Weimar station looks to him as if an overenthusiastic architecture student had tried to emulate what he had seen of classic structures, and thoroughly failed at the execution. Now, in the darkness, he can barely make out the neoclassic features, but he’s been here often enough to remember.
Thomas Nightingale stands leaning against the facade, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips, trying his best not to smile at the approaching figure of David Mellenby, barely illuminated by the street lights, yet still unmistakably him. Thomas could recognise David everywhere.
“You’re late, Tom. Sixteen hours late” David says, scarf wrapped around his neck and a cap pulled low into his face, even though it’s June.
Since quite a few people seemed to rather enjoy the six sentence post from yesterday I thought I'd post the entire scene
London, 1941
He spends his first day back in England in months on a train down to Devon, to visit the grave of Mama and Daisy, and the evening on his Aunt Fanny's old, faded sofa, listening to the news of his siblings and cousins, while Fanny promises solemnly to not tell his father about the visit. The journey back to London drags on and on, people on the tracks apparently, but once he reaches Kings Cross it’s a short walk to the Folly, where he trudges right up the steps to the lab they’ve given David for the duration of the war – however long that might be – crossing the room until he reaches one corner, where he can slide down to the ground between a metal cabinet and wooden workbench that had been pushed up against the wall, weighed down with copious amounts of notebooks and notes, some kept in boxes, some stacked precariously high, David’s thoughts spilled out over the paper. He hasn’t even taken the time to take off his coat and scarf, far too warm for the sweltering heat in the lab.
David himself only looks up from his experiment once he’s done, though Thomas has no way of telling what exactly he has finished.
“Are you quite alright, Thomas?” he asks and takes off his glasses to clean the round lenses with the sleeve of a dark blue jumper peeking out from under a lab coat that had once been white.
“Splendid,” Thomas grunts, and runs a hand through his hair, already messy from the wind outside.
David, who has had enough time to map out his responses over the years, slips out of his lab coat and approaches him, heaves a box from the end of the bench so he can sit next to Thomas, who rests his head against his leg. Almost immediately there are fingers combing through his hair, brushing a curl out of his face.
“Would you like to tell me?”
“Not particularly”
“I think you ought to"
“Later. Maybe"
“Your sister called,” David tells him instead, “she wants to see you. Stephen as well. They’re your siblings, you can’t avoid them forever”
“I know. I just – Just not right now. Can you tell Drina I'm still on the continent the next time she calls?”
“Somehow I don’t think she'll believe me. Especially considering Henry was on the continent with you and came yesterday. Victoria knows your on home leave”
“Curse the day your nephew decided to marry my niece"
“They’re children. Can you truly begrudge them some happiness"
Thomas sighs, rubs his cheek against the coarse wool of David’s trousers, closes his eyes. “No. That doesn’t mean I have to like it"
“I know. But still, please talk to her. I have a feeling every time we talk she likes me even less, and if she doesn’t hear from you soon she'll show up at Folly and castrate me for hiding you from her"
Thomas nearly laughs “We can’t have that, of course"
“Are you sure she doesn’t know?”
“Without a doubt. She’d be much worse if she knew about the sodomy. To both of us"
“Would you like to help me with some experiments?" David asks in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, "I have some test tubes that need to be blown up"
“You know I'll gladly blow anything for you, Davey"
David laughs and pulls him upright, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you're back home"
Thomas says nothing and lets David lead him towards the table he’d been working on when Thomas had arrived. The set up looks complicated, but most things David does in his lab are so far beyond Thomas’s comprehension that he no longer even bothers to ask.
Once more dressed in his lab coat David lines up two dozen tubes, “I think we’ll start with a simple werelight,” he says, “and go on from there”
He isn’t sure how much time they spent in the lab, Thomas performing various spells at David’s request, but when David sets down his pen, apparently satisfied with the results at last it’s already dark outside.
“You should go to bed, Tom,” David says and Thomas lets his werelight blink away, plunging the room into sudden darkness. Either there’s another power outage or David’s simply forgotten to turn on the lights again.
“I don’t even know where that is" He is a CO now and therefore, by Folly mechanisms, entitled to one of the rooms on the second floor, which he'll still share, but with only one other man. He'd rather crawl into bed with David, but, of course, that won’t be poss-
“In that case I have some good news for you. We're sharing until you leave again"
“Honestly?”
“Yes. Apparently most find me to be an insufferable roommate”
“Because you are, David”
“I beg to differ”
*
The room is bleak and unpersonal, except for an old photograph on the edge of the desk that also serves as David’s nightstand, now that another bed has been shoved inside and every unnecessary piece of furniture put up in the attic, of David and his brother, dead now for over two decades, killed in some trench in France, and a small stack of books he faintly recognises as some of David’s favourites. Waugh, Collins, Wells and the like.
