Dec-02

Chapter 25

December 20, 2002

* * *

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution." – Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 17

* * *

Charlie drifted in and out of consciousness – mostly out – over the next several days (he wasn't entirely sure how many, exactly, had passed since his birthday). Many of the healing potions he was plied with in the meantime – in particular, all those meant to knit his body back together – caused at least as much discomfort as the analgesic ones relieved. But his mind was blessedly calm, likely prevented from reliving the recent nightmare by another of the cocktail of potions. During his brief periods of lucidity, however, he'd noted a few interesting observations.

First: he was recuperating in his own little bedroom in keeper hut number nine. The desk's top had been cleared of his usual work and was now crammed full of pots of unguents, bottles of potions, and rolls of gauze, and the desk chair was permanently occupied by Sasha – whenever he wasn't hovering over Charlie's bed, that is, tending to his injuries. A small brazier had been brought into the room, rigged with an elaborate flue that diverted the smoke outside while filling the interior with luxurious warmth.

Second: he was clad in nothing but bandages, but they were quite extensive and offered a surprising amount of insulation even during these coldest days of winter. He largely did not mind his nudity, for while his mind occasionally registered others' voices, he never saw or felt anyone touch him but Sasha. For this, he was profoundly grateful.

Third: the slightest movement hurt, but Sasha's skilled hands had lost not one iota of their magical healing abilities over the years. It felt so wonderful to be in his care that Charlie was tempted to prolong his recovery by as many days as possible just to revel in those tender caresses. Simultaneously, he desperately wanted to ease away the agonized, fretful expression that had taken up residence on his partner's haggard face these days, so he resolved to forego such sensual selfishness and get up and about quickly.

At this moment, as Charlie straddled the boundary between asleep and awake, he became aware of an unusual variety of voices. What sounded suspiciously like a hushed argument was taking place right outside his door.

"What is she doing here?" he heard Sasha growl accusatorially.

"I'm through with being told to wait until he's better," a feminine voice hissed angrily. "I want to see him now."

"Should have known you'd be the one to bring her," Sasha snapped.

"She's worried," Boian protested weakly.

"We told you he was doing fine," his partner, Romolo, said, sounding defensive. And then he added, "And I told you this was a bad idea," under his breath.

"I want to see for myself," the familiar woman's voice insisted.

"Go home," Sasha demanded. "He's not ready for visitors."

"I'm not some mere visitor!" The woman's voice was growing louder, easier to identify.

Ileana!? Charlie blinked open his eyes upon finally recognizing her voice, now fully awake, only to find Sasha bodily barring the doorway to his room.

"And just what do you imagine you are, then?" he snarled.

Ileana stood toe to toe with the hulking mass that was Sasha. She wasn't a petite woman, but Sasha fairly towered over her. "If you would ever get out of my way, we could find out!" she barked. "You've interfered with us for years, Vasiliev, and I'll be damned if I put up with it another minute! Stop holding him back!"

Charlie heard the sounds of a brief scuffle, but Sasha stood unmoved in the doorway. He was stunned, though, to hear Ileana's misconception uttered aloud. She blames Sasha for my avoidance of her? What the hell?

"Why do you hate me so?" Ileana whined. "What have I ever done to you?"

"Ileana, come," Romolo commanded softly. "We'll tell Charlie you were here, that you wish to see him. When he's ready, we'll come fetch you again."

"No!" she snapped. "I know better! You'll never bring me back because Vasiliev will forbid it, and you will do whatever he commands. I'm not leaving until I see Charlie!"

"No," Sasha said simply, definitively. "I will not allow you, of all people, to disturb him."

"Why do you continue to stand between us?" Ileana asked, crying with frustration now. "Are you so jealous of his happiness? Maybe if you stopped spending all your energy thwarting him, you might find a love of your own."

"As usual, you spout nothing but foolishness," Sasha retorted. "Go home, woman."

"He needs me!" Ileana cried. "He needs someone who loves him to care for him now! Let me in!"

"He is in my care," Sasha rumbled. "I don't need any help."

"But I love him!" Ileana yelled.

"You don't know the first thing about him," Sasha snapped.

"Charlie is mine!" Ileana howled.

"He is mine!" Sasha thundered. "And I will not suffer your misguided advances any longer."

A heavy, silent pause fell. Charlie held his breath, terrified. Throughout his convalescence up to now, he and Sasha had not spoken about what had happened in the cave – Sasha offered nothing aside from information about his course of treatment and soothing words of comfort. But as spotty as his recollection of those final moments was, Charlie had nevertheless pieced together that his captor had not been the only witness to their mutual declarations of love during the standoff. And now, the anxiety that had been held at bay for so many years blossomed into full-blown fear.

