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The ball is what people might call a raging success. Hands are shaken and promises are made, common ground has been found. People are satiated and drunk and all around satisfied. It takes the Ephebian delegation until the small hours of the morning to stagger back into their beds, and relieve their host of his duties.
Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, feels sick. It has been a long time since his body has been violated so thoroughly by noises, smells, and terrible food. The things he does for this city…
He slips away into the palace gardens as soon as he can, where he can finally be alone. With relieve he breathes in the fresh air of a very early morning. The first birds have started their songs, and right above the horizon, the faintest pale blue strip of light heralds a sunny day.
He finds the old sycamore tree that he often visits when he needs to recollect himself, and rests his cheek against the trunk to cool his face. The tree is quiet and steady and supports him as he leans on it. Vetinari’s mind wanders back to earlier in the evening. He can almost feel Vimes’ touch on his arms again, the careful pressure calming him down.
‘Are you alright, sir?’
He can just about stop himself from jumping and manages to turn around at a measured pace. Vimes is standing there in the murky twilight beneath the low hanging branches, his face an expression between curiosity and worry. Vetinari stands up straight and smoothes his coat down.
‘Ah, Vimes. What are you doing here?’
Vimes comes closer, so that they both are now cocooned underneath the sprawling crown of the tree.
‘You asked me to stay.’
‘I generally do not ask.’
‘’Course not.’
Vetinari shouldn’t be surprised, should he? It’s Vimes, after all, loyal like… well, like a dog, always, even if his master forgot about his own command. He is the most stubborn guard dog anyone would ever meet.
‘Vimes…’ There is a questions on the tip of Vetinari’s tongue that he has wanted to ask for a long time. There has never been the right moment for it. But this tree suddenly feels far removed from the real world, so there might never be a better time or place. ‘Vimes, why do you care so much?’
‘Sir?’
‘Why are you so protective of me?’
‘It’s my job, sir.’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Interesting.’ Vetinari looks him over. Oh, how Vimes has changed in the years that he’s known him. They both have. ‘If I remember correctly, Vimes, you are not head of the Palace Guard. Officially, it is their responsibility to keep the palace and its occupants safe.’
‘And officially, Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler’s sausages are mostly made from pork, sir.’
Vetinari forces himself not to grin.
‘Be that as it may, commander, the truth is: Nobody ever charged you with my well-being. You simply seemed to decide that you were responsible.’
Vimes blinks at him, as if he himself has never considered this.
‘Well, sir, you were shot and almost bled out right next to me. Somebody had to take care that that kind of thing didn’t happen again.’
‘Indeed.’
Vetinari knows that his ostentatious composure drives Vimes up the wall. He knows it, and he likes it.
The commander stabs his index finger in the air in front of him now, right at Vetinari, punctuating ever other word: ‘And maybe if people stopped to shoot or poison or impersonate you and frame you for murder I’d have more free time.’
‘Of course.’
‘But somebody’s gotta take care of you.’
‘I can take care of myself.’
‘No, you bloody can’t!’ Vimes steps closer so he can push his finger right against Vetinari’s chest. ‘And if you’re ever going to get yourself killed, it’ll be me doing it, and no one else.’
Vetinari commands himself to stay calm with Vimes so close to him, with his touch searing through his coat. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found a mark on his skin tonight, the size of Samuel Vimes’ finger.
‘Yes, that seems appropriate. Though some might call it possessive.’
‘What?’
‘You do realise, Vimes, don’t you, that taking another man’s life is an incredibly intimate thing to do.’
Vimes stares at him, finger still on Vetinari’s chest. His mind, it seems, has come to a screeching halt at the suggestions of anything intimate between them.
Vetinari blames it on the lack of sleep, his upset stomach, and generally being exhausted. He blames it on Vimes having been so gentle with him earlier tonight. He blames it on a million different things, but none of them change the fact that he reaches for the commander’s accusing hand and places it against his own throat.
Vimes stares at it as it as if he has no control over it. Vetinari would give anything to see what it looks like, the rough, sun-burnt skin against his pale neck, Vimes’ fingers reaching all the way around it, so that they come to rest at the back of his jaw bone.
