.

Two hours passed before Michael found Fisk. His first stop was to the bank where his squire was employed, hoping that the man would be in his small office looking over accounts. Unfortunately, the tellers on duty informed him that Fisk wasn't scheduled to work and, in fact, his position was being evaluated after he had walked out early the night before. Gods, Michael thought. Another thing he needed to apologize for. He wandered around town after that, checking the regular haunts that he and Fisk had frequented when they were first settling into Brambian. None of the tavern maids or barkeeps he first spoke to remembered seeing Fisk that day and Michael was beginning to think he might just have to wait at home until Fisk decided to return when finally he got lucky.

Although barkeeps at the first two taverns hadn't seen Fisk recently, the third proved more helpful. 'Twas a less respectable joint, open all hours of the day, and the man pouring beer smelled as though he hadn't seen clean water in a week. At least he was polite.

'Your friend has been in here quite often lately. Usually keeps to himself, just nursing a few cold ones and staying quiet,' said the barkeep, who was also the owner. ''Cept last night he was in some kind of state. Came stalking in, bruised and bloodied, and immediately tried to pick a fight with a couple regulars. They shoved each other around a bit, but the other guys were more lazy with alcohol than angry and they took off before any real damage could be done.'

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Who knows what could have happened if Fisk had managed to irritate some men a bit more interested in causing pain.

'After that he just sat in the back all night, only ordering one drink, most of which he didn't finish, and glaring a hole into my table. He only left… oh, I'd say 'bout an hour ago when a kid came in hollering about some drunken girl causing trouble again.'

Thanking the man profusely, Michael rushed out of the bar in the direction of the stables. He thought he might know where his squire had gone.

.

'Hey.'

Fisk looked up from brushing Tipple when Michael walked into the barn and Michael flinched. Fisk was roughed up, sporting a black eye and a cut lip. 'Hi,' he replied, hesitantly. Michael tried for a tentative smile. It may have felt rusty, but Fisk's stiff posture eased and he went back to his ministrations.

They stood in silence for a while. Michael fought with what to say and ended up just watching his squire's hands, hypnotized by the steady movement. When he finished, Fisk patted Tipple and leaned against the stall, saying, 'How's the hangover?'

'Better, now,' said Michael softly. 'Thank you. For the water, for picking me up. For… everything.'

'You don't have to – '

'Yes, I do,' laughed Michael, humorlessly. 'I have a lot of apologizing to do. I was an utter bastard, Fisk.'

Fisk's lips twitched, but he didn't argue.

'I've been confused and angry with myself and I was taking it out on you. When I wasn't ignoring you, I was yelling at you or throwing a fist. Gods, I bought aprostitute.'

'Yeah, that one caught me off guard.'

'I'm just… I don't know what I would do without you,' he revealed, helplessly. 'I've been acting like an idiot child, but I'm done and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you.'

Smiling slightly, Fisk moved to where Michael was standing. 'Groveling is not a good look on you,' he mocked gently.

''Tis not a good look for anyone. That's the point.'

Fisk must have heard the insecurity in his voice because he said seriously, 'I'm not going to leave you, Michael. You know that right?'

Michael exhaled deeply. 'I wouldn't have blamed you.'

'Stupid knight,' teased Fisk. 'Although I do appreciate the apology. I don't let just anyone beat me up, you know.'

He brought a hand up to Fisk's black eye, brushing lightly. 'Does it hurt?'

'Eh. It was a crap punch anyway.'

Michael let the jab slide, feeling relieved, elated. 'Twas as if he had been walking in a haze the past few weeks and now he was finally breathing fresh air. He grinned at his squire. 'How about stew tonight? I can cook in those ridiculous peppers you like so much, as the beginning of my repentance.'

'Oh, this should be fun. Does your atonement cover the washing and mending and shopping too?'

'Don't even pretend you don't love sewing our clothes up, squire,' replied Michael as they exited the barn.

.

Dinner was fantastic and Michael refused to let Fisk help while he cleaned the bowls. They joked as he worked and he realized just how much he had missedFisk. They hadn't had a proper conversation in ages.

'And then Georgia Winefeld waltzes in and claims her husband's entire estate! The man wasn't even cold on his deathbed yet.'

Michael snorted as Fisk recounted the escapade that happened at the bank four days past. 'She's a piece of work.'

'You have no idea,' answered Fisk. 'Listen. I, uh…' He broke off, looking anxious, then said, 'I'm sorry about your cousin. Martin.'

