Chapter Text
Another day practising tightrope walking. Randall knows it’s all a part of the plan, but the monotony of his days is beginning to drive him insane. Even Descole’s presence isn’t enough to quench Randall’s boredom today. Perhaps Randall would be a little less bored if Descole would actually talk to him.
He shouldn’t be complaining. He’s lucky he has any company at all - Randall doesn’t think he’d be able to stand practising out here in the heat all alone. Even if Descole isn’t really much company at all. Not at the moment.
Randall’s head hurts.
“My head hurts,” Randall announces. Perhaps that’ll get Descole’s attention.
“It’s probably just the heat.” Descole barely lifts his head from his book, shoving Randall’s water bottle towards him.
Randall sighs loudly. He picks up the water bottle and takes a swig from it, which doesn’t help much. At least it gives him the chance to step away from the tightrope for a minute. He doesn’t seem to be very good at tightrope-walking today, which is a nuisance. It’s barely half a metre off the ground - he’s done this before. He was so sure he’d been improving.
Descole lifts his head from the book once again and very pointedly looks over at the tightrope. Randall sticks his tongue out but heads back over to it. Best not to push his luck.
And so the day continues, Randall practising, Descole reading, and the sun beaming down in an obscenely hot manner. Randall will never stop wondering how Descole survives in all those layers. He finds himself becoming irrationally irritated with him. It’s not fair, that Descole can sit here in a suit and not bat an eye while Randall’s out here melting in just a t-shirt and shorts.
Randall steps away from the tightrope again. He’s so sick of it. This day seems to be lasting forever, but from the position of the sun in the sky it seems to just be past midday.
“Why aren’t you hot?” Randall says, flicking Descole’s hat with his finger.
“Don’t do that,” Descole snaps, flinching away.
Well, Descole’s in a bad mood today - there’s a very real note of irritation behind his words. Honestly, Randall can relate. This doesn’t seem to be a fun day for either of them.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Randall says, sitting down beside Descole and fighting the urge to immediately jump up again from the heat of the sand. “Why aren’t you melting in that outfit?”
“Willpower,” Descole says, head back in his book. “Shouldn’t you be practising your tightrope-walking?”
Randall groans and stands up again. “Fine,” he says, stretching the word out like a petulant teenager. God, why is the prospect so vexing? He’s done this everyday for many, many days, so why now does it feel like he’s hitting his head off a brick wall?
It’s the heat. That must be it. Today is simply substantially hotter than every other day he’s been doing this, and it’s enough to tip his impatience levels over the edge.
“Does it seem hotter than normal to you?” Randall asks Descole.
“Not really,” Descole replies, but of course he says that. The man doesn’t seem to feel any kind of heat at all ever.
Feeling slightly better now that Randall has an excuse for his feelings, he takes another swig from his water bottle. That’s it. His head hurts because he’s dehydrated. He’s dehydrated because it’s too hot. And he’s annoyed because his head hurts. So, the solution is simply to drink more water.
Randall downs the entire bottle, then goes back over to the tightrope. That should help.
It does not. He barely makes it halfway across before wobbling and lurching back down onto the ground, his head spinning for a second as his feet touch the sand. He kicks out at the tightrope in frustration, which does nothing except for the fact that now his shoelace has somehow gotten tangled round the wire.
And throughout all this, he can feel Descole’s eyes on him. Of course Descole’s only watching when Randall’s making a fool of himself. Randall reaches down to fix his shoe, his cheeks burning.
And… back to the start of the tightrope he goes. His head’s properly spinning now - he must have stood up too quickly. Or maybe he’s still dehydrated. But he doesn’t have any water left! Darn it! He’ll have to ask Descole if he can borrow his water bottle in a minute.
Up onto the tightrope. Did it always sway like this? He doesn’t think so.
One step. Another step. His head spins and for a moment he can’t see a thing.
And now he’s on the ground again, but for some reason he’s still swaying. Or maybe it’s all in his head…
And then everything goes black.
