Tybalt went from lightly dozing to full alertness in a heartbeat as he felt Mercutio stir behind him. He had no idea if it would be as Mercutio or as Valentine that he awoke. It was a somewhat unnerving thing to contemplate; that at any time Mercutio might be gone and a stranger look out from his eyes.
It alarmed him how swiftly the transformation had come over Mercutio last night – and how easily Valentine had overpowered him, pinning him to the bed. There had been something chilling in those ice blue eyes as he had stared down at Tybalt, devoid of the warmth and humour of Mercutio. The knife was beneath his pillow but with his hands pinned, it may as well have been on the moon – and he was wary of hurting Mercutio if he'd fought Valentine off to the best of his ability.
Valentine of course had no such worries restraining him, and he had grinned down at Tybalt, the smile never reaching his eyes.
"So you are Valentine," Tybalt whispered hoarsely. Valentine's grin only grew wider.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked mockingly.
"Only of what it would do to Mercutio if you harm me," said Tybalt softly, which checked Valentine, who stilled, his smile faltering.
"He cares for you," said Valentine quietly, letting up a little on Tybalt's wrists though not releasing him. "I'm not sure why. But he persists, even when you drive him away. He is stubborn, obtuse, but you bring out something in him I have not seen since..."
"Since you died?" whispered Tybalt. Valentine fixed him with an intent stare then slowly nodded.
"Yes. Since I died."
"What are you?" breathed Tybalt. "I don't believe in ghosts. No ghost could pin me like this. You are flesh and blood just as I am. What are you?"
"What do you think I am?" asked Valentine, tilting his head on one side.
"I have no idea," replied Tybalt. "I'm no psychologist."
Valentine leaned in close. "I live in his mind," he whispered. "I am him, and he is me. I'm dead, but I live on in his memories."
"I don't understand," whispered Tybalt slowly. Valentine grinned.
"You will, in time. And I'll give you time. Don't be afraid of me, Tybalt. I won't harm you. I promise." His smile was all teeth and no mirth.
His face abruptly went curiously blank, and then he blinked; he stared down, an expression of bewilderment on his face as he asked, "Tybalt?"
And Tybalt had had to ask, "Who are you?"
Now as Mercutio shifted then sat up behind him, one hand upon Tybalt's bare shoulder, the question came back to him.
Who are you?
"Mercutio?" he whispered. The hand on his shoulder tightened briefly.
"Go back to sleep; I'm going to make coffee," answered Mercutio, his voice still thick from sleep.
Tybalt let go the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and felt his body relax into the bed once more.
He was just on the verge of drifting back into sleep again when the door opened. He opened his eyes and rolled over in the bed as Mercutio hooked the door closed with one bare foot, the tray balanced in his hands. Tybalt sat up as Mercutio brought the tray around the bed and sat on the edge near Tybalt, one leg folded up beneath him. Tybalt drew his legs up to sit cross-legged beneath the duvet as Mercutio set the tray down then poured a cup of black coffee for Tybalt before fixing his own cup with cream and sugar.
"So... about yesterday," said Mercutio slowly. Tybalt sipped silently at his coffee and waited for Mercutio to continue. Mercutio glanced at him, evidently hoping Tybalt would start, but as Tybalt continued to observe him over the rim of his coffee mug, he fiddled with the teaspoon then drew a breath.
"I should have told you sooner about Valentine, and explaining by showing you his tomb was... perhaps not a great idea."
Tybalt merely raised an eyebrow.
"You're not making this easy on me, are you?" said Mercutio.
"Should I?" Tybalt's voice was a quiet rasp. Mercutio wondered if he would ever fully grow used to the hoarse whisper his voice had been reduced to.
"I earned that," conceded Mercutio. "Maybe by and by perhaps I'll also earn more than terse words and you'll say where you went?"
