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The days they spend travelling in the desert of Australia are hot. The rolling dunes of the sand stretch expansive in every direction, the air shimmering with heat above the ground. The sparse stands of trees are scrubby and pale, clinging determinedly to life more out of sheer stubbornness than out of any real sustenance gained from the ground; the tussocks of spinifex grass are crisp and yellowed, bereft of moisture under the scorching sun.
In contrast, the nights are frigid: at sunset, the temperature drops dramatically, the complete absence of clouds or cover stripping the air of heat. The rockier ground retains some warmth, though this is meagre when compared to the fierce heat of the day. The men huddle for warmth, swags jumbled together on the ground.
Laurence is not immune to this; he is only grateful for his tent, and the warmth that Tharkay's body heat contributes to the close space.
As it is, the sun has been drawn down long enough that he can justify closing the book he was reading to Temeriare. Even the dragons, though so often exhausted by the day's heat, find the coolness unpleasant on their overworked muscles; after he bids Temeraire goodnight, the dragon coils in on himself, nose under wing, and shuts his eyes with no complaint at the opportunity to sleep.
Laurence removes his neckcloth and outer garments, then crawls under his bedroll, careful to avoid the prone form of Tharkay, already asleep. He still marvels at the trust he has gained from the man; that Tharkay is able to sleep soundly around him, in a world where he instinctively trusts so few, is enough to stun him anew, should he think on it for but a moment.
He is comfortable now, in the warmth of the tent and the presence of Tharkay beside him, despite the recent tumult of his life. He slips to sleep swiftly.
***
Tharkay is, if not entirely used to the presence of another beside him, at the very least comfortable with staying mostly asleep when Laurence enters the tent. His survival instincts insist that he remain alert, however, even in half-sleep, so he's quite aware of the warmth of Laurence's body. Laurence settles quickly, crowded against the tent wall opposite Tharkay in a rather futile attempt to allow Tharkay a respectful amount of room in the cramped space. His breathing assumes the slow, shallow cadence of a sleeper, and Tharkay allows himself to do the same.
In the morning, Tharkay awakens uncomfortably warm. The sun has only barely risen, but the heat can be accounted for by the broad chest pressed to his back and the arm draped over his side. Laurence's breath tickles the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he shivers slightly despite the temperature.
Despite his discomfort, Tharkay is loathe to move. He tells himself that it's because he doesn't want to disturb Laurence, and potentially confront him with the accidental intimacy of the situation (because if anyone could make this into a fuss, it would be Laurence; Tharkay has never met a man more determined to drag his honour into every situation), but in all honestly, he enjoys Laurence's embrace, and the sense of security and safety it brings.
And this isn't even the first time this sort of thing has happened, either; he's become rather adept at discreetly (reluctantly) extricating himself from Laurence's arms. Tharkay wonders, momentarily, if Jane faces the same problem when she's with Laurence, and is intrigued by the coil of jealousy that awakens within him at the thought. He takes the feeling and tucks it away for later analysis, because while he's perfectly aware that he's a rather selfish person, he'd not thought that his possessiveness had extended to Laurence. Anyway, Jane would never really need to be subtle about it, so the point is irrelevant.
Laurence stirs a little, and Tharkay holds his breath. Perhaps it's time to remove himself, before he has an altercation on his hands. Carefully, carefully, he lifts Laurence's arm and slips out from underneath him.
He takes a glance back at Laurence. In sleep, the strong angles of his face soften; it's plain to see how stiffly he holds himself while awake. He looks no younger, or less of a man, but there's a certain quality about him that suggests, despite his troubles, he could find a way to peace.
Tharkay turns this thought around in his head as he contemplates putting on a jacket. He decides to refrain - his simple shirt is cooler in the heat - and exits the tent.
***
The tent is always empty in the morning. Laurence is quite aware that Tharkay is an early riser, but he still feels an odd pang when he wakes to find him gone. He supposes it must be a remnant of his wariness of the man, left over from when they met, years ago: fear that their guide has abandoned them, or suspicion that he has betrayed them. Laurence feels a bit of a scrub, at this; Tharkay is a close and trusted friend, not one to be treated with wariness or held at a distance.
Laurence shrugs on his coat and ties his neckcloth neatly before stepping outside the tent. Though the time's only a little past sunrise, the air is oven-hot; he can feel it burning the back of his neck as he bends to put on his boots. Straightening up, he sees Tharkay sitting by the tent in the meagre shade it offers. He's not looking at Laurence, rather watching over the camp as the men awaken, but it's not likely he's unaware of Laurence's presence. As Tharkay bends down to adjust his boot, his thin shirt stretches over his back, clinging close; Laurence feels that pang again, deep in his stomach. He frowns, but has no time to consider it, as Caeser has just awoken.
His loud and rather pointed remarks about the lack of food evidently stir Temeraire's ire; the larger dragon makes a few cutting remarks. Laurence hears Tharkay give a gentle snort, his lip quirking into a smile; the pang returns, this time accompanied by a light fluttering in his stomach. Perhaps it's hunger, though it's unlike any hunger Laurence has felt before.
He decides to go to distract Temeraire before he becomes too riled up by Caesar's comments.
The days blur together in a monotonous continuity of wake, fly, eat, sleep, repeat. The landscape is as changing as it is constant; the patterns of the dunes, the rocks, the scrub, the billabongs - always new but all of the same cloth. The dragons grow more and more restive; Laurence finds himself waking at odd hours to their muttered bickering and shuffling.