None of it feels quite tangible and it might very well have been a dream, if it weren’t for the weight of David’s arm wrapped around him. No matter how lonely, how unhappy, he is, when he imagines David’s embrace it never feels real
“What are you thinking about, pumpkin?” David, already half asleep, asks.
If I die will you put up a picture of me as well? A neat little collection of the people you've lost, trod under England's heel?
“Nothing. Go to sleep"
David’s never been one who had trouble falling asleep, and after a few minutes he can hear him snoring, firm against his back, breath ghosting over Thomas’s neck. If he’d ever been such a sleeper he certainly is no longer, considering the things haunting his dreams, despite the sense of secruity and comfort David’s presence gives him.
He'll have to mess up the bed in the morning, he thinks, before the maid comes to clean the room, make it look as if he’s slept in it. He doesn’t know how long he stares into the soft shadows of the room, but it seems like he is lulled to sleep faster than he normally falls asleep these days
The journey back to London drags on and on, people on the tracks apparently, but once he reaches Kings Cross it’s a short walk to the Folly, where he trudges right up the steps to the lab they’ve given David for the duration of the war – however long that might be – crossing the room until he reaches one corner, where he can slide down to the ground between a metal cabinet and wooden workbench that had been pushed up against the wall, weighed down with copious amounts of notebooks and notes, some kept in boxes, some stacked precariously high, David’s thoughts spilled out over the paper. He hasn’t even taken the time to take off his coat and scarf, far too warm for the sweltering heat in the lab.
David himself only looks up from his experiment once he’s done, though Thomas has no way of telling what exactly he has finished.
“Are you quite alright, Thomas?” he asks and takes off his glasses to clean the round lenses with the sleeve of a dark blue jumper peeking out from under a lab coat that had once been white.
“Splendid,” Thomas grunts, and runs a hand through his hair, already messy from the wind outside.
David, who has had enough time to map out his responses over the years, slips out of his lab coat and approaches him, heaves a box from the end of the bench so he can sit next to Thomas, who rests his head against his leg. Almost immediately there are fingers combing through his hair, brushing a curl out of his face. “Would you like to tell me?”
“What does it feel like?” she asked. “Losing a sibling”
“That I won’t be telling you, Abigail,” Nightingale said.
“Because I’m too young?”
“No. If Peter asked what it felt like losing a parent I wouldn’t be telling him either”
“He'd never ask you that, Peter is as emotionally constipated as you are”
“Abigail," Nightingale chided.
“Sorry”
“I don’t think you’re too young, I was younger than you when I lost my first sibling. These things don’t come when we are ready for them. But nothing I might say you would benifit from knowing. I won’t give you another thing to dread”
Walid squinted as he examined the werelight floating between them, and Thomas was afraid he might ruin his eyes. "Does it have any physical effects on you?" he asked.
"Very much, if done irresponsibly"
"How so?"
"I've been told that it damages the brain in some way. It can lead to a stroke"
Walid looked up at that. "Fascinating. I'd love to examine a brain like that"
In which a young Nightingale first comes into contact with the anomaly that is David Mellenby
*
He thus started his second form in high spirits, although that was not meant to last for long. At the end of the last term their theory teacher had been forced to resign and the headmaster, who’d previously only taught lower and upper sixth form, began teaching the lower forms as well. The old warhorse - for that was what the students called him amongst themselves - was famously bad at remembering names and had them all sit alphabetically so that he could keep them apart more easily. And that was how he first became involuntarily acquaintanced with David Mellenby.
From the very first day of school Mellenby had made it clear that he had little interest in most, if any, of the other boys. His father was even more important than Ballentine Sr was, and his older brother was to forms above them at Casterbrook, which under normal circumstances would have put him in the perfect position to become the most popular boy in the form, but that first ecening, when they had all been trIng their best to make a good impression Mellenby had taken an armful of books - none of which they'd needed to read for class - and marched off towards his bed without a word to any of them. He'd drawn zhe curtains and hadn’t emerged until the next morning. So far his attitude hadn’t changed much, and Thomas felt that Mellenvy thought himself superior to all of them. He certainly couldn’t remember ever speaking to him outside of class.
In any case his books seemed to be more important to him than genuine human connection. What was important to him, and anyone forced to spend even five minutes in the same classroom as Mellenby, was academic validation. The year before Thomas had mostly ignored Mellenby as best as he could, not particularly inclined to spend the standoffish boy always sitting in the front row any mind, but now it was impossible not to notice that he raised his hand at every question, no matter which class, even in Latin and Ancient Greek where he seemed to struggle, at least to his standards. It didn’t matter what it was the Masters wanted to know, Mellenby's hand shot up before Thomas could even process the questions and more often than not he came dangerously close to striking Thomas in the face.
