Note: People really wanna see some Varlow.
The original request from Music Antoinette: I also like interactionbetween Volger and Dr. Barlow.
From Unique Reflection: As for my request, anything Barlow/Volger.
And from SignedAnon: I'd really like a Volger/Barlow fic.
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Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
- "Something Good" from The Sound of Music
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Volger is not entirely displeased with recent events.
In a perfect world, of course, he would not still be aboard the Leviathan. Aleksandar, at least, is safely gone for Istanbul. Hopefully the boy will listen to Klopp and Bauer, both sensible men, and slip quietly into anonymity.
Doubtful. But to be hoped.
Meanwhile, Volger and Hoffman have become simultaneously more and less valuable to Captain Hobbes. Less, because they are no longer attached to a prince. More, because they are now the captain's only access to the Stormwalker engines.
All in all, a tolerable position. He is not above admitting that it is improved by frequent visits from a certain lady doctor.
"Apologies for the late tea, but Mr. Newkirk has been run quite ragged," Dr. Barlow says, setting the tray of tea things on his stateroom's desk and setting herself into the chair before it.
Volger never stands for her entrances. His one concession to her presence now is to put away the papers he was studying when she arrived. It serves the dual purpose of keeping them from her sight, and keeping them clear of any tea-related mishaps.
Although a spill seems unlikely. She serves the tea, every movement precise and economical. A scientist's grace. It should be ill-suited to a woman, but he cannot complain.
"There is far too much yeoman's work for only one midshipman," she continues. She frowns. "A tragedy in so many ways to have lost Mr. Sharp."
"Perhaps he escaped capture," Volger says.
"Or perhaps they killed him," Dr. Barlow says, clearly displeased by the idea, "and were unable to identify the body."
Volger could make several choice comments about the identification of "Mr." Sharp's body. He makes none of them. Instead, he says, "I am certain he shall turn up eventually. He does seem to have remarkable luck."
Troublemakers often do.
"Quite true." Her expression is just amused enough to pass for a smile. "Perhaps he has deserted the Air Service in favor of the prince's."
This is not amusing. This exact thought has bothered Volger for several days running, ever since Sharp disappeared. He has been tasked with delivering Alek to the imperial throne – something he cannot do if the boy has entangled himself with a common Darwinist girl.
He trusts Alek to hold true to his proper place in society. He does not, however, trust the girl, and he does not doubt for a moment that, given the right circumstances, she will throw all of her charm and feminine trickery at His Highness – who will be woefully unprepared to defend against it.
And God knows there's precedent in Alek's family for marrying down.
"Mr. Sharp seems to place too high a value on the Air Service," Volger says, dismissively, with a touch of scorn, as if the idea is ridiculous.
"Oh, I agree," Dr. Barlow says. She takes a delicate drink of her tea. "It's only that they seem to have become rather fast friends."
"Indeed," Volger says, instead of the many other responses he could give. He takes a sip of his tea and finds it not to his taste. One would suppose that Darwinists could fabricate a more palatable drink, but that seems to be beyond their art.
"You were friends with the late Archduke, I understand."
"Yes. For many years."
"You must have held him in great esteem," the doctor says.
There is no doubt who she means, but he asks anyway. "The Archduke?"
She lifts an eyebrow.
"Indeed I did," Volger says, abandoning his half-hearted attempt at obfuscation through the appearance of stupidity. "He would have made an excellent emperor, had the Germans allowed it."
"And he obviously valued you equally well," she says, "or you would not be here."
Volger inclines his head.
She smoothes the skirt of her dress over her knees. "Still, such a sacrifice to ask of anyone. Your family must miss you terribly."
He smiles; to the point at last. "Do not concern yourself there, Doctor. I have no family alive today."
"None at all? No wife, no children? Goodness." She meets his eyes, somewhat spoiling her impression of guilelessness in so doing. "Forgive me, Count, if I misspoke."
"There is nothing to forgive," he says, setting down his tea and resolving to have nothing further to do with the revolting stuff. "We have hardly had the time to exchange social niceties."
"We have not," she agrees. "But see – we are rectifying that lack at this very moment."
He makes a noise of polite assent. "I was married, once, if you would know. It seems another lifetime." But he does not want to discuss that other lifetime, and he shifts slightly. Resettling; regrouping for the attack. "I confess that I am now curious about your family, Dr. Barlow. I imagine they were less than pleased at your sudden and prolonged departure."
"Hm, yes." She flicks her skirts, a small frown appearing and disappearing in the same heartbeat. "Mr. Barlow understands the importance of this venture. He can hardly complain about my absence with the fate of nations hanging in the balance, can he?"
"Indeed," Volger says. "Were I in his place, I would be tempted anyway."
She smiles – as he intended. It is both a compliment and a diversion. He adjusts the teacup in its saucer, nudging the handle a fraction left, and strikes: "And your children?"
"Joan and Thomas are very young," she says after a brief pause. Her voice is perfectly level, but her spine has stiffened. "And well cared for by their nanny."
A hit. He makes no reaction – merely a neutral, "Of course."
She studies him; he returns the attention with a frank assessment of his own. He estimates her age at thirty, or close to it. Nearly two decades his junior; a young, pretty wife and mother; and yet she has already proven herself to be a remarkably clever adversary.
Although perhaps adversary is incorrect.
He is not entirely displeased with current events.
"You surprise me, Count," she says at last. "I had not thought it to be commonly known."
"A simple deduction," he says, metaphorically waving off the comment. "You are young, and married – relatively recently, I believe? Yes - it would be an oddity if you did not have children. I would certainly think less of Mr. Barlow."
The smile touches the corners of her eyes only, but it is there.
He leans slightly forward in his chair. "It must be difficult to leave one's children, even for such an important venture."
"Or to turn them loose into the streets of an unknown city?" she asks drily, eyebrow raising. The dart hits home; they are matched point-for-point.
"Indeed," he says, choosing to ignore the worry. Alek is clever himself, if inexperienced. The boy will be fine until Volger can rejoin him.
"It appears to me, Count," she says briskly, moving on, "that these are urgent times. Urgent actions must be taken, and new alliances forged. You agree, I am sure."
The question, unspoken, shivers the air between them. She holds his gaze for a long moment. He keeps his expression carefully schooled as he weighs the potential consequences… and the potential benefits.
No. He is not displeased at all.
"I believe that I do," he says. "Doctor."
"Excellent," she says. To seal their unspoken bargain, she extends one gloved hand; he takes it and brushes a dry kiss across its back. Formal. Polite.
A prelude.
