind his head. Carolus sat on his shoulder, slightly leaning against the side of his head as he, too, watched the sky.
Although he could not see it, Alastair knew Carolus was smiling. He had not seen stars in ages. Neither him. It was a nice break from the hustle and bustle of the museum, and something that Alastair had known would help soothe his troubled friend.
"The stars are beautiful," Carolus breathed, unable to take his eyes off them. "Like tiny suns scattered across the sky."
Alastair chuckled. He then cleared his throat. "Carolus, about what happened-"
"I am sorry for scaring you, Alastair," Carolus cut him off, apologising sheepishly. "It was wrong of me to sneak away and not tell you where I was going."
"I am not mad at you," Alastair said reassuringly. There was a brief pause, before he spoke again. "Carolus, you know I am always here for you if you need to talk, right?"
Carolus nodded. "I know."
"And that I will help you any way I can, even if it means sacrificing my time?"
Again, Carolus nodded. "Yeah, I know. That is a tough sacrifice to make."
They both laughed, before Carolus winced, grabbing his head. "My head hurts…"
"It is the hangover," Alastair explained. "You drank a lot last night."
"Ugh, I will never drink again," Carolus groaned.
This time, only Alastair laughed as he rose to his feet, holding his tiny friend in his hands. "Yes you will."