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brigdhTitle: In Our House
Ratings/Warnings: G
Fandom: The Benjamin January mysteries by Barbara Hambly
Pairings: Ben/Rose/Hannibal
Notes: The other fic that sucked up all my time last month! This was also written for curtana for the Seeing Color exchange.
Summary: A missing scene from Benjamin's homecoming. (Set right after the closing scene of The Shirt on His Back.)
1526 words. Also available on AO3.
In Our House
January had been glad to have so many of his friends and family present to welcome him home on his return, but he was even more grateful when they finally left. It was dark now, and quiet. The tumult of earlier, with all of its anticipation and joy and cheerful chaos, had gradually settled down until he was left with just this: Rose half-asleep beside him, his infant son in his arms. January sat on the bed next to her, his back propped against the headboard. Unlike her, he was still dressed, though he seemed to have taken off his jacket at some point; he was sure he’d been wearing one when he arrived, but wasn’t now.
There was a soft sound by the door, and Rose stirred to look over her shoulder. January had no sense of the time, but it must have been late because most of the candles in the house were out. In the dark, the figure in the doorway was only a shadow, but he recognized the thin and rumpled silhouette as Hannibal’s. “If there’s nothing else you need,” he said, his voice hushed out of respect for the sleeping members of the household, “I’m going upstairs and to bed.”
“Upstairs?” Rose asked. “You’re not staying here with us? I’ve barely spoken to you.”
“Shaw’s sleeping in the attic; he’s sure to notice if I don’t join him. Not to mention Olympe decided to stay as well, in case she was needed. She’s in the room across – “
“Just for a little while, then.” January cut across Hannibal’s explanations. He felt distant, slow; he was tired and overwhelmed by too many emotions already in this day – good ones, luckily, but still an unnecessary number of them – but even in the dark he could discern a longing in Rose’s expression and the same emotion better hidden but no less present in Hannibal. It struck him as wrong to deny any show of love on this day. He was holding his son, and that still seemed impossible. Discretion could wait until tomorrow.
“I’ll fall asleep,” Hannibal said, but his voice was softly amused rather than protesting, and he stepped closer to the bed as he spoke.
Rose reached up to catch his hands and pull him down onto the pillow beside her. “We’ll wake you up.”
They kissed softly, a kiss without any particular passion or urgency to it but a great deal of tenderness. Afterward Hannibal stretched out beside her, an arm around her waist and his knees bent to keep his boots off the clean sheets. "Hail stranger," he murmured. "Thou shalt tell of what thou hast need." January watched them, feeling no need to speak. Then his son – Baby John – stirred in his arms, and he tensed in preparation, ready to stand or adjust or do anything his child might need. But he quieted again without further fuss, whatever dream or discomfort that had disturbed him disappearing without a trace.
“Olympe and Paul brought a cradle, you know,” Rose said, watching him with amusement when he finally looked up.
“I know,” January said, and made no move to get it.
She laughed, then turned to Hannibal. “Would you like to hold the baby?”
He shook his head. “I leave that to those more capable than I. Besides, I’m not certain that your husband would give him up, even to so cherished a friend as I like to think that I am.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rose said, but January leaned away and pretended to shield Baby John as he mock-growled, “He’s right.”
“See?” Hannibal said. “Six months in the company of grizzly bears and he’s lost all of his former civility.”
Rose was silent for a moment, studying Hannibal. She lifted a hand to gently touch the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, then let it fall again. “The time seems to have done you some good, though. You look better than you did in the spring.” She was right. Hannibal was thin and tired-looking from the rigors of travel, but there was animation in his voice and eyes, and his smile no longer gave January the impression of witnessing a lie.
“And you are a vision of perfection, as always. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night. I’m glad to see it. I admit that some of Benjamin’s worry rubbed off on me.”
“Really?” January asked in surprise. “You never said.”
“It would have just encouraged you, and you were bad enough as it was.” Hannibal smiled up at him from across Rose’s shoulder.
January could have protested, but he knew the truth of that statement all too well. The entire six months of the trip seemed, in retrospect, to have been spent in an agony of worry for Rose, punctuated only by moments of greater or lesser intensity. And now she was by his side, healthy and safe and comfortably settled in their own bed in their big Spanish house, and he could almost laugh at his former fears.
Almost, but not quite. Not enough to disregard how infinitely precious it was to be here, alive on this rare jewel of a night.
Rose.
Baby John – who had not even existed a year ago, who had been the barest spark of possibility when January left New Orleans, and who was an entire person now, a life new-made, miraculous even if it happened every day. January stroked Baby John’s cheek and marveled at the softness of his skin, that any human could be so small. The pad of January’s thumb was bigger than Baby John’s whole fist, which was currently curled up and thrust into his half-open mouth. Baby John frowned at January’s touch, but his face quickly smoothed again when January made himself stop bothering the child.