- - -
Randall is still swaying, somehow, even though he’s flat on the ground.
Though it’s more an irregular type of swaying, more a shaking. And there’s a hand on his shoulder-
Ah.
“Hi, Descole,” Randall says without opening his eyes. It’s rather nice to just lie here in the dark.
“Ascot,” Descole says, and Randall likes to think there’s the tiniest bit of relief in his voice. Of course, he might just be imagining it. “You’re burning up.”
Huh. Burning? Well, this sand is incredibly hot. If Randall thought he was able to, he’d probably jump up immediately, but he’s not sure he wouldn’t collapse again. Does Descole want him to stand up? Is that what he means? Or…
“D’you mean I’ve got a cold?” Randall mumbles.
“Yes. You seem to have a fever,” Descole says, almost clinically, and Randall is a little disappointed. No special treatment even if he’s sick?
Randall groans and opens his eyes, and finds himself staring almost directly at the sun. He closes them again immediately. It hurts to keep them open.
“The sand is too hot,” Descole says. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep lying here.”
“But I d’wanna get up.”
“Too bad.”
Randall yelps as he’s shoved suddenly in the shoulder, and despite himself, he scrambles to a sitting position. The world spins around him and he thinks he’s going to fall right over again, but then suddenly he’s aware of another person pressed up against his side.
Descole?
Of course it’s Descole, there’s no one else around here, but it’s still a pleasant surprise. Randall can’t help but lean into him a bit more. The world spins and his eyes close again. Really, this is quite cosy. He could stay like this for a while. Just ignore the burning sand and his headache and sit here in silence for a bit.
Unfortunately, Descole has other ideas.
“Come on. Up.” He shoves at Randall a bit more, and Randall is jolted back into the world of the living and somehow manages to scramble to his feet.
Descole’s still hanging onto him, though, and it’s exhilarating. He’s not sure if Descole’s ever been this close to him before.
“Can’t you walk by yourself?” Descole grumbles, almost as if he can hear Randall’s thought process.
“No,” Randall says. A bit too quickly, perhaps, and he’s pretty sure Descole is rolling his eyes behind his mask, but it doesn’t matter because Descole still keeps his arm around him.
“Alright. But if you give me this cold you have, I will not be happy. We’re going back to the hotel,” Descole says, and starts walking, somewhat dragging Randall with him.
“M’kay,” Randall mumbles, his vision blurring again for a second. The exhilaration is quickly wearing off, and though it’s still nice to be this close to Descole, Randall would really like to sit down and go to sleep now. His head hurts and his eyes hurt and he’s not sure how he’s going to make it all the way back to the hotel.
He should be practising his tightrope walking, though! The thought pierces through the fog of his mind and he struggles in Descole’s grasp. If he doesn’t practise he’s not going to get good at it, and if he’s not good at it, then he’s not going to be able to get his revenge, and Descole will be disappointed, and-
“Ascot. What are you doing?”
“The tightrope,” Randall says futilely, and his voice quivers in the most embarrassing manner. No. He’s not going to cry because he isn’t good at tightrope walking.
“There’s time for the tightrope later,” Descole says, and his voice is surprisingly soft and it makes Randall want to melt into the ground right now. Then, “Do you want to tightrope yourself into an early grave? When we still have our plan to complete?”
“No,” Randall says. Descole’s right. Randall’s not going to be enacting any revenge at all if he’s dead.
“Good,” Descole says. His voice is back to normal now, though Randall definitely wasn’t imagining the softness a moment ago. A smile spreads across Randall’s face, despite the fact that frankly, he feels terrible.
They head back to the hotel in silence, one foot in front of the other, and the whole time Randall is entirely sure he’s going to collapse again but he doesn’t. He’s never been so happy to see the bright lights of the hotel. Even if they make his head hurt.
Now, it’s time to rest up. Maybe he’ll even get a little more special treatment from Descole.
In Randall’s opinion, that makes being sick worth it.