As such, he's gotten into the habit of waking earlier than he otherwise would - not quite so early as Tharkay (if Laurence didn't see evidence otherwise, he'd think Tharkay barely slept at all), but quite before dawn.
It seems Tharkay has taken notice of this, also; approaching Laurence one night, before sleep, with his concern veiled as cool detachment, he suggested that he might settle the dragons down during the night, rather than Laurence.
"I can't say I see the need for you to rouse yourself," Laurence objects.
"Really, it isn't as though they don't wake me up as well with their racket. I daresay you would have an easier time sleeping through it than I would." The night's beginning to cool, now; the temperature drops rapidly, heat seeping from the ground. Tharkay seems reluctant to remove his jacket before he enters the tent.
Laurence must look unconvinced, for Tharkay continues; "Will, you look positively dreadful in the mornings. I'm sure you have a seaman's sense of time or whatever excuse you wish to pull up, but it is worrying Temeraire, and me as well, quite frankly."
Laurence would have pressed the point, had it not been for a re-appearance of the strange fluttering in his stomach at Tharkay's last few words. Instead, he acquiesces, with rather poor grace, and settles himself to sleep.
Tharkay's quite right; when Laurence is able to trust him to settle the dragons, he no longer stirs at the nightly disturbances. He continues to wake up earlier, though; the pre-dawn air is fresh and pleasant in comparison to the heat to come.
As he drifts, he considers the fluttering feeling. It reminds him of a memory: one when he was quite young, before he had gone to the navy at twelve. Once, while with Edith, he had summoned all his courage and had kissed her on the hand. He had felt a peculiar flutter in his chest then, though it seems faint and weak compared to now. At the edge of sleep, he wonders if he feels for Tharkay as he did once for Edith.
Somehow, he can't bring himself to disdain the idea.
***
Laurence's newfound habit of ridiculously early rising has meant that Tharkay has to make a fair effort to escape Laurence's unconscious hold before he awakens. He had thought that, aside from improving Laurence's overall mood and wellbeing, his offer to settle the dragons during the night would encourage Laurence to sleep longer; to no avail.
Still, on the mornings when he does awaken some time before Laurence's usual time of rising, he does still get to enjoy the warmth of Laurence's (unconscious) company. He feels something of a cheat doing this: after all, Laurence has no knowledge of what's happening; it seems rather like Tharkay is taking advantage. He's not sure he wants to venture down that train of thought; instead, he allows himself the quiet comfort of touch in the early hours.
Laurence moves a little in his sleep, and Tharkay decides that the time has come for him to remove himself. However, before he can do this, he feels Laurence take a deep sigh, pulling himself from the realm of sleep and presumably becoming aware of the current situation.
Tharkay has thought about their relationship. He's quite good at thinking; he acknowledges this fact readily. Recently, Tharkay has thought about his feeling of jealousy regarding Laurence, which he had tucked away for this very purpose. Upon thinking on this feeling of jealousy, he's done some rather clever intuitive leaps involving situations both real and imagined, and he's come to a rather curious conclusion: he's a little in love with William Laurence.
This hasn't really surprised him - Tharkay makes a great effort to remain unsurprised by most information - but it has given him cause for concern. Not for his own sake - he's dealt with unrequited love before - but for the sake of his and Laurence's friendship.
Quite aside from any romantic inclination Tharkay might feel towards the man, he's one of the few people (perhaps the only person) that Tharkay wholly, entirely trusts. He doesn't want to lose that. He stays very still, breathing even, and feigns sleep in the hopes that Laurence will resume his slumber and forget about this when he wakes.
This doesn't happen, unsurprisingly; convenience has never been more than a distant acquaintance of Tharkay's. Instead, Laurence sits up and pulls himself away, to the other side of the tent (not a great distance) and then is very still. Tharkay allows himself the image of Laurence as a startled deer, frozen unmoving. After a few minutes of nothing but Laurence's slightly fast breathing, Tharkay takes pity and rolls over, cracking open an eye to look at him.
"Tenzing," Laurence begins, mortification in his voice. "I must extend my deepest apologies; I had no intention of-"
"Will, I'd be most obliged if you refrain from apologising. I take no offense."
Laurence blinks, looking cautious. Something in Tharkays chest feels warm, and he throws caution to the wind. "Lie down again?" he says, very softly.
Perhaps it's the shock, or the haze of sleep not yet lifted from his mind, but Laurence does something entirely unexpected: he reaches out and, slowly, grips Tharkay's wrist. He looks alarmed, as though the action was an accident; before he can change his mind, Tharkay does something very rash and covers it with his own free hand.
Laurence looks rather stunned. He lies down, though: slowly, slowly, settling onto the rough bedroll. He's facing Tharkay, this time, rather than pressed against his back. Tharkay moves Laurence's hand from his wrist to lace their fingers together; Laurence breathes in quietly and Tharkay's chest warms almost painfully. They lie there, facing eachother, Tharkay barely blinking, Laurence barely breathing, until the sounds of the camp waking break them from their trance.
Tharkay slides his eyes shut and Laurence sits up. Neither of them says a word as Laurence dons his coat and exits the tent.
Only when Tharkay pulls on his jacket and follows suit does Laurence speak.
"Good morning, Tenzing."
Tharkay wonders at the warm note held within Laurence's voice, and brushes his hand, light as a moth's wing, against Laurence's. Laurence smiles, his eyes creasing slightly at the edges, and Tharkay feels dawn break inside him.