‘Could you do it, Vimes, if the time came?’
His hand is a warm collar around Vetinari’s throat. The touch doesn’t feel threatening at all, but safe, almost comfortable.
Vimes’ jaw muscles twitch subtly. ‘I’m good at doing whatever’s necessary to save this city.’
‘Oh, no doubt.’ Vetinari gives into the temptation and leans forward into his hand, so that he can feel the pressure against his trachea. Vimes’ grip gets a little tighter, and breathing becomes just a little harder.
‘Don’t test me,’ Vimes grunts.
‘It’s my right to test you. I’m your boss.’
Vimes growls low in his throat and pushes him back against the tree. Vetinari lets him do it to see where this leads. He loves it when he can rouse the commander, no matter in what way. It might even be worth dying for. Vimes’ face so close to his definitely is.
But the pressure on his throat releases as Vimes slides his hand down Vetinari’s chest so that it comes to rest right over his heart. Just for a second, Vetinari believes that he’s having a heart attack, before he notices that it is merely beating far more rapidly than it has in years. Decades even.
‘Not yet,’ Vimes mutters, face still close.
There’s hardly any distance left between their lips. Vetinari just needs to tilt his head a little and lean slightly forward for them to meet.
Vimes gasps softly against his mouth in surprise, but he doesn’t back away. His hand remains on Vetinari’s chest, and after a moment of hesitation, he kisses him back.
Vetinari could die like this. His heart is beating so fast that he actually might. When Vimes’ tongue slides into his mouth, his knees buckle. Luckily, the tree trunk is there to catch him. This feels incredible, unreal, magical. Vimes’ lips are warm and soft and so gentle… It’s the gentleness that confuses Vetinari most. He doesn’t remember the last time someone was gentle with him. Vimes would not strike anyone as a gentle man, but he is. If he ever does kill him, Vetinari knows, it will be softly.
The hand on Vetinari’s heart moves up to tenderly cup his cheek. They are still kissing. It’s all very innocent, Vetinari thinks, which seems ridiculous. They both have no innocence whatsoever left in them, not a drop. But here they still are, kissing each other like they haven’t both lived violent lives. He allows his hands to rest lightly on Vimes’s hips, to pull him in, so that their bodies touch and he can feel his warmth seep through his clothes. Their mouths move against each other so carefully, as if they were both afraid to break this precious, beautiful moment. The sycamore branches shield them from reality, they keep them scooped up in some secret pocket of the universe where time stands still. There is no other explanation for this. Wonderful things like these don’t just happen in the real world.
‘If you need to possess me, Vimes,’ Vetinari whispers against his lips, ‘possess me like this.’
Vimes backs away, but only a little. His hand is still resting lightly on Vetinari’s cheek, his thumb stroking it tenderly.
‘It’s not about that.’
‘No?’
Vimes hesitates. ‘It’s not only about that. I need people to know that you’re protected. That if they want to get to you, they have to go through me, because I won’t let anybody else kill you.’
Vetinari’s heart flutters against his ribcage as if it wants to break out of it. ‘I believe people do know that,’ he mutters.
Vimes looks up at him. ‘Do you?’
‘What?’
‘Do you know that I’ll keep you safe? Always?’
It doesn’t happen very often that the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork is lost for words. Vetinari tries to take a deep breath. His expanding ribcage meets Vimes’ chest, his heart knocking against it to be let out. But he retreats, presses his back more tightly into the tree trunk behind him.
‘My word, Sir Samuel, could it be that you care about me personally?’
‘Course I fucking do.’
He didn’t expect Vimes to be so upfront about it.
‘Why?’ is all he can say in return, his voice soft with wonderment.
‘Because you’re the only person who cares about my city as much as I do. Because you understand me. You rile me up all the time, but you can only do that because you know exactly what gets me going and what doesn’t. Because you’re a stubborn bastard, but you listen to me when I’m serious about something. Because you let me care for the people, especially when you can’t. Because you gave my life meaning again when I defended you from a bloody dragon. That’s why.’
Vimes’ cheeks go bright red as he speaks more words in one go than he usually does in a whole meeting.
