Set During 'It Takes All Kinds'. James is lumbered with the task of getting the drunken Tristan to his bed, but what exactly does happen?
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"You are impossible, Tristan."
With his arm wrapped tight around the younger Farnon's waist, James Herriot lugged the inebriated man up yet another step, often having to stop and readjust his grip. Tristan, as usual, wasn't being helpful in the slightest, and refused to do anything but lean against him and giggle.
"Utterly. Impossible." Each word was strained as James tried to heave Tristan around the corner of the stairs, and failed miserably. For a mad moment, he thought they both might very well topple over the banister, but soon managed to regain his grip, and find mind enough to give the man a swift elbow in the side.
"Look, I'm not your chambermaid." He panted, hands on his knees as he watched Tristan struggle the next step on his own, a broad smirk on his lips and the insane laughter still in his throat.
"Oh, really..." Farnon giggled, leaning himself against the wall. "I don't know, James. You'd look quite fetching in a little black dress."
That sparked a new whoop of laughter, and Tristan sank to the floor in his hysterical state, burying his head in his hands as the little James in his head danced the can-can in a short black number. James didn't find it at all funny, and nudged Tristan with his foot.
"If you don't get up, Tristan Farnon, I will take your brother to the surgery and show him the cigarette ends in the kidney dish."
That got Tristan on his feet soon enough. Well, his knees. He was in no state to stand up, and was left to crawl on his hands and knees up to the top floor of the house, James padding along besides him, ever ready to catch the man in case he fell.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age of giggles and groans, they both made it up the stairs, Tristan happily crawling along besides James like a faithful dog as he was led into his room, and told to get into bed.
"If-f-f-f-f..." Tristan's even white teeth peeked through his lips as he drew out the letter, before cutting it off and dissolving into another snort of mirth. Sitting back on his heels, just inside the door frame, he tried to get out the rest of what he wanted to say.
"You do the-- the ca--" He swallowed several times, looking earnestly up at the other, his soft blond hair ruffled and tousled. "Can-can. Then I'll sleep."
The mental image was too much to bear, and Tristan sank to the floor once more, curling up in his fit of manic laughter as the mental James lifted up a hem and showed his garters.
"What? Oh, do shut up, Tristan!"
Finding this extremely unfair, James was, once again, forced to support the limp body of Farnon as he laughed himself daft, and heft him onto his bed. In the time it took, the cabaret of Tristan's mind had packed up for the evening, and he took to simply grinning, looking directly at Harriot as he was prodded and poked into getting beneath the sheets.
"Get on your nightclothes, and for goodness' sakes go to sleep. You've got to explain yourself to Siegfried in the morning, you know!"
"I know, I know." Tristan mumbled, eyes half-closed as he dragged the sheets tight around his slender form. "The wr--wrath of my brother." Another giggle passed his lips, but this time more feeble, as sleep was already overpowering him. He stretched out an arm to try and grab the striped garments that were folded neatly on his bedside cabinet, but the effort was all too much, and he let the limb simply.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tristan! You don't expect me to undress you?"
The smirk that still toyed around Farnon's lips was all the answer James needed, and it was answer he didn't like one little bit. Grabbing the garments, he threw them at the blond head, his own head shaking.
"Then, dear J--J--James, kindly let me sl--sleep."
His eyes closed, and the arm was drawn back into the warm safety provided by the bed. He was soon asleep, fully dressed, with his shoes just showing from the end.
James Herriot sighed, and retrieved the pajamas from just behind Tristan's head, unfolding them and smoothing the creases. Well... he'd had more unpleasant jobs at college than getting a drunken Farnon brother into his night clothes.
Gently prising back the sheets that covered the man, he eased Tristan from his side onto his back, unbuckling the watch around his wrist first.
"You just can't do anything right, can you?" He murmured, lying the watch on the cabinet and pulling away Tristan's jacket, folding it expertly and lying it on the edge of the bed. As he was setting down the garment, Tristan's body moved of it's own accord, and he rolled once more onto his side.
"See what I mean?" James had to smile, though. Tristan wasn't a bad chap at heart. He was still young, still eager to see the world in the most interesting way possible. He did have his moments of being the most irritating person walking the face of the planet, but James didn't understand why Siegfried seemed to constantly annoyed with his brother.
Like said, he wasn't a bad chap. Confused, maybe. Intent on having a jolly good time, no matter what the costs. But not a bad chap.
James took Tristan's arm again, shifting him back so he was facing the ceiling. His mouth was slightly ajar, the traces of all his laughter still at his lips. And he was still certainly having a laugh, as he soon rolled back onto his side, drawing his legs up close to his chest in his slumber.
Sighing, James placed his knee on the bedspread, leaning his weight on it as he discovered one of the most difficult tasks outside of the veterinary practice was undressing a sleeping Tristan. He refused to stay on his back, forever turning back onto his side with a grumble of disapproval.
"Okay, Trist. Have it your way."
Crawling onto the soft bed, he placed a knee either side of Farnon's body, pulling away his v-necked sweater, and then starting on unbuttoning his shirt. Beneath the white material, Tristan's skin was pale, the odd nick or two over his chest and stomach from the escapades he was sent on by Sigfried.
James' fingers lightly brushed a deep, yet now healing, cut that went from the top of his navel to the other. God only knew what has caused that. An angry sow's tooth, or a beguiled woman's fingernail.
Prising the shirt from Farnon's arms, he thought over that. There was another thing about the lad: a great romancer. Forever out with some woman or another, and they all fell, more or less, head-over-heels for him.
As he crawled down the other's body to unbutton his trousers, James supposed the man they belonged to was something of a handsome one. Blond hair, blue eyes. Charming smile, and an incredibly boyish nature. Whether he was moaning at Sigfried or trying to win over the latest girl he had met, Tristan always had that nature of a young lad.
After all his training, all the work and tribulations he had put up with in order to become a vet, James had lost that nature. He too had once been incredibly youthful, always wanting to have fun and live on the edge. And yet it had been robbed of him in his efforts to pursue a career.
Letting the trousers slip from his grasp, James reached forwards, tilting Tristan's head ever so slightly towards him. It suited him so, all his playing and courting. Perhaps... perhaps if he wanted to keep that, the life of a veterinary surgeon would not be for him. He had already failed his exams once. What if he did so again? What if he kept trying and trying until he simply burnt out?
He lowered his head slightly closer to Tristan's, fingers now smoothing his untidy hair. The form beneath his wriggled in it's sleep, and James swallowed, dipping ever closer until he was almost forehead-to-forehead with Farnon.
He looked so... small, lying there. This usually rowdy, jovial man, save for his moments of distress, looking so helpless and innocent in his drunken stupor. Those near perfect white teeth just pressing against his lower lip, and that warm, near bare body he straddled...
"James!"
Siegfried's voice boomed up the stairs, sending James scrambling from the bed and backing up against the wall. He had completely forgotten the elder Farnon was still downstairs. He had forgotten everything, bar the chap who now turned onto his back.
Except James was too shaken to appreciate the irony. He had been so close to... to what? What had he been about to do, leaning so close to Tristan? Even he didn't know, and that scared him.
"James! Do you want that nightcap or what?"
As Siegfried called again, the door on Tristan's room was already slammed shut, and James was racing down the stairs, thoughts of Helen now rooted firmly in his mind. Helen. Her amazing brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. Helen. Her beautiful smile. Helen. The girl he was so completely crazy over with just one meeting.
Back in the dark room, blue eyes were snapped open, and a deep sigh was let from Tristan Farnon's lips.