Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

11: Morning Tragedy Port

Vincent awoke slowly, his eyes gently flickering open as he tried to adjust to the dim light of the cabin. He knew where he was. It was impossible to forget. The fire had kept them warm enough, though the flames had petered out in the early hours, and although that kept the worst of the chill from the cabin, it was by no means comfortable. The floor was hard and uneven, unforgiving even for the exhausted, and as Vincent forced himself into a sitting position he could feel the ache set into his bones.

Slowly, he twisted his neck from side to side, hoping to loosen stiff joints. His head was first angled towards the poorly boarded window, and he sighed at the sight of grey clouds lining the sky. His head swivelled to the other side, looking back into the cabin, and his gaze was instantly caught by the pair lying a few strides from him.

Mutt seemed overjoyed, even in sleep. Lying on his back, head tilted and mouth ajar with a small pink tongue poking from between his teeth, his bedraggled grey and black body rose and fell with every breath. As his unconscious twitching edged him across the floor, the arm around his middle was quick to pull him back in tightly. And each time, he let out a very un-dog-like sigh of contentment.

Thomas, for his part, was also oblivious to this dance. He was lying on his side, Mutt clutched to his chest, with his head pillowed by his free arm. His hair had dried as it fell, the ends curling tightly in random directions, but leaving his face relatively bare. He slept without a frown, a smile, or even an eyebrow quirk.

It was the first time Vincent had seen him look peaceful.

He looked beautiful.

Vincent blinked once, slowly, processing that thought. It was not untrue. By any standard, the man could be considered handsome. But there, sleeping, without a joke or a wall between them... It felt like the first time he was truly seeing Thomas.

As much as he hadn't expected the thought, there was a quivering feeling in his belly that was even more surprising. His hand floated to his abdomen, holding the unknown emotion in, as Thomas let out a low groan and stretched.

Vincent felt himself flush and rose quickly to collect his clothing.

The man on the floor let out a low curse after a moment.

"Who would have guessed that floorboards weren't as good for you as a downy mattress, eh?" he said, though mostly to himself. Absently, he patted Mutt's stomach, and the animal raised a sleepy head to smile toothily at him. By the time he turned his tousled head to Vincent, the other man had just pulled his shirt into place. "Good morning."

Vincent's stomach gave another kick, and he frowned. He issued one perfunctory nod, and then set about putting on his shoes. He felt Thomas' eyes follow him around the room.

"Did you manage to sleep?"

Vincent tugged a boot on, wincing at the still damp leather, and nodded again. There was a huff.

"I'd never have guessed you were such poor company in the mornings!"

Vincent stilled, one boot half-laced. Thomas was right; he was uncomfortable – confused – and being rude. He straightened slowly, swallowing down the emotions he couldn't name. Thomas was still sitting, his elbows propped on his knees as he absently scratched Mutt's head. His gaze was locked on Vincent, both brows raised.

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before the words came out. "Good morning, Thomas."

The other man's grin was instantaneous. "Now that's better."

.

Without food or other comforts to stall them, Vincent and Thomas made quick work of dressing, and were soon stepping out of the cabin into the overcast but otherwise much improved weather. Once again, they walked in companionable silence. Vincent was initially worried that the detour to the cabin had added even more time to their trip, but in the light of day they were able to avoid the worst of the mud and obstacles and made excellent time. In only twenty minutes, they were back at the Humphrey fence-line, and by Vincent's estimate only two hours from home.