Work Text:
Being Miss Chen’s apprentice had taught Chang Geng many lessons, and amongst those was the fact that a cure was frequently only the first step in recovery.
An injury could leave behind deep scars that never let a person forget the moment it had been inflicted, some illnesses survived as long as the patients did, and some aches did not fade even when the injured limb was lost, just the memory of past pain could make a person’s breath catch in response.
Knowing that was one thing, accepting that it would be true for himself was another.
There were moments since the curing of his Bone of Impurity that felt almost as difficult as the curse once had. For years, his mind had been balancing the weight of it, pushing against it to keep the madness out, and now that it was gone, he found himself stumbling every time he tried to remain steady.
There seemed to always be moments he couldn’t help but mistrust, always waiting to wake up, waiting for it to all go wrong first. Dreams with the Bone of Impurity had been rather like biting into the ripe flesh of a fruit, expecting sweetness, only to find yourself spitting out the rot that was hidden away underneath.
The threat of his life turning into such an illusion hovered too close for comfort, like a spectre that chased him through the night as he tried to run away. Even now, he could feel its cold touch against his back even as his mind tried to convince him the warmth and brightness in front of him was the sun. It seemed strange, unthinkable, that he could have earned the life he had, without paying any price for it.
Even sleep brought him no respite, only a fear of the darkness that most people seemed to call “rest.” He had never learned to lose consciousness quite like that, and couldn’t understand how to begin.
Daytime had demons of its own, waiting for him at the end of a difficult night.
Suspicion felt like a needle pricking into his heart, never letting him be at ease. It seemed impossible to tell where caution ended and the madness that had afflicted his father and brother took hold, or if it was a weed planted within his mind that was beginning to grow once more. Even emperors who weren’t cursed managed to isolate themselves, and that was a madness that might have consumed him if his own dream had ever been to rule. It wasn’t.
His dream had always been Gu Yun, and even there he was constantly afraid he might hold on a little too tightly to a person who had never appreciated such constraints.
And then there were moments of rage where he wondered if he had ever been cured at all, moments where the urge to break or destroy something felt a little too familiar. Anger, in particular, had always been an emotion to be feared.
“Don’t suppress yourself so much.” Gu Yun had once said to him, “It’s alright to feel like that, everyone does.”
But he didn’t know what everyone else did, and the fact that a long-dead barbarian woman might have stolen away his peace for all his life, whether or not he could find a cure only served to enrage him more. The fears and frustration in his mind left barely any space for anything further sometimes, tainting even the moments he should have cherished most.
It had been Gu Yun who insisted on not letting him work every day of the week until he had finally decided to take a day away. And it had been Gu Yun who took one look at his unhappy expression and cut his apologies off with a light laugh.
“You don’t have to spend that day with me, silly. Go to your precious bald donkeys and take your sitting-upright naps, just get away from the things that bother that busy little brain of yours!”
He had tapped gently at Chang Geng’s temple as he said it, his eyes crinkled at the corners as his face softened into a fond smile.
And all Chang Geng could do was defend the act of meditation while he tried to hold himself together, even as a wave of adoration for the man in front of him threatened to submerge him.
And perhaps the worst part of it came from that. It was not only him suffering from the past; that at least would have been acceptable. Even Gu Yun seemed haunted by phantoms that only he knew, and all Chang Geng could do was thank his sleepless nights for letting him guard the person he loved.
Gu Yun, a man who could fall asleep against smoking cannons on a battlefield, had in peacetime lost that ease. Even the slightest of vibrations in the air, imperceptible to anyone else, would find him reaching for his windslasher as he rolled himself over to shield Chang Geng.
Many were the times that he had woken up to Gu Yun’s weight over him as his Yifu aimed some weapon or other in the direction of the movement. Usually, it was a bird, occasionally the guards outside changed their rotation, and sometimes even the flutter of curtains could disturb him, strangely amplified and distorted through the haze of sleep.
Gu Yun would always apologise and attempt to coax him back to sleep on those occasions, but beneath the light teasing and the pretty words, Chang Geng could hear the strain in his voice. To his shame and horror, for just those rare moments, with Gu Yun pressing down against him, he felt strangely weightless, as though a catch had been released and everything that weighed him down was forced to let go.
What right did he have to find comfort when Gu Yun was hurting?
