That night was far and away worst than the last. Not that I hadn't slept, but unlike the previous night, my thoughts weighed much more heavily on my mind. Once again, Trevor had confounded me.
Was he angry with me at all? He did not look or even sound to be very phased by antipathy. But he left so abruptly...
'Salve my wounded pride,' indeed. It was an obnoxious thing to say...
No better than "the womanish need to salve your guilty conscience."
Truly, I feared for a while that I had driven him away. I went so far as to wonder whether or not he'd even be back in the morning. I was not a cripple, but still... I was going to need somebody, at least for the duration, and there was just no denying the fact. It might as well have been Trevor.
I would rather no one else. Of course, I have no one else, but still.
Not long afterward, the force of sheer exhaustion overcame me. It was about four o'clock in the morning.
"Rise and shine!"
I was smacked out of my sleep rather abruptly by this all-too-sanguine proclamation. (In fact, I had no idea that I had ever been prone to snoring until a rather undignified snort graced my ears as my eyes flew open. How embarrassing.)
I wonder who that could be.
"Wh-what? What time is it?" I asked hazily.
"Time? Time to get those lazy bones up and moving!"
"Doctor, I assure you there is nothing I look forward to more, but do you have to go yanking me out of bed this blessed early!?"
"Early? It's half past nine, for heaven's sake!"
Where has my perception of time gone?
"Oh... never mind."
The good doctor only grinned and offered me an arm.
"Come, you must recondition yourself to using your legs again, let alone learn how to maneuver around on these things."
For the first time, I saw that he was holding onto a pair of wooden crutches with the other arm.
"And I must say," he began, awkwardly shifting my weight onto one of the crutches (for it is not the easiest task when one's patient is a good six inches taller than one's self), "that these here are the tallest crutches I've ever needed to place an order for in my career. The manufacturer contacted me twice: once to make sure he had read my handwriting correctly, and again to make sure my measurements were accurate."
I tucked the other crutch underneath my left arm and, for the first time in seven days, relished the feeling of standing upright at my full height.
Sort of.
Indeed, it was quite a delicate task just to remain standing up at all, for my sense of equilibrium had not exactly benefited from not being exercised in a week. I felt as if I would topple over if I even so much as attempted to budge a single step.
"Alright. Now, one of the toughest parts, here, is going to be keeping the right foot up and off the ground at all times."
"I can see that."
"Careful, careful! Straighten those up. They'll slide out from underneath you otherwise."
I painstakingly did as the doctor asked me and dragged the crutches inward, but at least found it a bit easier to balance myself once the task was accomplished.
"Now, take a step forward."
After something of a brief hesitation, I lifted the things and brought them down only about a foot in front of me before taking an unsteady hop forward.
This continued for about five minutes as I hobbled around the room, adapting myself to the awkward things. By the end of that five minutes, however, I was ready to run out into the street (or so I thought.)
"There, you see? You'll be set to run laps again in no time," Stevenson said, before suddenly snapping his fingers.
"You have a package, by the way," he said, walking over to where he had apparently placed the parcel on the stool. When he turned around, I saw that in his hands, neatly pressed and folded, was none other than my suit. There was also a small piece of rather fine stationary on top of it.
"I'll leave you to get dressed, but I would hurry if I were you," he said, placing it on the bed and disappearing out the door. I sat down and snatched up the card.
Thought you might like to have these back. I took the liberty of snatching this off your dresser. Do make yourself presentable. Will be by in a half-hour.
-Victor
When I looked back down at the bundle to find what he had been referring to in the informally-scrawled note, I saw my straight-razor sitting on top of my neck-tie, having been previously obscured by the little card itself. Unable to hold back a snort of laughter, I picked it up and opened it, studying my reflection in the blade. God, did I look awful. I am pale already, granted, but I never thought myself to be sallow. Dark circles hung under my bloodshot eyes, and my cheek bones had become unnaturally protruding. I was beginning to believe the doctor's insistence that I gain some weight was not entirely unfounded.
