Salve [Lalli/Emil]
Mar. 5th, 2016 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Salve
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 2.1k
Summary: After Emil is injured in an entirely preventable incident, he feels absolutely awful about it. But Lalli is a source of comfort - in his own way.
Other: This wasn't meant as a sequel to Routines, but there are enough similarities to the stories that it could be read as one.
Salve
Emil wasn't sure what had been injured worse: his hand, or his pride.
It wasn't unexpected. Not entirely. The words had been drilled into his head during training: Take caution. When you work with fire, there's always the chance you might get burned. Maybe he had been due for a practical lesson in it.
"At least you've still got all your hair," Sigrun said, giving him a ruffle.
Emil made an attempt at a smile, taking the reassurance for what it was. It didn't come easily. His heart wasn't in it. "How long do I have to keep these bandages on?" he asked, lifting his gaze up to look at Mikkel.
There was a moment or two as the healer hummed thoughtfully, looking over the bandages again, re-assessing the damage. Then he mumbled something in reply.
"Er... What?"
"It depends," Mikkel repeated, taking care to enunciate, "on if you cooperate. For now, keep it dry and don't move around too much. You will have to take care if you want a fast recovery."
It sounded like a straight answer for once, even if it wasn't that helpful, and even if it wasn't exactly what Emil wanted to hear. He nodded, biting at his lower lip. "Right," he said. "I can do that."
"Great!" For a second, Sigrun almost looked like she was going to go in for a shoulder punch. She settled instead for more hair ruffling. "Just you wait. Doc here'll have you back to a hundred per cent in no time."
That was what she said. Emil almost believed it. But he saw the look that passed between them; Mikkel's expression was closed, but there was something in that careful blankness that suggested he didn't agree that it would come so quickly.
Back to a hundred per cent soon enough. Emil wanted to believe it. The pain said otherwise. But maybe, if he took care to do as Mikkel had ordered, he would get lucky. The damage was, after all, not that bad.
That didn't stop him from feeling sorry for himself in the meantime.
Emil sulked in the back and listened to the sound of the tank and the mutterings of his colleagues. A change of plans. That was what they were talking about. Expected, but not for the best. They'd have to reroute, find a place they could go that would be a little bit safer, a little bit lighter on action, just in case. That was doable, from the sound of it. Possible.
But it was also inconvenient. This would set them back. And all because of his screw-up.
He listened to Sigrun's sharp voice rise and fall, rocky against Mikkel's deep rumbling. Tuuri's voice stepped in and out, pressing in with questions, then pausing and changing note as she translated for Reynir. The words were too quiet to make out over the sound of the tank, but the tones... those were promising enough. Maybe.
Everything would be fine. Maybe.
Emil sighed and reached for his comb.
Check twice. The familiar words slipped through his head, words that he'd heard over and over and over during training. Check once, then check again. Always check twice before you go into action. Otherwise your equipment might not function as it should. Might not go off when it should. Or might ignite when it shouldn't. Or in a way that it shouldn't.
He remembered Sigrun's long fingers mussing at his hair, and he swore under his breath. Forget being lucky to still have my hair, Emil thought. I'm lucky that thing didn't go off in my face.
The sound of movement on the top bunk interrupted his train of thought.
Emil ceased his unsteady attempt at combing his hair back into place, and looked up. Peeking over the edge of the bunk was a familiar sharp face. Two catlike eyes blinked down at him.
Oh, he thought. So that's where Lalli had disappeared to.
"Hey," Emil said quietly. "Was all the noise bothering you?"
Blink, blink. No response. Not that Emil had expected one, exactly.
Emil looked away, and resumed combing his hair - or at least trying to. With his non-dominant hand, and without a mirror besides, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world. "I'll just stay back here with you for a while, if that's okay," he said, conscious of the fact that Lalli couldn't understand a word, and not caring about that one bit. "I just - that was just embarrassing." He sighed, remembering what Sigrun had said. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don't do it again. "I shouldn't have made a mistake like that."
