Apparently the theme of this week is “We could work on our novel - OR - we could write random stuff for Island of the Gays!”
So far, the novel is losing. On the other hand, I’ve been wanting to write Tully/Jessop stuff since @alex51324 introduced them, so I’m not going to complain that they finally obliged.
Again, I might clean this up for Ao3 consumption at some point. If nothing else, there’s not enough swearing. But for now, have a missing scene rough draft.
Something had woken him up. Holding perfectly still, eyes closed, Jessop tried to put his finger on it. Outside, there was the steady drip of sluggish rain, and the odd gust of wind that made the wall boards creak. That could have been what did it. Pulling a deep breath in through his nose, he let it out and rolled over, reaching one arm across the mattress.
Opening his eyes, he shifted, looking toward the door. It was cracked open and light was seeping through the edges. Not simply using the wc then. With a sigh, Jessop pushed the blankets back and levered himself out of bed. He slid his feet into his slippers and wrapped his dressing gown around him, making certain he had his cigarettes and lighter, and headed for the kitchen.
Tully was, as predicted, sitting at the kitchen table, bottle in hand, staring out the window at the rain. At first he didn’t seem to realize he was alone. Then, without turning, he said, “You should go back to bed. It’s fucking cold out here.”
“Bed’s a lot less warm without you in it,” Jessop pointed out, leaving his place in the door way and crossing to set a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “And I’ve already had one lonely night this week. Not really looking forward to another.” He pulled up a chair and fished out his cigarettes, lighting one for each of them. “What’s wrong?”
“Eh, nothing much,” the other man replied, taking his cigarette with a weak smile. “You want some of this?” He offered the bottle.
“Suite yourself.” Tully took another drink and sighed. “It’s just the fucking dreams again.”
“It’s been awhile.” Despite the observation, Jessop couldn’t say he was surprised. They’d both had trouble sleeping after the war, enough that when they’d arrived on the Island they’d been part of the first War Neurosis group. Tully had grumbled, but in the end even he had to admit that it helped.
“No’ fucking long enough.”
“No,” Jessop agreed, watching the other man alternate between cigarette and drink. “But it’s also been a fair while since we lost track of one of our lads, so I can’t say as I’m really surprised.”
Tully thought about it, then nodded his head in acknowledgement. “There is tha’, I suppose.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain. Finally Jessop asked, “Which one is it?”
“Same one you’d fucking expect,” Tully replied around his cigarette. “I’m looking for someone. No fucking idea who, but I can’t find ‘em. I can find everyone else in the B.F. fucking E. and their cousin, all of ‘em dead, but not the person I’m looking for.” He paused, staring out the window again, then shook his head. “Still hadn’t found whoever it was when the wind woke me up.”
It was one of Tully’s more common dreams, when they came. Jessop never needed to ask if the other man had found him in the pile of bodies. The answer was always no, but somehow the answer was always 'you’re not who I’m looking for’ too. That was dreams for you. “At least this time we didn’t lose anyone,” he pointed out, referring to the waking events that had clearly inspired the dream’s resurgence. “Was anyone even really injured?”
“Naw,” Tully sighed and shook his head, a small smile stealing across his face. “Fucking thorn put a good sized tear in Barrow’s good hand, but that was the worst of it. At the Front that’d have been cause for concern, but here,” he shrugged. “Easy clean, no lasting damage. No use frettin’ over battles already won, I know that.”
They both did, but it was easier said than done when there were so many battles they’d lost. “At least here there’s no real enemy,” Jessop pointed out, crushing out what was left of his cigarette. “Only allies.” Tully made a grunt of agreement, but didn’t actually say anything. Talk it out, then move away. Don’t wallow. That was the advice they got, and when he could keep his husband from getting too drunk, it worked. He just needed the right angle. For a minute he listened to the rain, thinking through the events of the previous two days, looking for something related, but distracting. Not at the heart of things. “It’s probably a good thing Dr. L wasn’t there when we broke up the parties.”
“Mm?” Tully gave him a questioning look.
Jessop allowed himself a knowing grin. “I’m not sure he’d have approved of you going off with Barrow, even if Fitzroy was there to chaperone.”
It worked. Tully erupted with laughter and probably would have spilled whiskey all over the table if the bottle hadn’t been mostly empty. “Wouldn’t have needed to worry there. Half caked in mud, in the rain, with thorn bushes for privacy? Not the most fucking romantic of situations. Now, if Fitzroy hadn’t been there and it had been a wee bit drier,” he hummed. “Then maybe you could have convinced me.”
Other men might have been jealous at the person they married openly thinking about someone else. Jessop, on the other hand, had known Tully too long to object. There had been too many years where they’d been together, but anything could have gone wrong; too many years of taking whatever was on offer; too many years in that other world that wasn’t the island to just let it all go. Besides, Tully wouldn’t be Tully if he weren’t a dirty old man, and Barrow was too damn good looking for anyone’s good. “Who do you think he’ll settle down with?” he asked, still smirking. “Since you’re off the market.”
“Hard t’ say.” Frowning, Tully went to take a drink, only to find the bottle empty. He pulled a face and set it aside, crossing his arms over his ample stomach. “Won’t be someone our age, bet you that. Doesn’t seem like he’d go in for the theatrical set either, but I could be wrong.”
“Given the blow up at the concert, I think you’re right there.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgot that fucking mess.” Tully thought some more. “'E’s going to have plenty of experience with fucking Ruperts, so hopefully that’ll be enough to warn him off. Can’t see him with any of our other lads though, not really.” He paused, then amended, “Maybe Fitzroy. They’re chummy enough.”
“I can see that. Or maybe Mr. Ellis. Not one of ours, but they seem to spend enough time together. Might not be a bad match.”
The other man conceded that one with a nod of his head. “I just hope he knows he can do better than settling for Norridge. He might know newspapers, but that doesn’t mean 'e’s not going to be high handed if it goes further.”
There was a slight temptation to defend the absent Honourable, but it wouldn’t do much good. Tully’s dislike of the upper classes was well founded, so he took a different path. “I’m pretty certain Barrow can hold his own against 'high handed’. He can certainly deal with prima donnas.”
“True enough.” Tully thought a bit more, then shook his head, yawning. “Won’t know what tomorrow brings until the dawn anyway.” He looked out the window. “Although I, for one, would be happy if it brought some fucking decent weather.”
“No arguments here.” Jessop stood and stretched, then shivered. He extended his hand to the other man. “You up for going back to bed? Maybe see how fast we can get warmed up?”
He might not be as young and handsome as Thomas Barrow, but that didn’t take the rakish edge out of Tully’s smile as he took his hand. “Aye, I think I could be convinced.”
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