That, and a chickenish stubble was rather unbecoming on me, as well.
Getting dressed was not the easiest task with that bulging thing protruding from my leg, but it was accomplished in under ten minutes, nonetheless (an impressive time even in health.) Shaving was considerably easier, even though I did have to make due with a bar of hard soap in place of the usual surfactant. I have always been extraordinarily handy with a razor, however, and it is only on extremely rare occasions that I should ever nick myself. (Mycroft, on the other hand... Well, that is another story.)
Anyhow, by the time I had finished my rather bohemian toilette, I was in a more or less better spirit than I had been upon waking up, all things considered.
Trevor arrived only minutes later. Upon seeing me, he grinned outright.
"Good to see you standing up, Holmes!"
"Good to be standing, Trevor," I said somewhat awkwardly. Apparently, he was not bitter in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Um... Trevor, I realize there were somewhat harsh words exchanged yesterday. Perhaps they were only jokes, I don't rightly know, but—"
"No worries, Holmes," Trevor (thankfully) cut off my muttering casually, easily, as if he never would have given it a second thought had I not brought it up.
"Alright, then," I barely murmured just as the doctor came in.
"Ah, good morning, Victor. I see you've come to escort my former patient back out into civilization," he said with the usual grin.
"You're free to go, Mister Holmes."
"Right. Thank you kindly, Doctor Stevenson."
"You're quite welcome, son. I hope I never have to see you here again," he said, extending a hand. I was reluctant to loosen my grip on the crutch, but took hold of his hand, anyway.
"As do I."
And so Trevor and I walked, him more or less stalling his pace to stay with me, down the hall and to the door easily enough, but soon after that a new problem stared me in the face—literally.
And just how the hell am I supposed to get down all these stairs?
"Just... umm," Trevor fumbled, clearly trying to choose between assisting me and sparing my pride. Again.
"I think we might make use of the railing," he finally offered.
"I think that might be a good idea," I agreed. Truthfully, I had forgotten about the existence of a railing at all until he said something, being so unaccustomed to ever using one. So, steeling myself as I went, I hopped to the extremity of the staircase and placed the crutches on the first step. Holding my breath, I lowered myself down with as much caution as I would use handling a ticking time bomb. Thankfully, no crash ensued.
Finding the motion surprisingly easy, I took significantly less care when conquering the following four steps, and subsequently stumbled on the last one (as was bound to happen), the crutch having slipped off the edge of the stair.
I gasped, but Trevor held steadfast and discreetly grabbed my arm above the elbow, saving me a painful fall forward.
"Thank you," I whispered as I straightened out the crutch and got my footing on the ground. Trevor only fixed me with a rather brooding but somehow satisfied look.
"Thank you, Holmes."
I genuinely had no intention of being rude or wise, but I was helpless against the impulse to affix him with an expression that openly betrayed my confusion. He only grinned.
"I'm treating you to breakfast."
I blinked.
"What?" I asked dumbly, not a little bit rattled by this abrupt announcement.
"Come on. I'm starving, and I know you are. The question is, do you prefer flapjacks or beer for your morning sustenance?"
I could not help but knot my brows, taking a moment to process this query to make sure I had understood him correctly.
"I should say flapjacks; especially this early in the morning!"
"It's settled, then. Let's go over to the House of Red Leaves and get some food."
"Victor—"
"I can already catch a whiff of the coffee from here, and it smells divine—"
"Victor!"
"Yes?" He turned to me with the most innocent countenance, as though this behavior were perfectly normal.
"I... Well... I'm grateful for the offer, but you really don't have to do this."
"Having to has nothing to do with it, Holmes. Or sympathy, for that matter. I want to."
That was the final straw. I wanted to know what the devil he was driving at, and I wanted to know now.
"What do you mean you want to?"
