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May 1943
Siegfried was, surprisingly, not surprised at all to find Hector sitting in his living room, ten years after he had last seen him.
If their relationship had been anything but what it was, Siegfried would have reacted very differently. For example by demanding to know what exactly Hector was doing here, comfortably in one of the armchairs, at nearly 10 in the evening, on some Tuesday. How the hell he'd even gotten in, seeing as Siegfried had been out, and there was no one but him - how there was no one to answer the door.
But their relationship had always been what it was. Also, Siegfried had been up and about for 14 hours straight now, rushing from one call to the next. And as if that was not enough, during the last one - Well, it hadn't gone well.
So he ignored his visitor completely in favour of going straight to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a large one. He downed that one in a single go, poured himself another, carried the bottle and the glass to his armchair and sat down. Finally.
He sighed at the relief of being of his feet, leaning back and closing his eyes. In truth, he simply wanted to sleep, but he knew it would be impossible now. He couldn't go on ignoring Hector forever, even though a part of him desperately wanted to. If only he kept is eyes closed, Hector might go away again (He wouldn't. He never had. That's what made Siegfried trust him).
After an indeterminable amount of time, Siegfried finally opened his eyes and met his visitor's patient gaze for the first time since he'd arrived.
And the first words Siegfried chose to utter to his friend in over a decade were: "You've gotten older".
Hector simply raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Well, so have you. What did you expect?"
What did he expect, indeed. Probably for nothing to have changed. But why shouldn't it have? Everything else had, after all. Siegfried sighed. He knew that if he rose to the bait, their bantering would continue for quite some time, but he wasn't in the mood. And really, why should he try to be considerate? "Why are you here?"
Hector was unfazed, he knew Siegfried far too well to be bothered by a lack of manners. But he too could be quite blunt. "I think you know why I'm here. You need me."
"No, I don't." It sounded petulant even to his own ears.
"Yes, you do." Hector's voice was gentle, but insistent. He knew he was right, and he knew Siegfried knew it too. "Why don't you start by telling me about your day?"
Suddenly it was all unbearable. "Why the bloody hell should I? It's not as if you don't already know all about it!"
Hector just hummed and continued looking at him. Siegfried only held his gaze for a short moment, before choosing to focus instead on pouring himself another. That done, he turned his eyes to the empty fireplace. On the one hand, starting a fire would get him at least five minutes. But on the other, he would have to get up and search for those bloody matches which had been eluding him for days.
He stayed where he was. He could always fetch a blanket, if need be. Or simply go to bed. That still sounded incredibly alluring. But if he went to bed, he'd only be lying awake thinking about -
"It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, really". Even talking was better than that. "There are still a few stragglers from this year's lamb storm. And Dinsdale had a cow with a rash I took a look at. It's nothing serious though, a bit of salve will cure it soon enough."
Hector hummed again. "Glad to hear you could help."
"Yes, well, that one at least." He muttered it, quietly enough that no one else should have heard. Hector did though, of course.
"What happened, Siegfried?" The question was asked oh-so-gently.
It wasn't much, but it was enough. He'd gone months without anyone showing him this kind of care, without anyone asking about his day. He was starved for it. And he knew that with Hector, he would be safe. There was no use in hiding, he'd only done that out of habit anyway.
"The telephone rang just as I had just returned here, ready to call it a day. But it was Grace Chapman on the line, and she's not the sort of woman to cry wolf. I knew that if she said it was an emergency, it really was." He refilled his glass again, for the umpteenth time. He really should stop the pretence and just drink straight from the bottle. It wasn't as if he could taste anything anyway. "It was about Teasel, their horse. I'd treated her before, most notably after she had impaled herself. She was fine in the end, back then. But luck doesn't always hold." For a moment he drifted off, loosing himself among the well-trod line of thought, before collecting himself with a shake and finishing briskly. "It was colic. The kind that comes on so quickly that by the time you notice it, it's already too late. I had to put her down."
And with that he had spoken it into existence. A very distant part of himself marvelled at the human ability to deny and distract oneself. Every other part simply ached.
"I'm sorry you had to do that."
