Armand Gillette stared at the chessboard in mild shock. Fifteen minuets into the game and Cutler Beckett was within striking distance of his king. He moved his remaining knight, capturing and ever important pawn. Beckett grinned and plucked Gillette's king from the board.
"Checkmate."
Armand help up his hands in surrender, shaking his head as he pushed his pieces towards Cutler.
" You're good at this."
Cutler shrugged.
"I had a lot of free time as a child. I practiced."
Gillette stood and stretched, towering over the sitting Beckett. The Frenchmen glanced out the large window that overlooked the harbour in Port Royal, scanning quickly for James' ship.
"He's still not back yet."
" I wouldn't expect him until tomorrow at the earliest. The powers that be really want him to suffer for his little sojourn in Tortuga. They gave him the longest monitoring route possible."
Armand shook his head.
"How is it that you know everything?"
Cutler shrugged again, this time briefly rubbing his temples.
"I don't. I guessed when he showed us the route he would be taking. All the same, would you mind closing the curtains? It's frightfully bright in here."
Catching the momentary pained expression on his lover's face, Armand pulled the heavy linen in front of the windows, turning to find Cutler pressing his hands to his head, neck slightly bent.
"What's wrong?"
Beckett smirked, realizing that this was the first truly decent thing Gillette had said to him outside of the bedroom.
"Nothing. It's only a slight headache."
Gillette raised a pale red eyebrow, noticing the perspiration gathering on Cutler's forehead, despite it being a comparatively cool day with a strong breeze.
"Do you want to sit down somewhere more comfortable? You look like you are about to swoon."
He felt a little better seeing the dark look Cutler shot his way.
"I'd better sit. It's not like you'd catch me if I did swoon, anyway."
However, upon beginning to move, Beckett felt the pain in his head intensify to a rather alarming degree. He must have stumbled a bit as he made his way to the overstuffed chair across the room because suddenly he felt Armand's hand at his back.
"Easy. Come on; let's get you there without falling. I don't fancy having to drag you."
"Just, close the curtains will you? The light is making it worse."
Cutler felt Armand ease him into the chair before levelling himself with the shorter man's line of vision.
" I closed them."
"Try the darker ones, they usually do the trick."
Beckett closed his eyes; bur heard Gillette closing the second set of curtains, these much darker and heavier than the first. He squinted tentatively and immediately regretted it. Even the dim light was fast becoming painful.
"Do you need me to get you anything?"
Gillette had returned and sounded like he was off to Beckett's right.
"No, it'll pass on its own."
"Why don't you go lie down until it does?"
Thinking of the long hallway with the large windows that lay between him and his bed, Cutler shook his head violently, before hissing in pain.
"No, I'll be alright."
Rather suddenly and alarmingly, Cutler felt himself being lifted up and carried.
"What are you doing? You French bastard put me down!"
"Trust me, when you are in bed you'll thank me for this."
"Unlikely. Highly unlikely."
Although, as Beckett was lowered gently to the bed, he had to admit that his pillow did really feel nice. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that Armand pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before leaving the room.
Truth be told, Armand didn't hate Cutler. The man drove him to absolute distraction, and most of the time he entertained ideas about smacking him, but there was a great lack of genuine hatred. It may have been due to the fact that he was actually starting to love the insufferable brat.
As such, it was hard to watch Beckett in pain without being able to do something about it. Armand was used to James, who trusted the Frenchman with his life and didn't hesitate to open up when asked. James accepted Armand's help with the promise that he would be allowed to be there for Armand whenever he was in need. They had been shipmates for close to a decade and had been friends and lovers for almost as long.
Cutler however had been alone for much of his life. While James knew a great deal more about Beckett's past, he would not reveal any of it to Armand. What Gillette had gathered was that the few relationships Cutler had been involved in were neither pleasant nor healthy. Any attempts at intimacy beyond the bedroom were rejected violently. The man relied only on himself for so long that he didn't even know how to begin to receive help with any sort of grace.
Thus, it was with great trepidation that Armand carried in a cup of mint tea to Cutler's bedroom. There was the possibility that it would be flung at his head or that he would be met with a steady stream of profanity. There was always that chance that he would do both. In any case Armand didn't trust his temper enough to say with certainty that he wouldn't fight back, Cutler's headache be dammed.
Cutler sat up at the scent of mint. Normally, his senses were so aware that anything in extreme would make his headache worse. However, the smell of the mint tea that his valet so expertly prepared often soothed the raging pain. The smirking face that heralded the arrival of his ambrosia was not the valet. Cutler wasn't sure if he should be furious or embarrassed that Armand was continuing to see him in such a vulnerable state, but he withheld judgement until the bone china cup was resting in his grasp.
"Did Saunders send that up?"
The Frenchman nodded, eyes flickering along Beckett's body, as though assuring himself that his lover was otherwise unharmed. Seeing the uneasy look on Cutler's face, Armand straightened his back a bit and made for the door.
"Shall I leave you to rest then?"
Yes, go, leave me in peace, shouted the reasonable part of the older man's mind. However, he heard himself say "No, stay if you wish."
To his horror Gillette pulled the chair out from the desk and placed it next to the bed.
"What brings these on?"
Armand's voice was low and soothing and Cutler felt the other man take hold of his hand.
"I'm not sure. Stress, excitement, any extreme emotionally change really."