They all know! Freya's assertion, if it hadn't been true before, was most certainly valid now. What would happen to them? Would they be cast off the reservation? Were the other keepers just waiting for Charlie to heal before evicting them?

"What are you saying?" Ileana asked, finally breaking the ominous silence.

Sasha growled through clenched teeth, his voice low but firm, "Go. Home."

"For years now you've thrown yourself after a man who doesn't want you," Romolo added slightly more gently. "Why not try to find comfort in the arms of one who does? Boian, take her home."

"Ileana, please come with me," Boian pleaded, heartbreak and longing plainly evident in his voice.

Charlie winced. It had been all too easy to forget that while Ileana's attraction had been an aggravation and embarrassment to him, Boian had suffered an equal but opposite frustration. How maddening it must have been for him to have watched this woman's futile pursuit of his colleague, unable to get her to notice his own affection for her.

"The two of you?" Ileana hissed, ignoring the others' pleas. "You fuck each other!?" A second's pause. "And the rest of you... you do nothing about this?"

Charlie's heart pounded.

"What century do you think this is, you ignorant bitch?" Romolo sneered. "And what business is it of anyone else's if they do or not?"

Charlie's innards twisted and soared at the sound of Romolo's protective tone.

"Leave her be," Boian grumbled. "She's understandably shocked. Remember how you felt when you first found out?"

"Oh, how long?" Ileana whimpered, heedless of the others. "How long have I been such a fool? When did you poison him against me?"

"People are born this way or the other," Romolo informed her, sounding more sympathetic to her now. "You never had a chance, girl."

"And love is not a poison," Sasha added, quietly furious.

"Love!?" Ileana spat. "You call what you do with each other love!?"

Sasha straightened, rising up to his full, imposing height. "I do."

"As do I," Charlie announced, emboldened by his colleagues – no, his friends' defense.

Sasha spun around and took several rushed steps toward the bed, face contorted halfway between an angry scowl and concerned frown. "I feared all this racket would wake you," he fretted, apologetic and accusatory at the same time.

Ileana ducked a morbidly curious head into the doorway. Her sneer of disgust instantly transformed into sympathetic horror at the sight of him, bandaged nearly from head to toe.

"I'm sorry, Ileana," Charlie said, steeling himself to bear his penance, no matter how inadvertent his sin. "I should have said something sooner. I never meant to lead you on or to hurt you. I wanted us to be friends."

Tears openly coursed down the woman's face now, stabbing at Charlie's conscience. She shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, too," she choked, then turned and walked quickly out of the hut.

"Ileana?" Boian called after her, clearly torn but remaining rooted to the spot.

"Go after her, fool," Romolo ordered him. "Take your chance while it's still there, before she sets her sights on the next unattainable bastard."

Boian cast an apologetic glance Charlie's way – Charlie nodded in encouragement – then bolted after the sobbing woman he'd been pining over for years.

"How are you feeling?" Sasha asked, staring at him intently.

"Fine," Charlie lied, waiting for the resulting pain in his head to ebb.

Sasha snorted, unconvinced, while Romolo laughed. Sasha rummaged through the collection of potions on the desk, pondering Charlie's next dose.

"You look like hell," Romolo chuckled, standing at the foot of Charlie's bed.

"He's been dragged through it and back again," Sasha snapped defensively.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, doll," Romolo teased. "I never meant to imply you aren't a capable nurse."

"Feel free to take your silly bullshit somewhere else," Sasha retorted tiredly. "I have more important things to deal with."

"Erm, we just saw the pub keeper's daughter run out of here crying," Freya announced from the doorway.

"And the smitten puppy chasing after her," Skender added from beside her. "What gives?"

"How wonderful," Sasha grumbled, scowling as he fussed gingerly with the bandage around Charlie's head. "More sources of contagion have arrived."

Charlie smiled weakly at him.

"Ileana had a rather enlightening morning," Romolo informed the newcomers.

"Ahh," Freya sighed, understanding the implication a bit too immediately for Charlie's comfort. "Poor girl."

"The barmaid got what was coming to her," Sasha growled warningly.

"Damn," Skender lamented, "you mean we just missed the catfight between Sasha and Ileana over this sorry carcass?"

"Out!" Sasha roared. "Every single pestilential one of you!"

"Who had this month in the pool?" Skender asked, oblivious to the mortal peril he was wandering into. "Was it Viorel?"

"Pool!? What pool?" Sasha snarled as Charlie coughed and spluttered in shock, then hissed in a breath when his belly erupted with pain.

Propelled by Sasha's murderous glare, Romolo grabbed Skender by the arm and bodily shoved him out of the room. "We're leaving," he declared. "No need to hex us."

Freya rolled her eyes. "Idiots," she mumbled.