Now it was Trevor's turn to be confused.
"I mean exactly what I said, Holmes. Now stop standing there looking perplexed and either accept or decline my invitation."
"I..."
I froze. No response readily came. I was starving...
But why had he asked?
"Is that your confounded pride doing the thinking for you again? I'll be glad of the company, Holmes."
"Yes, but..."
My company?
"Well... Alright," I finally agreed, though I was still very much in the dark. He smiled once again, although his previous statement had been only partially correct. True, my pride had taken over a significant portion of my reasoning, but my stomach had taken an even more significant one. And that was enough.
"Very good. Come along, then," he chimed, and we started across the street.
It is a defect of the aristocracy that they spend their money in any way they please and leave the rest of us to look on scratching our heads.
The place was beginning to fill up just as Trevor secured a table for us, and I smirked as he very pointedly neglected to remove his hat. A waiter handed us a menu apiece as we sat down.
"May I take that for you, sir?"
Trevor paused. A moment later, he dubiously ran his finger over the wall. Finding that it displayed no trace of yellow paint, he gave a satisfied nod and handed the garment over to the slightly disconcerted waiter. I laughed outright as he walked away to prepare our coffees.
"Which looks better to you: the French toast or the bread pudding?" he asked me as we both observed two rather generous platters of each dish being delivered to a nearby table.
"They both look good after a week of mutton and cold tea."
He snickered.
"But I think I find myself partial to the latter."
For the first time, I turned my attention to the menu. The faint sense of cheer that had begun to disperse through me faltered—I did not find myself partial to the price of the bread pudding... or any of the dishes, for that matter.
"Mm, yes, I think I'll go with the strawberry crêpes," he said absently.
I referenced the menu quickly and felt a bit of relief—at least his was more expensive than mine.
The waiter came back with our coffees and we ordered. We did not really chat much afterward, but the silence was comfortable. Both our eyes were drifting around the place—I was focusing on the left-handed shoe-repair man who was treating his little niece to breakfast, while Trevor seemed to be occupied with a most comely blonde sitting by the window... and then a brunette... and finally settling a most admiring gaze on the redhead who was wearing a rather provocative shade of lipstick.
"Don't bother, Victor. She's been married twice, and that man sitting across from her isn't even her husband."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, never mind."
"You can't just accuse somebody of that and then—"
"I shall explain later, then. Right now I'm more concerned with finishing every morsel of this bread pudding," I said hungrily as the waiter placed our meals in front of us.
"That's the most sensible thing you've said all day," Trevor muttered as he dug into his own plate. To this day, I don't think I've had a better meal. Strike that, I know I have not had a better meal.
Well, it had been a good meal until the cheque came.
"I'll take that, thank you," Trevor said as soon as the waiter arrived, so I did not get the chance to see exactly what the damages were. But between our meals and four cups of coffee at such outrageous prices... well, the damages were heavy.
"I'm surprised you have not gone destitute by now if you've made it such a regular habit to treat your friends to breakfast here."
"Well, seeing as where you're the only one I have, I think I shall manage to stay afloat for a good long while to come."
I choked on my coffee.
"Watch it; that's hot."
"Trevor, when did I become your friend?"
"Well, I don't see why you shouldn't be, at this point," he said nonchalantly. I flushed as I made a mad grab for my napkin and attempted to mop up the coffee that had most nauseatingly just spewed its way out of my nose. Trevor seemed not to notice.
"And did I also hear you say that I am the only one you had?"
"Yes, you did. What of it?"
"Well... I just thought it strange because... The situation is mutual."
His eyes went wide with shock.
"Really?"
"Yes, really, Trevor," I snapped. I thought he had been teasing me again, but it soon became apparent that such was not the case. He merely took a moment to digest this information and shook his head dismissively.
"I just find that rather hard to believe. You're good company."
