Author: the Fanfic Maestro

Rating: M for vague sexing, adultery, and angst

Pairing: SiegfriedXJames

DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. Not a single thing. Except my own, perverse and fan-obsessed mind, that is.

A/N: this is unbeta'd. Please inform me of any stupid errors I can fix. OTL

There is no doubt that Siegfried Farnon is a complicated man. Yes, at first glance, he seems cocksure, hubristic perhaps, infuriating most definitely, if one takes a little more time to know him. If one becomes more than a passing acquaintance, one sees deeper into his character. He is both terribly weak, and impossibly strong, his heart never quite sure if it wants to be guarded and hard, or tender and open. Yet, if one waits long enough, one inevitably sees all these aspects of his nature. He is himself, always, and those who are close to him see him at his best and at his worst, in due course.

But James sees a side of him that others don't see.

James sees the Siegfried who catches his eye in the Surgery and gives him the subtlest of winks – just a flick of the eyelid, almost involuntary, and invisible to everyone except he who is watching for it. The Siegfried who conveys volumes in that single, secret gesture. James sees the Siegfried who waits patiently for James to tiptoe to his room, heart racing, desperate to keep his actions hidden from Helen, who sleeps soundly, none the wiser.

This hidden Siegfried is, like his more well-known day persona, a mess of contradictions. His gaze is both glazed with a sort of bittersweet nostalgia, (which James is honestly never sure is entirely for him,) and aflame with lust. His grip is all at once near-bruising and gentle. Those hands, which have brought countless creatures to life for decades now bring James to little deaths with a precision that makes his vision blur and his chest ache. When James recovers enough to handle Siegfried's person with some skill, he finds each groan, each whisper of encouragement as soothing as the most dulcet of tones.

They never pleasure one another with anything but their hands. Their mouths never meet, nor, often, do their eyes, but after each encounter, Siegfried smiles at James with a sort of wistful understanding as James washes the evidence of their latest encounter away in a basin Siegfried keeps ready on such nights for that very purpose. (The man is nothing if not thorough, when it comes to this.)

One night, as James rises from the bed to gather his clothes, he feels a touch on his wrist – just a light brushing of knuckles rasping over his cooling flesh. He turns to glance over his shoulder and is suddenly immobilized by what he sees in Siegfried's eyes. The older man smiles slightly, lips curling upwards just enough to fool James for a moment, before he speaks, hesitant and hushed.

"... sleep well, James."

And all at once, the hidden Siegfried retreats, locked away inside a lifetime of denied existence. James returns to his room, sliding into bed beside Helen and feeling sick to his stomach. He sleeps fitfully, and has terrible dreams.

The next morning, Helen makes a beautiful breakfast. As he bites into a piece of toast, James tries to force down the nausea he feels. Siegfried breezes in, all smiles and confident persona, and Helen returns his greetings with a sincere 'good morning.'

It's easy enough to slip away after breakfast, for a moment. Easier still to wash the evidence of sick down the sink.

Pointedly, James doesn't meet Siegfried's eyes in the Surgery, afraid of that look, and what he'd do if Siegfried were to give him that wink.

Two days later, even after getting a mouthful of filth, cow's blood, and birthing fluid, the taste of bile is still present on James's tongue.