It was on just such a night that Gu Yun started awake with a gasp and barely stopped himself from rolling over to act as a shield. It was a thoughtful act he need not have bothered with, Chang Geng was also awake and slightly disappointed at the lost opportunity.
Gu Yun turned over to his side and blinked at him, his chest still heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Chang Geng stared back, unsure of what to say now that they had both caught each other in this moment, confronted by something they had treated as illicit for months, barely acknowledged for the sake of maintaining that longed-for illusion of peace.
“You’re here.” Gu Yun said, presumably before his mind caught up with his mouth.
His hand was resting in the space between them, and Chang Geng caught it up, squeezing gently.
“I would never go anywhere.” He said.
Gu Yun must have woken up entirely, since he was already pushing away that moment of vulnerability, one where he had for an instant allowed Chang Geng a glimpse into whatever terror robbed him of sleep and had him fighting the shadows through the night.
“Your adhesive properties are unmatched, brat.” He said, sounding almost teasing.
And then, as though emboldened by the dark, he added, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
After the combined influence of needles, medicines and poisons, Gu Yun’s hands and feet never seemed to grow warm, something that Chang Geng had never been able to stop trying to change. Almost by habit, he enclosed Gu Yun’s hand in both of his, rubbing carefully to bring some warmth back to the skin.
“Can’t sleep either?” Gu Yun asked.
Chang Geng closed his eyes, letting himself focus on the sound of Gu Yun’s voice. As always, it helped.
Gu Yun’s presence helped. From the cool touch of his skin against Chang Geng’s palms to the mingled scent of medicine and tranquilliser that he carried with him, to the gravelly sound of his voice. These were all little talismans Chang Geng had held carefully in his heart, always enough to ward off the worst of the terrors thrown at him.
Everything about Gu Yun brought with it the promise of safety, as much as it gave him something to keep safe in turn.
He had asked a seemingly simple question, but Gu Yun seemed to understand that answering it was not as easy. He did not press, letting Chang Geng take the time to work through his mind, but he did slip his other hand up between Chang Geng’s.
Chang Geng couldn’t stop a small smile at that, and he leaned down to kiss the knuckles of each, barely escaping the flick Gu Yun tried to aim at his forehead in retaliation.
After so long spent in thought, all he could come up with was, “I can not sleep either.”
It was the first time he had said the words aloud since the Bone of Impurity was cured, and the words felt like an admission of his failure. The people he loved had all risked their lives to bring him a cure, and they had succeeded, then why could he not keep up his end of the bargain?
Caught up in that self-blame, he nearly missed Gu Yun’s whispered question.
“How can I help?“
Do you still want to? Chang Geng wanted to ask, and then did not.
There was something insulting about the idea that Gu Yun, a man who had nearly impoverished his estate to look after the widows and orphans of his soldiers, who gave up his own power to raise his best friend’s rank, and who even in his sleep tried to shield Chang Geng with his body, would not want to help him.
He wished he could have blamed such a question on the Bone of Impurity, and then wondered if that might even be true.
“Chang Geng?” Gu Yun said, prompting.
He could feel the prickle of guilt in his chest, growing ever more persistent. If he had to lie awake at night, it was nothing unusual— he could do so. But did he have to force Gu Yun to indulge him as well?
“Just ask, it will be alright.” Gu Yun said, still insistent, “At worst, I will say no.”
“Could you come closer?” Chang Geng asked.
He expected Gu Yun to give him that usual exasperated look he did, whenever Chang Geng acted “shameless” or “spoilt” in his opinion. Surprisingly, Gu Yun did not protest. He shuffled closer, lessening the distance between them, and then looked expectantly up at Chang Geng.
“Closer.” Chang Geng insisted, feeling his ears burn a little.
Another shuffle, until the space between them was barely enough for their joint hands.
Chang Geng bit his lip. Unconsciously, his hands held Gu Yun’s just a little tighter.
“More?” Gu Yun suggested.
His face was still free of that usually endearing and amusing look of exasperation; Chang Geng could not help but marvel at that. It made him believe what he wanted might not be such a great demand. Just that note of coaxing in Gu Yun’s voice would have made Chang Geng agree to anything at all, how could he refuse now?
Gu Yun was one person he never had to hide from.
