Chapter Text
“Ah. Commander Vimes. Good afternoon.”
Vimes crossed the Oblong Office to stand in front of the large desk, and wondered how long it would take him to adjust to not being a captain anymore.
“Sir.”
Vetinari put down the paperwork he had been reading and peered at Vimes. “And how are you finding your new title, Commander?”
“The one Captain Carrot gave me, you mean, sir?” Vimes said, mildly.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I understand you, Commander. Only the patrician can bestow a knighthood and grant a promotion on such a scale. Or the king, of course. But I am assured that Captain Carrot is neither.”
“Oh? Assured by who…?”
There was a glint in Vetinari’s eye. “By Captain Carrot, of course.”
“Hmm.” Vimes narrowed his eyes. “I bet that was an interestin’ conversation. But still, I can recognise Carrot’s writing a mile off. The lad tries, but the abuse he puts those commas through is practically criminal.”
Vetinari sighed and stood, moving carefully, then walked over to the large window overlooking the city. He was limping, Vimes noted, but given that he had been shot only two days ago it was impressive that he was even up and about.
Impressive? Or bloody idiotic? he mused. But then Vetinari was presumably keen not to give anyone else an excuse to come after him, right now; one attempted coup was probably enough for this month.
“Never let it be said, Vimes, that I am the type of tyrant to ignore a good idea just because it wasn’t one of my own. I am nothing if not pragmatic.” Vetinari leaned slightly against the frame of the window, taking some of the weight off the injured leg.
Vimes frowned. “I knew it.”
“And, knowing it, is the outcome changed in any way?”
“Well, no. But -”
“But nothing, Vimes. The order is signed. Everyone who matters agrees it is a good decision. I have full confidence that you will excel in the role.” He turned slightly to fix Vimes with a stare. “I do not want to hear anything further about it. Is that clear?”
Vimes considered arguing, but he knew when he was beaten. Plus, they did need the extra men, and while Carrot was proving a bloody good captain already, he didn’t have the experience to run the new watch. “Fine. But remember you signed the damned letter, when I’ve upset someone important.”
Vetinari gave a sharp smile. “Of course, Commander.” He returned his gaze to the city below, and shifted uncomfortably. Vimes watched him try to keep a wince off his face.
“Should you be walking around on that leg yet, sir? It was a nasty wound.”
The patrician looked back at him, an eyebrow raised. “It seems your new position is already giving you a renewed sense of purpose, Vimes; unfortunately, that purpose appears to be challenging my decisions. Might I suggest you find an alternative? Swiftly?”
Vimes scowled. “Yes, sir.”
And then Vetinari turned to step away from the window, and made a small, pained noise. Vimes saw a startled expression cross his face as the leg started to buckle beneath him.
He darted forwards instinctively, then stopped dead as Vetinari threw him a look that could have halted a rampaging troll. The man had caught the window frame and managed to steady himself as the limb had given way, and now he leaned back against the wall and put his entire weight on his good leg. His eyes closed - clearly in pain - but then he set his jaw and opened them again. He looked back up at Vimes.
“I believe it is time for you to leave, Vimes.”
Vimes gaped at him. “What, and leave you like this? How are you planning to get back to your desk?”
“I will be fine. It will pass.” Vetinari was rapidly starting to look even paler than usual.
He did lose a lot of blood, two days ago…
And now, it seemed, he was losing a little more; Vimes watched as a couple of small red droplets appeared on the floor beneath the man.
“You’re bleeding, so I’m guessing you’ve ripped your stitches, and you look like you’re about to faint. So someone’s going to have to help you back to your chair and call the doctor.” He paused as Vetinari’s face darkened, then continued. “Or would you rather I fetched Drumknott? Because then two of us will have seen you like this.”
Vetinari didn’t respond, and Vimes watched as he tentatively tried to put his weight on the injured leg again. Vimes winced in anticipation, but then Vetinari grunted and admitted defeat.
“Fine,” he said. “You may assist me.”
Vimes approached cautiously. “You want me to chuck you over my shoulder, again?”
Vetinari gave him a withering look. “I don’t believe that will be necessary. Speed is not of the essence on this occasion.” He paused. “However. I suspect my chambers may be a more discreet destination.”
Vimes had reached him, and allowed Vetinari to sling a thin arm over his shoulders. He grabbed it with one hand and then snaked his other carefully around the man’s back, then Vetinari began to hobble slowly, resting most of his weight on Vimes.
They seemed to be heading directly for the opposite wall of the office.
“Er. Close, are they? Your chambers?” Vimes asked, hopefully.
“We will be taking a shortcut.”
“Through the wall…?”
“Yes.”
Vimes blinked. “Oh.”
They stopped in front of a tall drinks cabinet. “Kindly close your eyes, Commander.”
Vimes glanced sideways at him, but followed the instruction. After a few seconds he was aware of Vetinari using his free arm to do… something, and then there was a quiet swishing sound. Vimes felt cool air hit his face, and he opened his eyes again instinctively. The wall had swung inwards – drinks cabinet and all – and now a dim passageway lay before them.
