Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FOOTSTEPS POUNDED DOWN THE stairs and Elliot exhaled loudly as he got up. The cobwebs of sleep clung to his mind for the briefest moment. Rubbing at his eyes with one hand, he groped for a match with the other. Christ, he missed electricity.
Lighting the candle as he rose, Elliot cursed when his bare feet hit the cold floor.
He quickly shoved into his boots and grabbed a robe to throw on for added warmth over his underwear and long-sleeved white shirt.
He grabbed the candle and rushed out the door only to be met with four curious faces.
Of course the noise had woken every last one of them.
“Go back to bed. We’ve a mission tomorrow. It’s nothing to be concerned with.”
Hoffman shrugged, Remonet nodded, and they disappeared back into their room. Charbonneau evaluated him longer before he grunted something indecipherable and did the same. Bellona rose her brows and crossed her arms.
“He’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it,” Elliot whispered. “Get some sleep.”
Sighing, she relented. The steep, narrow stairs were a deathtrap he carefully descended, always clumsy when he’d just woken. It was a marvel Warren hadn’t fallen in the dark.
The sound of retching reached his ears as soon as he arrived at the landing. Hopefully Warren had at least made it to the toilet or the sink.
Elliot followed the gasps and curses between heaving to the bathroom.
The door was left ajar in Warren’s haste, and their eyes met briefly in the candlelight.
Warren’s hair stuck damply to his forehead.
His skin was unusually pale, forehead and upper lip beading with sweat.
His face contorted and he turned back to the toilet he was kneeling in front of, once more emptying the contents of his stomach.
After, Warren drew in a shaky breath, trembling. He collapsed, wide-eyed, back against the wall and struggled to catch his breath.
“Finished?” Elliot asked.
The floor must have been ice beneath the bare skin of his legs and the thin cream material of his shorts.
“Think so,” Warren mumbled, eyes shut against the light.
“Would you like me to get you some water? Or is there anything else I can do?”
Warren kept his eyes closed, swallowing twice before he managed a husky, “Water, please.”
“Right, I’ll only be a moment, will you be all right in the dark?”
Warren nodded faintly and didn’t try to speak again. Elliot didn’t blame him.
Upstairs, he grabbed the first clothing he set eyes on, his navy fisherman’s sweater and Warren’s uniform trousers.
Tucking them under one arm, he went back down, then lit the kerosene lamp in the kitchen so they could have light to talk by later.
He fetched a glass of water and returned to the bathroom.
“Thanks,” Warren mumbled as he accepted the glass.
He swished some water around his mouth, leaned over the toilet and spat before resuming his position against the wall.
Color slowly returned to his face as he avoided Elliot’s scrutinizing gaze.
He sipped the water, then set it beside himself.
“I’m okay, just…” he glanced quickly at Elliot and away. “Bad dream.”
Elliot’s throat tightened. “You must be frozen, take these.”
Warren accepted the bundle of clothing, his gaze still averted.
“Yeah, thanks for that too. Look, I need to clean up. Wouldja mind stepping out?” he asked, voice flat and emotionless.
Elliot waffled. Leaving Warren on his own went against his better instincts, but if the situation was reversed, he’d also want privacy. “Of course. I’ll wait in the kitchen. You keep the candle,” he said, setting it on the floor near the door. “I’ve got a lamp on in the kitchen.”
“Don’t need to wait up for me.” Warren levered himself up unsteadily. He sent Elliot a strained smile. Utterly false, utterly unacceptable. It was high time they talked. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ve no doubt you would, and yet I insist. Take your time.”
Elliot left before Warren could protest further.
Returning to the kitchen, he sat in a chair that faced the washroom and gathered his thoughts.
How could he approach this tactfully without prodding at Warren’s wounds?
It was clear the trauma of frontline warfare along with the lack of sleep was exacerbating Warren’s preexisting nightmares.
His condition would only degrade if they didn’t come up with a solution to give him some relief.
The sooner the better. Elliot needed to find a way to push without shoving Warren directly over the edge.
Why must that be so difficult to accomplish?
The correct approach continued to elude him when Warren slipped silently into the kitchen and slumped down in the chair opposite Elliot.
Folding his arms on the table, Warren rested his cheek on them and shut his eyes.
Long dark lashes fanned his high cheekbones.
The flickering firelight bounced shadows across his face and made his thick dark hair pitch black.
A few strands he normally brushed back curled over his smooth forehead, concealing his slight widow’s peak.
The shadow of stubble dusting his wide jaw was the only sign of his age.
Elliot could watch him like this forever. He appeared so young. He was so young. Twenty-four was hardly old enough to carry all of the suffering he’d been dealt. If he could take some for Warren, he would in a heartbeat.
I wish he would let me help. I wish he’d understand accepting he needs it doesn’t make him inadequate.
The slow, steady rise and fall of Warren’s back and shoulders made Elliot wonder if he was trying to fall asleep right there. “How are you feeling?”
Warren didn’t move, but his lashes fluttered. “Not gonna be sick again, anyway.”
“Was it—”
“Just a bad dream. You probably saw them all,” Warren mumbled, dispassionate voice low and raspy. Like if he didn’t sound bothered it couldn’t hurt him.
“I wouldn’t say that. Your subconscious was very creative,” Elliot said, and instantly kicked himself.
Warren opened one eye, searching for something. Whatever it was, Elliot hoped he found it. “The one about my ma?”