Michael remembered Fisk's shocked face the night before as he spilled the story and realized he was glad that Fisk knew. 'I am too.'

Fisk was fidgeting and Michael thought he must have still had something he wanted to say, but in the end the squire just let out a gust of air saying, 'Put out the lantern, would you?' and crawled into bed.

.

To Michael's immense relief, things continued to turn around. Fisk didn't lose his job, Michael swore off alcohol until the next Hornday at least and their relationship continued to repair as Michael made amends at every opportunity.

Most of the time Fisk was the same as ever, grumpy in the mornings, exasperated when Michael got himself in trouble through a noble deed, funny and friendly and constant always. But there were times when Michael would notice Fisk holding himself back, his smile going tight and forced. He wanted to ask, wanted to push past the barriers that were suddenly between them, but didn't feel he had the right when he was the entire reason for their presence.

They avoided bars for the most part during the first couple weeks , opting instead to cook and play cards in the room or spend time exercising the horses and finding good areas to hunt and fish. Eventually Jake Hullan asked them out for drinks after a grueling shift at the docks and Michael accepted, deciding it was probably time to start socializing with the world at large again.

Jake walked with Michael to fetch Fisk from his bank shift and Michael made sure to apologize for his actions the night that Fisk collected him from Scott's. 'I'd probably be face down in a ditch somewhere if you hadn't alerted someone.'

'You'd do the same for me, I reckon,' Jake said, amiably. 'Everybody has their off days.'

''Twas a lucky thing that you managed to find my squire.'

Jake shrugged. 'Not so lucky. Fisk and I have chatted before. We actually had some lunch together that afternoon before he headed to work and I saw you at the bar.' He scratched the stubble on his chin. 'Haven't seen him lately though.'

Michael blinked. It hadn't occurred to him that Fisk might have sought other company while Michael had been avoiding him. 'Twas strange to imagine his squire having a life outside of his knowledge and Michael felt oddly uneasy, though he knew the emotion was misplaced. Of course Fisk would have other friends; there was nothing wrong with that. And lunch, that was normal. He was being ridiculous.

Fisk was pleased to see them. He finished a form and left his desk immediately, pocketing his gloves as he went. As they headed to the bar, Michael and Fisk somehow ended up arguing over which was the worse crime: overpriced beef or overpriced steel. They were having a fine time of it, making up outlandish repercussions for overpaying on such items and feigning astonishment every time a new point was made until Jake stopped laughing long enough to side with Fisk and Michael had to admit defeat.

The tavern was packed full of other folk looking to wind down after a hard day's work, but the three of them managed to find some seats with a few other dock workers. They were greeted warmly, though Michael saw a few surprised looks shot in Fisk's direction. It puzzled him for a moment before he remembered that these were some of the men he had spent his time with when he'd been avoiding his squire. At first they had questioned why Michael was suddenly showing up without his 'trusty sidekick' but he had driven off their inquiries with a few sullen glares. No wonder they seemed taken aback by Fisk's presence now.

Unfortunately, they were men who were more bold than smart. Several beers later and Peter Flank, a burly sailor with half a nose, waved a beer-laden hand at the two of them and said, 'Oy. You two lovebirds made up then?'

It was only a jab of course. Actual accusations were taken seriously and brought to the proper authority. Alluding to it in a teasing manner was only considered an insult. Even so, the remark hit too close to home. Fisk, who had been trying to show Michael how to make a tone by running a finger around the rim of his mug, now stiffened and shifted away awkwardly.

Jake seemed to notice the sudden tension and moved to break it. 'Fisk probably just got tired of looking at Michael's sorry mug every day. And who could blame him?' He slapped Michael on the back while the men roared.

'Yeah, how do you put up with this pillock?' added another dock hand, though not unkindly.

'I'll bet Fisk here has a few unpleasant attributes himself,' said Peter. 'What is it Michael? Smelly feet? Bad table manners? Sleeps in the nude?'

'No, no,' Michael said over the din, looking intently at his squire. 'Fisk is… Fisk is an angel.' Guffaws were heard around the table as the others took the statement for sarcasm, but the words had come out soft, sincere. A flush of red rose in Fisk's skin, starting at his neck and leading up to his ears. Tracking the color, Michael realized that Fisk had his eyes locked on him, looking strangely upset.

'I need some air,' Fisk announced, standing abruptly and swaying slightly as he headed towards the door.

As far as Michael knew, Fisk hadn't been drunk since his birthday and his squire was still a lightweight when it came to holding his alcohol. It didn't take much to make him tipsy. Concerned, the knight excused himself and followed Fisk out of the tavern. He found the man slumped against the pub wall, away from the lights and windows of the building.