Taking a sip of his tea, Beckett chanced a look over at his lover. There was a caring expression on the usually smug face and that alarmed him more than anything.
"What are you playing at Gillette? What could you possibly gain from seeing me like this?"
He had hope that the question would offend the Frenchman; drive him away for a while. Solitude would be better than the younger man's pity.
"What do you mean?" There was a flicker in the dark eyes that alerted Beckett to the blossoming of agitation.
"Well, I mean, you can't want to bed me like this," Cutler swept his hand in a vague gesture over his body, " and I'm afraid I'm not good for much else."
As quickly as the anger was born, it was replaced by a look of deep sadness.
"I'm here because I want to make sure you are alright. Surely you must know I think of you as more than a convenient lay."
Cutler didn't respond, his eyes trained on the floral bedspread. He could sense Armand's body stiffen and suddenly Armand's fingers were underneath his chin, yanking his head back up to meet the furious gaze.
"Listen to me and listen well, you ignorant fool: I. Care. About. You. All right? I care about you. Not how skilful a lover you are. You forget I already have James. I don't need to stay with you."
"Then why do you?" God, his voice sounded so horribly weak. The pain in his head was intensifying to such a degree that his vision had begun to white out.
"Because I love you."
The roaring in his ears drowned out Armand's voice and Cutler decided to lean back against the pillows if the Frenchman was going to continue his ridiculous tirade. He just needed somewhere to rest his head…
Armand felt his stomach turn to ice when Cutler's eyes rolled to the back of his head before his body when limp. The still fully cup of tea fell onto the bed, staining the horrible spread. Leaping for the door, Armand yelled for Saunders. The elderly valet took one look at Beckett and pushed Gillette from the room. A sudden burst of nerves overtook Gillette and he ran down the stairs and out of the house until he had reached the edge of the beach.
He fell to his knees in the sand, realizing how quiet the private cove was. Lifting a hand to push back a strand of red hair, he realized he was trembling. If he had wanted to lie to himself, he could have simply explained it as his reaction to Beckett's fit. However, he knew that he was possibly more unnerved by the older man's reaction to his admission. James had warned Armand that Cutler didn't understand that people cared for him without having an ulterior motive. After nearly four months as lovers, he had hoped that Cutler was sort of getting the idea. Apparently he considered himself unloved, not just unlovable.
The latter feeling Armand understood perfectly. He knew that James was probably the only one in the world who would put up with his sarcastic sense of humour and his cynical outlook on life and love him for it all the same. However, at least he recognized and appreciated the fact that he was loved. Cutler was another difficult individual but the bastard had wormed his way into both his and James' affections. Apparently he hadn't realized it yet.
Armand sighed, a fierce sense of loneliness coming over him. He wished James were here; James had always been better at handling the odd dynamics of their relationship than either Cutler or him. He would have been able to make Beckett understand what Gillette had been trying to say. While he was at it, he could have explained it to Gillette as well.
The Frenchman's musings were interrupted as he was joined by a pale looking Cutler Beckett, dressed only in his nightshirt, a pair of breeches thrown on as an after thought. The man was practically swimming in the garments, making him look much younger than he really was.
"Should you be out here so soon?"
"Perhaps not. I snuck out when Saunders went to put on dinner."
Armand was surprised when he saw Beckett reach out a hand and push back the unruly red hair that was escaping Armand's short ponytail.
"Your hair is a wreck."
Giving Cutler and exaggerated look once over before raising a pale eyebrow, Gillette smirked.
"You are a wreck."
Surprisingly the older man smiled briefly.
"Well I suppose I am. All we need is James and his wretched beard to complete the picture."
Moving closer so that Cutler could lean against him if he needed to, Gillette dropped his voice to a whisper.
"I rather like the beard."
Dropping his voice as well, Beckett leaned gently against Gillette's shoulder.
"So do I. But we shouldn't tell him. Then he'll never groom to godforsaken thing and let it run wild again."
Gillette shook his head in mock dismay, sending his hair flying out of its restraint
Cutler grabbed the discarded leather string and manoeuvred Gillette's shoulders so that he could kneel behind him and fix fiery mess.
"You need to rest on your knees to see over my head?"
"Silence or I will be forced to do you severe bodily harm."
Gillette ducked his head a bit made and odd chocking noise that may have been a laugh. In retaliation, Cutler pulled his hair back a bit harder than really necessary. At Armand's indignant yelp, Cutler began to gently comb his hair back into some sense of order, before tying the leather around it with a flourish.
"There, you are a bit more presentable now."
Armand plucked at the large sleeve of the nightshirt.
"I don't suppose you have these specifically tailored for you?"
"No, it seems a bit of a waste. I never have occasion to wear them."
He shot Gillette a quick smile before standing and offering his hand to the taller man.
Armand took it but used his own strength to propel himself up. Cutler was looking a bit unsteady on his feet again, eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. Gillette did not try to help him; even short men had their pride.
Later, as Armand went to leave the bedroom, Cutler grabbed his wrist.
"Stay."
Armand bit back a smile and he undressed to slide behind Cutler in the bed. He wrapped his arms around Cutler, marvelling at how tiny the other man was.
"Why?"
Cutler's whisper could have referred to any number of things. Lucky for Armand, the other man elaborated.
"Why did you wait until I was vulnerable to tell me how you felt?"
Pressing a chaste kiss to his lover's aching head, Armand held the small body closer to his own.
"Because when you are vulnerable, that is when you need love the most."