And while Mellenby’s efforts to turn class into a contact sport certainly made it more interesting, and forced him to pay more attention than he normally would have, it became incredibly annoying rather quickly.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Something smaller, I think”
“In comparison to what some of my friends grew up in this really is quite quaint,” David’s home, the one time he had been allowed to visit, had seemed like a sprawling mansion to him, with gardens that never seemed to end and it’s own stable and pond. “We children even had to share rooms”
“Are you sure it's safe to stay here?” Peter asked doubtfully.
“Of course. It’s habitable if perhaps somewhat uncomfortable. I don’t think the house has been renovated since the thirties, and even then it was just the kitchen. We should probably eat elsewhere while we’re here, unless you fancy your chances against an aga that hasn’t been used in fourty years"
“I think takeout is good. But I was talking about it being haunted”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Something smaller, I think”
“In comparison to what some of my friends grew up in this really is quite quaint,” David’s home, the one time he had been allowed to visit, had seemed like a sprawling mansion to him, with gardens that never seemed to end and it’s own stable and pond. “We children even had to share rooms”
“Are you sure it's safe to stay here?” Peter asked doubtfully.
“Of course. It’s habitable if perhaps somewhat uncomfortable. I don’t think the house has been renovated since the thirties, and even then it was just the kitchen. We should probably eat elsewhere while we’re here, unless you fancy your chances against an aga that hasn’t been used in fourty years"
“I think takeout is good. But I was talking about it being haunted”
i know it’s monday leave me alone i'm just happy to be writing again
"I'm still suspended," Peter told Thomas during one of his visits to Beverley's house in late November.
"This," - Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his chair, something he hadn’t done since he was a child - "is not police business," he admitted, "but more of a, ah, personal favour" When he had approached Peter on the matter of a haunted house he had naturally assumed that Thomas was talking about a police case, even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. "The building is family property," he continued, "I don’t own it, my nephews do, but they both aren’t equipped to deal with the situation at hand, since they're not wizards"
"What is that situation, exactly?" Peter asked.
"As far as I understand certain rooms of the house seem to be … stuck in time, so to speak"
“I don’t know, babe, has Nightingale ever shared any personal details with you?” Beverley asked, when I brought it up, “Or you with him, for that matter?” It was a Saturday evening and for once the twins were actually asleep, so Bev had stretched out on the sofa, a golden face mask on and her hair already in the silk bonnett she slept in.
“I told him –“
“Completely obvious things or stuff that impacts your work don’t count”
In that case… “Not really”
“Maybe you should? Might make him more comfortable sharing things with you” she said and went back to the magazine she’d been reading.
“We’re not really there, yet, me and Nightingale”
Bev looked up, exasperated. “And is that because of him or because of you?”
“He’s still my boss”
“I’m not saying you two should be best friends,” Bev said, “but he’s still a person, behind that posh, pretentious mask”
Retirement, he’d been told, required an adjustment period, before one truly realised that one would never be returning to work and the life one had arranged around it. Thomas had expected, and feared, this to resemble the months after he had returned from the hospital after the war, plummeting into a dark, deep hole he couldn’t find his way out of. Instead there was something freeing about retirement, Thomas thought. Granted, he was working up to teach several apprentices at one, something that had already been a challenge when it had been Peter and Lesley, who had been at different points in their apprenticeships, and it would only magnified when the Constables chosen by the Met and Peter arrived, so he had work waiting for him, but all in all he thought this to be the best decision he had made in years.
For the first time in decades he had no qualms about leaving London for more than a few days at a stretch, returning to his family's home to clear out the memories that had been catching dust there ever since his father had died, found old letters and photographs in his childhood bedroom he had no memory of receiving.
Peter had, surprisingly, offered to accompany him, even though Devon was farther from London than he normally went willingly, but this had been something Thomas had to do on his own.
A short trip to the continent he did allow himself, roaming through the streets of Paris that were nearly unrecognisable from how he remembered them, vague, washed out memories from family holidays, being herded through the city for two days before they spend the rest at the sea side, his brothers chasing him along the beach while his sister tried in vain to acquire a tan, their parents shaking their heads, terribly outnumbered against all seven of their children.