There was a soft thump as Lalli slid from the top and landed on the floor, light as a cat. He looked first at Emil's bandaged hand, then at his face, and then sat down on the edge of the bunk beside him.
"Lalli, what-"
A slim hand was held out to him, palm up. Lalli stared pointedly at Emil, then at the comb, then back at Emil again. Not a word, but the way he flicked his fingers in a familiar 'give it here' gesture said what he meant well enough. It was a gesture Emil had seen a few times before, and one that always surprised him. It wasn't often that Lalli got that kind of idea into his head.
Any other time, he would have welcomed it. But Emil parted his lips to protest as a hint of stubbornness rose up. I can do this myself, he wanted to say. Don't worry about it. The words were on the tip of his tongue when the ache throbbed through his fingers, sharp enough to make him decide to give in and give up. "Okay," he said, placing the comb in Lalli's hand. "You win."
Emil didn't say anything else as Lalli firmly cupped his head and made him turn to face him, nor when he set about working with a look of determined seriousness on his narrow face.
A part of him wanted to laugh. Here was Lalli, who went around half the time looking as if he'd never seen a comb in his life, hair sticking out in all directions. Lalli, who didn't seem to care at all about what he looked like, as long as he was clean. That Lalli, giving him a hand with this....
But it wasn't so bad. Especially not now, not when they had done this before. Lalli had come to know, after a while, how Emil liked it. The first time Lalli offered to do it came as a surprise, and the experience had been one of trial and error accompanied by yelping and cursing. But now, Lalli knew how to do it gently, without pulling. Emil let his eyes fall shut, tilting his head to rest against Lalli's palm while he let him set to work with the comb.
Lalli's touch was steady and firm and, thankfully, careful. Not easy work, not this time. Emil knew that he was in quite a state, and he held still as he let Lalli smooth away the knots left over from the mess of the day they'd had, the mess that was all his own fault. He could only blame himself for it.
He could hear the ghosts of mutterings under Lalli's breath, words so soft and low that he wouldn't have been able to catch them even if he'd understood the language. For a moment his insides twisted and he wondered if that muttering was actually a complaint. A criticism of what had happened earlier, of how he'd managed to get into all that trouble, of how he should have known better. But as he listened more carefully, it didn't seem to be that kind of muttering. They didn't seem to be those kind of words. There was a rhythm to them that Emil didn't understand; something that was different from the gentle, rolling tone that Lalli's voice usually had when he spoke. Something a little closer to those songs he sang sometimes, or prayers, or whatever they were.
"Sometimes, I really wonder what goes on in your head," Emil murmured, blinking his eyes open.
Lalli paused, staring at him, giving him a look that might have been a raised eyebrow from anyone else. Then he huffed and set the comb aside. He murmured something as he reached for Emil's hair again, long fingers taking the strands and gently curling the ends under.
"It's funny, isn't it? That we can have a conversation like this without understanding each other at all."
That one did get a raised eyebrow, and more soft Finnish words that didn't make any more sense than the rest.
"Hah. I bet that was - 'I don't understand a word you're saying, you weird Swede'. Wasn't it."
Lalli gave him a Look - a look that Emil wasn't sure about, but it was definitely a Look - and then moved to quickly slip his fingers through Emil's hair, fluffing it up to full volume.
The laugh escaped him before he realized it, and somehow, the ache was gone. Emil knew it would be back soon enough, but that didn't matter. And the guilt was - not gone, but set aside. For the moment. Just for a while. As Lalli cupped his face, Emil felt himself smiling.
Maybe that was the reaction Lalli had wanted. Maybe that was what he'd been trying for the whole time. Though Emil had come to be good at understanding him, words or not, there were times when he never could be quite sure what Lalli was trying to do. But that's what it felt like, that's what it seemed like, especially because in a second, Lalli moved closer, and they were nose-to-nose.
When Lalli kissed him, pressing those thin lips against his mouth, Emil felt his cheeks flare hot under his cool palms. He kissed back, taking the gesture as it was. Lalli's kisses were never exactly tender; there was something narrow and firm about them, and they were always over too quickly. But this time, he lingered a little longer than he usually would, and Emil took it in, drinking in every fraction of a second. It was clear enough what Lalli meant by this.