"And you need what?" Sasha demanded, turning his fury on her.

"No call to be so touchy," Freya scolded him, uncowed. "I promised Flaviu I'd look in on our Charlie today, is all."

"Mission accomplished," Sasha grumbled, reining himself in. "Now leave."

"Vasiliev, how goes it?"

Freya and Sasha both straightened up at the sound of the Head Keeper's voice, and Charlie made a pathetic attempt at the same. Ghenadie stood in the doorway now, arms folded across his chest.

Sasha cleared his throat and delivered his report to their superior. "Seventh rib, basilar, and zygomatic skull fractures have all been restored with Skele-Gro, but bruising and soreness remain. I strongly suspect he's still concussed, but the bed rest and ginkgo should correct that eventually. Contusions are all dosed with topical briony. Facial and neck lacerations are being treated with inula and calendula paste, as well as the severed digit; the lingual perforations appear to be healing fine on their own. The abdominal wound is responding well to Oroxylum indicum. I'm continuing a course of Blood-Replenishing Potion as well as a decoction of yarrow to counteract fever and boost the circulation. A combination of spikenard and chir pine oils seems to be alleviating the worst of the curse-induced neuralgia."

Charlie'd experienced every one of the injuries, but Sasha's detailed listing made them sound even more daunting.

"Prognosis still good?" Ghenadie asked gruffly.

Sasha nodded. "I think he's out of the woods," he sighed. "Time is the only thing left to try."

"How long?"

Sasha shrugged. "Weeks, at the very least. More likely a month or two."

"Sash, don't exaggerate," Charlie half-scolded, half-pleaded. He really hoped he wasn't as bad off as all that! "I can work through the aches and bruises."

Sasha turned to him, frowning. "Aches and bruises are the least of my concerns. Critical abdominal trauma is. Charlie, you were stabbed in the back!" He spun around again to face Ghenadie. "I shouldn't have to explain to either of you how grave such an injury is. Internal organs were seriously damaged. If he starts back to work too soon before they're fully healed–"

Ghenadie held up his hands in surrender. "Weeks, it is. No sense in rushing forward only to harm yourself again and wind up back here. We'll wait."

"Back to work?" Charlie pressed for confirmation. "That's it?"

Ghenadie raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're thinking of retirement at the ripe old age of thirty?"

"No! I mean... erm... I want to keep working... here, with all of you," Charlie stammered. "I just thought... I mean, I was worried about..."

"Don't let a few scrapes scare you away from the job, Weasley," Ghenadie scolded. "We've had extra teams of patrols in the area lately, and no one goes out alone now for a while, but everything's been clear. No further sign of trouble."

"He means the pouf business," Freya chimed in softly, mildly amused. "I suspect he thinks we're only waiting for him to be healed enough to run them both off the rez."

Ghenadie pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "What kind of trolls do you take us for?" he grumbled. "I grant you Kopecky is as stupid as he looks, but none of us is blind."

No one's blind. They all see now. Charlie frowned in confusion. What exactly was Ghenadie saying? Were their years of deceit about to be punished?

Ghenadie bent over the bed and laid his hand gently on Charlie's shoulder. "Son, we've known you for eleven years. Far as I can tell, you've done nothing to be ashamed of during that time." He squeezed Charlie's shoulder lightly while turning to look at Sasha. "Every last one of us is proud to call you both our brothers."

Ghenadie moved toward the doorway, then paused. "As long as nothing changes, nothing's changed," he added over his shoulder. "Heal swiftly, Weasley, and never mind about silly things."

Charlie stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched and his nose twitching in the effort not to tear up. They all know. They really all know. And nothing's different! And yet the apparent stasis was not a stagnation, but rather a positive, optimistic sort of thing: nothing had changed, but everything was different. No more dread. No more pretending. No more hiding. Charlie couldn't believe the feeling of lightness in his chest.

"That's my cue to leave, isn't it?" Freya said, stepping lightly out of the room after Ghenadie.

They listened to the last of the visitors leaving their hut, two pops of Apparition followed by profound quiet. Some coals softly tumbled into ash within the brazier, and the walls creaked with a blast of wind. Sasha shut the door to better keep the warmth in the room, and the latch connected with a tiny clink.

"See what trouble you stir up when you wake?" Sasha scolded him teasingly but no less worriedly as he slowly, tiredly turned around to face him. "Now go back to sleep or I'll drug you."

"In a bit," Charlie replied. "Let me process some of what just happened first."

Sasha nodded reluctantly. He selected a vial from the desk, relocated the chair closer to Charlie's bedside, then took a seat, straddling it backwards. Holding out the vial, he commanded, "Drink."

Charlie gave the suspicious vial a hard look.