“I bloody knew you had secret tunnels! Thought you said never to trust a ruler who put his faith in them?”
“The sentiment remains, Vimes. I did not have them constructed. But it would be a fool who didn’t make use of them when necessary.” Vetinari paused, then said, tightly, “In any event, could we discuss this later, perhaps?” Vimes felt him tense and shift uncomfortably.
“Right. Sorry. Off we go, then.”
The pair hobbled down the stone clad tunnel, their shoulders lightly brushing the damp walls in some of the narrower parts.
“Where do the other passages lead?” Vimes asked, as they reached a crossroads.
“Nowhere you need concern yourself with, Commander. Turn left.”
Vimes grunted. Vetinari was leaning on him more heavily by the second, and he was starting to sweat.
“Why would anyone even have a secret tunnel to a bedroom?” he asked, somewhat grumpily. “I mean, a handy escape route out the back for when the locals decide you’ve outstayed your welcome and turn up with the pitchforks, that I get, but this seems like a lot of effort to shave a few minutes off your walk home.”
Vetinari made an amused noise. “For discreet encounters, of course, Vimes.”
Vimes considered this for a second. “You’re telling me these are bloody sex tunnels?!”
“Eloquently put. Does that really surprise you?”
Vimes blinked sweat out of his eyes. “I mean, I suppose not. God knows we’ve had some deviant bastards in charge before. The job seems to attract a particular sort.” There was a vaguely pointed silence, during which Vimes' brain caught up with his tongue. “Um. Present company excepted, of course, sir.”
“Really? How kind. Thank you, Vimes.” Vetinari's tone was entirely inscrutable, and Vimes wisely decided not to continue the conversation. After another few minutes’ shuffling - now painfully silent - they came to a solid looking wall. Vetinari opened his mouth, but Vimes interrupted.
“Close my eyes; alright, I know.” He saw Vetinari smile slightly just before he screwed them closed.
And then they were in Vetinari’s bedchamber, although that was far too grand a word for what appeared to be, essentially, a large cupboard with a desk, chair and narrow bed in it. Behind them, the wall swung back into place soundlessly.
The sparse room reminded Vimes of his lodgings in Wixon’s Alley, and he found himself briefly infuriated. It seemed wrong that a man living in a palace should choose to live like this. It was almost an insult to everyone who lived like this because they had no damned choice.
But then, rumour was the man hardly ever slept, so why should he have an opulent room dedicated to an activity he had no interest in?
By the time these thoughts had run through his head, they had crossed the room and Vetinari had been heaved unceremoniously down onto the edge of the bed.
Vimes stepped away, stretching. “Right.” He looked around. “What now?”
Vetinari looked like he was thinking about it, and judging by the expression on his face he didn’t seem to like any of the potential options. Finally, he said, “I believe I may need further assistance, Commander. If you are willing.”
Vimes figured he couldn’t really say no, and shrugged awkwardly. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”
“I will need a bowl of hot water and several washcloths, and the medical kit from the cupboard beneath the sink, please, Vimes.” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room, and Vimes went and had a nose through the Tyrant of Ankh-Morpork’s bathroom.
As with the bedroom, nothing in there gave any indication of the personality of its owner; neutrally scented soap, plain white towels and a black hair comb were the only items on display. A single black toothbrush was laid carefully on a shelf in a cabinet above the sink, with a small pot of toothpaste beside it. On the next shelf up was a razor and shaving soap, presumably for goatee maintenance. Vimes stared at them for a minute, thinking, then closed the cabinet carefully.
The medical kit was in the cupboard beneath the sink, and it seemed far more well-stocked than might be expected in a normal household. He hauled it out, and then ran some hot water into a bowl he found beside the bathtub. Tucking a few cloths beneath his chin, he carefully carried the whole lot back into the bedroom, and nearly dropped it all when he realised Vetinari had taken his trousers off.
“Uh.”
Vetinari glanced up to where Vimes had frozen. At some point the patrician had also slipped out of his robe and was now sitting in just his black shirt and a pair of white cotton undergarments that went almost to his knees. The leg of one had been rolled up to reveal a large white bandage wrapped around the thigh. Bright red blood had soaked through the middle of it, and a few streaks had run down the length of his leg; Vimes found himself tracking one with his eyes, and then blinked and looked away as he realised he was staring.
“Thank you, Commander.” Vetinari still looked peaky. Vimes grunted an acknowledgement and then carried everything over and put it down on the bed beside the man. Vetinari started carefully unwrapping the soiled bandage while Vimes watched, grimacing slightly. Once it was removed, Vetinari looked around with distaste. “Pass the bin, will you, please?”
There was an empty wastepaper bin in the corner of the room, and Vimes grabbed it and put it down beside the man. Vetinari dropped the strip of fabric into it, and then the two men stared at the exposed wound, which was oozing blood slowly but steadily through a gap in the stitches.
“It looks bigger than I’d expected,” Vimes said, unthinkingly.
“They had difficulty removing the pellet.”
Vimes winced at the image. “Sounds painful.”
