darktrent182 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darktrent182) wrote2006-01-26 04:21 pm
darktrent182) wrote2006-01-26 04:21 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Exposures [Blackadder Goes Forth]
Title: Exposures
Fandom: Blackadder
Characters: George Colhurst St. Barleigh, Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, Heinrich Neumann (OMC)
Prompt: #086. Choices
Word Count: 1,276
Rating: G
Summary: George can't take it anymore. The deception, the betrayal, the undergarments...
Author's Notes: Read over by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edna_blackadder and amazonqueenkate, with many thanks. Takes place a few hours after Realizations.
***
He should have been asleep.
It was well past ten, and George found himself staring up at the ceiling, not seeing it in the pitch black of his room. He was wearing a set of pajamas that Heinrich had nicked from his bunk, which were all very comfortable, but he couldn't close his eyes.
Staring up into the darkness, the conversation... the argument he'd had earlier with Bob playing out again in his head. Bob figuring it out, telling him flat out just the thing he'd been trying to avoid all this time.
He was Old Walrus-Face. An old man who he'd known over the years as he was growing up. He was crusty, he had a dicky heart, he'd ended up killing George's rabbit at George's sixth birthday party. He refused to save Blackadder or Baldrick when they'd been captured by the Germans because it was a waste of resources and ruddy manpower. Melchett completely ignored George, or was one of the many friends of the family who never took him at all seriously.
But there was the way that Anthony looked at him, brown eyes deep and warm. How he'd hold George close on the coldest night of the year, and George would feel pleasantly warm. The regal sort of mustache that made him look like nobility. The way he kissed him as if they were the only ones that mattered, and the rest of the world could go hang.
They'd kissed more than once, of course -- something he'd neglected to tell Bob. It wasn't cricket to leave the poor man waiting on the doorstep without so much as a kiss to send him off to sleep, after all. He'd never had a lady love of his own, but he rather hoped that she'd do the same, to give him a little bit of hope.
But the times when Anthony took him in his arms, lips pressed against his, against his neck... the urge to take off the itchy wig, bung it over his shoulder and go further than a dashed good snog was almost overwhelming sometimes.
But he couldn't. A weight sunk from his chest to the pit of his stomach -- despite the fact that he was lying down, which was dashed odd -- and George sighed. Melchett deserved more than him. He really did. He deserved a woman who could take care of him, give him lots of children to raise, something to fight for.
He didn't need a son of the St. Barleigh family who bally well couldn't do a lot of things, let alone have children. Being a man rather left him out of the running, as it were. Which felt a bit unfair, but it was also true.
Did he want this? To have Melchett whisper sweet nothings in his ear in his office, warm hands touching him? To taste Melchett's worries about the war every time they kissed, only to turn to Heinrich and tell him what was going on with the British troops?
Or did he want to risk an undoubtedly horrid court-martial because he was a man, and the firing squad because he was a spy for the Germans?
His stomach churned, and George gritted his teeth. Throwing off the covers, he got of bed, changed into Georgina (without the make-up), threw on the robe that Harry Hun had so thoughtfully provided him, and left his rooms.
With each step he took, his heart pounded, his stomach twisted, and his head bally well hurt. But before he got to Melchett's room, his feet had decided to take a wrong turn, entirely on their own, and lead him away.
Down the corridor, taking a sharp turn, Georgina was the picture of righteous indignation as George marched to the room he had last met Heinrich in. Knocking on the door, George set his jaw and barely stopped himself from barging in.
The door opened, revealing a tousled-looking Heinrich, who looked like he'd been woken from a sound sleep, if it weren't for the fact that he was wearing his uniform.
"We need to talk," George snapped.
Heinrich blinked, and opened the door wider. "Come in."
George barged in, turning around in the dimly-lit room before finding a chair, and sitting down and folding his arms across his chest. "I want out."
Heinrich gave him a confused frown before he closed the door with a soft click. "You know you can't do that."
George glared at him. "I'm... bally well not going to do it anymore."
"And your Captain? The private under your command?" Heinrich reminded him unerringly. "What about them?"
George stopped, his heart sinking even further, before suddenly starting again, "Ah, w-w- you-it-I..."
Heinrich only watched him, brown eyes assessing, as George tried to find the words.
"I'll hand myself over," George finally said coherently. "I'm more valuable to you anyway."
