A/N: Having played Nicholas, I find I rather adore the various servants (or maybe the actors were just so great). This first scene comes from Act IV, Scene I, when Curtis won't light a fire, no matter how many times Grumio asked.

...

Petruchio was chuckling quietly to himself as his servants peeked back into the room. While glad to have their master home, Petruchio seemed to have gone rather mad whilst in Padua, and none of them were really sure how to deal with this new, temper-tantrum throwing individual. Truthfully, Pertruchio was acting exactly as they'd all been told Katharina would act.

"Seems he believes making her live with the behavior will rob her of it," mused Curtis, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A notion not without merit, though warning the staff might could be done sooner."

"Then we would act like nothing had happened, and the mistress would think it acceptable behavior," replied Nathanial. The youngest of the servants, Nathanial was one of the stuffier workers of the house. Pulling his tunic back into place, the lad threw his shoulders back and turned on his heel. "I'm off to the kitchen to inform the cook of this strange notion our master has got i'head. You all had best see to the room."

Peter glanced nervously in the direction of the bridal chamber, where shouts and curses could already be heard to echo forth.

"We have to go - he summons us, and we are not to disobey," whispered Nicholas, peeking around Peter all the same. "His temper should flare all the higher for our lagging."

"You first then." Peter shoved the smaller servant forward, grinning at the yelp that escaped.

"He did not summon me!"

"He won't call me, I'm too foolish and slow."

"In all like he'll call his faithful dog, Grumio," mocked Philip, jabbing an elbow at the serving man. Grumio scowled back, his usual good humor lacking that night.

"I am not a beast, man, and you woust do well to note me, as I am not bound to the house whilst our master gallivants around the country," Grumio snapped. The anger was dimmed by shivers that were tacking hold, and a sneeze tore itself from his face, forcing the man back several paces. "Curtis!"

"I am not your servant, Grumio, nor you a master. Make yourself a fire - and sit in it." The older man hobbled off, grumbling about the young and the foolish.

"Curse him that he should be kicked in the head by a horse," muttered Grumio, wiping a sleeve across his nose, "'twas not so much to ask."

"He is old and cross, and old men are wont to be." Stepping forward, Nicholas rested a hand on the other's shoulder. "The master has not called for us yet - let us away and warm you, lest you catch cold."

Grumio sniffed and nodded, turning to make his way down the hall towards the servants quarters. Philip grabbed Nicholas as the smaller made to follow. "Grumio is an ass at best. Why should we help him now?"

"Because kindness is not a commodity to be traded and the poor man is miserable. Besides, won't he be more intolerable if we leave him to suffer when we could have helped?" Wrenching his arm loose, Nicholas trotted after their comrade.

"He is young and still trusting," Peter spoke from behind Philip, "but he means well and speaks wise. Grumio need not suffer further, and he is our defense against this new Lord Petruchio. We should assist as best we can, if only so that he may live to let us complain further of his arrogance and strange manners. We cannot speak ill of the dead."

Philip sighed, but nodded. "Ahead then." As the two moved down the hall, Philip grabbed a flustered looking page. "Send someone to keep watch over Lord Petruchio for the while. We are not to be disturbed unless asked."

The page nodded, eyes wide, and took off running towards the voice down the hall.

"Was it wise to leave him to such a fate?" asked Peter.

"I did not leave him to anything. We cannot deal with our master and our friend at once. The boy will buy us the time we need, as well as feeding the beast of gossip that our home runneth on." Philip scowled at Peter's smirk. "What?"

"You called Grumio our friend. Is not the knave a thorn in the side no longer?"

"Silence, and get you hence. I shall bother the cook for sustenance, since neither lord nor lady hath eaten, tis fair to assume neither did the help."

…

Grumio collapsed next to the fire, arms out and hands dangerously close to the flickering force. The shivers were on him in earnest, setting his teeth to chattering and causing his very bones to ache. Silently he cursed Curtis again, sluggish mind conjuring fantasies of revenge worthy of any fever. Oh, how his master would beat him in the morrow when he mumbled and stumbled instead of jumping whence he was called.