"It's only yarrow," Sasha sighed. "You're due for another dose."

Charlie took it in his good hand – his right was bandaged so much it resembled a flipper – and drank it down. Sasha took the empty vial back, tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Where is it?" Charlie asked. When Sasha looked puzzled, he clarified, "The dagger. Is it lost?"

Sasha's face grew stony. Then, after seeming to debate with himself for several moments, he reached under the bed then quietly laid the birthday dagger, clean and perfect once more, on the bed beside Charlie's leg.

Charlie looked at it for a long minute, so lovely and lethal, then curled his unbandaged left hand around the hilt. It still felt as though it had been sculpted specifically to fit his palm. It was strange to think that this very thing had caused a good deal of the damage done to him: his own weapon turned against him.

"Tell me... what happened... after?" He remembered nothing between the moment he'd been stabbed and coming to in his bed sometime afterward.

Sasha looked Charlie in the eye, then at the dagger, then at the wall before answering. "We Apparated you back here." His jaw pulsed as he ground his teeth.

"'We' meaning 'you,'" Charlie clarified.

Sasha did not contradict him. "I did what I could to stabilize you. You lost a lot of blood." His voice became halting, with odd pauses. "The wound... in your belly... it was too much for me." He sniffed. "Ghenadie summoned a proper Healer from Comoara to attend you."

Charlie snorted at the word proper.

"Don't scoff," Sasha scolded. "Master Healer Costache charmed your belly back together. This kind of magical healing song is beyond me. Hours, he sang it over you – as beautiful as any aria..."

Sasha's face screwed up tight, and he bowed his head just as a sob escaped. "That filth used my gift to hurt you! And I couldn't make you better!"

Charlie let go of the knife to take Sasha's hand. "Sash... none of this is your fault."

Sasha bent further until his rough, whiskered cheek rested against the back of Charlie's hand. "When I saw you there in the cave – and you were a bloody fucking mess, let me tell you – I thought I would go insane. I couldn't stand to see you in such a state, in so much pain," he confessed, angry and tearful.

Sasha stood abruptly and paced over to the desk. "If I'd only gotten there sooner..." He gripped the edges of the desk, rattling the pots and vials there. "If I'd killed that abomination the moment I arrived..."

"You saved me," Charlie insisted. "There in the cave and here in this room. Don't ever imagine otherwise."

Sasha pulled a deep breath into his lungs, closing his eyes and nodding slightly, patronizingly, unwilling to argue. He bent his head and glared at the medicinal potions. "I meant every word I said back there," he whispered, the lack of volume dispelling none of the fervor of his words. "I love you more than my life. I would gladly die for you a hundred times over."

"You think talking so lightly of your death does anything to comfort me?" Charlie rasped, wishing he could grab Sasha by the shoulders and shake him. His tone had some effect, though, causing Sasha's head to jerk up and a confused look to settle on his face. "How do you think it made me feel to watch you risk yourself on my account? When you surrendered your wand to that creep, I wanted to kill you! Why didn't you wait for the rest of them to arrive before you ran in there like a bloody idiot?"

"This is what a partner does," Sasha cried, startled and defensive. "What every keeper knows is expected of him."

"And are we nothing more than colleagues or partners?" Charlie challenged him.

"Are you saying I should've let you die?" Sasha asked, barely restraining himself from snapping at his patient.

"How would you feel if the roles were reversed?" Charlie countered.

Both men regarded each other thoughtfully for several moments.

"This is a paradox," Sasha conceded.

Charlie nodded slowly, but his head ached in protest nonetheless.

"And we are at an impasse," Sasha said.

"It would seem so," Charlie agreed. He knew Sasha was thinking the same thing he was: life on the Ridgebit Reservation was full of risk, and neither man would ever voluntarily give up the careers they loved. Nor would either one admit to seriously reconsidering whether to ever activate their distress amulets again – not if it meant risking the other's life.

Tiredly, Sasha rubbed his eyes and face with his palms. "You're healing well," he said by way of changing the subject. "Headed toward a full recovery. Which means I'll not have to owl your mother about this, thank God for small favors."

Charlie smiled weakly at his joke, suppressing a shudder at the thought of Molly Weasley fussing over him, then yawned genuinely – the past hour of alertness had taken its toll, and he felt as exhausted as Sasha looked. "At least I got out of that bloody surprise party," he mumbled, closing his eyes.

Sasha's subsequent belly laugh felt like a tonic to Charlie's soul, and the brightness of it stayed with him as he drifted off into a deeply restful, healing slumber.

Author's note: a special thank you belongs to "Gray's Anatomy" (the book, not the TV show) and the incredible website motherherbs.com for Sasha's medical and herbalistic healing knowledge.