Siegfried continued as if he hadn't heard him. Now that the gates had been opened, there was no stopping it. "It's not just that she was a beautiful animal, though of course she was. Nor even that she was a horse and I hate, absolutely hate, having to put down horses. But she was Tom's horse and Tom's away at war and even if he does return his horse will be gone and he won't have even that piece of normality and -" He broke off abruptly.
For at least a minute he simply stared into the unlit grate. Hector said nothing, just sat there, waiting for him to collect his thoughts.
When he continued, it was in a very quiet voice. "I was so annoyed with him, three years ago. When he came home and seemed to only see it as a great lark. But he didn't, of course he didn't. He just hadn't been broken." Yet. "Tristan's luck will run out, of course it will. And if, if he makes it back, the world he'll be returning to will be a different one. Mrs. Hall's gone, so are James, Helen and Jimmy. There will only be me. And I'm - "
"A bit of a mess?" Hector suggested gently.
Siegfried gave a wet laugh. If only. "I'm worse off than I was when Evelyn died. I didn't think I'd ever say that, but at least then I had a grave. Now I only have a fear of reading the newspaper." He leaned his head back against the backrest and laughed again at the ridiculousness of it all. He closed his eyes against it all.
Hector hummed. "You know, you always tended to be a tad bit too melodramatic for your own good."
Oh, how very helpful. "Is that the best advice you can give me?"
"No, actually, it's not." He heard Hector getting up. "The best advice right now is 'Go to bed'."
He didn't open his eyes. "And then everything will be just splendid in the morning? It will all turn out to be just a nightmare, right out of my vivid imagination?"
"No, but it's one step at a time." Hector's voice now came from near the doors. "I know it's a cliché, but hope's only lost once you give up." He didn't give him the time to come up with a suitable retort to that latest piece of wisdom. "There's no use worrying over what tomorrow might bring, when it just as well might not. There are many things you can't influence right now. But some things you can influence. When Tristan comes home, no matter what state he'll be in, he'll need a big brother he can depend on. He'll need you to depend on." With that he walked to the stairs, his voice still clearly carrying into the room. "Now come on, the bed's a far better place for resting than an armchair."
August 1943
The next morning Hector had disappeared again, God knows where. But in time his words began to wear off, and he came again, staying for longer stretches of time. It was clear he was worried about Siegfried, and was doing what he could to help. But he couldn't fill the silence the same way Jimmy's babbling or James' questions or Mrs. Hall's companionship had. No one could.
"Alright, that's quite enough of that." It was one summer afternoon when Hector was finally fed up with Siegfried's moping, who, after finishing morning surgery, had done absolutely nothing but stare despondently at the tower of unanswered correspondence from his brother and Mrs. Hall.
"Oh, is it now? Am I being too dramatic, or blowing things out of proportion, or too selfish or -"
"No, but you're too stuck on the problem to see the solutions. Don't interrupt me, I'm well aware that you can't force any of them to come back. But none of them are dead. In fact," at that Hector marched straight up to Siegfried, "come with me."
"What? Why would I? Are we going to take a quick stroll to Sunderland? Or maybe straight to Italy?"
"No, you bloody fool. Get up."
For a moment Siegfried stared petulantly back up at Hector, seriously considering simply staying put. But, just as always, the flames of his anger burned very brightly, but died just as quickly. So he heaved himself up and started trudging after Hector. Who, in contrast, walked briskly out of the room and up the stairs to the first floor. He didn't stop at the landing, but continued on to Tristan's room.
Siegfried stopped at the doorstep and surveyed the room. It was a mess, but ironically not nearly as much as most of the rest of the house was. There still was a stack of books that Tristan had used for his classes in Doncaster on the floor, some paper was scattered around the rubbish bin, and there was a thin layer of dust on everything.
Hector turned to him. "What do you see?"
"Have you really dragged me up here just to harp me about finding a housekeeper again?" That would be kinder than the alternative.
Hector didn't roll his eyes, but the urge was clearly there. "No, of course not. If I'd wanted to that, I'd have hardly chosen this room for my demonstration. I'm talking about something else."