Heinrich continued to stare, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, his pajamas looking rumpled. He rather looked like a young lad instead of an officer in the German army. "You would die for your friends, wouldn't you."
George frowned at him. "What sort of a question is that? Of course I would!" He shook his head, wondering just how much the Germans really knew about the English. "Really, and I thought Germans didn't recruit thickies."
But Heinrich didn't answer immediately, his stare still as steady as before. Watching him, George could see he'd made a decision in his eyes, just moments before his mouth moved.
"We do not have them."
George frowned. "What? Have who?"
"Two days ago, I received a dispatch from my superiors that Captain Blackadder and Private Baldrick escaped. They are headed here, if we... guess correctly." He shrugged, almost carelessly. "So... we do not have them."
George could feel his neck and back stiffening. His hands twitched before tightening into shaking, white-knuckled fists.
"When you were first... offered this assignment," Heinrich continued, pausing before choosing the words, "we did not have Captain Blackadder or Private Baldrick held prisoner. We captured them the week before you were sent to this trench to be discovered."
"You lied to me!" George squawked.
Heinrich nodded. "Ja."
"You vile--" George felt his cheeks getting hot, his long arms unfolding. He was on his feet, standing in front of Heinrich, who quickly got to his feet.
"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have gotten out of that prison alive," Heinrich snarled.
"Then you bally well should've left me to die!" George shouted.
"You English, you are so ready to throw away your lives for nothing. Just like this whole stupid war--"
George's fist shot out, driving into Heinrich's mouth without warning. Lips crushing against teeth, Heinrich fell back onto the bed, clutching his mouth as his eyes watered.
"You utter bastard." George hissed. "I'm going to Melchett, and if you want to stop me, you're bally well going to have to shoot me."
Heinrich slowly peeled his hand away from his lips, not looking surprised at the blood on his skin. He was sporting a cut lip, from what George could tell.
George marched straight for the door, his hand reaching out and grabbing the doorknob. When nothing happened, he turned back uncertainly to Heinrich, who was watching him wearily.
After a moment, Heinrich shook his head. "Enjoy your execution."
George gritted his teeth, trying not to show how much that simple statement scared him. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the door. "If I die, at least I'll have a clean slate."
Without waiting for a response, George left, closing the door behind him gently.
Fandom: Blackadder
Characters: George Colhurst St. Barleigh, Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, Heinrich Neumann (OMC)
Prompt: #086. Choices
Word Count: 1,276
Rating: G
Summary: George can't take it anymore. The deception, the betrayal, the undergarments...
Author's Notes: Read over by
edna_blackadder and amazonqueenkate, with many thanks. Takes place a few hours after Realizations.***
He should have been asleep.
It was well past ten, and George found himself staring up at the ceiling, not seeing it in the pitch black of his room. He was wearing a set of pajamas that Heinrich had nicked from his bunk, which were all very comfortable, but he couldn't close his eyes.
Staring up into the darkness, the conversation... the argument he'd had earlier with Bob playing out again in his head. Bob figuring it out, telling him flat out just the thing he'd been trying to avoid all this time.
He was Old Walrus-Face. An old man who he'd known over the years as he was growing up. He was crusty, he had a dicky heart, he'd ended up killing George's rabbit at George's sixth birthday party. He refused to save Blackadder or Baldrick when they'd been captured by the Germans because it was a waste of resources and ruddy manpower. Melchett completely ignored George, or was one of the many friends of the family who never took him at all seriously.
But there was the way that Anthony looked at him, brown eyes deep and warm. How he'd hold George close on the coldest night of the year, and George would feel pleasantly warm. The regal sort of mustache that made him look like nobility. The way he kissed him as if they were the only ones that mattered, and the rest of the world could go hang.
They'd kissed more than once, of course -- something he'd neglected to tell Bob. It wasn't cricket to leave the poor man waiting on the doorstep without so much as a kiss to send him off to sleep, after all. He'd never had a lady love of his own, but he rather hoped that she'd do the same, to give him a little bit of hope.
But the times when Anthony took him in his arms, lips pressed against his, against his neck... the urge to take off the itchy wig, bung it over his shoulder and go further than a dashed good snog was almost overwhelming sometimes.
But he couldn't. A weight sunk from his chest to the pit of his stomach -- despite the fact that he was lying down, which was dashed odd -- and George sighed. Melchett deserved more than him. He really did. He deserved a woman who could take care of him, give him lots of children to raise, something to fight for.