He turned so he was lying on his back, his arms stretched to one side so he didn’t break the hold. And then said, “Yifu, could you lie over me for a moment?”
“Wouldn’t that hurt you?” Gu Yun asked.
Chang Geng was not sure how to respond. The reason he wanted to try only for a single moment was that he wanted to be sure it wouldn’t hurt Gu Yun. For him, pain was an almost unavoidable part of fighting the Bone of Impurity.
“You would never hurt me.” He said finally, and that much at least was true.
Gu Yun who had spent years bearing and inflicting pain as he used his own body as a shield for his nation would never otherwise willfully hurt anyone, least of all Chang Geng. In any case, there could be no hurt in anything Gu Yun did to him, though such an intention from his Yifu might still break his heart.
But mentioning that last fact might just earn him a long lecture on one of Gu Yun’s pet subjects, and as much as Chang Geng loved the sound of his Yifu’s voice, he could do without the scolding.
Gu Yun still looked dubious and Chang Geng added: “You are quite light.”
Unfortunately, that was stating a rather obvious fact. Gu Yun’s recent injuries from the battle in Jiangbei had still not completely healed, and all the years of hard living had also taken their toll. There were times when he could stand in a breeze in his thin robes and look almost like a pale ghost that might be blown away with a too strong gust.
In moments like that, Chang Geng would rush out with warm robes, a weight to anchor Gu Yun back to earth, something heavy to hold him down. His scolding would be as much out of fear for his Yifu’s health as it was an expression of fear at the sight of him. Sometimes Chang Geng needled him until he grew flushed with anger, or other times, he kissed him until the colour returned to his cheeks.
Gu Yun seemed to have noticed the souring of his mood and took the opportunity to nudge him with a bony elbow, illustratively. “All the more bones to poke you with.” He teased.
Chang Geng sighed, perhaps he had asked for something strange. He began to turn over again, facing away from Gu Yun just to hide whatever his expression might reveal in the dark, but a hand held his shoulder down.
“Stop wriggling around,” Gu Yun said in a quiet voice, “You’re getting in the way.”
He carefully laid his hand over Chang Geng’s arm, and pressed down a little, until moving that arm might not be possible without using force. Then he shifted in closer, holding Chang Geng from one side the way he so often did during the nights. Usually, it was enough, and Chang Geng tried to make it enough that night as well, just so he could stop his ridiculous demands and let his Yifu sleep.
He made himself focus on the weight of the arm across his chest, the bitter medicinal scent that seemed to never leave Gu Yun, each breath he took made the arm over his chest move with it.
But then Gu Yun made a small sound of discontent by his side, a little muttered “This won’t work”, making Chang Geng’s heart sink. He kept his eyes closed as the arm moved away, leaving him even more lightheaded than before. He felt the way Gu Yun began to rise, and then to his surprise, Gu Yun moved to straddle his waist.
Chang Geng barely held back a squeal of surprise, and he could see Gu Yun had noticed just how familiar that position was.
“Behave.” Gu Yun said.
Contrary to his words, his weight shifted backwards, tantalising, and Chang Geng bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yifu, don’t tease.”
This close to Gu Yun, reciting Sutras would have been no use, his mind torn between sheer want that frequently bled into need, and a reminder that true happiness lay only in the renunciation of all desire. All Chang Geng could do was let his senses focus on Gu Yun, his alternate to meditation.
It was usually not a difficult task with the way his entire being seemed to turn to Gu Yun’s warmth and brilliance like a flower following the sun. And slowly, he found he could appreciate Gu Yun’s presence, rather than where Gu Yun chose to place himself.
He opened his eyes to find his yifu staring thoughtfully down at him, and gave a slight nod. With a roll of his eyes, Gu Yun cautiously began to lower his body to cover Chang Geng’s, carefully watching his face for any signs of discomfort in case the weight finally got too much.
That caution changed to sheer exasperation when Chang Geng finally caught his breath back and asked “Yifu am I hurting you?”
“I think a better question is: Am I hurting you?” Gu Yun countered.
It seemed almost laughable to ask that when for the first time in a long while, everything felt just right.
The more that Gu Yun’s weight settled on him, the more it felt as though he could catch his breath. He felt like a kite blown away by a chaotic gale might, if someone could finally catch hold of the string and pull it back down to safety. He tried to take a deep breath and was slightly distressed to find Gu Yun light enough that he could.