Even Hannibal’s presence was wonderful, for all that January hadn’t just endured a half-year of separation from him. January might not have had to worry that he would be unaware and far away when Hannibal was felled by disease or burglars or any of the potential calamities of this world, but neither had there been many moments like this on the trip, particularly on the last, most recent leg. There was little privacy on the decks of a steamboat, even if Hannibal and Shaw hadn’t slept on the opposite end of the boat with the other whites. He had missed the easy contentment of Hannibal’s body against his, the open joy of his kisses. Even his skinniness and the too-present press of his bones beneath his skin were transformed into a pleasure by January’s memory, simply because they were a part of him.
“He does worry, doesn’t he?” Rose said fondly, drawing back January’s attention.
“Would you prefer a husband who didn’t?” he asked.
She reached out for him and, finding his hands wholly occupied with Baby John, took hold of his forearm instead, squeezing him reassuringly. “I would prefer no other husband at all.”
None of them had anything to add to that, and for a time quiet reigned. January drifted, though he didn’t let himself fall entirely asleep. Hannibal would eventually have to be sent away, and Baby John needed to be set down somewhere safe. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when Hannibal sat up the movement startled January back into awareness, and he jerked his head up from where it had fallen against his chest.
Hannibal’s eyes were bright as he watched him, but he refrained from laughing. “And the both of you promised not to let me fall asleep,” he said, voice even softer than it had been before. “Rose is out too.”
“She must be exhausted,” January said defensively. He looked down at Rose, her braids spread out in a tousled arc across the pillow, her body curled slightly toward him like a comma. Her face was relaxed in sleep, and if she dreamed, neither tension nor pleasure showed in her expression.
“As am I, and so I will depart before we’re all sound asleep and Shaw is forced to arrest me for adultery in the morning."
"You wouldn't be arrested. Fined, perhaps, if I demanded it, but what good would that do?"
"None at all. Good night, amicus meus.”
“Good night, Hannibal.”
After he was gone, January finally stirred from his side of the bed. He found the cradle that had been loaned to them and pulled it into a position where he would be able to see the sleeping Baby John even while he himself was lying down, and only then placed his son within. January undressed and climbed back into bed, this time beneath the sheets. The movement must have woken Rose, because she turned toward him, soft and warm in the darkness. January bent his head to her neck and breathed in deeply of her scent: the sweet grass of her chamomile tea, a sharp tang of ink, the earthier notes of blood and sweat from the events earlier in the evening. She put her arm around her shoulders and held him to her.
January didn’t remember falling asleep.
***
Hannibal Citations:
Hail, stranger; in our house thou shalt find entertainment and then, when thou hast tasted food, thou shalt tell of what thou hast need.
– Odyssey, 1:124.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night.
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
– Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene 5
Ratings/Warnings: G
Fandom: The Benjamin January mysteries by Barbara Hambly
Pairings: Ben/Rose/Hannibal
Notes: The other fic that sucked up all my time last month! This was also written for curtana for the Seeing Color exchange.
Summary: A missing scene from Benjamin's homecoming. (Set right after the closing scene of The Shirt on His Back.)
1526 words. Also available on AO3.
In Our House
January had been glad to have so many of his friends and family present to welcome him home on his return, but he was even more grateful when they finally left. It was dark now, and quiet. The tumult of earlier, with all of its anticipation and joy and cheerful chaos, had gradually settled down until he was left with just this: Rose half-asleep beside him, his infant son in his arms. January sat on the bed next to her, his back propped against the headboard. Unlike her, he was still dressed, though he seemed to have taken off his jacket at some point; he was sure he’d been wearing one when he arrived, but wasn’t now.
There was a soft sound by the door, and Rose stirred to look over her shoulder. January had no sense of the time, but it must have been late because most of the candles in the house were out. In the dark, the figure in the doorway was only a shadow, but he recognized the thin and rumpled silhouette as Hannibal’s. “If there’s nothing else you need,” he said, his voice hushed out of respect for the sleeping members of the household, “I’m going upstairs and to bed.”
“Upstairs?” Rose asked. “You’re not staying here with us? I’ve barely spoken to you.”
“Shaw’s sleeping in the attic; he’s sure to notice if I don’t join him. Not to mention Olympe decided to stay as well, in case she was needed. She’s in the room across – “
“Just for a little while, then.” January cut across Hannibal’s explanations. He felt distant, slow; he was tired and overwhelmed by too many emotions already in this day – good ones, luckily, but still an unnecessary number of them – but even in the dark he could discern a longing in Rose’s expression and the same emotion better hidden but no less present in Hannibal. It struck him as wrong to deny any show of love on this day. He was holding his son, and that still seemed impossible. Discretion could wait until tomorrow.
“I’ll fall asleep,” Hannibal said, but his voice was softly amused rather than protesting, and he stepped closer to the bed as he spoke.
Rose reached up to catch his hands and pull him down onto the pillow beside her. “We’ll wake you up.”
They kissed softly, a kiss without any particular passion or urgency to it but a great deal of tenderness. Afterward Hannibal stretched out beside her, an arm around her waist and his knees bent to keep his boots off the clean sheets. "Hail stranger," he murmured. "Thou shalt tell of what thou hast need." January watched them, feeling no need to speak. Then his son – Baby John – stirred in his arms, and he tensed in preparation, ready to stand or adjust or do anything his child might need. But he quieted again without further fuss, whatever dream or discomfort that had disturbed him disappearing without a trace.
