Written for the prompt by janeayreofmanderley on Tumblr:
"You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes." Tybalt/Mercutio.
It was hot, even for Verona in summer. The streets were dusty, small dust devils stirred up here and there by small eddying breezes that somehow failed to bring relief to the inhabitants of the city as they went about their business in the sweltering heat. The sky was a fierce, intense, almost impossible azure blue without even the faintest wisp of cloud to mar its cerulean perfection or promise the slightest drop of rain.
It was too hot even for fighting. Oh, tempers were frayed enough, it is true; but the snarled insults between Capulets and Montagues lacked their usual fire, uttered through force of habit and lacking teeth without the threat of being backed up by actions; it was too hot for exertion, and they all knew it. To raise a fist in anger would have been to invite prostration from the heat soon after; and thus the youths of the two great Houses of Verona contented themselves with derisive name-calling and insults and no more.
Even the fire of Mercutio's wit seemed dulled by the heat of the midday sun. He wouldn't have been out at all, save that sheer boredom had driven him out onto the parched streets in search of companionship and amusement. It seemed that for once Romeo and Benvolio had exhibited intelligence beyond his own; at any rate, he found no sign of them in any of their usual haunts, and he wondered at his own foolishness in venturing abroad during the hottest part of the day.
Except it seemed he were not alone in his foolishness - wasn't that Tybalt, striding slowly down the road ahead of him? And the mad Capulet had not the wit to even leave off his coat for once! The heat must have baked off what wits the man yet possessed.
The weather may be too hot for fighting, but Mercutio were not above a little goading, and Tybalt could always be counted upon to rise to any insult offered. Mercutio grinned and moved up behind the other man.
He was just reaching out to tap Tybalt upon the shoulder when Tybalt's footsteps faltered, then halted; he stood for a moment, one hand pressed to his face as he swayed; and then suddenly he keeled over backwards as though poleaxed, his long limbs folding gracelessly beneath him as he collapsed. Mercutio had barely enough wit to catch him as he fell. He stared down into Tybalt's pale face and swore heartily. For all he was so lanky, the tall man was surprisingly heavy. He was in a dead faint, lips barely parted, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Mercutio glanced around, then dragged Tybalt over to the shade of a tree nearby. He laid the unconscious man down upon the dried yellow grass at the foot of the tree then set about removing Tybalt's coat. It wasn't easy; the Capulet youth's limbs were limp and unco-operative, but finally he managed to get his arms out of the heavy leather sleeves. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of the sweat-soaked shirt and tugged loose the thin silk scarf about Tybalt's throat, then glanced around, at a loss for what to do next.
There was a fountain in the centre of the square at the end of the road; with a brief glance down at the unconscious Tybalt, he pulled free the scarf then jumped up and ran to the fountain. He soaked the cloth in the cold water as he glanced around. He spied a chipped earthenware bowl lying beside a heap of rubble and refuse next to the steps of a house across the square; he ran over and snatched it up. It seemed clean enough; he returned to the fountain and washed it in the water, to be on the safe side, then filled it with cool, clear water before carefully carrying it and the sodden scarf back to where Tybalt still sprawled insensible beneath the tree.
As he carefully patted Tybalt's face with the wet cloth and poured a little water over the black hair, Tybalt's eyes flickered and he made a faint sound of complaint. Mercutio sighed with relief as the other man opened his eyes and stared about himself in confusion.
"Where - what...?" Tybalt murmured in bewilderment. Mercutio sat back on his heels and grinned.
"You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."
"I... fainted?" Tybalt frowned slightly as he pushed himself up onto one elbow. Mercutio proffered the bowl of water; Tybalt stared at it for a moment, then took it, sipping slowly at the water.
"Keeled right over. Not surprised, in this heat; whatever possessed you to go out in the hottest part of the day?"
"I could ask you the same thing," snorted Tybalt. He managed to sit up, and took another sip of water.
"At least I had the sense not to wear a leather coat on a day like this," shrugged Mercutio. "The heat must have addled what wit you possess."
"Shame it did not also dry up that tongue of yours," retorted Tybalt, though without his usual acidic sharpness. He sighed. "I have neither the energy nor the inclination to fight you today, Mercutio."
"For once, I agree; it's too hot for fighting," sighed Mercutio as he sat down next to Tybalt, who moved his long legs aside so that they might both share the shade of the tree.
They sat in companionable silence for some time. After a little while, Mercutio got up and went in search of a nearby tavern; he returned with a bottle of chilled white wine and a flagon of water. To his surprise, Tybalt was still waiting for him beneath the tree. Mercutio dropped back down to sit next to him, and passed him the bottle of wine.
They did not speak. They shared wine and water, and after a while Mercutio leaned against the trunk of the tree and nodded off.
Tybalt was gone when he awoke some time later. And perhaps, that was as it should be.