He didn't need a son of the St. Barleigh family who bally well couldn't do a lot of things, let alone have children. Being a man rather left him out of the running, as it were. Which felt a bit unfair, but it was also true.
Did he want this? To have Melchett whisper sweet nothings in his ear in his office, warm hands touching him? To taste Melchett's worries about the war every time they kissed, only to turn to Heinrich and tell him what was going on with the British troops?
Or did he want to risk an undoubtedly horrid court-martial because he was a man, and the firing squad because he was a spy for the Germans?
His stomach churned, and George gritted his teeth. Throwing off the covers, he got of bed, changed into Georgina (without the make-up), threw on the robe that Harry Hun had so thoughtfully provided him, and left his rooms.
With each step he took, his heart pounded, his stomach twisted, and his head bally well hurt. But before he got to Melchett's room, his feet had decided to take a wrong turn, entirely on their own, and lead him away.
Down the corridor, taking a sharp turn, Georgina was the picture of righteous indignation as George marched to the room he had last met Heinrich in. Knocking on the door, George set his jaw and barely stopped himself from barging in.
The door opened, revealing a tousled-looking Heinrich, who looked like he'd been woken from a sound sleep, if it weren't for the fact that he was wearing his uniform.
"We need to talk," George snapped.
Heinrich blinked, and opened the door wider. "Come in."
George barged in, turning around in the dimly-lit room before finding a chair, and sitting down and folding his arms across his chest. "I want out."
Heinrich gave him a confused frown before he closed the door with a soft click. "You know you can't do that."
George glared at him. "I'm... bally well not going to do it anymore."
"And your Captain? The private under your command?" Heinrich reminded him unerringly. "What about them?"
George stopped, his heart sinking even further, before suddenly starting again, "Ah, w-w- you-it-I..."
Heinrich only watched him, brown eyes assessing, as George tried to find the words.
"I'll hand myself over," George finally said coherently. "I'm more valuable to you anyway."
Heinrich continued to stare, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, his pajamas looking rumpled. He rather looked like a young lad instead of an officer in the German army. "You would die for your friends, wouldn't you."
George frowned at him. "What sort of a question is that? Of course I would!" He shook his head, wondering just how much the Germans really knew about the English. "Really, and I thought Germans didn't recruit thickies."
But Heinrich didn't answer immediately, his stare still as steady as before. Watching him, George could see he'd made a decision in his eyes, just moments before his mouth moved.
"We do not have them."
George frowned. "What? Have who?"
"Two days ago, I received a dispatch from my superiors that Captain Blackadder and Private Baldrick escaped. They are headed here, if we... guess correctly." He shrugged, almost carelessly. "So... we do not have them."
George could feel his neck and back stiffening. His hands twitched before tightening into shaking, white-knuckled fists.
"When you were first... offered this assignment," Heinrich continued, pausing before choosing the words, "we did not have Captain Blackadder or Private Baldrick held prisoner. We captured them the week before you were sent to this trench to be discovered."
"You lied to me!" George squawked.
Heinrich nodded. "Ja."
"You vile--" George felt his cheeks getting hot, his long arms unfolding. He was on his feet, standing in front of Heinrich, who quickly got to his feet.
"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have gotten out of that prison alive," Heinrich snarled.
"Then you bally well should've left me to die!" George shouted.
"You English, you are so ready to throw away your lives for nothing. Just like this whole stupid war--"
George's fist shot out, driving into Heinrich's mouth without warning. Lips crushing against teeth, Heinrich fell back onto the bed, clutching his mouth as his eyes watered.
"You utter bastard." George hissed. "I'm going to Melchett, and if you want to stop me, you're bally well going to have to shoot me."
Heinrich slowly peeled his hand away from his lips, not looking surprised at the blood on his skin. He was sporting a cut lip, from what George could tell.
George marched straight for the door, his hand reaching out and grabbing the doorknob. When nothing happened, he turned back uncertainly to Heinrich, who was watching him wearily.
After a moment, Heinrich shook his head. "Enjoy your execution."
George gritted his teeth, trying not to show how much that simple statement scared him. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the door. "If I die, at least I'll have a clean slate."
Without waiting for a response, George left, closing the door behind him gently.