Even if it was longer than it usually would be, the kiss was still over too quickly for Emil's liking. After they parted, Lalli went back to stroking his hair, and Emil tried to stop himself from blushing. It wasn't exactly easy. He settled for trying to at least appear less flustered, and took in one unsteady breath, and then another.
"Hey, Lalli - um..." Those cat eyes were on him, curious at the sound, and in that moment Emil knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't remember how.
It was just one word. He'd asked Tuuri how to say it, among other things. She'd told him what it was, and she even wrote it down for him, cheerfully saying that she was glad he'd decided to try learning Finnish, and that if he was determined to do it, he'd catch on in no time, just you wait and see. But - what was it - oh -
"Kiitos, Lalli." Emil said it with a smile, trying to hide how strange the word felt on his tongue. Then, repeating in Swedish, which felt much more natural, "...Thanks."
He got a stare in response to that. A stare, and something that looked almost, but not quite, like a smile. That was followed by a pat on the head, and some quiet, rolling words that he didn't understand, except for his name at the end. But that was all right.
They stayed that way for a while. Said nothing else. After a while, Emil found himself leaning against him. He nestled against Lalli's narrow frame, finding himself surprised, and not for the first time, at how Lalli was so much sturdier than he looked. And Lalli, for his part, didn't move, didn't slide away from him to scramble back up to the top bunk, or squirm off to roll under the bottom one. By the way he tilted his head to rest it against Emil's, it was clear he didn't mind.
It was so strange. The ache of his injury was gone. It was if the whole awful afternoon hadn't happened at all. And with it, the guilt was gone too.
It would be back later, Emil thought. He was sure. All of it. But for the moment, it didn't matter, Emil decided as he closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the tank around them, the roll of voices in the cab, and the soft, quiet sound of Lalli breathing. For the moment, he felt fine.
Kiitos, he thought. Thanks.
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 2.1k
Summary: After Emil is injured in an entirely preventable incident, he feels absolutely awful about it. But Lalli is a source of comfort - in his own way.
Other: This wasn't meant as a sequel to Routines, but there are enough similarities to the stories that it could be read as one.
Salve
Emil wasn't sure what had been injured worse: his hand, or his pride.
It wasn't unexpected. Not entirely. The words had been drilled into his head during training: Take caution. When you work with fire, there's always the chance you might get burned. Maybe he had been due for a practical lesson in it.
"At least you've still got all your hair," Sigrun said, giving him a ruffle.
Emil made an attempt at a smile, taking the reassurance for what it was. It didn't come easily. His heart wasn't in it. "How long do I have to keep these bandages on?" he asked, lifting his gaze up to look at Mikkel.
There was a moment or two as the healer hummed thoughtfully, looking over the bandages again, re-assessing the damage. Then he mumbled something in reply.
"Er... What?"
"It depends," Mikkel repeated, taking care to enunciate, "on if you cooperate. For now, keep it dry and don't move around too much. You will have to take care if you want a fast recovery."
It sounded like a straight answer for once, even if it wasn't that helpful, and even if it wasn't exactly what Emil wanted to hear. He nodded, biting at his lower lip. "Right," he said. "I can do that."
"Great!" For a second, Sigrun almost looked like she was going to go in for a shoulder punch. She settled instead for more hair ruffling. "Just you wait. Doc here'll have you back to a hundred per cent in no time."
That was what she said. Emil almost believed it. But he saw the look that passed between them; Mikkel's expression was closed, but there was something in that careful blankness that suggested he didn't agree that it would come so quickly.
Back to a hundred per cent soon enough. Emil wanted to believe it. The pain said otherwise. But maybe, if he took care to do as Mikkel had ordered, he would get lucky. The damage was, after all, not that bad.
That didn't stop him from feeling sorry for himself in the meantime.