Vetinari isn’t breathing anymore. He is looking at Vimes and every sarcastic or otherwise deflective thing he is trying to say dries up in his throat. This man has just opened his heart to him – and his own heart wants to meet it so desperately that it twinges painfully in his chest. Vimes stands before him, emotions bared, and Vetinari longs to do the same.
‘Vimes…’
‘You don’t have to say anything.’
So he doesn’t. He just wraps his arms around Vimes’ neck and kisses him again. It makes his heart dance in his chest. And when Vimes wraps his arms around his waist and pulls them flush together, Vetinari’s heart can’t take it anymore. He’s certain that he can feel it explode. He’s calm, all of a sudden, he’s floating, nothing can touch him.
‘Vimes,’ he breathes between kisses. ‘You must promise me that when you do kill me, you will be just as gentle.’
Vimes backs away and quietly stares at him for a while.
‘I can’t. Not anymore, not after everything. I’ve invested a bloody lot in keeping you alive. Would be a shame for all that work to go to waste.’
‘Well, I won’t allow anyone else to do it.’
‘Then you’ll be damned to die peacefully of old age, I s’pose.’
‘I never took you to be naïve, commander.’
Vimes smiles, and then he takes Vetinari’s hand in his to gently intertwine their fingers. Vetinari is about to cry because the world has suddenly become such a soft and pure place.
‘You could retire.’
‘Right.’
‘To a nice little cottage on the plains.’
‘Growing cabbage in the backyard?’
‘Sure, if that’s your thing.’
Vetinari, very briefly, allows himself to imagine such a future.
‘I think I might get bored.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll have the cottage right next to you so I can shake things up a bit from time to time.’
‘Of course.’
He looks down at their intertwined hands, and but for a moment wishes that this future could become reality. He squeezes Vimes’ hand, hoping that it will make him understand how much his heart longs for being content with a life like this. But it’s not the life either of them chose, and for good reason.
‘You must promise me, Vimes, that you will do it if it becomes necessary. If I ever become a threat to the city, you must kill me.’ He looks up at a grim face – the inherited face of a regicide. ‘You’re the only one who can.’
‘You won’t become a threat.’
‘The future is not something any of us can know.’ He squeezes his hand again. ‘If you don’t make a promise, I will order you.’
Vimes sighs, then rests his forehead carefully against Vetinari’s. ‘Fine, I promise. If all else fails, if there’s nothing else I can think of to do, then yes. I will do it.’
He sounds sincerely upset about it. If Vetinari were at all capable of feeling guilty, this is what it might be like. He pulls Vimes in again, who slides his arms back around Vetinari’s waist. They embrace so tightly that not even the blade of a dagger could fit between them, and they stay like this for a long time, holding each other with a softness their daily lives don’t allow. Vetinari can’t help but wonder what their relationship might have been like if they weren’t who they are, unburdened by politics and the work of keeping this city thriving. But then again, if everything had been different, they might have never met at all, and that would have been the worse end of the bargain. No amount of peacefulness and no little cottage on the plains could ever compensate for having Samuel Vimes in his life.
During all this, morning has broken. When he can feel the first rays of the sun warming his cheeks, Vetinari ever so carefully disentangles himself from Vimes, pushing him away slightly. It feels like the hardest thing he has ever done.
‘We might be seen,’ he mutters.
Vimes nods and takes a step back. The sun behind him lights up his dirty blond hair and makes it a halo around his head, concealing his face in its shadow.
‘Gotta return to the Yard,’ he mutters. ‘Before they file a missing person case.’
Just before he turns to leave, Vetinari catches his hand to pull him in for one more kiss as a reminder of his promise. He deliberately commits the warmth of Vimes’ lips and the comfort that comes with sharing the same breath to memory, so it will last him for the weeks to come.
And then Vimes is gone like a dream in daylight. Vetinari leans against the tree for another minute, supported by its steady trunk as he painstakingly returns the cravings their encounter has kindled in him back into their box, and seals it tightly.
The sun rises over the gardens, times resumes, and reality comes rushing back. Vetinari leaves the sycamore behind to makes his way back to the palace and return to duty.