When Fisk caught sight of him, he said, 'Go back inside Michael.'

Michael stepped closer instead and was rewarded with a twitch from Fisk. 'Go back inside,' he repeated, harsher this time.

Ignoring him, Michael said, 'What's wrong?'

'I need a minute to compose myself, Mike.'

There it was. That note of unhappy acceptance, of frustration and anger that Fisk usually managed to hide. Ordinarily when Michael heard it, he backed off and gave Fisk his space, but he was getting tired of having Fisk close him off.

'Fisk…' he started, only to have Fisk cut him off immediately.

'Damn it, Michael, what do you want from me? I'm trying, I really am, but sometimes you look at me like…' He curled his hands into fists and visibly forced himself to take a couple calm, even breaths before saying clearly, 'I know that you don't want me, but when you call me an angel like that, you can't expect me not to be affected, okay? So I just… I just need a moment.' Fisk looked up at him. 'Okay?'

Nodding dumbly, Michael did as he was told and tried to ignore the painful lurch in his stomach at the desperately wistful expression on Fisk's face while he turned away.

.

Fortunately or not, Michael now felt hyper-attuned to Fisk's every reaction.

It became abundantly clear that Fisk hadn't been exaggerating when he told Michael the birthday incident had been only a 'moment of weakness'. Now that Michael knew what to look for, knew that there even was something to look for, he could see Fisk's feelings evident in everything they did. 'Twas also obvious the man took special care to never act on them. He kept things platonic and comfortable, never making Michael feel pressured.

'Twas disquieting to wonder just how much the holding back was costing his squire.

And things would be alright, really, if only Michael could stop feeling disappointed every time Fisk checked himself from becoming too friendly. Or, worse, jealous whenever Fisk spent time with someone other than himself.

Frustration mounting, it came to a head one afternoon while Michael was attempting to clean a particularly stubborn bit of grime off one of the docked boats. He looked up to see a familiar sandy-haired man approaching the pier with a basket that Michael assumed held food. Thinking that Fisk was heading his way, Michael doubled his efforts in hopes to get the boat clear so that he could break for lunch. When he looked up again, it was to find Fisk talking merrily with Jake and Bob Yates several piers over.

He knew, he knew, feeling upset was ridiculous. Likely Fisk would be over to say hello in mere minutes, but Michael couldn't get rid of the cheated, betrayed feeling in his stomach at the sight of Jake's hand on his squire's arm and he slunk out of sight to get a handle on himself. Fisk asked around for him after a while, but he stayed hidden until the man gave up, sure that Fisk would see right through him if they spoke.

Not feeling any better after his shift, Michael stopped by a pub on the way home to settle himself. 'Twas only meant to be a couple mugs, but some of the other dock workers showed up, Jake included, and Michael had to down a few more to keep from sneering childishly at the man and his stupid red curls.

When he finally left the bar and stumbled into his the room, Fisk looked up from a book and immediately burst out laughing.

'Trying out a new hair style Sir Knight? Let me be the first to say that it really is an exquisitefashion. Sure to be a hit with the ladies.'

'There was an incident involving my head, a pint of lager, and a particularly sticky bartop,' he replied primly.

Fisk stopped sniggering long enough to offer helping him cut off the worst of the damage and Michael accepted, too dizzy to accomplish the task himself. They dunked his head in a bucket of water and Fisk sharpened his pocket knife before working out the tough clumps of whatever had been on the bar and was now taking over his hair.

Feeling drunk and out of it, Michael, without giving any thought to the words, said, 'You remember that night after the festival?'

Fisk's hands stopped moving.

'I really did like that.'

'Is that so?' Fisk said cautiously.

'Yeah. Loved it actually. I didn't want you to know.'

'…but you're telling me now.'

'Well its different now, isn't it? Now I know how you feel and I know think I know how I feel and the only thing I can't figure out is how to make it come together.'

'Make what come together Michael?'

'You and me of course,' he said lolling his head back against the squire's stomach. 'Before you reclaim your senses and move on to someone else.'

'That's ridic—Michael. What about the law? I'm still a guy. This is still considered abhorrent.'

Michael let his eyes droop. 'The law isn't always right,' he yawned. 'Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.'

If there was more conversation after that, Michael didn't remember it. He woke up the next morning with a resounding headache and spent a few minutes feeling generally sorry for himself and wishing he didn't remember anything. Then he shook the thoughts away and started the grueling process of preparing for work while simultaneously trying to block out all noise in the world and his squire's assessing gaze.