Above him, Gu Yun braced himself as though to get up, and Chang Geng’s arm instinctively wrapped around him to hold him in place.
“I am alright.” He said, offering Gu Yun a small smile.
Both his arms slid around Gu Yun’s waist, hands carefully running down his neck, over his shoulders, checking to see if his muscles remained tense in an effort to hold himself up and away.
They didn’t seem to have, though Chang Geng was never given much of a chance to conduct a thorough enough check. Gu Yun grabbed his hands and placed them on the pillow on either side of his head, perhaps more to halt his ticklish poking and prodding than any further attempt to ground him. In response, Chang Geng felt himself melt a little more into the mattress.
With Gu Yun as an anchor, he no longer felt unmoored or unsteady. And lying in bed the way they were, the slight difference in their heights didn’t seem to matter as much, it felt as though he really was a teenage boy from a small village again, in awe of Marshal Gu, towered over by his little yifu, capable of being completely engulfed in his embraces and kept safe there.
Gu Yun had turned himself into a wall and let countless tall waves or strong storms lash against him, never faltering in the least. He had protected an entire nation for decades, and he knew just how to make a person feel safe.
Gu Yun’s thumb began to gently stroke over the pulse point on Chang Geng’s wrist, slow and steady, until his heart seemed to calm to match the same pace.
With his other hand, Gu Yun reached out to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and then tucked it behind his ear. Chang Geng caught his hand before he could retreat and flattened the palm over his ear, letting his eyes fall shut as the world grew a little quieter on the outside.
A moment later, he felt Gu Yun’s lips brush against his forehead, Gu Yun’s palm still covered his ear, but his thumb stroked his cheekbone, just under his eye.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” Gu Yun told him, “I can watch over you.”
Chang Geng wanted to protest, but couldn’t bring himself to, he felt too at peace to argue. And Gu Yun’s “You’re here.” rang in his mind. A strange notion came to him, that perhaps Gu Yun needed to hold him securely in place every bit as much as he needed to be held.
Gu Yun’s task to weigh him down like a human blanket did not end that night and did not always need a nightmare as an excuse. Instead, it became something of a habit, though they did not always lie chest to chest the way they had that first time.
Some nights Gu Yun draped himself over Chang Geng’s back, utterly immobilising him even as his restless hands were free to wander as they wished to. Sometimes Chang Geng permitted it. Other times, he liked the stillness too much, and on those nights, Gu Yun contented himself with tucking his face into the crook of Chang Geng’s neck, trying to burrow in, until his mattress served a second purpose as a heat source.
And then there were nights when Chang Geng sat with Gu Yun wrapped in his arms, his yifu’s back against his chest; it was a position ideally suited to longer conversations where he could speak into Gu Yun’s ear. Ultimately, he would insist on lying down in the same way.
“Yifu can pretend I am not here.” he had once suggested, only to receive a thoroughly unimpressed look over Gu Yun’s shoulder and a grumpy request to know where the fun was in pretending one was lying alone staring at the ceiling.
On one occasion Gu Yun had been performing his duty as a royal blanket, one hand absently kneading Chang Geng’s shoulder when he mused “If the court stresses your Majesty so much, perhaps I should simply take to sitting on your lap on the throne as you work.”
“Is yifu offering?” Chang Geng had asked, injecting his voice with just the right amount of hopefulness.
Gu Yun was never any proof against that particular note in his voice, and they had ended up making love on the throne once Tai Shi’s court ended. The very next day after that, an unusually flustered Marshal Gu had requested leave to inspect the Northern Camp barracks and did not attend court for an entire week.
Chang Geng missed Gu Yun every moment of every day during that time, and yet a part of him was glad for the respite, unsure if either of them could have faced the other in the main audience chamber without reliving what they had done. It had still been worth it, and would still be worth a second or third repeat.
Gu Yun managed to return from his three-day inspection in just two nights, making his formal report in what was to be officially described as a private audience with his Majesty.