I took a hard, scrutinizing reconnaissance at Victor Trevor. He seemed sane, at least, as far as I could determine. I came to the conclusion, however that he certainly was... an odd one. Not that I could fault him for it, (or anyone, for that matter), for that in itself would have been uncannily self-depreciating. But still...
"Your compliment is unmerited."
"Verecundia impedio potentia." *
"I don't believe in modesty."
He opened his mouth to say something, faltered, and closed it.
"You'll have to explain that one later, as well... You seriously don't have any friends?"
"For the last time—"
"Alright, alright!"
The conversation shifted to silence once again as we each tactfully decided to resume studying the scene around us. A somewhat loud crack drew our attention to a table across the room, where a rather rotund gentleman had just upset his chair in the process of standing up.
"It truly amazes me, the capacity of some people's stomachs," I muttered, thoroughly disgusted, more or less thinking of Mycroft.
"Mm. Both of them," Trevor nodded thoughtfully. I drew my soiled napkin over my mouth and feigned a cough to hide my smile.
"Oh, God. Don't look now," Trevor suddenly breathed in a harsh, panicked whisper, cupping his forehead with his left hand to obscure his face from the general population and focusing straight ahead at me. I did steal a glance to my side, however, only to find that the above-mentioned fellow was indeed throwing a very nasty glare in our general direction.
"Dammit," I muttered, mirroring Trevor's lead of quickly but subtly turning away and locking my gaze dead ahead. When the man finally did head for the door after some moments, we both began to relax a little.
"That was awful," Trevor remarked, his face glowing crimson.
"I suppose he must have overheard us somehow."
"A stunning observation, Trevor."
"What is it with all this 'observation and deduction' business of yours anyway, Holmes?"
"Another subject for a later date."
I barely heard him muse something along the lines of "well, of course, we haven't got plenty of those already, have we?"
Yet, I still could not grasp onto the fact that he was as friendless as I. I certainly have cause to be. What reason have I to put up with any body's irrelevant prattle? People are ignorant, judgmental, narrow-minded, and stupid. (Not to mention that nobody recognizes true brilliance when they see it. Nobody.) It is an undisputed fact. I honestly wish they would all just get out of the way and leave me be. (In fact, this whole episode had taken place just weeks after my only room-mate had requested to be transferred to another dormitory. The relief was mutual when he left, though I admit to being slightly jaded at having driven the man to the point where he looked back at me one last time after having stepped out the door and gave me the gracious farewell of "good riddance.")
Bearing this in mind, it is no surprise that I, myself, have not managed to root out many a suitable companion at all, and I can quite honestly testify that the fact has never phased me in the least. Trevor, however, was my polar opposite—he was sprightly, energetic, talkative, and had an unequaled (if provocative) sense of humor.
So how has it come to pass that this fellow sitting across from me has ended up in the exact same position as I?
There was certainly, however, a peculiar air about him. I am no stranger to eccentricities, obviously, but "eccentric" was not an applicable word to describe this curious underlying haze of his. "Abnormal" would have been more fitting, in retrospect, as though something about him had not been quite balanced, although I did not fully comprehend it.
"Shall we get out of here?" Trevor asked after a few minutes, apparently becoming as claustrophobic as I as the tiny place began to fill to the point of being unbearably packed with people.
"Let's," I answered tersely, picking up my crutches as Trevor stood. We made our way out through the dense atmosphere of perfume and chatter and clinking of silverware into the street.
"Would you care for a walk? Or do you wish to return to your room? Actually... Would it be wise to burden that foot?" he weighed.
"Trevor, I don't care what the doctor says regarding the matter. I'm not about to relocate myself from one small room to another just yet. If you'll pardon the platitude, I believe I could very much use some fresh air... even if it is scarce in this city."
"Capital!" Trevor grinned, swinging his cane over his shoulder.
* Latin, "modesty hinders potential." Or, at least these questionable on line translators say so. I don't speak Latin. Sorry.