“Olympe and Paul brought a cradle, you know,” Rose said, watching him with amusement when he finally looked up.
“I know,” January said, and made no move to get it.
She laughed, then turned to Hannibal. “Would you like to hold the baby?”
He shook his head. “I leave that to those more capable than I. Besides, I’m not certain that your husband would give him up, even to so cherished a friend as I like to think that I am.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rose said, but January leaned away and pretended to shield Baby John as he mock-growled, “He’s right.”
“See?” Hannibal said. “Six months in the company of grizzly bears and he’s lost all of his former civility.”
Rose was silent for a moment, studying Hannibal. She lifted a hand to gently touch the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, then let it fall again. “The time seems to have done you some good, though. You look better than you did in the spring.” She was right. Hannibal was thin and tired-looking from the rigors of travel, but there was animation in his voice and eyes, and his smile no longer gave January the impression of witnessing a lie.
“And you are a vision of perfection, as always. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night. I’m glad to see it. I admit that some of Benjamin’s worry rubbed off on me.”
“Really?” January asked in surprise. “You never said.”
“It would have just encouraged you, and you were bad enough as it was.” Hannibal smiled up at him from across Rose’s shoulder.
January could have protested, but he knew the truth of that statement all too well. The entire six months of the trip seemed, in retrospect, to have been spent in an agony of worry for Rose, punctuated only by moments of greater or lesser intensity. And now she was by his side, healthy and safe and comfortably settled in their own bed in their big Spanish house, and he could almost laugh at his former fears.
Almost, but not quite. Not enough to disregard how infinitely precious it was to be here, alive on this rare jewel of a night.
Rose.
Baby John – who had not even existed a year ago, who had been the barest spark of possibility when January left New Orleans, and who was an entire person now, a life new-made, miraculous even if it happened every day. January stroked Baby John’s cheek and marveled at the softness of his skin, that any human could be so small. The pad of January’s thumb was bigger than Baby John’s whole fist, which was currently curled up and thrust into his half-open mouth. Baby John frowned at January’s touch, but his face quickly smoothed again when January made himself stop bothering the child.
Even Hannibal’s presence was wonderful, for all that January hadn’t just endured a half-year of separation from him. January might not have had to worry that he would be unaware and far away when Hannibal was felled by disease or burglars or any of the potential calamities of this world, but neither had there been many moments like this on the trip, particularly on the last, most recent leg. There was little privacy on the decks of a steamboat, even if Hannibal and Shaw hadn’t slept on the opposite end of the boat with the other whites. He had missed the easy contentment of Hannibal’s body against his, the open joy of his kisses. Even his skinniness and the too-present press of his bones beneath his skin were transformed into a pleasure by January’s memory, simply because they were a part of him.
“He does worry, doesn’t he?” Rose said fondly, drawing back January’s attention.
“Would you prefer a husband who didn’t?” he asked.
She reached out for him and, finding his hands wholly occupied with Baby John, took hold of his forearm instead, squeezing him reassuringly. “I would prefer no other husband at all.”
None of them had anything to add to that, and for a time quiet reigned. January drifted, though he didn’t let himself fall entirely asleep. Hannibal would eventually have to be sent away, and Baby John needed to be set down somewhere safe. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when Hannibal sat up the movement startled January back into awareness, and he jerked his head up from where it had fallen against his chest.
Hannibal’s eyes were bright as he watched him, but he refrained from laughing. “And the both of you promised not to let me fall asleep,” he said, voice even softer than it had been before. “Rose is out too.”
“She must be exhausted,” January said defensively. He looked down at Rose, her braids spread out in a tousled arc across the pillow, her body curled slightly toward him like a comma. Her face was relaxed in sleep, and if she dreamed, neither tension nor pleasure showed in her expression.
“As am I, and so I will depart before we’re all sound asleep and Shaw is forced to arrest me for adultery in the morning."
"You wouldn't be arrested. Fined, perhaps, if I demanded it, but what good would that do?"
"None at all. Good night, amicus meus.”
“Good night, Hannibal.”
After he was gone, January finally stirred from his side of the bed. He found the cradle that had been loaned to them and pulled it into a position where he would be able to see the sleeping Baby John even while he himself was lying down, and only then placed his son within. January undressed and climbed back into bed, this time beneath the sheets. The movement must have woken Rose, because she turned toward him, soft and warm in the darkness. January bent his head to her neck and breathed in deeply of her scent: the sweet grass of her chamomile tea, a sharp tang of ink, the earthier notes of blood and sweat from the events earlier in the evening. She put her arm around her shoulders and held him to her.
January didn’t remember falling asleep.
Hannibal Citations:
Hail, stranger; in our house thou shalt find entertainment and then, when thou hast tasted food, thou shalt tell of what thou hast need.
– Odyssey, 1:124.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night.
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
– Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene 5