Elliot shook his head; he’d never walked into a nightmare about her.
They’d only briefly talked about his mother.
Both of Warren’s parents had passed unexpectedly within a year of one another when he was eight.
He’d gone to live with his Aunt Margaret, Uncle Thomas, and baby Anne.
And he’d been happy there, he claimed, until fate intervened to steal them away too.
It was so blasted unfair. People Warren loved kept being ripped from him.
In contrast, Elliot had only ever lost one, to a long-acting illness. It wasn’t pretty or painless, but at least he’d gotten to say goodbye to his mother. Warren had never had that opportunity. Not with either set of parents who raised him. “Will it help to tell me?”
Warren burrowed his cheek deeper in the crevice his arms created, hiding half his face.
His one visible eye shut again, lashes drifting to settle like a smudge on his cheek.
“Don’t know. Never told anyone before. I don’t exactly remember how the dream goes.
Just know what it was about. It’s hard for me. To talk about her.”
Nervously licking his bottom lip, and then pressing them together, Elliot treaded softly. “You could try. I won’t judge you, simply listen. I do it for the others when they need to unburden.”
Warren didn’t respond for long enough Elliot worried he really had fallen asleep. Then he cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you I lived in New York?”
Reluctant, not wanting to ruin whatever spell had cast a truce between them, Elliot admitted, “You were an adorable newsie.”
A faint smile graced Warren’s face. “Right. You saw that fight.”
Just a moment? He remembered? Since when? Elliot’s pulse rabbited, but he didn’t draw attention to it. He tried to keep his emotions from screaming his confused elation at Warren. “You were scrappy. I was impressed.”
“Mm. I was eight when Ma sent me to live with Uncle Thomas. She told me she’d follow.
Dropped me off at the station, but she felt…
so much sadder than she should’ve. I didn’t think enough of it.
It worried me, but she’d always been different from most people.
Her moods whipped up and down. Everyone fluctuates and changes, but there’s usually a reason, or something that does it. Hers was like a switch flipped.”
“Ahh.”
“She was a good mother,” Warren said, opening his eyes once more, staring into Elliot’s like he urgently required him to understand that essential fact. “She knew I was skilled, and she never made me feel wrong about it. Uncle Thomas was too.”
“I believe you.” It seemed important to say. And Warren’s reaction confirmed Elliot’s gut feeling.
His eyes widened, dark and fathomless in the poor lighting, and it was so reminiscent of that night outside of the Hotel LaSalle.
When it was all so simple, but Elliot’s heart pounded against his ribcage anyway, something glowing in his chest like the fire catching and growing hotter. More intense after all this time.
I was always destined to fall for him. Even then I felt it starting.
Warren broke their stare and brushed the hair away from his forehead, fingers sinking into the thick strands.
“Yeah. It’s hard to explain, but she’s how I knew I could tune out pain and anguish.
I’d unconsciously been doing it for years with her.
And that day I didn’t notice how awful she felt or how much she needed me to stay.
” Warren squeezed his eyes shut again, his agony laid bare.
Elliot ached to reach out. “I got on the train. She told me to. She promised she’d be there with us soon as she could afford another ticket. ”
Warren lapsed into silence, staring at the dancing flame in the lamp, eyes damp. Elliot watched him exhale slowly through his nose, straightening up to lean back in the chair.
“What happened?” Elliot gently prompted when no more appeared to be forthcoming.
“We saw it in the papers before I got the letter she wrote me . Woman leaps from Brooklyn Bridge,” Warren spoke woodenly.
No sign of his earlier anguish, as if he’d reached his limit and the only way to finish the story was to deliver it devoid of emotion.
“And I had this sick twist in my stomach, even though they didn’t have a picture or a name.
Sometimes I dream she tells me it was my fault.
” He paused and sent Elliot a smile tinged with sorrow rather than amusement.
“It’s funny after all the stuff I’ve seen, that’s still the one that scares me most.”
“In the letter did she say—”
“That she blamed me? No, not at all. She actually begged me not to blame myself. It didn’t matter. I did. I do,” Warren admitted. “I should’ve known, should’ve stayed. Maybe I could’ve talked her out of it.”
“I’m so sorry, Warren. I’m sure you’ve already discarded all the reasons it isn’t, so I won’t repeat them. Is there anything I can say?”
Warren shook his head. “Nah. Elliot, I’m tired.”
Should he offer to help with that? To keep away nightmares, if only for the rest of the night? He couldn’t. Warren had trusted him with that memory. It wasn’t fair to trade on that trust while he was emotionally vulnerable. What if he detonated the progress they just made?
“Of course. We ought to get some more sleep while we can. Mission tomorrow, you know,” Elliot said, raising his arms over his head and stretching his back with a satisfying arch. He felt Warren’s eyes burning into him, and a flush stained his cheeks.
Do not under any circumstances, read into that.
With a slow nod, Warren rose to his feet.
In the dark, facing opposite directions beneath the covers as had become their custom, Elliot couldn’t stop wondering if he ought to have offered more.
Maybe tomorrow, after the mission he could try to broach the topic again.
Make Warren see it was mutually beneficial, not a sign of weakness.
It didn’t make Warren weak if it wasn’t only him.
If it was them together and they both required it.
Tomorrow.
Behind him Warren adjusted the blankets and shifted slightly. “Thanks. Y’know, for listening.”
A warm sensation suffused Elliot’s chest. Hope. “Of course.”