Yet jump he did when a weight settled upon his shoulders. Looking up, Grumio blinked as Nicholas settled himself next to the elder servant, tweaking the blanket to better cover the other. "My thanks."

"You'll burn your hands this way." Nicholas pulled Grumio's hands back from the flames, ignoring the whimper of irritation. "They will be just as warm, but sans pain if you should allow some person to help you. Warming them too quickly could cost you them as well." Nicholas folded his hands over Grumio's, blowing and rubbing gently, but firmly, intent on his task.

Peter's arrival pulled Grumio from his stupor, warm finally beginning to spread and slowing his thoughts even more so. "Begun to thaw, have you?"

"Some."

"Well, the process shall take more than a warm blanket and a kind touch. Bring you hence - a bath awaits you, to heat you and clean you so's the house doeth no reek of you." The jibe itself held no malice, and the twinkle of Peter's eyes told of good humour and kind intent.

Grumio flinched as the heat from Nicholas' hands was removed, even as the other man helped him to stand and led him away from the crackling fire. "There will be more heat Grumio, worry thy self not."

"Aye, we could always find the lad a lass, if warmth enough the three of not be," quipped Peter, slinging an arm around Grumio's shoulders. A page darted into the room as the left, banking the fire and returning the blanket to it's proper place.

"I don't miss the job of a page," remarked Nicholas. "There is such sleep to be had, when a servant of decent rank a man becomes."

"A man. Ye be little more than a lad - not e'en a tall one at that."

"Hush."

"You spoke of a bath," interrupted Grumio. As fun as it was to pretend superiority, these were his friends and he wanted to joke and jest when he could feel all his limbs.

"Yes, yes. This way."

…

The water was nearly too hot, for which Nicholas scolded the other two, who ignored him. Grumio sank into the warmth with a groan, dipping his head until it was yanked forth by a panicked Philip.

"Enjoy thyself, but not as it t'were a bed!"

"I could not sleep here if I had to. The noise is that to rival our master in his current state."

"Must be feeling better," whispered Peter, with no attempt at being quite. "See how he speaks so bold already."

"Hear him speak, yes. See him speak - a talent I do not possess." Nicholas shot a smirk of his own at his laughing companion, dipping a towel into the washing basin. Wringing the excess water out, he draped it over Grumio's head. "Mother used to do this," he explained in response to Grumio's arched eyebrow. "It kept things warmer, though I know not why."

An odd trick, from an odd boy, but it did appear to be working so Grumio held his tongue, choosing instead to sink somewhat lower into the pool. "My thanks again, friends. A wonderful treat after the long ride."

"Tonight we shall treat you, but come the morrow we will mock and scowl and poor soup in your lap once more," nodded Philip, looking pleased if refusing to look at anyone whilst speaking. "But come, before the water cools. You smell to send the buzzards to wing - let us clean they good and proper, then bundle ye off to food and bed."

"I can clean myself," protested Grumio.

"Aye, but ye won't, because we shall be faster and therefore you warmer."

Grumio had grown to doubt Peter's sanity on previous occasions, but not feared it contagious as Philip and Nicholas helped in the madness. The serving man was hauled to his feet and set upon by the other three, all who began scrubbing furiously, continuously lifting water to wash away the soup and keep a stiff chill from setting in. It was the messiest bath Grumio had had since he was small and splashed his own mother in his excitement at the water, but it was quick and he was clean, and presently covered in a great many clothes to be dried in a truly strange manner.

"Unless one of you has begun to lean sly, mayhap let me dry that?"

Laughter replaced hands, allowing Grumio to fish the cloth off his head and dry his lower half. Breeches, stockings, under shirt, tunic, and boots were brought by yet another page, which Grumio changed into quickly, for fear of cold as much as his colleagues.