"Perhaps," shrugged Tybalt. He sipped at his coffee slowly. He paused and glanced up at Mercutio as the other man reached forward to brush an errant strand of hair out of Tybalt's eyes. Tybalt checked himself as he began to automatically flinch away; his eyes met those of Mercutio briefly, then he lowered his gaze to the cup in his hands as he permitted him to gently sweep the offending lock out of Tybalt's face, tucking it behind his ear with a small smile. It still felt strange to permit Mercutio such intimacies that he had only previously experienced from his aunt; and yet in a way it felt somehow more natural coming from Mercutio – particularly in light of the revelations he was still coming to terms with regarding his aunt. So many of their interactions he was forced to re-examine now in a whole new light that left him disquietened.
"Seems strange to see you with your hair shorter like this," mused Mercutio. "It suits you though. Even if it does keep getting in your face." He smiled.
"It served its purpose," replied Tybalt. "None recognised me, as far as I'm aware."
"My uncle doesn't know you left the palace, as far as I know. He'd doubtless want to know why otherwise."
"He'll likely want to hear what I have to tell him," replied Tybalt as he poured another cup of coffee for himself.
"Oh?" Mercutio leaned a little forward, his eyes lighting up with interest.
"My aunt is plotting with Paris to overthrow the Prince," said Tybalt.
"That's old news; we'd surmised that much ourselves," shrugged Mercutio.
"Lord Capulet plans to move against Lady Montague under cover of their attempted coup," continued Tybalt as though Mercutio hadn't spoken. "I believe he plans to have Romeo killed."
"Just as well he's in hiding with us instead of still in Mantua," observed Mercutio. "And yet another very good reason for us all to stay far away from there too."
"When my uncle finds no sign of Romeo in Mantua he'll do everything in his power to find Romeo," Tybalt said softly. "Don't underestimate him. He has many contacts in many cities. He won't rest until Lady Montague knows what it feels like to lose a child."
"What do you think would happen if the Capulets discover you and Juliet are still alive?" wondered Mercutio as he took the pot and poured himself a second cup.
"That depends on whether my uncle or my aunt made the discovery first," replied Tybalt, staring into his coffee cup. Or Paris, he thought to himself. "I think my aunt would try to have me eliminated before my uncle could find out. Paris wouldn't move directly against me; he knows he can't match me with a blade. But he can afford to hire skilled assassins."
"And your uncle?"
Tybalt sighed and set his cup down. Were his uncle's words merely that? It was easy to speak words from regret, harder to follow through with them. He had never known his uncle let sentiment get in the way of business, and if he had his heart set on destroying the Montagues then he might well be blinded by hate. "I'm not sure," said Tybalt quietly. "He wouldn't directly try to have me killed. But I'm not sure how far he would stand in his wife's way if she gave him the chance to destroy the Montagues once and for all. If given a choice between saving Juliet or myself, I've no doubt he'd mourn me but I'd still be dead."
"You think it would come to that?" asked Mercutio. Tybalt frowned.
"I'm not a fortune teller," he scowled.
"The sooner we're out of Verona the happier I'll be," sighed Mercutio.
"How soon?" asked Tybalt tersely. Mercutio shrugged.
"I'll ask him at breakfast. He's asked we join him in the dining hall this morning." Tybalt felt distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of facing the Prince again; it must have shown on his face, as Mercutio smiled reassuringly. "It's OK, he doesn't know you slipped out."
Tybalt shrugged. If the Prince knew, there was little he could do about it. He'd returned of his own accord after all, and no-one in Verona any the wiser as far as he was aware. He wondered how long it would be before the nurse discovered his father's sword missing; or the cat, Marlowe.
Assuming she noticed, of course. Tybalt had owned many swords; somehow he doubted the old woman had kept tally of them all.
He heard the light scuff of a slippered foot upon carpet and lifted his head to stare at the door a moment before someone knocked.
"Who-" began Mercutio.
"My cousin," replied Tybalt as he turned back to his coffee. "And Romeo."