Abdul nodded. "I know," he said, "And I just want you to know that I am quite cross with you. Getting yourself shot was not what I had in mind when I told you to get out of the house more"
"Would you mind terribly if we reschedule?" David asked. Peter had begun referring to their weekly night out as date night, and while Thomas hated the moniker he was relieved that Peter seemed so casual about his relationship with David. "An acquaintance from the demimonde has gotten in contact about an urgent matter"
"Do you think it’s safe to meet them?"
"I never had problems with him before, so I wouldn’t worry"
"I can accompany you, if you'd like"
"That is rather against the point I'm afraid. But how about you pick me up on campus tomorrow? We can try that restaurant you've been talking about"
"That would be lovely"
"Jolly good"
"Davey?"
"Yes?"
"Please be careful"
"Of course, pumpkin"
Thomas tried to get back to his paperwork and take his mind off David, but instead spent the next hours staring at his phone, waiting for a call, or message, from David while the television droned on in the background, reassuring in its presence. He missed dinner, and Peter joined him for a while, but Thomas found himself incapable of listening to his attempt at conversation.
A message popped up eventually, Home safe. Love you. and he finally shut off his phone and returned to the Folly.
*
He arrived early the next afternoon, and he slipped into the lecture hall to watch David.
As quietly as he could he slipped into one of the back rows, mostly filled with students only listening with half an ear. The girl next to him was texting, fingers typing away on her screen quicker than he'd thought possible.
At the front David was lecturing on something Thomas had no hopes of understanding. Thomas had never had the chance to observe David at Cambridge, but here he seemed to be in his element. Gone was the shy, insecure boy he'd met at school, who preferred his books and experiments over human companionship, replaced by a charismatic man one actually wanted to listen to, who knew that he knew what he was talking about and that few were better at it than him. He'd always been like that, but for decades this part of him had only emerged in private, surrounded by people he trusted.
Thomas listened, not to what he was saying, but how he was doing so, staring at him as he did, intently enough that the student next to him cleared her throat. "He's already taken" she informed him.
"Oh, I know," he said cheerfully, and went back to staring at his David.
David ended the lecture on time, and Thomas hung back as the students filed out, some of them stopping to ask David a question before hurrying away.
"When did you come in?" David asked when they were finally alone, casting a quick look around before pressing a kiss to his lips when he was sure they were alone. It wasn't necessary anymore, of course, but it was difficult to shake off decades of fear and caution.
"Halfway through, perhaps. I have to admit it all went over my head"
David laughed. "I can explain it again, if you want me to"
"Shall I sit the exam as well, Professor?"
"I'll make a scientist out of you yet, mark my words"
"I rather think not"
"I need to drop something off in my office, but after that we can get going"
"Do you want me to carry those for you?" Thomas asked, eyeing the stack of papers and books in David’s arms.
He looked conflicted, Thomas knew that David didn’t like to ask for help, even when he needed it. "Yes, if you would. Thank you, dear"
The walk to David’s office took several minutes, tucked away in a remote corner of the building as it was, and Thomas had no illusion as to what it looked like, the two of them walking together, Thomas carrying David’s papers, but he found that he didn’t particularly care. They were doing nothing wrong.
David’s office was as messy as every other space he occupied. The bookshelves were overflowing with books and journals, notebooks and papers were stacked high on every available surface. A small flag he vaguely recognised as one of those pride motives had been stuck in an old mug filled with pens, balanced precariously on top of a German dictionary David definitely didn’t need often enough to justify its spot on the desk.
"How was your meeting yesterday?"
David frowned. "It was fine"
"But?"
"I think I might actually need your help in the matter. In an official manner, I mean, but it is nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. No work tonight, it's been too long"
It had been, as well. First he'd been busy with a case, then there had been papers that needed grading by David and Thomas had taken extra care to go over the Latin lessons with Peter, to make up for the time lost between the Met work and seeing David.
"The restaurant is expecting us in thirty minutes, and I thought you could come home with me afterwards"
*
"I'm afraid that was rather a waste of money," Thomas said, eyeing the package of condoms and bottle of lube in the middle of David’s bed.
"I'm sure they’ll keep a while longer," David said, and rubbed his neck. "We could try something else," he offered.
"I would rather not if it's all the same to you"
With a nod David stood and stowed the offending materials away in a wardrobe.
"Look at the two of us, all alone in a room with an enormous bed and no one to walk in on us. What we would have given for this opportunity in our twenties. I think our younger selves would be rather disappointed that we're not going at it like rabbits"
"I don’t think I should like to meet them"
"We were horrid, weren’t we"
"Everyone was"
"Just so"
When Thomas looked up David was looking at him, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed now that sex had been aborted.