That private audience had gone something like this: under great protest that he was led into a warm medicinal bath (“Stewing me with so many herbs, you quack. I would be unpalatable even to me if I got served as soup.”), fed what Chang Geng considered a nourishing meal (“I had not been asking for that unpalatable soup, you brat. and If your Majesty wishes to feed grass to a horse, the stables are that way.”), carefully laid out to be subjected to a massage (“Are you the emperor or just the imperial kitchen’s meat tenderiser?”) until his muscles were deemed suitably relaxed (“I was not aware dragons immobilised their prey like common snakes.”)
In all of Marshal Gu’s illustrious and outspoken career, he had perhaps never argued with his sovereign ruler the way he did with this one.
Chang Geng did not mind the protests, half-hearted as they seemed to be these days. At times, it felt as though Gu Yun might be attempting to make up for a lifetime of uncomplainingly putting himself last by complaining excessively about someone else putting him first.
After all, there was no place in a general’s, in Gu Yun’s opinion of himself a weapon’s, life for being pampered or looked after, and Gu Yun might have chosen to spend a year back in an arid wasteland rather than admitting that he enjoyed it.
Perhaps, with anyone else, he might not have hesitated, but with his godson, with his emperor, his duties mattered even more to him. Perhaps the Gu family was truly cursed, its last descendant destined to always be at war, even if it was with himself. For now, the battles were between how much Chang Geng wanted to give and how much Gu Yun felt it was acceptable for him to take.
Sometimes, however, perhaps even for the first time in his life, it felt as though Marshal Gu showed signs of wanting to surrender.
Immobilised or not, Gu Yun finally gained the strength to shuffle over until he was once again lying on top of Chang Geng. As much as Chang Geng loved the feel of Gu Yun on him, anchoring him, he had begun to suspect Gu Yun enjoyed treating him as a warmer and softer alternative to their mattress as well. His yifu had always possessed an almost catlike tendency to seek out high perches to balance himself on- the more precarious, the better.
Chang Geng realised Gu Yun’s presence back in their home, back in their bed, felt more real with the familiar weight on top of him, and the familiar scent filling every breath. Gu Yun’s sharp eyes watched him come to that realisation, seemingly able to perceive far more than his limited vision might allow.
Not for the first time, he let his eyes drink in the sight of Gu Yun, the changes the past years had brought more apparent after their separation.
He was too used to seeing Gu Yun ride away, his future uncertain despite all the ways Chang Geng tried to make their nation safe for him, and then returning home battered and bruised and stubbornly hiding it. There was always a part of him that wondered if their current life was a dream, and feared the state Gu Yun would be in when they next met.
And then Gu Yun would return to the manor, his steps quick almost as though he were on the verge of running back to Chang Geng, and the smile on his face radiant enough to light the darkest of rooms.
It was an image that was slowly imprinting itself into Chang Geng’s mind: a proud general, standing at the door, dark armour gilded by the sunlight behind him. To Chang Geng, he was the sun, and he was always breathtaking.
Something about his return always seemed to turn Chang Geng back into the lovestruck young man he had once been. Papers that held the fate of an entire nation ready to be written into them were forgotten, fluttering to the floor like leaves in autumn as he rushed to greet Gu Yun. And all Gu Yun could do was laugh with joy and raise his arms to catch him, seemingly always strong enough to lift him.
Chang Geng would laugh and scold him, and secretly in his heart look for every opportunity he could to let Gu Yun carry him. He cherished every reminder of Gu Yun’s resilience in the face of all the hardships life had thrown him.
Eating coarse sand and drinking wind might have been enough for Gu Yun to survive, but no one could have thrived on such a diet. For years, Chang Geng had found himself fretting over the way meals seemed to have fallen hopelessly low on Marshal Gu’s list of priorities, surviving and not dying naturally having taken precedence.
The first time he had seen Gu Yun, after nearly five years, he had been able to convince himself it was only the passing of youth that made the planes of his beautiful face look sharper, every feature more clearly delineated. The flower of the northwestern camp still bloomed as beautiful as ever.
And then time raced on, and the wear had shown even on Gu Yun. Spring had long since given way to winter, and his Yifu stood like the lightning-struck tree he had written to Chang Geng about, alone and austere, with only a promise of life within him.
He had still been beautiful to Chang Geng, the sight of his face a precious gift simply because it was him, but he had also been fading away before Chang Geng’s eyes. His face seemed to lose a little more of its brightness, his mouth seemingly paler, and his cheeks grew just a little bit gaunter each time they met. Even his skills at pretending he could see and hear well were undercut by fatigue, until the slowly diminishing efficacy of his medicine became inescapable. Yet, he drank it down each time, cheerfully poisoning himself for a taste of something everyone else took for granted, hurtling towards that cliff’s edge beyond which lay only darkness and silence.