Whether he was as embarrassed as Michael by the things said or he simply didn't believe Michael's drunken declarations, Fisk said nothing of the entire evening. Spinelessly, Michael allowed it to be ignored. Obviously he wasn't ready for anything to happen if he couldn't even own up to wanting Fisk without being several pints under.

Life went on.

.

A while later found Michael knotting up his boots and saying, 'I'll be at the docks until late today. Lord Panfrey is sure that every thief and scoundrel is out to rob his shiny ship and paid for round the clock personal guards.'

'He still think it was gypsies that stole away with his 'prized golden peacocks'?

'Oh yes. For a man so paranoid, he really doesn't like anyone accusing his crew of robbery, even if 'tis clearly true. What have you got planned today?'

Yawning and picking at his eggs, Fisk shrugged. 'Feed the horses, check out that new contraption that's claimed to trap a copy of you on a sheet of paper. Jake said he'd stop by.'

'Oh,' Michael said, feeling suddenly grumpy. 'Have fun.'

'Try not to get in any trouble, Sir Knight,' Fisk responded and turned back to his breakfast.

.

'Twas raining and dark when Michael finally made it back to the room. He bust in dripping wet and exhausted, entertaining the idea of simply falling into his bed without bothering to eat or change. Instead he was greeted with the sight of Fisk and Jake leaning against one another as they roared with laughter.

'Michael!' Fisk shouted happily at the bang of the door. 'You're back!'

'Hullo, Michael,' chimed Jake.

Michael nodded stiffly at the man, sounding a bit colder than he intended when he replied, 'Jake.'

Climbing off his bed, Fisk said, 'Well? Did a band of highly training ninjas descend on Panfrey's boat and make off with all his treasures?'

'There was one incident with a particularly ornery old man trying to get a closer look, but I managed to fight him off.'

'How heroic.'

'I am a knight, you know.'

Fisk grinned. 'Well, Sir Knight, would you like some leftover chili? Jake's almost as good a cook as you.'

The sudden image of Fisk and Jake cooking together, all cozy and alone in the room made Michael uneasy. He sat down with a bowl anyway, the chili helping to heat his frozen body.

Stretching, Jake stood up and said, 'I believe I've trespassed on your hospitality long enough for one night. Suppose I'll head out.'

''Tis treacherous,' warned Michael. 'Rain's coming down pretty hard and the roads are a mess. They closed off Trefl Bridge as a safety hazard.'

Concern swept across Fisk's face. 'Isn't that where you cross to get home?'

'I can try the Mory Bridge further down, though if it's closed too…'

'Nonsense. We're not going to have you drown after you cooked us such good food,' declared Fisk. 'You can sleep here tonight.'

Michael may have been feeling shamefully ungracious towards the dock worker, but even he could see the wisdom in that. Being out in a storm was risky in regular circumstances. Trying to cross a flooded river in the dead of night during one was asking for trouble.

Even so, Jake looked concerned. 'I wouldn't want to intrude. Perhaps they'll let me sleep in the barn?'

''Tis fine,' assured Michael quickly, suddenly absurdly anxious that Fisk would offer to share his mattress with the man. 'You can have my bed and I'll… take the floor. We have an extra blanket.'

'I'm not putting you out of your bed! I have no problem with sleeping on the ground.'

'No. 'Tis not up for negotiation.'

He heard Fisk sigh. 'You better just accept the bed, Jake. Michael is as stubborn as a mule. He'll likely sleep on the floor whether you do or not.'

Jake laughed and raised his hands in defeat. 'Alright, I can see when I'm beat. I appreciate it, Michael.'

.

Michael was coughing slightly while they settled into their respective sleeping areas and Fisk eyed him concernedly, but Michael ignored the look and shifted on the pile of their clothes he was using as a mattress in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Sleep was evasive that evening. He'd spent enough time camping on the rugged ground that he should have been able to get some shut-eye regardless of his lack of bed, but the walk home in the rain didn't do him any favors. Trying to muffle his coughs, Michael lay shivering and half-awake until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Michael,' whispered Fisk. 'Come on.'

'Hmm?'

'Get up, you're freezing.'

Blearily, Michael rose and allowed himself to be led to Fisk's bed.

'Fisk, I'm not taking—' He broke off into a cough.

'Shut up,' Fisk said softly and pushed him under the covers. Michael was going to continue to protest, but a moment later Fisk slid in behind him, curling flush against his back in the limited space. Thoughts derailing, he blinked at the wall and continued to tremble though he felt much warmer already.

