Title: Stitching
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If Terry Pratchett were to meet me on the street, he would probably smack me around for doing this to his characters.
A/N: This loveable but insanely unconventional pairing was written on a dare that got so out of control it is not to be believed. I came -this- close to being forced to write Nobby/Colon. cries
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"Look, I did say I was sorry."
"'Sorry'? You rip my arm off and all you can think to say is 'sorry'?"
It is 10:43 in the evening, the Watch House is all but deserted, and Constables Visit and Shoe are having a disagreement.
"I didn't do it on purpose! It just kind of fell off! Anyway, the Great God Om tells us that we must forgive and forget!"
"Clearly, he has never had his arm ripped off."
Reg sits down behind his desk huffily and tries to arrange his errant limb as it was. It is proving to be rather difficult. Visit stands nearby, hovering somewhere between exasperation and concern.
"I did say I was sorry," he repeats in weary tones.
Reg looks up from his task for a moment and gives Visit a long look. "I know you are, Washpot," he says, sounding almost penitent. He then continues his struggle to thread a needle with one functioning arm while holding his other arm in place, a task that he is quickly finding impossible.
"Here; let me," Visit murmurs, taking the thread and needle from Reg's unresisting hands and kneeling beside him. He threads the needle quickly and rests his hands on Constable Shoe's arm, hesitating for a moment before sliding the needle through the skin on Reg's upper arm. He glances up sharply, the picture of distress.
"It's fine, Washpot. It doesn't hurt at all," Reg says to him. "You can keep going, if you like." Relief spreads slowly across Visit's face as he continues to stitch his colleague back together, occasionally looking up as if to say, Is this right? Reg watches Visit as he works, and finds himself admiring the focused concern on his face, the gentleness and warmth of his hands. There's a lock of dark hair hanging in Visit's face, but he doesn't seem to have noticed. Reg holds very still, and if he were still alive, he would probably be holding his breath. But when Visit asks him to turn his arm a bit, Reg curls it slightly around his fellow Watchman's waist. Visit does not comment, but unconsciously, he leans into the touch. Reg might be happy to stay like this a long while, but Visit snaps the thread and ties it in a quick knot.
"That's it, then," Visit says in a satisfied way. "I hope I am forgiven?" It takes him a moment to realize that Reg's arm is still resting around his waist. "You can let go now," he says helpfully.
Reg tightens his grip a little. "If you don't mind, I think I'll leave it there a bit longer."
Visit smiles uncertainly; he doesn't quite understand; he thinks Reg must be joking. "Abomination," he accuses fondly.
"Zealot," Reg replies. On an impulse, he leans forward and brushes his lips gently across Visit's. They barely touch, it's just the lightest hint of a kiss, but it's earthshaking. They stay that way for a long moment, neither one daring to move. By degrees, Visit remembers himself and pulls away. He curls himself against the desk, face flushing and lips trembling, hand wandering to the turtle pendant at his throat out of habit.
Reg's stitched face crumples as he tries to mask his disappointment and he clambers slowly out from behind the desk.
"I'm going off duty a bit early tonight. Good night and…er…thanks for the help, Washpot." He bends down and kisses Visit, who doesn't move, doesn't react. Reg turns around and strides out the Watch House door.
The overall dramatic effect of this exit was somewhat dampened when some of the stitching in Constable Reg Shoe's legs randomly gave out and he collapsed rather spectacularly on the cobblestones outside. Luckily, Constable Visit was more than happy to help sew him back together.
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Er. So. Reviews are appreciated. Very much so. Flames, on the other hand, will be deleted. Unless they're really original. Then they'll be kept around for hilarity factor.