And all Chang Geng could do was hold him as tightly as he was able to, until Gu Yun had to leave again, hoping his Yifu would not completely waste away before the next time they met.
The war was long since over. And Gu Yun had made it back home, made it possible for Chang Geng to care for and keep him safe. The lightning-struck tree had shed the snow that covered it and was already giving out new buds.
With his cheeks slowly filling out, his face taking on brighter colour again, Gu Yun looked years younger than he had in the past. With his youthful enthusiasm, and occasionally equally juvenile humour, he felt and looked almost like the Shen Shiliu of old, that improper and infuriating little yifu Chang Geng had already loved so much.
Even his weight over Chang Geng felt more substantial, it made him feel real and steady, let Chang Geng believe he had really succeeded in giving Gu Yun the health and security he always wanted to.
And so, when Gu Yun commented on the comfortable familiarity of their pose, Chang Geng couldn’t help but tease, “There is one difference, Zi Xi. I can no longer feel your ribs stabbing into me.”
For once, he had the pleasure of seeing his Yifu rendered utterly speechless. Gu Yun opened his mouth, shut it again, and then tried to speak without success for a second time.
“I have truly raised a white-eyed wolf.” He mourned finally, letting his face drop despondently onto Chang Geng’s shoulder.
“Zi Xi…” Chang Geng began and then paused, unsure what he was meant to be protesting against. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He tried.
The mumble that emerged from his chest could have been anything from Gu Yun acknowledging that he was “The Most Beautiful” to Gu Yun cursing him some more.
“It’s better this way.” Chang Geng tried next, “It always worried me when you were just flesh and bone.”
Gu Yun’s head came up a little, one eye opened and stared balefully at him, before he finally raised his head, “Quack doctor, do you ever do anything that isn’t intended to check my health?”
Chang Geng’s hands had been tracing carefully down his spine, as though hoping to catch a wayward vertebra or misbehaving muscle in mischief. At this his hands froze, almost guiltily, Gu Yun looked as though he might be holding back a smile.
“I don’t have to lie here, your Majesty.” He said with dignity, “Move your arm and I will spare you my ribs and my burden.”
In response, Chang Geng’s hands slipped down to his waist, fingers meeting in the middle the way they always did. “I like your burden, Zi Xi.” He said seriously.
There was a sigh, and Gu Yun seemed to deflate again. “It seems I am being fattened up like a calf before it gets eaten,” he announced.
Chang Geng raised one of Gu Yun’s hands to his mouth, and bit a fingertip gently, watching his yifu’s eyes darken in response. “I could eat you.” He agreed, dropping a little kiss over the faint indent of teeth.
Gu Yun stared at their joined hands for a moment, long enough for Chang Geng to pop another finger in his mouth and suck, before he moved, carefully making his way up so their faces were level.
Chang Geng let go of the finger, raising his face up the same time Gu Yun lowered his, and they were finally kissing again… until Gu Yun pulled back to stifle a great yawn against the back of his hand, blinking down at Chang Geng through watery eyes.
“The spirit was willing,” He muttered, “But my flesh has staged a rebellion.”
Chang Geng smiled fondly and brushed a few strands of hair behind Gu Yun’s ear. He then carefully turned to the side, and tipped Gu Yun over next to him.
“Let your body rest, then.” He said, “and if that means sleeping on a flat mattress. I’m alright.”
“My body is fine. You just told me.” Gu Yun retorted, already fighting off another yawn.
“I will hold you to that in the morning then?” Chang Geng suggested.
At Gu Yun’s nod, he turned himself away, carefully shifting until he could mould his body to Gu Yun’s, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms despite their difference in height.
“Sleep well.” Gu Yun mumbled.
It was clear he had used up all his consciousness on their little nighttime ritual.
Chang Geng rubbed his thumb over the cool hand he held against his chest and said softly, “Sleep well.”
Neither of their nightmares were completely gone, but nights when they said that in vain seemed to grow fewer and farther between. It was unlikely either of them would return to consciousness before the assignation made for the morning.