It had been a close thing, getting Jules Verne away from the League of Darkness this time. A very close thing indeed. They had almost been too late; Verne had been in a bad state when they finally located the caves where he had been kept chained during his captivity. Bruised, bloody, so cold to the touch Phileas had momentarily thought that they had not found him in time.
The man before him now was much improved, thankfully. No longer required to be abed, Verne had managed to dress and settle into a chair that Passepartout had lined with pillows and blankets.
"Are you going to stand there skulking in the doorway, Fogg, or do you plan on entering sometime today?"
"I... I just wanted to see how you were getting on." Phileas' gaze swept over Verne as he spoke, instantly cataloguing the fresh bandages around his wrists as well as his unnatural stiffness and the hunched shoulders that were the result of the heavy manacles that had kept him from attempting an escape on his own. The paleness, skittishness and wide-eyed nervousness however, they were a result of the damn oubliette itself. A man like Verne did not deserve to have been locked in a place like that.
"According to Rebecca I'm still much too pale and Passepartout keeps insisting on feeding me. I believe the two of them are currently in the galley preparing enough food that if I attempt to eat it all, I shall burst."
"Yes, well, that's an admirable goal for those two then, I'm sure."
Jules shook his head. "Very funny, Fogg. This is your fault, you know. They're bored and restless so all their energy is focused on my recovery. If you hadn't insisted on keeping the Aurora moving constantly and never stopping longer than the time it takes to resupply-"
"I'll have you know we stayed in Prague for seven hours, Verne."
"But only because the weather made it dangerous for us to leave."
"Damn, it, Verne, I'm trying to keep you safe!"
"Fogg," Jules protested as he struggled to stand, "I am not incapable of-" but whatever he was about to say was lost as he stumbled, his feet caught in the blanket Passepartout had practically smothered him with.
"You look utterly ridiculous, Verne," Phileas muttered even as he rushed forward to help, grabbing Jules' arm and carefully holding him steady as Jules fought his way free of the bedding.
"Thank you, I appreciate being mocked during my recovery," Jules said, not only attempting (and failing) to keep is tone light, but also trying to hid a hiss of pain as he tried to straighten.
"Still stiff and sore then I take it? You need your muscles to loosen. Lie down, will you? Really, Verne, it's painful just looking at you."
Jules made a frustrated huff. "I'm tired of lying and reading in bed."
"I didn't say anything about reading, did I? For someone who purports to be a playwright your grasp of the spoken language is downright pathetic," Phileas said as he herded Jules back to his bed. "Now, let's get that dressing gown off you so I can get to work."
"I'm sorry?" Jules' voice didn't quite squeak, but it was close.
"A massage, Verne. Surely you are familiar with the concept?"
"Fogg..." Jules began before trailing off, seeing the determined set to Phileas' features. As a testament to how much pain he was actually in, or perhaps how tired he truly was, Jules did not protest further, he simply began the process of disrobing. He moved slowly and stiffly and in the time it took for him to divest himself of his dressing gown Phileas had removed his own jacket, cravat and cuff links and folded his sleeves up past his elbows.
"Now, it is best skin to skin," Phileas explained as he made a vague, fluttery motion in the direction of Jules' shirt. "I can help you with the buttons if you require assistance since your wrists and hands- as the bandages might create difficulties." He waited as Jules considered both his offer and the state of his own hands, before simply leaning forward and making quick work of the buttons without further comment. "There. Now lie down so I can work on your back."
Phileas helped Jules get situated properly on the bed before pulling a small stoppered bottle out of his pocket. "Rebecca swears by it," he said by way of explanation when Jules noticed it. Carefully pouring some of the oil into his hands, he rubbed them together before gently resting his hand on Jules' back, waiting for him to become accustomed to the touch.
"Is it... almond?" Jules asked.
"Among other things." Phileas began with slow, light strokes, down the planes of Jules' back, gently pressing into the knots and spots of tension as he found them. After a few minutes Jules sighed and finally seemed to allow himself to relax under Phileas' touch. He increased the pressure, kneading the abused muscles, warming the bruises with the gentle heat of his hands and running his fingers over the scars that Jules now carried as a result of their travels and travails: the events on the Prometheus, facing the Queen Spider in New York, the explosion in Corsica and more.
Jules groaned as Phileas shifted towards the head of the bed, moving Jules' arm to obtain a better angle of the deltoid. It took quite a bit of his not inconsiderable skill for the muscles to even approach a state of suppleness. Jules' head was turned toward him, face flushed and looking relaxed in way he hadn't been since his rescue, and Phileas took a moment to brush the fringe off his forehead and run a thumb over his temple, trying to smooth out the remaining furrows of pain. "Oh, Verne, I am so sorry, my friend," he sighed softly.
"There is nothing for you to be sorry for," Jules responded.
Phileas placed Jules' arm back against his side and slipped off the bed, kneeling on the floor, his head bowed as if in benediction. "Your rescue. We should have been able to execute your rescue quicker. If we'd only managed to follow the leads faster; dealt with the League more decisively-"
"Fogg," Jules interrupted, almost in warning; his voice low and absolute.
"Verne..." Phileas pleaded, closing his eyes.
"You found me and got me out," Jules murmured softly. There was a slight movement and then the gentle touch of a kiss being pressed into Phileas' hair. "That's all that matters in the end."