Page 83 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

There—there she was. Her face came back into focus, flushed and dirty and sweat-stained and—God, she’d been brave. She’d been so brave, and he’d let her get shot.

“Gabriel, please don’t move.”

Don’t move? No; he had to go find Giles. He had to make sure that man never darkened Thalia’s doorstep.

“Gabriel, you’re going to bleed out!”

Bleed out. The words felt empty in his swimming head, and Gabriel suddenly found himself lying across the ground, once more staring at the sky. Again–again, he tried to move his arm, only getting that terrible ache in his shoulder as a response. Someone tore his shirt open—something silver and in pieces scattered across his vision—someone pressed their hands against his aching, aching shoulder.

Bleed… out. Don’t… move?

“Ah,” he sighed, as if solving a particularly tricky problem. “I was the one shot. Th-Thank God.”

Unconsciousness claimed him soon after.

* * *

Not a single noise ever got past Gabriel Harding. The chatter among ladies whenever he approached them on the streets, the subtle exhale when, instead of confrontation, he walked straight past them.

The man was cursed with superb hearing, unexplained even after all these years by physicians. Overall, it was considered a non-problem; over time, it actually became quite the useful skill. That was, until the day Gabriel Harding was shot.

Consciousness was a slippery thing, especially when he wanted nothing more than to grasp it. He’d occasionally wake to Charlotte’s red and blotchy face, to a doctor inspecting the burning ache in his shoulder, or to Thalia, gently spoon-feeding whatever soup he could manage.

Thalia.

He wanted her to say something—anything—but all that left her mouth was a high-pitched ringing. It was ever-present, constantly at his heel and tearing at the inside of his mind. He could only escape it in his dreams, and after a while, that was all anything felt like; a dream. At times, he wondered if he’d already passed on, occasionally greeted by the sight of his father, delicately turning through the thick, scribbled pages ofPride and Prejudice.

He’d open his mouth to speak. And there would only be ringing in its place.

* * *

Thalia’s eyes fluttered open, back stiff from arching over Gabriel’s bed for another night. She rose with a grimace, stretching her arms toward the ceiling as a tumbling breeze caught against her face. Her attention shifted toward the window, curtains tumbling from the springtime air, and she stood, hesitating, body still faintly twinging even now, after so many weeks had passed. She used the frame of Gabriel’s bed to maneuver across, eventually finding a rhythm to her steps before crossing the room on her own.

Another breeze caught her face, bringing with it the overwhelming scent of flowers. Every square inch of available surface within Gabriel’s room had been decorated in a number of bouquets, accompanying cards stacked neatly atop his writing desk. Save one, slightly out of line from the others, and Thalia’s hand gently moved to fix it, her gaze lingering on a small cloth covered in broken bits and parts of an old, silver pocket watch. She sighed lightly, folding the cloth over said pieces; it still hurt to think about what could have been, had that watch not been in his pocket.

She eventually made it to the window and latched it shut, feeling the room was plenty aired out. A sudden chill overtook her, and Thalia stiffly moved towards a coat jacket draped gingerly over the armrest of a chair, mud and blood stains having long-since been washed from the fabric.

She wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, inhaling the faint scent of earth, of smoke, of all the parts that made Gabriel up. “I think I’ve finally fixed it up,” she began softly, attention turning back to the bed as Gabriel quietly slept.

Thalia moved back towards the bedside, abandoning the chair and simply taking a seat along the side. “It’s not very well-done, I’m afraid. Madeline helped, but I wanted to do most of it myself.” She sighed, lifting her hand as it trembled faintly. “I still… dream about it, sometimes. Him, his arms around me, squeezing like barbed wire…” She paused, wiping a stray tear as her attention turned to him.

His expression was peaceful, cuts and bruises having long since faded from his face. And maybe, for a moment, she could have pretended it had all been some terrible dream. At least, until her eyes caught the cast securing his shoulder in place.

“He’s not entirely sure you’ll hear again.” Thalia paused, chuckling bitterly to herself as more tears fell. “The doctor, I mean. Honestly, I’d be happy if you just stayed awake for a few minutes longer.” She inhaled sharply, a sob escaping her lips. “I hate that th-the last thing you heard were those—those things, I said to him. About being forced to stay at your side, about Giles being my one and only.”

Thalia’s breath hitched, trembling hands taking Gabriel’s as they lay atop the blanket. “I can’t tell you that those were lies. Some foolish attempt to try and help you.” More sobbing laughter escaped, and she loosened one of her hands to try and wipe her face free. “Gracious—a-at least you would have the decency to propose properly to me. He never once did; man didn’t a have a r-romantic bone in his twisted body.”

She watched as Gabriel’s chest rose and fell beneath the blanket. Gently, she leaned across, brushing a wet kiss across his forehead. “You caught me, love. Now and always; you’ll always catch this little rabbit.”

A slight groan escaped Gabriel’s chest, and she felt her hand receive a gentle squeeze back. His mouth began to move, and Thalia’s breath hitched as she leaned in close, desperate to hear him. Suddenly, she broke down into weeping tears, arms grasping his torso as she threw herself across him, grabbing at whatever part she could.

“Th-Thalia?!” Footsteps followed soon after as the door flew open, Charlotte flanked by a handful of others all desperate to see what had caused such a distressing sound. A few men—Christian, Mr. Beaumont, Robin—-all swarmed around Thalia, gingerly lifting her off the now-groaning Gabriel as they helped to sit him upright.

“Thalia! You can’t just–” Christian’s voice stumbled to a halt, staring at a rather fierce glare from his now fully-conscious friend. “G-Gabriel?!”

Gabriel made a grimacing face.

“O-Oh–it’s too loud.” Sobbing laughter escaped Thalia’s throat, and she quickly covered her mouth, desperately trying to soften herself. “I—he’s alright, it—there’s too many people. Charlotte!”

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