Fisk wrapped an arm around him, shifting closer, and mumbled sleepily, 'We can argue about it in the morning, okay? Sleep.'

The hand on his torso was calloused and familiar, but seemed almost foreign when viewed in such a perspective. Michael felt a clench in his chest again and realized he had no desire to fight this at all. When they woke up in the morning, Fisk would no doubt explain how he was only trying to keep Michael warm. He would do this because he was likely still under the impression (drunken confessions notwithstanding) that Michael might assume the position was another come-on or something equally as incorrect, but no less warranted. Gods, how he wished he could go back in time and slap his former self.

But Michael could no longer delude himself into believing that Fisk was alone in his desires. The knight had been terrified and disgusted with himself in the beginning, but even then he couldn't deny just how much he fucking loved what Fisk did to him. And now he knew, without a doubt, 'twas more than just sexual. He wanted the feeling he had now, the one he got from Fisk being curled up behind him, soft breath on his neck and warm arm on his skin, and he wanted it all the time.

He wanted it and damn the consequences. Damn the world.

He was in so deep.

.

Nothing was said over the next few days. Michael's cold cleared up after a while, Jake stopped by a couple times to visit with news from the docks, Fisk went to work and came home, chattered about the new courthouse being built and Lady Winefeld's latest stunt.

Nothing had changed. Fisk was still his best friend and a man, homosexuality was still outlawed, and Michael had still acted like a fool for three weeks because of it. Nothing was different now.

…except him.

Because even knowing all those things, Michael still wanted to put his hands on Fisk, wanted to grab him and never let go, wanted everything.

And suddenly, enough was enough. Fisk came home one evening saying, 'Jake and some others want to meet us for drinks. Interested?' and Michael stared at his freckled face, flush from the cool air, his floppy hair, his fine, slim fingers and simply said, 'No.'

Fisk blinked, confused. 'No?'

Shaking his head, Michael advanced towards the man. Putting his hand where Fisk was still holding the doorknob, he pushed slowly until it shut, never once breaking eye contact. Face flushed from more than cold now, Fisk swallowed visibly when Michael's other hand touched his cheek.

'No, I don't want to go out.'

Silence, and then, strained, 'What do you want?'

Michael kissed him.

He hadn't meant to do more than press his lips down once, softly, but Fisk surged against him instantly, opening his mouth and kissing back hard.

When they pulled back at last, Fisk was clutching at him, wide-eyed and painfully unsure. Michael tried to step back, give the man space, but Fisk tightened his grip and said in a strangled rush, 'You have to be sure, Michael. I can't take it if- if this is some—'

'It isn't. Fisk, it isn't.'

'Because I'm gone for you,' he persisted, not a trace of uncertainty in his voice now. 'This isn't something I can do halfway.'

'Wasn't planning on it. I was afraid. Now I'm not.'

Fisk continued to look hesitant so Michael whispered, 'You can still say no.'

One tense, unbearable second later Fisk finally breathed, 'No, I can't,' and hauled him back in. Michael let him.

.

[end]

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Review if you like! Let me know if anyone is actually interested in more adult stories like this. (That way if I ever write another, I'll know to keep it to myself) X]

Feel free to skip this next part. I just have this need to explain my stories.

For this one in particular, I've made it so being gay is viewed as a dire crime with sometimes deadly consequences because I needed to somewhat justify Michael acting the way he does and because I like it when two characters have to contend with more opposition than just wondering if they each lurve one another. I also made it so Michael and Fisk are no strangers to knocking back a few when they have the coin, Michael's unredeemedness is all but ignored, and losing one's virginity to a prostitute is a particularly lordly and upper-class thing to do. Ah, the joys of being a fanfiction author.

Fact: Jake, the little bastard, was only supposed to be this faceless dude that Fisk mentions as the reason he knew where to find Michael when he was booted from Scott's bar, but then he was all 'you should use me to show that Fisk isn't completely helpless and alone without Michael' so I did that and then he was all 'you should make me a plot point to show Michael's growing realization of how he feels about Fisk' so I did that, too, and then he was all 'you should actually make Fisk and I get it on to REALLY piss off Michael' and I told him stuff it.

Fact: The original plot (you know, until my traitorous hands decided to start typing something different) was 'Fisk gives Michael several drunken blow jobs and they don't talk about it in between until they do' but then it somehow turned into this.

The next story I have that's closest to being done will be much lighter. Pancakes and daisies in comparison to the angst in this one.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews on Infrastructure!