"Now," Philip clapped his hands and the page scurried away, "food and bed, for all of us."

"Pages do not serve us," commented Grumio, rubbing at his arms to as the returned heat made them tingle.

"One in a while, good sir, anything can happen." Peter grinned at Grumio's look of confusion. "It appears the cold hath not left his mind. That, or he be a bigger fool than when he left."

"I'm as foolish as ever," snipped Grumio, cheeks coloring at the others laughter. "Tis true."

"Indeed, good Grumio, indeed. But now, away!" Peter bounded to the door, the others following more slowly, Nicholas signaling a servant boy to attend to the room.

…

"This is a guest room!"

"Yes Grumio, and we are the guests."

Peter grinned from his place on the bed, patting the other side as Philip took the tray off food from the page at the door.

"We cannot be here," Grumio protested, even as Nicholas steered him towards the bed.

"Grumio," Peter began, as though talking to a small child, "our master is busy and Curtis is an ass. Consequences be damned, you needed to be looked after properly this night, and we three take any excuse to be pampered. Hence, we are here. Now, eat and drink, and then we shall sleep."

"All in this bed?"

"Know ye a better way to create heat?" asked Nicholas, crawling onto the bed beside Grumio and snatching a pear off of the tray.

"Oy, travelers first," corrected Peter, even as he himself took an apple from his side.

"I care not." Grumio smiled, choosing a piece of meat for himself. "This is a fine feast, to be shared by all."

"You are too kind, good sir." Peter bowed, head touching Grumio's knee. "That we may share the bed of such a fine individual, even for one night-"

"We are comrades, not concubines," interrupted Philip.

"Only for lack of uniform," retorted Peter. "That, and you, Philip, have not the legs for a gown."

The evening continued in this manner, with jokes and stories told around, both of Grumio's adventures in Padua and the other's tales of life at home. As the food was consumed and time wore on, the four began to nod and drift, conversation stalling as thoughts were lost. Curling around their returned comrade, the servants succumbed to slumber.

…

Petruchio was giddy with his success with Katharina. She had not eaten for days, and last night had gotten no sleep yet again. He himself was in need of a rest, but that could be taken care of. Grumio could always look after his Kate while he stole away for a bite and a nap. It would do her good, in the end, though she curse and wail at present.

"Where be the foolish knave?"

Petruchio stopped outside a door in the guest wing, pausing at the sound of breathing from within. Though early in the day, there were no guests at his place, so who couldst it be? Carefully he slid a dagger from its sheath on the wall, easing the door open.

He paused with the door just wide enough to sight the bed. Upon it, tumbled together and tangled beyond hope, were four of his servants, Grumio tucked safely in the middle of the heap, looking fathoms better than the previous day. Pale skin had regained its light tan, and the shivering that had been threatening was no were to be seen.

It occurred to Petruchio that, in taming Kate, he might break his servants. He had not warned them his plan, nor did he intend to change said plan. His men had always done his bidding, and well, but perhaps beating Grumio and forcing him to walk for miles before allowing him back the horse, and then only so they could ride faster, when it was so cold and the servant was as hungry and miserable as his dear Katharina, had not been so great a task. Clearly though, upon his and Kate's retiring to bed, Grumio had been set upon by his friends and nursed to health as best as three foolish servants knew how.

A sigh drew Petruchio's attention outwards from his thoughts. Grumio had found enough room to wiggle onto his side, his nose now buried in Peter's neck while his hand sought Nicholas so as to snuggle under the other body for warmth. Petruchio huffed a laugh, easing the door back shut.

He should, he thought as he returned the dagger to its place, make some loud noise, waking the four men and causing them to jump into their proper places. Yet it was early, and for all his caterwauling, Katharina had passed out on the floor some hour previous. He would find some chair by a fire and steal a rest himself. The day had not yet begun, and there was plenty of mayhem to be spread and sown when all were rested.