Emil sulked in the back and listened to the sound of the tank and the mutterings of his colleagues. A change of plans. That was what they were talking about. Expected, but not for the best. They'd have to reroute, find a place they could go that would be a little bit safer, a little bit lighter on action, just in case. That was doable, from the sound of it. Possible.
But it was also inconvenient. This would set them back. And all because of his screw-up.
He listened to Sigrun's sharp voice rise and fall, rocky against Mikkel's deep rumbling. Tuuri's voice stepped in and out, pressing in with questions, then pausing and changing note as she translated for Reynir. The words were too quiet to make out over the sound of the tank, but the tones... those were promising enough. Maybe.
Everything would be fine. Maybe.
Emil sighed and reached for his comb.
Check twice. The familiar words slipped through his head, words that he'd heard over and over and over during training. Check once, then check again. Always check twice before you go into action. Otherwise your equipment might not function as it should. Might not go off when it should. Or might ignite when it shouldn't. Or in a way that it shouldn't.
He remembered Sigrun's long fingers mussing at his hair, and he swore under his breath. Forget being lucky to still have my hair, Emil thought. I'm lucky that thing didn't go off in my face.
The sound of movement on the top bunk interrupted his train of thought.
Emil ceased his unsteady attempt at combing his hair back into place, and looked up. Peeking over the edge of the bunk was a familiar sharp face. Two catlike eyes blinked down at him.
Oh, he thought. So that's where Lalli had disappeared to.
"Hey," Emil said quietly. "Was all the noise bothering you?"
Blink, blink. No response. Not that Emil had expected one, exactly.
Emil looked away, and resumed combing his hair - or at least trying to. With his non-dominant hand, and without a mirror besides, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world. "I'll just stay back here with you for a while, if that's okay," he said, conscious of the fact that Lalli couldn't understand a word, and not caring about that one bit. "I just - that was just embarrassing." He sighed, remembering what Sigrun had said. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don't do it again. "I shouldn't have made a mistake like that."
There was a soft thump as Lalli slid from the top and landed on the floor, light as a cat. He looked first at Emil's bandaged hand, then at his face, and then sat down on the edge of the bunk beside him.
"Lalli, what-"
A slim hand was held out to him, palm up. Lalli stared pointedly at Emil, then at the comb, then back at Emil again. Not a word, but the way he flicked his fingers in a familiar 'give it here' gesture said what he meant well enough. It was a gesture Emil had seen a few times before, and one that always surprised him. It wasn't often that Lalli got that kind of idea into his head.
Any other time, he would have welcomed it. But Emil parted his lips to protest as a hint of stubbornness rose up. I can do this myself, he wanted to say. Don't worry about it. The words were on the tip of his tongue when the ache throbbed through his fingers, sharp enough to make him decide to give in and give up. "Okay," he said, placing the comb in Lalli's hand. "You win."
Emil didn't say anything else as Lalli firmly cupped his head and made him turn to face him, nor when he set about working with a look of determined seriousness on his narrow face.
A part of him wanted to laugh. Here was Lalli, who went around half the time looking as if he'd never seen a comb in his life, hair sticking out in all directions. Lalli, who didn't seem to care at all about what he looked like, as long as he was clean. That Lalli, giving him a hand with this....
But it wasn't so bad. Especially not now, not when they had done this before. Lalli had come to know, after a while, how Emil liked it. The first time Lalli offered to do it came as a surprise, and the experience had been one of trial and error accompanied by yelping and cursing. But now, Lalli knew how to do it gently, without pulling. Emil let his eyes fall shut, tilting his head to rest against Lalli's palm while he let him set to work with the comb.
Lalli's touch was steady and firm and, thankfully, careful. Not easy work, not this time. Emil knew that he was in quite a state, and he held still as he let Lalli smooth away the knots left over from the mess of the day they'd had, the mess that was all his own fault. He could only blame himself for it.