He was aware of the piercing glance Mercutio threw his way as he let in the couple; Tybalt smiled privately to himself as he sipped his coffee. He idly played with the cat's ears as Marlowe butted his head against Tybalt's arms. Pushy creature.
"I can't believe you brought Marlowe back with you!" exclaimed Juliet delightedly as she usurped Mercutio's place to sit on the bed with Tybalt, reaching out to scoop up the fluffy black cat. Marlowe twitched an ear then settled into her lap fairly contentedly, purring.
"He brought himself," replied Tybalt briefly before turning his attention to his coffee, though privately he felt a small thrill of pleasure that she had sought him out.
Since he had declared his love for Juliet in the Capulet mausoleum, things between himself and Juliet had felt... odd, was the only way he could think to describe it. She had always demonstrated affection towards him, but restrained, with the appropriate decorum of a girl towards her older cousin. There were five years between them, after all, and he had kept his love for her hidden away inside, allowing it expression only in his fierce protectiveness of her. Now at last she knew what had been engraved upon his own heart since he were fifteen; and yet old habits died hard. He was too used to keeping his heart hidden that he could not stop.
And then, too, Juliet was now the wife of another man, and it would be too unseemly to display too much affection for another man's spouse – even if she were his cousin. He had declared his love for her, but he had not won her.
He blinked, startled, as she reached out and laid her hand over his; he glanced up, and she gave him a gentle smile. "I was worried for you," she said quietly.
"Forgive me," he rasped hoarsely.
"Of course, silly," she chided him. "You're home safe now, which is all that matters."
"Home? Perhaps," he whispered. His throat felt tight and sore, and speech was becoming more painful. He was aware of Romeo's watchful eyes upon him, and fought down a flare of irritation. The man was Juliet's husband now.
Mercutio cleared his throat noisily. "Well now, when Tybalt's finished making moon eyes at his dear cousin and Romeo's finished glowering, perhaps we can all go down to breakfast?"
"Mercutio, you're an ass," said Romeo in irritation. Tybalt nodded as Juliet stifled a giggle with her hand.
"Is he always like this?" she asked Tybalt.
"Frequently worse," Tybalt replied.
"This is Mercutio being affectionate," shrugged Romeo.
"You jest, Romeo!" retorted Mercutio. "Sword or wit, I'll prick with either – and a most kindly prick too, if one has the wit to appreciate it!"
"But only if you have the wit to wield it, and then who's the prick?" replied Romeo with a grin.
"A touch! A touch!" exclaimed Mercutio, melodramatically clapping his hand over his breast. "You're too witty for me this morning Romeo – what do you say, Tybalt?"
"That you talk too much," replied Tybalt as Juliet giggled.
"Come and have breakfast with us then; I promise you it will be far quieter," she suggested.
"Alas, my dear, we are all commanded to attend upon my uncle for breakfast this morning," replied Mercutio with a sigh before Tybalt could answer. Juliet's face fell, and Tybalt reached out to lay his hand lightly over hers.
"Tomorrow?" he suggested quietly, and was rewarded by her brilliant smile.
"How sweet; I think I shall be sick," said Mercutio and made retching noises.
"Leave off, Mercutio," said Romeo, giving Tybalt an understanding glance.
Mercutio stared from Romeo to Tybalt and then to Juliet. "What's this? Has he finally actually told his fair cousin he loves her?" he exclaimed.
Tybalt lifted his head and glared daggers at Mercutio as Romeo let his hand fall heavily onto Mercutio's shoulder. "I said, leave off, Mercutio," he repeated warningly.
Mercutio mimed zipping his mouth shut. Romeo rolled his eyes at him then sighed. "Come on, love, let's leave these two to get dressed."
Juliet leaned forward and gave Tybalt a brief kiss on the cheek. "Don't kill him," she whispered, jerking her head at Mercutio, then she gathered up Marlowe in her arms and followed Romeo.
"What was that all about?" asked Mercutio as Tybalt rose from the bed.
"You're a dick," Tybalt muttered. He set about getting dressed.