Seemed like Hector truly went for it out of cruelty then. "If you only want to rub salt into the wound you can just bloody well piss off."
Hector sighed. "No, I can't. And that's not what I want anyway. But you need a different perspective. You only see Tristan's absence right now, don't you?"
Well, at least they were done dancing around it. Time to brace himself for the coup d'etat, he supposed. "Well, what else do you expect me to see? An opportunity to hone my dusting skills?"
This time Hector simply ignored his sarcasm completely. It was a bit rude in Siegfried's opinion. "I want you to see a room that's just waiting for its occupant to come back. To finish this drawing he so clearly put a lot of effort into. To pick up his well-loved cricket set. And to re-read the same books he's already read a thousand times." Hector gestured around as he spoke. "You are only focusing on how he's not here to do those things. But have you maybe considered that he deliberately left them behind so that they would be safe for his return? So that he could do them again and again?"
Siegfried finally stepped into the room, walking over and running his hand along the spines of the books on the nightstand. Hector was correct, this was a selection of Tristan's favourites. Gulliver's Travels, Sherlock Holmes, Treasure Island, and - "I haven't seen that one in years." Siegfried pulled the book out of the stack. "I was certain it got lost somewhere. Or maybe that he'd have buried it in the attic." He ran his hand over the cover, then opened it on a random page. "It was Tristan's favourite when he was a small child. Back when he was still living with our parents." He traced the outlines of the drawing of an elephant, smiling softly. "I always had to read it to him as a bedtime story when I visited. He wouldn't go to sleep otherwise. But one of these always put him right out."
For a while they simply stood in silence, Siegfried lost in his memories of that little boy who had never shied away from using his round eyes to beg his big brother to tell the story about the "lepad" just one more time. It had always worked.
Hector sensed the moment Siegfried started to drift back into his spiral, and gently redirected. "And now he's growing his own collection of stories. Camels and snakes he already has, who knows what he'll find in Italy? Maybe he'll tell his own children one day how the porcupine got his quills or about the day the fire salamander forgot how to breathe fire." Siegfried could just imagine it, Tristan crawling around the floor trying to 'breathe fire' and instead inhaling a horde of dust bunnies. He'd always had something for the dramatic. Siegfried found himself smiling despite himself.
"See? There it is. It's the same with Jimmy and his playthings, by the way. Shall we go up there?"
"No, I think - I think I got your point. Also, my time is probably much better spent on finally finishing that letter. Can't waste the whole day on dilly-dallying!"
December 1943
It helped for a while, but it didn't solve the problem, of course. Or rather, problems. Hector urged him to take on a housekeeper again, but it was no use. They didn't understand Siegfried, and Siegfried couldn't be bothered to try to understand them. So, whenever James wasn't spending the night, it was just Hector and Siegfried. Sitting by the fire and drinking whisky. Lots of whisky.
The fire was burning brightly now that Christmas wasn't all that far off, but its warmth didn't truly reach him. He was gazing at it, sipping his drink, lost in thought.
Hector broke the silence, interrupting Siegfried's brooding. "I know you're through with housekeepers, but have you considered, well, other types of companionship?"
"What? What are you babbling on about now?" He wasn't certain if he didn't prefer his morose thoughts to wherever this was going.
"Well..." Hector, of course, was undeterred, though he at least had the decency to draw the word out a bit, "it might not be Plato's ideal, but one can have female company without strings attached."
Now Siegfried was certain. He would absolutely have preferred his silent misery to this. "Aristophanes. It was Aristophanes, you know that perfectly well." Hopefully that would settle the matter.
Hector just raised an eyebrow. "And you know perfectly well that that's not the point at all. Why deny yourself some fun?"
Fun? For heaven's sake, it was almost like talking to Tristan. Only that Hector really should have known better. "Because it would be utterly meaningless."
Hector sighed. "And I repeat, the goal can't always be to find your other half. You realised that when you continued your liaison with Diana despite both of you knowing that it was never meant to be anything more. Why not do that again?"
Why indeed. Because things had changed, just as they always did. He really shouldn't have to explain that. His hands clenched around the armrests of his chair, only barely keeping himself sitting. "So what exactly are you suggesting? That I go out and ruin some innocent girls just so that I can drown my loneliness in something other than whisky for a change?!"