He could hear the ghosts of mutterings under Lalli's breath, words so soft and low that he wouldn't have been able to catch them even if he'd understood the language. For a moment his insides twisted and he wondered if that muttering was actually a complaint. A criticism of what had happened earlier, of how he'd managed to get into all that trouble, of how he should have known better. But as he listened more carefully, it didn't seem to be that kind of muttering. They didn't seem to be those kind of words. There was a rhythm to them that Emil didn't understand; something that was different from the gentle, rolling tone that Lalli's voice usually had when he spoke. Something a little closer to those songs he sang sometimes, or prayers, or whatever they were.
"Sometimes, I really wonder what goes on in your head," Emil murmured, blinking his eyes open.
Lalli paused, staring at him, giving him a look that might have been a raised eyebrow from anyone else. Then he huffed and set the comb aside. He murmured something as he reached for Emil's hair again, long fingers taking the strands and gently curling the ends under.
"It's funny, isn't it? That we can have a conversation like this without understanding each other at all."
That one did get a raised eyebrow, and more soft Finnish words that didn't make any more sense than the rest.
"Hah. I bet that was - 'I don't understand a word you're saying, you weird Swede'. Wasn't it."
Lalli gave him a Look - a look that Emil wasn't sure about, but it was definitely a Look - and then moved to quickly slip his fingers through Emil's hair, fluffing it up to full volume.
The laugh escaped him before he realized it, and somehow, the ache was gone. Emil knew it would be back soon enough, but that didn't matter. And the guilt was - not gone, but set aside. For the moment. Just for a while. As Lalli cupped his face, Emil felt himself smiling.
Maybe that was the reaction Lalli had wanted. Maybe that was what he'd been trying for the whole time. Though Emil had come to be good at understanding him, words or not, there were times when he never could be quite sure what Lalli was trying to do. But that's what it felt like, that's what it seemed like, especially because in a second, Lalli moved closer, and they were nose-to-nose.
When Lalli kissed him, pressing those thin lips against his mouth, Emil felt his cheeks flare hot under his cool palms. He kissed back, taking the gesture as it was. Lalli's kisses were never exactly tender; there was something narrow and firm about them, and they were always over too quickly. But this time, he lingered a little longer than he usually would, and Emil took it in, drinking in every fraction of a second. It was clear enough what Lalli meant by this.
Even if it was longer than it usually would be, the kiss was still over too quickly for Emil's liking. After they parted, Lalli went back to stroking his hair, and Emil tried to stop himself from blushing. It wasn't exactly easy. He settled for trying to at least appear less flustered, and took in one unsteady breath, and then another.
"Hey, Lalli - um..." Those cat eyes were on him, curious at the sound, and in that moment Emil knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't remember how.
It was just one word. He'd asked Tuuri how to say it, among other things. She'd told him what it was, and she even wrote it down for him, cheerfully saying that she was glad he'd decided to try learning Finnish, and that if he was determined to do it, he'd catch on in no time, just you wait and see. But - what was it - oh -
"Kiitos, Lalli." Emil said it with a smile, trying to hide how strange the word felt on his tongue. Then, repeating in Swedish, which felt much more natural, "...Thanks."
He got a stare in response to that. A stare, and something that looked almost, but not quite, like a smile. That was followed by a pat on the head, and some quiet, rolling words that he didn't understand, except for his name at the end. But that was all right.
They stayed that way for a while. Said nothing else. After a while, Emil found himself leaning against him. He nestled against Lalli's narrow frame, finding himself surprised, and not for the first time, at how Lalli was so much sturdier than he looked. And Lalli, for his part, didn't move, didn't slide away from him to scramble back up to the top bunk, or squirm off to roll under the bottom one. By the way he tilted his head to rest it against Emil's, it was clear he didn't mind.
It was so strange. The ache of his injury was gone. It was if the whole awful afternoon hadn't happened at all. And with it, the guilt was gone too.
It would be back later, Emil thought. He was sure. All of it. But for the moment, it didn't matter, Emil decided as he closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the tank around them, the roll of voices in the cab, and the soft, quiet sound of Lalli breathing. For the moment, he felt fine.
Kiitos, he thought. Thanks.