Vetinari shrugged. “Yes. But necessary for it to heal properly.”
They contemplated the injury in silence again, then Vetinari sighed and picked up one of the washcloths. He dipped it in the water and started to carefully clean the blood away from the wound. Vimes stood and watched awkwardly, wondering if he should offer to leave, but Vetinari didn’t seem to object to his continued presence, so he just lurked quietly in case he was needed again.
Vetinari finished up and then inspected the hole. “Three stitches should suffice.” He wiped his hands on a clean cloth and then opened the medical kit. There was a small bottle of alcohol inside, and he soaked another cloth with it and pressed it tightly to the wound, wincing. “Fish out the needle and thread, will you, Vimes?”
He saw Vimes’ face, then added, “Don’t look so concerned. I am not expecting you to do the sewing.”
Vimes frowned, but started rooting carefully through the kit box. “Good. I didn’t see anything about that in the new job description.”
“I’m amused you think you have a job description, Vimes. Your job is whatever I tell you it is, surely.” Vetinari gave the wound a final dab with the soaked cloth and then discarded that into the bin, too.
Vimes had found the sewing kit, and passed it over. “Should have bloody known. But my sewing’s worse than Sybil’s, so I don’t reckon it's worth asking me unless you want your legs stitched together.”
Vetinari gave a faint smile as he threaded the curved needle with a line of thread. “And how is married life…?”
Vimes blinked at the change of topic, and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you need to concentrate?” He gestured vaguely towards Vetinari’s leg. The patrician was now peering carefully down and holding the needle ready above it.
“On the contrary, Vimes; a distraction would be rather helpful. For the pain.”
For the pain. Of course. Not because you’re a nosy bastard.
He cleared his throat. “Fine. It’s going fine.”
Vetinari frowned in concentration, and pushed the needle into and through the skin. Vimes looked away, suddenly nauseous.
“‘Fine’…?”
Vimes stared at the wall. “Yes. I mean, it's good. Nice.” It was weird, is what he really wanted to say; he had barely managed to adjust to the idea of himself as being part of a couple, never mind that now he was a husband, which seemed to be a whole other manner of beast. But Sybil was being very patient with him while he figured it all out.
“A ringing endorsement of the institution, indeed, Commander.” Vetinari’s voice sounded tight. Vimes glanced cautiously down and saw him tying off the first stitch, then looked away again quickly.
“You never fancied it, sir?”
“Fancied what, Vimes?”
“Marriage.”
For a long moment there was no answer, then Vetinari said, “No.”
Vimes waited, but Vetinari obviously subscribed to the idea that ‘no’ was a complete sentence, and did not furnish any further explanation. Which, on reflection, was probably for the best. Vimes wandered over to the bedroom window, which had a similar view of the city as from the Oblong Office. There really was no escaping it for the man, he mused, but then he suspected that was how Vetinari preferred it.
From behind him he heard the smallest sigh of a breath being released, and he turned. Vetinari seemed to have finished, and was examining his handiwork. He put the needle down on the small bedside table and picked up a clean washcloth, dipping it into the still warm water and then giving the injury another delicate clean.
Vimes watched for a minute. “There’s still some blood on your ankle.”
“Ah.” Vetinari twisted slightly to look at the side of the extended leg, and then stretched down towards the red-brown drips. He pulled up short a few inches away, and tried to bend the leg in a way that allowed him to reach them. Vimes watched him wince as the muscle in the injured thigh tensed with the movement. Finally he gave up and sat back, and Vimes could see that he was sweating lightly.
“Here.” Vimes walked over before he had time to examine the impulse and took the cloth from the bemused patrician. Ignoring Vetinari’s expression, he dropped to his knees and started to scrub lightly at the dried blood trail on the man’s calf, holding the limb steady with his other hand and studiously ignoring the feeling in his belly while he did.
When the pale skin was clean, he sat back on his heels and looked up at Vetinari. The patrician was looking down at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Thank you, Commander.”
Vimes felt heat rise to his cheeks, and stood up quickly. “No problem. Can you, er, manage alright with the bandage…?”
The two men stared down at Vetinari’s exposed upper thigh, and appeared to give this some consideration before both tried to speak at once.
“I’m confident I will manage -”
“Actually, I need to be getting off -”
They stopped, and Vetinari gave a small cough. “Of course. I appreciate your assistance, Commander. Please send Drumknott along, on your way out.”
“Yes, sir.” He paused. “Um, you might want to put some pants back on, before I do?”
Vetinari looked at him flatly. “Thank you, Vimes. Insightful as ever.”
Vimes scowled, and headed for the door.
“Oh, Commander?”
He stopped and turned. “Yes, sir?”
“You may wish to leave the washcloth.”
“Ah.” Vimes frowned down at his hand, which was still holding the blood-streaked cloth. Ignoring Vetinari’s amused expression, he crossed swiftly back across the room and deposited it into the bin, then hurried out and closed the door firmly behind him.
He blinked in the corridor, trying to get his bearings, and then wandered off to find Drumknott.