Fandom: The French Revolution
Historslash Challenge #059: Food
Pairing: vaguely Saint-Just/Robespierre
Rating: PG-13 (because Saint-Just has a dirty mouth -_-')
Summary: Robespierre is sick, Saint-Just is worried, and Eleonore Duplay makes soup.
Notes: Takes place sometime after Robespierre moves in with the Duplays. Other than that, forgive my probably inaccurate portrayal of everyone. My excuse? There have been much worse portrayals than mine. XD
"You look horrible."
Glancing up from whatever document he was reading, Maximilien Robespierre shot Louis Antoine Saint-Just a frosty look. "Not feeling very tactful today, are you?"
Saint-Just didn't even bother with an answer. When he'd arrived at the Duplay house where Robespierre was staying, the eldest daughter, Eleonore, had told him that Maxime was ill. However, instead of finding his friend in bed, he was sitting at his desk working as usual.
Opening the door of Robespierre's quarters, Saint-Just was spared the trouble of having to go find Eleonore Duplay because she was discreetly eavesdropping under the pretense of dusting the stair rail.
"As you know, Citizen Robespierre is quite unwell." Saint-Just watched Eleonore glance worriedly into the room at Robespierre, concern plainly written across her features. "He really needs something filling to eat," Louis continued, "…maybe soup or stew…?"
Eleonore nodded confidently. "I can do that. You'll let me know if he needs anything else?"
"Of course," Louis assured her as she left.
When Saint-Just shut the door and turned back around, Robespierre was glaring at him a bit. "You're being foolish. I am not that ill…just a little tired."
"Well maybe you wouldn't be so tired if you slept more. And maybe you'd feel well if you ate something heartier." Frustrated, Saint-Just picked up one of the oranges from Robespierre's desk. He held the fruit in his hand for a few seconds feeling its slight give before abruptly hurling it at the nearest wall. "You need something better than goddamn, fucking oranges!"
The orange hit the wall with a solid thud before plopping to the ground. Louis had thrown it so hard that the skin was split in one place, and the citrus juice oozed out onto the floorboards. Maxime raised an eyebrow in surprise but otherwise did not comment on his friend's outburst.
After almost a minute of silence, Saint-Just looked sheepishly at the floor before going to pick up the bruised orange. "My apologies, I-I overstepped myself. It's just… Why didn't you tell me you were unwell? I would've called a doctor…"
"Because it's nothing," Robespierre replied. "Just a bit of overworking." However, the confidence in his voice was undermined by the sickly pallor of his face, and the words had barely left his lips before he started coughing again, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth.
Saint-Just was beside the older man in a moment although there was nothing he could do until Robespierre's coughs eventually subsided. "Enough, Max. You need to get well before you catch whooping cough or pneumonia or something worse." Not giving Maxime a chance to object, Saint-Just proceeded to scoop the shorter man up into his arms. He was surprisingly light.
"Louis!" Robespierre exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing?!"
"Putting you to bed," the younger man replied matter-of-factly.
Maxime gave a slightly reproving look though he didn't try to squirm away. "I'm not an in invalid, Louis. You don't have to carry me."
"I don't mind." Saint-Just set Robespierre down on the bed, undoing his cravat and then removing his wig. "You are in sore need of some rest."
"If you could just hand me some of those letters, I have to—"
"I'll take care of them," Saint-Just interrupted.
Maxime seemed ready to protest further, but after a moment he nodded in agreement. "Alright."
Louis went over and sat down at Max's desk. "I'll wake you when Citizeness Duplay brings the soup." He turned, expecting an answer, only to find that Robespierre was already asleep.