They had been taking things slow, not least because David's interest in proceedings waxed and waned as they had always done and it had been some time since Thomas had done anything of the sort, but things had been going well the last few days, and David had expressed interest. Only that, when they had tried it had been Thomas who’d found himself incapable of going any further.
"I can leave," he said.
"Why would you?"
"There's not much point in staying now, is there"
"Thomas, the primary function of that bed is to sleep in it, and we can do that, together, whether or not we have sex beforehand"
"I didn’t bring anything to sleep in," he admitted sheepishly. After all, he hadn’t known for sure that he would be spending the night at David’s.
"Well, aren't you a lucky one, because I still have that pair you always stole when you visited"
"You do?"
It was David’s turn to look sheepish. "I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They’re too small on me, so I haven't been wearing them"
But he'd lugged them around Britain for decades, one of the few things he had to remind him of Thomas. "In that case I shall be delighted to stay"
David smiled brightly at him. "Do you need to tell anyone where you are?" he asked, before diving into a drawer filled with pyjamas.
"I think they've guessed by now"
"Still, I’m sure Peter would appreciate the heads up"
Thomas wanted to object that Peter wasn’t his minder, but typed a message anyway, and even left the phone switched on in case Peter needed to reach him in the morning. Perhaps he should give him the number for David’s landline, just in case.
*
"Have you, that is, has there been anyone who you've been with, recently?" David asked, later, once they’d both gotten ready for bed and slipped under the covers.
Thomas remained silent for a moment, rubbing one of the buttons on David’s shirt between his thumb and forefinger. It had been easy to fall into old habits again, resting his head on David’s shoulder, one leg thrown over him.
"You don’t have to tell me, if you don't want to"
"No, it's alright, there is not much to tell in any case. There hasn’t been anyone since you"
"Nobody?"
"I'm afraid not. After Ettersberg the desire for intimacy was completely gone and I can’t say it has returned since then"
"What we did earlier"
"Was quite within reason, but I would rather not go any further, at least for now. I'm sorry"
"There is nothing you have to apologize for"
"It feels like I do"
David’s arm around him tightened. "How many times have I turn you down in the past"
"That is hardly your fault"
"But this is yours? Sex is no requirement for a relationship, Tom, it doesn’t make it any more valid or better and you shouldn’t feel as if you need to do this to make me happy, because you don’t. You know that, don’t you?"
"Yes," he muttered. He let go of the buttons, slipping his hand under David’s shirt, soft skin warm against his palm as it came to redt against David’s side.
"Jolly good. We will wait until you feel ready. Until you want it"
"And if that never happens?"
"Then it doesn’t. Some of the happiest couples I've known didn’t have sex"
"I hope you don’t mean my sister’s sham of a marriage, because we both know that was no relationship"
"Oh no, I meant the Ballentines"
"They hated each other"
"And yet they were perfect for each other."
*
He woke in the middle of the night, the sky still dark outside, to something akin to a sob from David.
"David, is everything quite alright?"
"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you"
"I don’t mind. Would you like to talk about it?"
"T'was just a bad dream"
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Would you promise me something?"
"Depends on the promise I should say. I shan't read Physics, if that is what you want"
David snorted. "Nothing quite as drastic. Tom, if there is something bothering or hurting you, I would like you to tell me about it. I don’t want to make the same mistakes we did before"
They attempted their prank during chapel that Sunday, and pulled it off beautifully. Thomas could see David stifling his laughter two rows in front of him, while he did his damnedest not to look like he was doing magic.
They did, however, find themselves in the headmaster’s office a day later, side by side, facing another one of his lectures.
When Thomas’s uncle Stanley had been a pupil at Casterbrook the headmaster had already been a master at the school, and with Stanley’s proclivity for breaking the rules he suspected that he wasn’t the first Nightingale in recent memory to be standing in this office after stirring up trouble.
The headmaster, for his part, looked as if he was regretting seating David and Thomas next to each other in his class.
“If I could,” he thundered, “I would have you whipped for this, but unfortunately there is no way to prove that you two were behind this. However, as your teacher, I find myself impressed by the control exhibited by whomever –“ he pointedly glanced at Thomas, whose chest swelled with pride “- is responsible"
Professional opinions are devided on how long you should wait until calling someone after the first date. Most will tell you to wait no longer than three days at most, but I once went out with someone who didn’t text me for a month afterwards, ans I still went on a second date with him, so it seems that this information is either wrong or my standards are a lot lower than those of the average person.
I called Bev as soon as we got back to the Folly, sprinting upstairs to the Tech Cave, while Nightingale returned to the Folly proper.
"Did you get abducted again?" she asked.
"Yes, and I'm in desperate need of saving"
"Tell your boss it’s his turn, I'm not the one who's responsible for you"