"Oh, for the love of God! Why do you insist on deliberately misunderstanding me?! No one is saying anything about innocent girls. Diana certainly wasn't one, and she's hardly the only widow or divorcée your age around."
No, but the only one who truly mattered wasn't around. Something Hector knew perfectly well. But admitting it out loud would make it real. And then what? It wouldn't change anything; it would only twist the knife further. So, if in dubio, fall back on denial. "Oh, so I'd be exploiting someone's grief instead? What a splendid idea!" He abruptly stood up. He needed to get out of this conversation right now. He was already halfway across the room, when Hector's suddenly calm voice stopped him, though he didn't fully turn around.
"Siegfried. Please. You have never preyed on the vulnerable before, you won't start now. Women know what they want, too - you're certainly aware of that. Who's to say that some of them aren't just as in need of intimacy as you are?" Hector took a moment to look imploringly at him. "Just think about it."
Siegfried took that as his cue to finally storm off. But of course he did think about it. He'd already been doing so for quite some time, after all.
8th of May 1945 and August 1933
The smell of the bonfire in the square was wafting through the open bathroom window, mixing with the slightly soapy scent of his shaving cream as he was washing out the shaving brush. That done, he took a moment to look at his face. Yes, it really had been long-overdue.
But the mirror also reminded him. He looked down at his right hand, studying the tiny white scars that were only barely visible. He remembered the day he got them. It had been the last time he'd actually seen Hector before he had effectively disappeared for ten years.
They had had an argument, the worst one they ever had. Hector had tried to comfort him, had tried to get him to move on from Evelyn's death. He had not wanted to hear it. What kind of comfort was the knowledge of fresh days to come supposed to bring him? Each new day was one without her. Each one brought him only farther away from her.
It had come to a close here, in this bathroom. He couldn't remember what exactly Hector had said. But he could still remember the flash of white-hot rage, all-consuming and unstoppable. He'd tried to punch Hector, had aimed directly for the face.
Of course, his fist had gone straight through Hector and just struck the mirror instead.
That was how Tristan had found him. Kneeling on the floor, reeking of whisky, cradling his bloody fist, surrounded by the glittering shards of the broken mirror, and yelling at someone only he could ever see.
It was Tristan who had to get a pair of tweezers to pull the shards out of his hand. Tristan who had to clean the wounds and bandage him. Tristan who had to drag him to bed, still yelling and sobbing.
And it was Tristan who finally acknowledged that it couldn't go on like this, that he alone could not stop his brother from losing himself completely in his grief. So he had posted an advert for a housekeeper, and prayed for her to be able to help his brother like he had never prayed for anything.
Siegfried had only noticed once a Mrs. Hall stood on his doorstep inquiring about the housekeeping position. Of course he first tried to send her away, but he very quickly gave in to the combined forces of both her and Tristan's barely disguised desperation.
She managed to help him quickly in a way that no one else could have. From that very first day, she was so much more than a mere housekeeper; she was his stalwart. Someone he could rely on, rely on in a way he could not rely on his little brother. And most certainly in a way he could not rely on Hector. She could cook him a hot meal while he was out on calls. She could hide his whisky bottles where he wouldn't find them. She could offer him perspectives he would never have thought of.
Of course, it hadn't been smooth sailing, far from it. But it had been enough that Tristan dared to go off back to university in autumn. And it had been enough that he hadn't seen Hector anymore. Over time, he rarely even thought of him, of what he would say, of how he would try to help. He never forgot him, didn't think he ever could, Hector was far too integral to him. Also, it gave him a lot of comfort to know that no matter what else might happen, there would always be someone. But he hadn't needed him anymore, others had filled Skeldale and his heart far better.
And now? Well, there was no telling what the future might bring. But today marked the beginning of a new world. One with fresh scars, certainly, but also one with plenty of opportunities for healing and change. And for once that wasn't a bad thing at all, Siegfried thought as he closed the bathroom door behind him and moved downstairs to join James and Tristan and Mrs. Hall at the bonfire.