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Declan held the bottle over his glass, impatiently waiting for the last amber drops to fall into the half-measure.
"Fuck, I'm out of whisky," he said, putting the bottle down so unsteadily on the sideboard that it toppled over and lay on its side.
"We've probably had enough," Rupert offered, studying his own glass while trying and failing to remember how many he'd had. Gertrude was snoozing on the hearthside rug and he rather envied her ability to fall asleep whenever and wherever she wanted.
"No such thing," Declan said, weaving his way back over to his chair and sinking into it, the contents of his glass sloshing precariously.
With Maud away and Taggie catering an event that required an overnight stay in order to also provide breakfast, Declan was , Gertrude aside. alone. This was generally agreed on as Not A Good Idea by everyone who knew Declan, and so Rupert had been amenable to dropping by The Priory on a flimsy business-related pretext.
The evening had started with a casual updating each other on various aspects of the business. A sociable glass of whisky had accompanied the discussion. The conversation had moved on to less business-focussed topics. Further whisky had been downed.
At some point someone had suggested food and that required more liquid to accompany it.
Several hours had gone by and Rupert knew that after the amount he'd imbibed he'd have to walk home and come back tomorrow for his car. Not a problem in itself, for it was a pleasant enough evening and it wasn't too far. However he was currently in no hurry to move.
He liked Declan, despite their differences, despite the tension that sometimes rose between them, despite how similar— stubborn, for example— they could be.
Furthermore, even if he hadn't come to like him, even if they weren't business partners, the fact was that Declan was Taggie's father and that alone would require Rupert to find a way to connect with him.
On an evening like this he was enjoying the company.
"What?" Rupert asked, brow crinkled, when he failed to understand part of the rambling story Declan was telling, the Irish accent becoming thicker the more he drank.
Declan repeated it and Rupert laughed. It wasn't just the accent but the slang that had momentarily thrown him. In the nip; naked. "Oh. I've been locked out of my hotel room in nothing but a towel before," Rupert agreed. "And without even that, once."
This prompted Declan to laugh and begin a different story about something that had happened in Ireland a long time ago, the details of which seemed fluid as he kept stopping to correct or otherwise amend them as the tale rambled on.
Despite or perhaps because of the digressions Rupert was amused, though he doubted Maud would have been, given her part in the debacle being retold.
At last Rupert looked at his glass on the table and found it empty, and at his watch, and found it to be late, and slapped his thighs, saying, "Right, I better be off."
Declan lurched to his feet to see him to the door, Gertrude merely lifting her head before settling back down, and they made it to the hallway before Declan stumbled.
Rupert put out a steadying hand and Declan put his hand on Rupert's shoulder, grateful for the support. His eyes were bleary from the alcohol but as they met Rupert's gaze something shifted within them.
"How'd we end up here?" Declan asked.
Rupert wasn't sure where here was. In this precise situation? In the hallway, Declan not recalling the last minute or so? Or maybe in this house on this night? Possibly even how they'd ended up in a business venture together.
"Whisky," he suggested.
Declan's face crinkled into a smile and he laughed, squeezing Rupert's shoulder harder than was necessary. Rupert was still holding Declan's left elbow but as he made to let go, Declan leaned in and pressed a kiss to Rupert's forehead.
This precise situation was getting into territory that, while not wholly unfamiliar, wasn't one Rupert was especially keen to engage with. Not least because this man was the father of the young woman he was smitten with. So much so that he was willing to think of it as smitten rather than lusting after.
"You're an angry man, a firebrand," Rupert said softly. "And a rather violent drunk. I've not seen you as an affectionate drunk before." He added, despite the fact that it might encourage Declan to kiss him again, "I rather like it."
Declan was indeed a passionate man, full of large and raw emotions and so Rupert wasn't lying when he said he liked seeing this more affectionate side of him. Claps on the shoulder, hugs, even the grasping of faces were all welcome touches they'd experienced. (Not least when compared to being punched.) This chaste kiss was a new one however, but then the man was Irish and free of the restrained Englishness instilled in Rupert by his privileged boarding school education.
"You," Declan slurred and then tried again, "you're a bastard."
"Yes," Rupert agreed mildly.
"But sometimes, you're—" Declan waved his free hand around vaguely. "Ye know."
"Not a complete bastard?"
Declan nodded sagely. "Aye. And. Sometimes you need a bastard on your side."
Rupert didn't disagree.
"And Taggie," Declan went on.
Rupert released Declan's sleeve at last, ready to duck or step backwards if Declan made a swing, however clumsy, at him.
"She's—" Declan sighed. "I don't know why she is. But she's in love with you."
Rupert swallowed. Declan voicing what all three of them knew, yet were all afraid to fully admit, was not what he was prepared for.
"Declan," he began, trying to find the words to de-escalate the situation.
"If you hurt her, I'll kill yer," Declan swore.
Rupert nodded solemnly. "If I hurt her, I'll deserve it."
This put Declan somewhat off-balance mentally in addition to physically. "But I s'pose it could be worse. She needs someone to take care of her. She's—" Words failed him again.
"Gentle," Rupert supplied. He felt the same. Taggie was wonderful and beautiful and creative and too soft for this world. She'd been learning to stand up for herself but inside she was still delicate and felt things deeply and she shouldn't have to harden herself, harden her heart. Not when he, mostly a bastard, could protect her as much as she would allow.
Declan moistened his lips. "She deserves better."
Better than Rupert? Better than the way her family treated her? Better in general? He suspected all of these were what Declan meant to some degree. He was probably right on all counts. But Taggie made Rupert feel things he'd never imagined he could.
He would do his best and if that wasn't good enough he'd learn to do better.
"I know," Rupert said. He repeated it, to ensure Declan knew he was serious. "I know."
There was a moment of silence and Declan nodded. Rupert used the very British method of making his escape, which was to again check his watch and exclaim. "Look at the time. I don't know how it got so late. I should go."
Declan nodded. "I should get some sleep."
Rupert put his arm out to stop him going back to the study and guided Declan firmly to the stairs instead. "You should. In your bed."
Declan scoffed and said something incomprehensible but headed upstairs. Rupert waited until Declan had made it safely to the landing before he headed out, pulling the front door securely closed behind him.
The cool night air helped clear Rupert's head and he lit a cigarette before he began the walk home, glad of the light of the waxing moon to guide him. That had been quite the evening.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.
